Where Treasure Hides

by Johnnie Alexander Donley

  She stared at him, the light gone from her eyes. “Who would you choose?”

  “Fräulein Wyatt is a most beautiful and talented woman. It’s not surprising your husband is smitten with her.” He hesitated, a dramatic pause. “But I would always choose you.”

  “If they do get married, will you tell me?”

  Theodor leaned forward, putting on his most compassionate gaze. “You know that I will.” A promise he would keep. Though that wasn’t the primary reason for monitoring the London dailies. He could only learn of Captain Ian Devlin’s demise through the obituaries. So many men died in wartime. He just hoped the Brit would be one of them.

  * * *

  Alone in her bedroom and unable to sleep, Alison stared at the newspaper photograph. Ian’s face was slightly tilted toward the woman, as if the camera had interrupted an intimate moment between them. His familiar smile tugged at her heart. The woman—she refused to even think her name—radiated youth and vivacity. The grainy photograph couldn’t dim the sparkle in her lovely eyes. With her beauty, she could have any man she wanted. Why did she have to choose Ian?

  Not that she wanted him to grieve forever. But it broke her heart that he had found someone new to love.

  Somehow, she had to find a way to get home. Before Ian married this woman. Ironic, wasn’t it? Her husband briefed Allied airmen on how to find escape routes out of occupied Europe, but she didn’t have the slightest idea how to get away from Theodor.

  Climbing out of bed, she turned on a light and sat at her vanity. For a long moment, she stared at her reflection, then grabbed a brush and worked on the ratted tangles in her long hair. As she did, a familiar phrase floated into her consciousness, the rhythm of the words matching the strokes of the brush. “Strength and honour are her clothing; and she shall rejoice in time to come.”

  By the time she laid down her brush and returned to bed, the promise had warmed her heart. She didn’t know how or when, but someday she was going home. For the first time since she’d lost her baby, nightmares didn’t disturb her sleep.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  SEPTEMBER 1944

  “Good-bye, Marie.” Ian mouthed the words and waved as she peered out of the small window. She lifted her hand in farewell as the plane taxied away, but he couldn’t see through the thick glass well enough to know if she smiled or if she had given in to the tears that had threatened to fall when she hugged him one last time. “God be with you.”

  He watched the plane’s ascent as it banked left and headed northwest on the long journey, first to Iceland and then to New York. American soldiers were going home, some wounded and others whose long tour of duty had finally ended. Marie was the only civilian among them, but Ian had pulled the necessary strings to get her on board. Her heart’s desire, a German soldier who had worked as an agent for the Allies, was now in a POW camp near Jacksonville, Florida.

  As a liaison with Eisenhower, it hadn’t been hard for Ian to find out the agent’s true identity or his whereabouts. He just hoped he had done the right thing by giving the information to Marie. The German’s loyalties had never been entirely clear as he walked a fine tightrope between patriot and traitor. But Marie loved the chap. And Ian was an expert in the pain of being without one’s true love.

  It had been almost a year now, yet he still ached for Alison. Working with Marie had been a welcome diversion. As long as he focused on their mission, on protecting her from harm, he could blunt his grief. But now Marie was gone, and there was nothing more he could do for her.

  “Major Devlin.” Colonel Davies joined Ian on the tarmac. “It’s been a long time.”

  Ian snapped to attention, surprised by the officer’s sudden appearance.

  “No need for that, Major. Not out here. Congratulations on the promotion, by the way.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Both men watched the plane, no more than a bright speck in the western sky, the sun reflecting on the tail wing, as it disappeared into the clouds.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d let her go.”

  “Sir?”

  “Your assignment ended on D-Day. But you and Miss Wyatt continued seeing each other.” He clapped Ian on the shoulder. “You weren’t supposed to fall in love with her, Major.”

  “True. But I never said I wouldn’t love her, Colonel. And there is a difference.”

  “Maybe she’ll come back.”

  “Maybe,” Ian agreed. But he hoped not. Marie deserved the happiness waiting for her at that POW camp.

  As he walked back to the hangar with the colonel, he reflected on the three ladies who had waltzed into his heart in the past five years. His beloved Alison. Little Libby, whose serious eyes still hinted at past horrors. And Marie, who’d started out as an assignment, but had healed his heart as no one else could have.

  Only his precious Libby remained. He intended to never let her go.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  MARCH 1945

  Theodor stood on the west balcony of the chalet, barely aware of the chilling breeze as he gripped Hitler’s order in his gloved hand. Anger tightening his chest, he stared beyond the tranquility of the mountain scenery. Out there, on the other side of the Alps, squalor and carnage and destruction made mockery of the Third Reich’s superior ideals. The regime was failing. He held the final proof of its slow demise in his hand.

  “I thought I heard you arrive,” Alison said as she joined him, shivering despite the heavy sweater she had wrapped around her. “Why are you out here?”

  “This,” he said, waving the order. He smiled down at her, the anger dissipating at the sight of her pale loveliness. Her blonde hair, braided and coiled, formed a coronet on her head. The cold breeze painted roses on her delicate cheeks. His plan had worked. After seeing the photograph of her husband with the other woman, Alison had emerged from her sullen depression. Had become friendlier, more interested in his affairs.

  “What is it?”

  “Let’s go inside.” He clasped her elbow and gently guided her through the French doors. “I don’t want you catching a cold.”

  “I’m fine,” she protested, though not too hard.

  Settling in the corner of the sofa nearest the blazing fireplace, Alison read the order. Theodor removed his gloves as he paced around the room, his anger rising again.

  “He can’t mean this,” she said, eyes wide in horror.

  “He absolutely does.

  “He’s a madman.”

  “Don’t say that too loudly, my dear,” Theodor warned, putting his finger to his lips. “But I agree with you.”

  “To destroy priceless art, just to keep it from the Allies . . . it’s barbaric.” She looked up at him, eyes wide with concern. “You won’t allow this, will you? You can’t possibly.”

  He stopped pacing and sat on the edge of the sofa, his elbows on his knees. She needed to know the truth. It might be the only way for the two of them to escape this madness. Taking a deep breath, he leaned close to her, keeping his voice low. “I have a cache of art hidden in a cavern about a mile around the mountain from here. Most of it is for Hitler’s Führermuseum. Some was looted by Göring. The rest is mine.”

  “That’s the art referred to in the order?”

  “Yes. I can’t prevent the demolition expert from setting the explosives. But I will not allow anyone to blow up that cavern.” He looked around the room. “An explosion like that might even destroy all this.”

  “Can’t we hide the art somewhere else?”

  “Perhaps. Some of it, anyway.” He stared into her eyes, needing to trust her, wanting her to trust him. “There’s a secret passageway in the cellar, skillfully hidden, that leads to the cavern. Would you like to see?”

  Her eyes lit up. “Yes.”

  “First you must promise not to attempt an escape. You’d only get lost.”

  Her eyes darkened and she hesitated. He knew her so well that he could read her thoughts. Escape hadn’t occurred to her. Only the art mattered.

  “Will you promise?
” he asked gently.

  “Yes.” She gave a slight nod. “I promise.”

  “Excellent. Go change into something warmer. And boots. I’ll send Frau Mueller on an errand to the village. That will give us some time.”

  He watched Alison leave the room, then picked up the order and tossed it in the fire. A discussion he’d once had with other students at an art symposium came to mind—what a professor had called “the Mona Lisa question.” He’d had no doubts then and he had no doubts now. The Mona Lisa was worth any sacrifice. And so was the art in his cavern.

  * * *

  At Colonel Davies’s recommendation, Ian joined the briefing on protecting Europe’s cultural treasures at SHAEF headquarters. An agent from OSS, the Office of Strategic Services, outlined his efforts to trace the smuggling of stolen art to the German embassy in Spain.

  “We found an actual catalog listing about two hundred paintings,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “We know for a fact that several of them came from the Goudstikker collection.”

  “Goudstikker?” asked an American major.

  “A Dutch Jewish family,” explained the OSS agent. “Göring, that German goat, stole almost all of their art.”

  The major turned to Ian. “I understand your wife’s family owned a Dutch art gallery, Major Devlin.”

  “They did.” Ian nodded. “My wife and her grandfather hid some Old Masters, but Göring looted their gallery. He also had her father executed.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” said the major. “And for the loss of your wife. Colonel Davies thought you might be interested in finishing her work.”

  “How could I do that?”

  “We want you to join our Monuments, Fine Arts, and Archives unit in Germany.” The major paused to light a cigarette. “They’re short-staffed and could use the assistance of someone with access to General Eisenhower.”

  The OSS agent pointed to a map of northern Europe. “The Germans used the Jeu de Paume museum in Paris as a collecting point. From there, Hitler and Göring shipped trainloads of art to hidden caches throughout Germany. We’ve heard reports that Göring has a huge collection of stolen art at his estate, Carinhall. Then there’s Major Theodor Scheidemann. A Prussian count.”

  “Did you say Scheidemann?” Ian interrupted.

  “That’s right. Do you know him?”

  “I never met him. But Alison, my wife, she knew him. He brought Göring to her grandfather’s gallery back in ’39.”

  “According to our reports, he’s ‘acquired’ quite a collection of his own. Most of it, along with other looted art, is stashed in a cavern near his Bavarian chalet.” The agent frowned. “Not only that, but he may be working with the SS and Die Spinne.”

  “Die Spinne?” asked Ian.

  “The Spider,” said the agent. “A secret group setting up escape routes to get high-ranking officers out of Germany.”

  Ian took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, taking in everything the OSS agent had told them. He’d like to get Göring in his sights, but he wanted Scheidemann even more. True, Göring had shot Alison. But Scheidemann had let him get away with it. Besides, he didn’t like having a rival for Alison’s affections. Not even now.

  “How about it, Major?” The OSS agent interrupted Ian’s thoughts. “Do you want to go on a treasure hunt?”

  “There’s nothing I’d like better.” Especially if the count is guarding the loot. “How soon can I leave?”

  * * *

  The entrance to the cellar was in an alcove next to a huge kitchen hearth that probably hadn’t been used in a century. In the year and a half Alison had been at the chalet, she’d never been in this part of the house. Not surprising, since Frau Mueller grumbled if she ventured anywhere near what the housekeeper considered her private domain.

  Theodor pressed one of the chimney stones and a panel in the alcove slid open. Alison followed him down stone steps into a narrow passageway. At the bottom of the stairs, he flicked on a flashlight, revealing water-streaked walls carved into the mountain. Hearing the skitter of tiny feet, she squealed, and Theodor took her hand. “Stay close,” he said.

  “Don’t worry.” Her earlier promise not to escape grated on her heart. Not that she had made it, but that escaping hadn’t been foremost in her thoughts. When Theodor confessed to stockpiling stolen art, she only wanted to see its hiding place. Even now, protecting the art was more important than her freedom.

  They followed the passageway as it snaked through the mountain and joined the underground tunnels and caves chiseled by nature. Their path ran beside, and sometimes through, a stream of black water that fed into an ancient pond, filling all but a slender ledge of the cavern floor. When they stopped at the angle where their path joined the ledge, Theodor shone the flashlight beam against the wall, spotlighting an electrical switch. He flipped it, and a string of bare bulbs flickered on the wall around the perimeter of the oval pond. The flutter of wings drew Alison’s gaze upward, but the roof, several stories above them, was hidden in shadows.

  “Are those bats?” she asked, gripping Theodor’s arm.

  He shone the beam upward, and dark shapes swooped and soared. “Those are bats.” Turning off the flashlight, he stuck it in his pocket. “See that door over there? The lighted one?”

  Alison looked across the narrow end of the oval to the broader ledge on the far side of the pool. Stalagmites, glowing eerily golden in the dim light, rose from the cavern floor. A few rose high enough to form columns with the limestone stalactites hanging from the high ceiling. She peered past them to a lighted passageway, its door framed by wooden planks. “I see it.”

  “That’s the one we want. Stay close to the wall until we get over there.”

  Thankful for the lights, Alison cautiously followed Theodor. “Who did all this?”

  “I don’t know. Before the lights, the cavern was lit with torches. You can see the sconces next to the bulbs.”

  “You really don’t know the history?”

  “They say every great fortune was built on thievery. I suppose my family is no exception.”

  Alison smiled to herself, remembering how Ian had told her that the Devlin wealth may have come from piracy and smuggling. At least she could hold her head high, secure in the knowledge that her family legacy was built on respectable hard work. Perhaps a bit of overzealous wheeling and dealing through the centuries, but nothing illegal. At least, nothing that could be proven.

  When they reached the place where the ledge broadened, Theodor turned. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine.” She looked back the way they had come. The ledge seemed even narrower from this perspective. “Do we have to go back that way?”

  “Afraid so.” He smiled, revealing his dimple. “Come on, we’re almost there.”

  They entered the lit passageway, which seemed to dead end after only a few meters, an optical illusion caused by the placement of the bulbs and the shadows of an outcropping of rock. Theodor switched on the flashlight again, and Alison followed him through a sharp zigzag into another passage. At its end, Theodor unlocked a wooden door braced with steel and switched on a light.

  Alison stepped through the door into a large cave and gaped at the number of crates stacked inside, the marble statues tucked here and there, the antique furnishings. She recognized the soft whir of an air-quality mechanism similar to the one Brant had designed for the air raid shelter back in Holland.

  “That door leads to a smaller cave that opens to the outdoors.” Theodor pointed to a wide steel door set in tracks so it could be raised and lowered. “A forest trail leads to the main road.”

  “Where did all this come from?”

  “Different places.”

  “And if the Allies get too close, Hitler just wants to blow it all up.”

  “Him and his fanatics.” Theodor’s eyes took on a faraway look. “It’s over, Alison. The Allies have already won. But Hitler won’t surrender his spoils.”

  “This isn’t spoils, Theodor.
These are priceless, irreplaceable pieces. They belong in museums, in galleries.” She stepped closer to him, stared into his eyes, and almost felt sorry for him. What could he have been if not for this wicked war? No doubt an art connoisseur. An overprivileged Prussian snob. But what would have been so wrong with that?

  “They need to be returned,” she said softly, pleadingly. “You know this.”

  He nodded. “Perhaps arrangements can be made. But not yet. All of it must be here when the demolition team arrives. They will set their explosives, and someone will be left behind to blow the charge should the Allies come too close.”

  “What can we do?”

  “For now, we play along. But before the Allies come, we disable the explosives and start moving all this out of here.”

  “Move it where?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve only told you this much because I know you feel the same responsibility, the same passion, that I do. This must be our secret, Alison.”

  “Who would I tell?”

  He half-smiled, his eyes suddenly weary. “We need to get back. I have to leave in the morning.”

  Reluctantly, Alison followed him from the cave. Her fingers itched to explore the riches hidden here. After locking the wooden door, he handed her the key. “If anything happens to me, it will be up to you to protect the art.”

  The brass key warmed her palm, and a shiver raced up her spine. “I will,” she said solemnly. “With my life.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  APRIL 1945

  Ian spread the map across the bonnet of the jeep, holding the corners down with concrete chunks from a bombed-out building. “Where exactly are we, Cowboy?” he asked the lanky American corporal, born and raised beneath the big skies of Montana, who served as mechanic and forager.

  “Here, sir.” The corporal stuck one grimy finger on the map and another a few inches away. “And here’s where we need to go.”

  “How much longer?”

  “Two or three hours. Depends on what lies between here and there.”