Yet looking back on it, he wouldn’t have changed a thing.
Those summers had hardened him like steel.
Tossing the crowbar aside, Payne eased his fingers under the lid and carefully removed it. Like the van Gogh crate, the underbelly of the lid had been branded with the Ulster family crest. The guardian eagle looked particularly fierce in the glow of the halogen lights, as if the bird was furious about being sealed inside a box for more than sixty years. But none of the men - not even Ulster himself - cared about the coat of arms. Instead, their attention was focused solely on the contents of the crate. Eager to glimpse what was inside, the four of them crowded round the box like hungry orphans opening their only present on Christmas morning. Expecting to find famous paintings or fancy jewellery, they were crushed to discover a crate filled with nothing but old books and a stack of documents all written in German.
To Jones, it was the equivalent of receiving an ugly reindeer sweater instead of the video game he had been hoping for. ‘What the fuck? We flew all the way from America, and this box is filled with homework.’
Payne and Kaiser said nothing, but they were thinking the same thing.
Meanwhile, Ulster bent over the crate, hoping to determine why these items had been stored in a protective bunker since World War Two. Still wearing his latex gloves, he picked up the first object that caught his eye - a decorative, leather-bound journal embossed with Conrad Ulster’s initials - and flipped through its weathered pages. Having spent most of the night going through his grandfather’s papers, Ulster instantly recognized the handwriting.
‘What is it?’ Payne wondered.
Ulster shrugged as he scanned the text for clues. ‘Obviously I’ve never seen it before, but it definitely belonged to my grandfather. I think it’s some kind of daily log.’
Payne stared at Ulster. ‘Like a diary?’
‘Somewhat, but not really.’
‘Well, that narrows it down,’ Jones cracked.
Ulster glanced up at them to explain. ‘It has the structure of a diary - dozens of dated entries over a period of two or three years - yet it’s lacking personal reflection of any kind. Instead, it’s filled with a series of clinical observations, as if he was systematically searching for something in the surrounding hills. Unfortunately, I don’t know what he was looking for because most of his entries appear to be written in code.’
Jones took a guess. ‘Maybe he was looking for Hogzilla. I bet that fucker was alive back then. Probably got that big by eating Nazis.’
Payne rolled his eyes. ‘Why do you say stuff like that?’
Jones shrugged. ‘I get bored easily. Plus, I like pissing you off.’
‘Well, it’s working.’
He grinned. ‘I can tell.’
Payne took a deep breath, trying to remember why Jones was his best friend. At that particular moment, nothing came to mind. ‘If you’re that bored, why don’t you go and open the next crate? The sooner we know what we’re dealing with, the better.’
‘But do so carefully. There’s no telling what’s in here,’ Ulster pleaded.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle,’ Jones assured him as he walked towards the back corner. ‘And unlike some people I know, I won’t have to take off my shirt to use a crowbar.’
Payne glanced at Kaiser. ‘Please do me a favour and help him out. The only physical labour he’s performed all year involved Internet porn and a box of tissues.’
‘I heard that,’ Jones yelled from the back of the room.
Fighting a smile, Payne apologized to Ulster. ‘Anyway, what were you saying?’
‘If you give me a while, I might be able to put the code into some kind of context based on the other documents in this crate. But for all I know, it might be a total waste of time. He could have been charting Nazi patrols or planning a future escape.’
‘It’s not a waste of time.’
‘I meant in terms of finding additional treasure.’
‘Listen,’ Payne said as he crouched next to Ulster, ‘as far as I’m concerned, protecting your family name is the number-one priority here. Do whatever you need to do. If that means digging through this crate and looking for information, you have my blessing.’
Ulster stared at the journal in his hands. For as long as he could remember, he had hoped to discover a detailed account of his grandfather’s exploits during World War Two. Over the years, he had heard many rumours from secondary sources, but nothing had been supported by fact. Now, after all this time, he might have found the mother lode. As far as his family was concerned, the book in his hand was far more valuable than a crate filled with van Goghs.
‘Maybe for a little while,’ Ulster said sheepishly. ‘But please let me know if you need my assistance. I’ll be happy to answer any questions, particularly involving my grandfather.’
‘Jon,’ Jones called from the back of the room.
Payne signalled for him to wait. He would be there shortly. ‘The same goes for you. If you need anything, just let me know. Remember, we’re here for you, not for the treasure.’
‘Jon,’ Jones called a little bit louder, ‘you should see this.’
Payne growled in frustration. ‘In a minute. I’m talking to Petr.’
Ulster shooed him away. ‘Go! Tend to David. He needs you more than I. For the time being, I have everything I need: a box of books and my grandfather’s journal. I couldn’t be happier.’
Payne smiled, glad that everything had worked out for Ulster. He knew how much time and energy Ulster had put into the Archives and realized how quickly it would have fallen apart if his grandfather had conspired with the Nazis. Thankfully, that did not seem to be the case. Now Payne could shift his focus to the rest of the crates. If, as they expected, the crates were filled with heirlooms that had been hidden from the Nazis, Payne would love nothing more than to return them to the rightful owners. That simple act would make his entire year.
‘Jon!’ Jones yelled. ‘You need to see this now.’
Still annoyed by Jones’s earlier behaviour, Payne was tempted to make him wait another few minutes out of spite, but the urgency in his friend’s voice told him it was important.
‘What’s wrong?’ Payne grumbled.
Jones said nothing. He simply handed the lid that had been pried off the third crate to Payne, who immediately recognized that it was different. Unlike the first two, the underbelly of this lid did not have the Ulster family crest. Instead, the ancient wood had been branded with an elaborate black swan. Its wings spread wide, its neck twisted to the side as if it was looking for a predator that might be gaining on it.
Kaiser whispered. ‘Remember what Petr said. The Nazis marked everything. Admittedly, I’ve never seen this symbol before, but what if this was one of theirs?’
Payne glanced over his shoulder, paranoid. The last thing he wanted to do was ruin Ulster’s mood, unless it was completely necessary. ‘What if it was? For all we know, Conrad found one of their crates and used it to store his belongings. Remember, a war was going on. Supplies were in high demand. People used everything they could get their hands on.’
‘Trust me, it’s not that simple,’ Jones assured him.
‘It’s not? How can you be so sure?’
Jones grimaced and pointed towards the crate. ‘Go see for yourself.’
16
Although his journey was a short one, every step that Payne took was filled with dread, as if he were a convicted felon heading towards the gallows. Time seemed to slow as he approached the crate, giving him a chance to envision all the horrendous possibilities that might be inside. He realized the contents had spooked Jones and Kaiser, two men who didn’t spook easily.
Still, he hadn’t been expecting anything like this.
The crate was packed with several rows of gold bars that glowed like the legendary city of El Dorado, thanks to the bright light of the halogen lamps. Each bar weighed 5,000 grams (approximately 11 pounds) and had been carefully stamped with the elaborate s
wan symbol that had been branded onto the lid. Payne had no idea what or whom the swan represented, but it was pretty obvious that money hadn’t been a problem - at least until the gold had disappeared.
‘Shit,’ Payne mumbled under his breath. ‘This isn’t good.’
‘No, it’s not,’ Jones whispered. ‘Not good at all.’
During their time in the MANIACs, they had discovered thirty crates of gold bars in a bunker outside Baghdad. The treasure, plundered from a royal palace, had been hidden by an Iraqi diplomat who had tried, in vain, to smuggle it across the border. Realizing the roads were patrolled by American troops, he had buried the cache in the desert, planning to return a few years later after tensions had calmed. But much to the diplomat’s chagrin, Payne and Jones had uncovered the bunker before the Iraqi had a chance to claim his plunder.
In retrospect, it was the first treasure the duo had ever found.
Payne grabbed one of the bars from the crate. It felt like a brick in his hand. Using his body to shield it from Ulster, he flipped it over and searched for additional markings but saw none. ‘What do you know about Nazi gold?’
Jones whispered, ‘Do you want facts or myths?’
‘Both.’
‘In simple terms, Nazi Germany financed its war effort by looting its victims. Most of the assets were stored in regional depositories that were heavily guarded. When the Nazis needed a large influx of currency, they cashed in the gold at dozens of financial institutions in Europe - including the Vatican Bank and the Franciscan Order. That is, if you believe the civil suits filed by Holocaust survivors.’ Jones made sure Ulster wasn’t listening before he continued. ‘Now this is where things get complicated. After the war, most of these accounts miraculously disappeared. I’m talking here today, gone tomorrow. Some people believe the gold was stolen by the upper class and hidden in vaults, much like the gold we found in Iraq. Others speculate that only the paperwork was destroyed, that the depositories themselves are still waiting to be found. Personally, I’m not sure what to believe. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s a combination of the two. Some gold was stolen, and the rest got lost in the shuffle.’
Payne held up the bar. ‘What about this gold?’
Jones struggled for words, not wanting to condemn a man he had never met - especially the grandfather of one of his friends. ‘For the time being, the best thing we can do is figure out the meaning of the swan. For all we know, it might be something innocuous, like the crest of one of the families that Conrad smuggled out of the country. Maybe he was storing this gold for them.’
‘And if he wasn’t?’ Kaiser asked, worried about the repercussions.
‘If he wasn’t, we’ll have some tough choices to make,’ Jones said.
Payne glanced at Ulster, who was so focused on his grandfather’s journal he was oblivious to everything going on in the back of the room. ‘As much as I hate to do this, I have to ask Petr about the swan. He knows more about history than the three of us combined. It would be foolish to leave him out of the loop just to spare his feelings.’
Jones grimaced at the task. ‘Do you want me to join you?’
Payne shook his head. Things would go smoother if he did it alone. ‘While I talk to Petr, open some more crates. Hopefully, you’ll find something that explains the gold.’
‘Such as?’
‘A receipt would be nice. Preferably one without a swastika.’
Jones leaned closer. ‘I know people who could forge one.’
‘So do I,’ Kaiser admitted.
Payne winced at the suggestion. ‘Guys, I was kidding. We’re not forging a receipt.’
‘Of course not,’ Jones said in a less than convincing tone. ‘Wouldn’t even think of it.’
Kaiser didn’t blink or smile. ‘I was serious.’
Back when Kaiser was starting his operation, one of the first people he hired was a world-class forger who specialized in visas and passports. Not only was he an expert on ink, paper, and handwriting, but he also had a unique perspective since he used to be a border guard at the Berlin Wall so he knew what would be looked for. In recent years, the forger’s son had entered the family business, but unlike his father, he specialized in artwork and older documents.
Payne smirked. He was quite familiar with Kaiser’s services. ‘Although I appreciate the offer, both of us know that’s not the best way to go.’
‘I never said it was. I’m just letting you know it’s an option.’
‘Thanks, but no thanks,’ Payne said, trying to distance himself from the topic. ‘But if you think of something legal, be sure to let us know.’
Mueller’s assistant answered the encrypted satellite phone in the front seat of the Mercedes Benz limousine. The custom-built car had more safety features than the Popemobile. Armour-plated doors, bulletproofed, non-splinter, multi-layered windows, a fuel-tank safety system, run-flat tyres, and a remote starting system that could be activated from a distance of 300 metres - just in case an explosive device had been wired to the ignition. To some people, equipment like this would be overkill. But in Mueller’s line of work, it was essential.
He made enemies every day, and most of them were criminals.
Gazing at the Binnenalster, one of two artificial lakes in Hamburg, Mueller sipped his morning coffee in the back of the limo while pondering his hectic schedule. Rarely awake before noon since most of his business was done at night, he wasn’t in the mood to speak to anyone except the arms dealer he was about to meet in the park. If all went well, Mueller would make seven figures before lunch.
‘Sir,’ said his assistant over the intercom system, ‘there’s a call for you.’
Annoyed by the interruption, Mueller jabbed the button. ‘Who is it?’
‘It’s Krueger. He has news from Bavaria.’
Mueller nodded his approval. Krueger was a trusted worker who wouldn’t call unless it was important. ‘Fine. Give him to me.’
With a flip of a switch, the soundproof partition behind the front seat was lowered. After handing the phone to his boss, the assistant raised the partition to its original position.
Mueller spoke to Krueger in German. ‘Yes?’
‘My apologies, sir. Sorry to disturb you so early.’
‘What is it?’
‘Over the past few days, I’ve noticed some unusual activity in Garmisch-Partenkirchen. The type of activity that might interest you.’
‘Define unusual.’
‘Helicopters, sir. Both coming and going to the foot of Zugspitze.’
Mueller stroked his chin in thought. ‘Probably just a lost hiker. Nothing to be alarmed about.’
Krueger demurely disagreed. ‘I thought the same thing at first, but this morning’s chopper was more luxurious than the others. Just to be safe, I ran its tail number.’
‘And?’
‘It’s definitely not a rescue craft. This helicopter arrived from Switzerland.’
‘Switzerland?’ Mueller’s interest was piqued. ‘Did you learn the name of the owner?’
Krueger nodded. ‘The chopper belongs to Petr Ulster.’
‘Ulster?’ he said, trying to place the name. ‘Why is that so familiar?’
Krueger smiled. ‘Because he owns the Ulster Archives.’
17
Wanting to learn as much about the swan symbol as possible, Payne showed Ulster the back of the lid instead of one of the gold bars. He figured it would be less shocking that way. But as soon as Ulster saw the symbol, he snapped to attention.
‘Where did you find this?’ Ulster demanded.
‘Why? Do you recognize it?’
‘Of course I recognize it. It’s the black swan!’
Payne furrowed his brow. ‘Which is?’
‘Which is this!’ Ulster said as he repeatedly tapped the lid.
‘Yeah, I kind of figured that out. I meant, what does it represent?’
‘Please, help me to my feet.’
Payne grabbed his hand and easily yanked him up.
> ‘Now, where did you find this? Show me at once!’
‘About that,’ Payne said, reluctant to break the potentially bad news. ‘I should prepare you for what you’re about to see. You’re not going to like it.’
‘I’m not?’
Payne shook his head. ‘Nope.’
Ulster lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘Is the crate filled with treasure?’
Payne nodded. ‘Dozens of gold bars.’
Ulster whooped with glee. ‘Brilliant! Just brilliant! I knew the rumours were true!’
Payne blinked a few times. ‘Rumours? What rumours? About your grandfather?’
‘My grandfather?’ he asked, confused. ‘Of course not! I’m talking about Ludwig.’
‘Ludwig? Who in the hell is Ludwig? I thought your grandfather’s name was Conrad.’
‘My grandfather’s name was Conrad. But I’m talking about Ludwig!’
Payne shook his head, completely baffled. Not only about Ulster’s excitement, but also about Ludwig - whoever that was. ‘Hold up! Tell me what you’re talking about.’
‘In a moment. First, show me where you found this.’
Payne led Ulster to the crate of gold, where they were greeted by Jones and Kaiser. Having heard the commotion on the other side of the chamber, Jones was ready to console Ulster, but one look at his face told him it wasn’t necessary. Ulster was far from distraught.
‘It’s beautiful!’ Ulster grabbed one of the bars and held it up to the light. His smile gleamed as he ran his fingers over the stamp. ‘And look! It has the mark of the swan!’
Payne met his gaze and shrugged. The term meant nothing to him.
Undeterred, Ulster glanced at Jones and Kaiser, expecting to see a glint of recognition in their eyes. But they stared at him as though he was speaking a foreign language.
The Secret Crown (2010) Page 8