The Secret Crown paj-6

by Chris Kuzneski

  As the pilot circled the ridge line looking for a place to land, Payne and Jones, staring out of the chopper’s windows, were filled with disappointment. After hearing so many stories about Ludwig’s opulence, they had been expecting the cottage to rival the Taj Mahal. Instead, they saw a plain, wooden structure that looked like a hunting lodge.

  Jones spoke into his headset. ‘If that’s the outhouse, where’s the King’s House?’

  ‘I’m afraid you’re looking at it,’ Ulster replied from the front seat. ‘But don’t let the exterior fool you. The interior is far more lavish.’

  ‘That’s not saying much, because the outside looks like a shed.’

  Payne cracked a smile. ‘A shed with a hell of a view.’

  ‘Good point,’ Jones admitted.

  ‘If we flew a little higher, you could see Austria. We’re just north of its border,’ Ulster said as he stared at Mount Dreitorspitze of the Wetterstein Mountains.

  ‘Isn’t that kind of stupid?’ Payne asked out of the blue.

  Ulster turned in his seat. ‘What are you referring to?’

  Payne answered. ‘The placement of this cabin. I mean, if I’m a Bavarian general, there’s no way in hell I’d let Ludwig build a house this close to a foreign border. Look at the surrounding peaks. This area is indefensible.’

  Jones nodded in agreement. ‘Jon makes a valid point. Set a few explosives on the top of that ridge, and the resulting landslide would have wiped out the king.’

  ‘Not only that,’ Payne said, ‘but if the Austrians had wanted to kidnap Ludwig, they could have done so with ease. What do you think, DJ? Three, maybe four men at most?’

  In less than a second, Jones ran through several scenarios in his head. When it came to planning missions, he was a strategic genius – the type of guy who played chess when everyone else was playing checkers. ‘Give me four men and a cloudy night, and I could’ve nabbed more than Ludwig. I could’ve stolen his house, too.’

  Payne laughed. ‘Actually, that sounds kind of fun. Let’s do that instead of Oktoberfest.’

  ‘Petr,’ Jones said with a straight face, ‘can we borrow your helicopter tonight? I promise we’ll pay for the gas.’

  The Swiss pilot, who had heard the entire conversation through his headphones, glanced at Ulster. Tension filled the pilot’s face. ‘Sir?’

  Ulster patted him on the shoulder. ‘Relax, Baptiste. They’re only kidding.’

  Ulster paused, then glanced back at Payne and Jones. ‘You are kidding, aren’t you?’

  To minimize attention – which was tough to do in a helicopter – the pilot landed on top of a rocky plateau approximately 200 yards below the King’s House. A grass-covered hill that looked like the backdrop for The Sound of Music separated them from the cottage.

  As they strolled up the meadow towards the main entrance, Payne focused on a cluster of buildings in the valley behind the King’s House. Their light grey roofs blended perfectly with the surrounding rock face, minimizing their presence in the alpine scenery.

  Payne pointed at the compound. ‘What’s over there?’

  ‘That’s the Schachenhaus restaurant,’ Ulster answered without even looking. ‘In addition, there are several guest cabins for those inclined to spend the night.’

  ‘People do that?’ Jones asked as he shivered in his long-sleeved shirt. It was fifteen degrees colder than it had been when he boarded the chopper a few minutes earlier.

  Ulster grinned. ‘For most people, it’s a lengthy hike to reach this site. After a four-hour climb, I’d be tempted to stay myself.’

  ‘But it’s cold up here,’ Jones complained.

  ‘Hardly!’ Ulster said, laughing. To prove his point, he took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. ‘Smell that mountain air! It reminds me of Kusendorf.’

  ‘Really?’ Jones mumbled to himself. ‘It reminds me of Siberia.’

  Familiar with Jones’s hatred of the cold, Payne decided to change the topic before Jones started to bitch. Because once that started, it was hard to stop.

  ‘So,’ Payne said to Ulster, ‘tell us more about the gartenhaus. It would probably be helpful if we knew what we were looking for.’

  Ulster nodded in agreement. ‘According to my grandfather, Ludwig used a riddle to conceal the location. All we have to do is solve it, and we should be able to find the document.’

  Payne smiled. ‘You make it sound so easy.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know about easy, but I think we have a decent-’

  Jones interrupted him. ‘What’s the riddle?’

  Ulster laughed at his oversight. ‘Yes! That would be helpful, wouldn’t it? Obviously the original version was written in Bavarian – or some kind of Austro-Bavarian dialect – which my grandfather eventually translated into Austrian German. That’s the language he spoke prior to moving to Switzerland. Later in life, he-’

  ‘Petr!’ Jones blurted. ‘You’re giving me a headache. Just tell us the riddle.’

  Ulster blushed. ‘Sorry, David. I’m just excited.’

  Jones immediately felt guilty and softened his tone. ‘And we’re excited, too. We really are. But we can’t help if you don’t tell us the riddle.’

  Ulster nodded in understanding. Most of the time they humoured him and let him ramble on and on, but even a long-winded historian like Ulster realized that some situations called for brevity. And this was one of those times. Without any further introduction or additional background information, he honoured their request and revealed the riddle.

  ‘Where would a swan go on his journey home?’

  23

  Krueger couldn’t believe his luck. First the surprising appearance of Petr Ulster, and now this. Obviously, something significant was going on, and it was his job to figure out what. After three years of doing small jobs for Hans Mueller, he hoped this would be his ticket out.

  Not that Krueger hated the Oberbayern region of Germany – it certainly had its charm. But ever since he had left the 10th Armoured Division of the German Army, he had always wanted to work in a larger city. Perhaps Frankfurt or Berlin. Or even Cologne. At this point, anything would be better than a seasonal town like Garmisch-Partenkirchen. The only time he saw local action was during the winter months when the big spenders rolled into town for skiing and Mueller needed extra protection to conduct business meetings on the slopes.

  Other than that, Krueger was forced to fend for himself for six months a year. He ran a small crew of his own – mostly ex-military types – specializing in breakins and broken legs. Occasionally, when they were desperate for cash, they would steal a few cars and sell them to an Austrian associate who took them across the border before they were even reported missing. The money paid their rent for a few months and bought them plenty of beer, but in the grand scheme of things, Krueger realized the risks he took were never worth the reward.

  For several weeks, Krueger had been looking for a way to make a name for himself, a way to get noticed by Mueller or one of his top lieutenants. He had considered all types of jobs, including a bank heist in Dusseldorf, an art theft in Stuttgart and a kidnapping in Dresden. Amazingly, during his legwork and advanced planning, he had never expected a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to surface in his own backyard. And yet, he was staring at it through his binoculars.

  If he pulled this off, he’d be a legend overnight.

  Kaiser’s plan was simple: get the gold off the mountain as quickly as possible.

  Once it was safely on its way to one of his secure facilities, Kaiser would worry about the van Gogh crate and all the other heirlooms that Ulster wanted to transport to the Archives for documentation. After that, Kaiser didn’t care what happened to the items – whether Ulster returned them to the rightful owners, donated them to a museum or sold everything on eBay. As long as no one mentioned the gold or his involvement to the authorities, Kaiser would walk away with the biggest score of his life, the type of payday that would allow him to retire.

  He could practically taste th
e pina coladas already.

  As for Ludwig’s mythical treasure, it sounded like more trouble than it was worth – especially to someone who shunned the spotlight as he did. If Payne and Jones found something of value, Kaiser would gladly take his share, as long as it could be handled far from the public eye. The last thing he needed was his name and picture in every newspaper round the world. That’s what had happened to Payne and Jones when they found the Greek treasure, and they had been struggling with the attention ever since.

  For a man like Kaiser, that type of notoriety would be a death sentence.

  No, as far as he was concerned, he was more than willing to sell the gold and retire with a brand new Ferrari. Or twelve.

  Krueger had gasped when he saw Kaiser’s face through his binoculars. Not only was Petr Ulster involved, but so was Mueller’s biggest rival. Could this get any better?

  In the world of smuggling, Kaiser was king and Mueller sought his crown.

  If Krueger played his cards right, he would be set for life.

  Within minutes, he had summoned his local crew. Within the hour, they were dressed in camouflage and ready for battle. None of them knew the numbers they faced or the prize they were fighting for, but they trusted Krueger’s leadership and feared Mueller’s wrath.

  For henchmen, that was all the motivation they needed.

  Using two-way radios for communication, they entered the woods in pairs. Two men went to the left, and two to the right. Meanwhile, Krueger stayed near the base of the mountain. His job was to call the shots while keeping his eye on the helicopter parked near the path. Earlier there had been two choppers in the field, but one of them – carrying Ulster, his pilot and two other men – had flown up the mountain before Krueger’s crew had arrived.

  As far as he was concerned, the timing was perfect.

  Suddenly, there were four fewer men to worry about.

  And Kaiser had stayed behind.

  The crate of gold was far too heavy to carry up the ladder by hand. To hoist that much weight, a series of pulleys had to be rigged up. While two of Kaiser’s men fiddled with the equipment, the other three stayed hidden in the trees, keeping a close eye on the site.

  Initially, Kaiser had considered carrying the gold out one bar at a time and repacking the crate outside. It certainly would have been quicker than building a winch. He had already made two trips on the off-road utility vehicle that had hauled most of their supplies – one to the chopper to retrieve a toolkit and a second trip to arrange the truck that would take the gold to his warehouse. But after giving it some thought, Kaiser had decided the extra time was worth it if it prevented his men from knowing what was inside the crate. Even though he trusted them, the sight of that much gold could do strange things to a man’s psyche. And the last thing he wanted was a setback of any kind, especially with this much money at stake.

  ‘How much longer?’ Kaiser asked his men.

  One of them answered. ‘Five minutes at most.’

  ‘Before you haul up the crate, put some extra nails in the lid. It’s a bumpy ride down the mountain, and I don’t want it popping open en route.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Kaiser stared at the device they were building. It didn’t look sturdy to him. ‘Actually, before you even touch the crate, I want you to test this contraption out.’

  ‘On what, sir?’

  ‘On Hogzilla. If it can handle the pig, it can handle the crate.’

  As far as Krueger was concerned, the biggest stroke of luck had occurred during his early-morning call to Mueller. At the end of their conversation, Krueger had asked Mueller how often he wanted to be updated on the situation, and Mueller had told him that he was heading into an important meeting and didn’t want to be disturbed for the next several hours.

  Mueller had even used the phrase no matter what.

  At the time, it didn’t seem important since the odds were pretty slim that anything significant would happen before lunch. After all, Ulster had arrived that morning, and the other chopper had been around all weekend. Krueger had assumed this would drag on all day.

  Of course, Kaiser’s presence was a game changer.

  Normally, Krueger would have been required to notify Mueller, who would have taken control and flown in an outside crew to make sure things were handled properly. If Krueger was lucky, he would have been given a finder’s fee and a pat on the back. Certainly not a new position in the organization. But thanks to Mueller’s explicit instruction, Krueger could handle the situation however he saw fit.

  And in his mind, that meant two things.

  A gun in his hand and a bullet in Kaiser’s brain.

  24

  As they walked up the meadow towards the King’s House, Payne repeated the riddle to make sure he had heard it correctly. ‘Where would a swan go on his journey home?’

  Ulster nodded. ‘Any thoughts?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Jones cracked, ‘Ludwig liked swans way too much.’

  ‘I told you he was obsessed.’

  ‘I know you did, but I think it’s weird. I mean, swans don’t even taste good. You know how people say most things taste like chicken? Well, swans don’t. They taste like shit.’

  Ulster laughed in agreement. As a gourmand, he had tasted swan on multiple occasions but had never enjoyed the bird. To him, the meat was stringy and tough, and had a fishy aftertaste – even when it was covered in gravy. ‘Hopefully, you didn’t partake in England.’

  Jones shook his head. ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Because every swan in England is sovereign property of the queen. Until last century, killing one was a treasonable offence.’

  ‘The queen owns every swan? How does she remember their names?’

  Ulster ignored the question. ‘Technically, she owns every unmarked swan in the United Kingdom except the swans of Orkney, which is an archipelago in northern Scotland. According to an old Udal Viking law, Orkney swans are the property of the island’s residents.’

  Payne glanced at Ulster. ‘And what does this have to do with Ludwig?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he admitted. ‘I just thought it was interesting.’

  ‘Well, for the time being, maybe it would be best if we focused on Ludwig instead of the Vikings since we just flew up the mountain to visit his house.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I apologize for my rambling. Let us focus on the riddle.’

  Payne asked, ‘How do you want to handle this? Do you want to walk the grounds, looking for possibilities? Or do you want to brainstorm the answer to the riddle and go from there?’

  Ulster gazed at the house. ‘Which would you prefer?’

  ‘You tell me. You’re the historian.’

  ‘Personally, I think it would be best if we determined the solution before we scurried round the site. However, I’m not sure that is feasible. Obviously, I’ve given the riddle some thought, and the most logical answer is a swan’s nest. That’s where a swan would go on its journey home. After all, that’s where cygnets are hatched.’

  Payne furrowed his brow. ‘What’s a cygnet?’

  ‘That’s the technical name for a baby swan.’

  Payne shrugged. ‘If you say so. I don’t know much about swans.’

  ‘Neither do I,’ Jones admitted. ‘But a swan’s nest is his home.’

  Ulster sighed. ‘Unfortunately, that means we can probably rule out “nest” as the answer. By definition, a riddle is a puzzle in the form of a question. If the obvious answer were the solution, it wouldn’t technically be a riddle. It would merely be a question.’

  Jones blinked a few times. ‘Believe it or not, that actually made sense.’

  Payne stayed focused. ‘If it isn’t a nest, what could it be?’

  Ulster considered other possibilities. ‘I guess it could be a body of water. After all, most swans build their nests along the shore. Perhaps Ludwig had a favourite spot in mind.’

  Payne turned and studied the grounds that surrounded the King’s House. Because of the steep slope o
f the peak, melting snow flowed down the mountain and collected in natural ravines. ‘If that’s the case, we’re in the wrong place – unless there’s a hidden lake around here.’

  Ulster shook his head. ‘Not that I know of, but we can certainly ask.’

  Jones re-entered the conversation. ‘I know you’re going to think I’m joking, but is Swan Lake a real place?’

  As little as Payne knew about swans, he knew even less about ballets and classical music. ‘I don’t know. Is it?’

  Ulster answered. ‘That’s an interesting question. Geographically speaking, there isn’t a modern lake in Germany that goes by that name. However, the story of Swan Lake is based on an ancient German legend. Who knows? Perhaps there used to be a Swan Lake in Bavaria that is now called something else.’

  ‘I’ll tell you who would know: a man obsessed with swans,’ Jones said.

  Payne nodded. ‘Good point.’

  Ulster continued. ‘Speaking of Swan Lake, did you know the main character in the ballet was actually modelled after Ludwig? Tchaikovsky, the Russian composer who created this classic in 1875, was fascinated with Ludwig’s life and followed it from afar. In many ways, the two of them were quite similar. Both were sexually confused dreamers who escaped reality by venturing into a dream world. Tchaikovsky had his music, and Ludwig had his castles.’

  Jones asked, ‘Did they ever meet?’

  Ulster shook his head. ‘Not that I’m aware of.’

  ‘But the ballet was written before Ludwig’s death?’

  Ulster nodded. ‘Roughly ten years prior.’

  Jones pondered the timeline. ‘I know Russia and Germany weren’t exactly allies, but I would think a music lover like Ludwig would have been familiar with the production.’