Frank had had no idea what he was in for, only that a powerful man had wanted him to succeed. Of course, it came with a price. A cost measured in favors given and favors owed, being handled by a man who operated in the shadows, giving orders and staying out of harm’s way. A man with direct ties to Germany’s past, who thought part of Germany’s redemption story lay in finding the lost hoard from not one empire, but two.
He sighed. A necessary burden. But to avenge Nadine, he would bear it.
Chapter 7
Luxembourg City
The entire painting came into view as Jane unrolled the canvas. To Parker’s untrained eye, it looked old. Renaissance old, with what he’d call a feminine interpretation of a male subject. The portrait depicted a young man, curling brown hair under what looked like an oversized beret, the wide sleeves of his white shirt showing beneath a brown cloak. A confident, almost knowing smile seemed to play on his lips, inviting the viewer into a private moment. The skilled brushstrokes of a master. Only Parker didn’t yet realize just who.
“It’s nice,” he said. “Do you recognize it?”
After deciphering Claus’s hidden message on their way to Luxembourg, Jane had reviewed lists of cultural artifacts stolen by the Nazis. The list included dozens of paintings. Her mouth was agape now. “Amazing.” She laid a hand on the table, as though to steady herself. “This is by Raphael. His Portrait of a Young Man. Stolen from Poland. The Allied forces thought it had survived but could never prove it. Parker, no one alive has seen the colors in this painting. All that’s left are black-and-white images. We just brought a five-hundred-year-old masterpiece back to the world.”
Even Parker couldn’t deny its beauty. “It’s magnificent.” He glanced at the door. “Let’s get out of here before anyone else shows up.”
She carefully rolled the painting. “How are we going to carry this out?”
The room was conspicuously devoid of bags. “Use this.” Parker took off his long-sleeved shirt and tossed it her way. “Wrap the painting in it, keep it out of sight. We’ll get something better after we get out of here.”
He waited in his t-shirt while she covered the canvas, tucking it under her arm like a running back carrying the football. Leaving the deposit box open with the key in it, Parker led Jane into the hallway and headed for Eliot Landolt’s office. No doubt the banker had seen them coming via the security cameras; he stood waiting at the door to his office, subtly impeding their exit.
“Is everything in order?” Eliot asked.
“Yes, thank you.” Parker slipped past the banker before stopping near the far exit. “We are grateful for your assistance.” He turned, then looked back. “When is the next payment due on this account?” Deposit boxes like the one Claus Elser retained carried fees based on the duration of the rental. Parker had heard certain private establishments offered terms guaranteed to outlast the owner.
“The account is paid through December 31, 2044. If additional monies are not received by then, the account becomes dormant.”
“A century lease,” Parker said under his breath. Claus had been willing to wait. He raised his voice. “Thank you, Mr. Landolt. Your assistance has been invaluable.”
Parker had to hand it to the guy. He merely inclined his head, with only the subtlest of sidelong glances at the rolled shirt Jane carried. They passed through the main hallway, leaving the front desk attendant in their wake, before Parker paused at the front door.
“Call Father Bakker,” he said to Jane. “Let him know we found what Claus left behind. Don’t get into specifics.”
A brisk wind snuck beneath Parker’s t-shirt when they went outside. The sun was falling fast and they had no idea where to go. He’d never been in Luxembourg City, knew nothing about the area. Not that he expected trouble. Still, no reason to push their luck. First, safety.
Parker led Jane to the sidewalk, then turned toward her vehicle. Traffic had slowed on the main street. Two men stood on the corner, studying a map that they battled to keep hold of in the breeze. A young mother pushing a stroller passed them on the sidewalk. She offered Parker a brief smile. The baby laughed.
Jane pressed her phone to her ear as they walked. “Father Bakker isn’t answering,” she said. “I’ll try again.”
They stopped beside her car as Parker patted himself down, searching for the keys. I swear they were in my pocket. Cool fingers of fear gripped his stomach for a flash, before he realized this car didn’t have keys like his one at home. Instead, there was just a single fob from the rental agency, which he’d stuck in his back pocket; the slim device was nearly impossible to feel. He pulled it out, punched a button and the car opened.
“Hold on,” Jane said. “Father Bakker’s calling back.” She connected the call. “Father Bakker? It’s Jane.”
Parker glanced over his shoulder. The two men were still hunched over their map.
“Hold on, Father.” Jane turned, her eyes wide. “Father Bakker was attacked in his office. Someone stole the Caravaggio. They knew it was – watch out!”
Jane shoved him aside and lashed a kick past his midsection. A man running at her grunted when Jane’s foot smacked into his stomach, knocking him down and sending the gun in his hand flying. Parker barely turned before a second man smashed into his back to send him airborne. He caught a glimpse of wild eyes as he twisted just enough so the man who’d steamrolled him didn’t crush him flat when they landed on the sidewalk. The two guys with the map.
Parker rolled away, back on his feet before the other guy. He glanced at Jane; the first attacker was back on his feet and coming at her. Parker pushed the fallen man aside, legs churning. He needn’t have worried.
Jane feinted a punch. The man raised an arm to block it when Jane stopped and whipped her leg out in a vicious kick. Direct hit to the family jewels. The man dropped, and Jane finished him with a knee to the chin.
The other assailant was back for more. Parker realized this when a rock-like fist landed in his back, the blow sending him to one knee. He ducked as a second punch whizzed past his head. Parker kicked back and tripped him up. The bulky man jumped, stumbled, and landed with a thud, his momentum carrying him toward the fallen pistol. He clawed for it, a red ring sparkling in the sunlight as he grabbed the gun before flipping on his back and taking aim.
Jane kicked it from his grasp. The gun flew off into the grass. The man yelled something in Russian.
The Russian was tough, strong enough to grab Jane’s other foot and upend her so she landed with a shriek of pain. Using Jane as a shield, he scrabbled toward their car, taking refuge behind a bumper. Parker didn’t hesitate, darting around Jane and towards the man. As he did, the stupidity of it washed over him. What if he has a backup weapon?
Parker got lucky, coming around to find the man crouched, empty-handed, waiting to spring. The man roared, launching himself up with both fists extended. Parker did the only thing he could. He dropped low, squatting until his backside hit the pavement, an old axiom from his football days taking over. Low man wins.
Keep your center of gravity lower than your opponent, and you knock him on his ass. Parker waited a split second, until the Russian was nearly on top of him, then he burst upward. The last thing he saw on the man’s face was shock as the man went airborne, all legs and elbows twisting and turning.
A car horn blared. Tires screeched. The flying Russian crunched off the windshield of a sedan coming down the side street. The car stopped. The Russian crashed onto pavement, and then neither he nor the car moved.
Parker grabbed Jane and pulled her up. “Get the painting.”
She scooped up the painting, which was still wrapped in his shirt. Parker detoured into the yard, pocketed the pistol the first man had lost, and sprinted back to the car. Jane’s door hadn’t closed when he gunned it, veering around the sedan’s driver and the fallen Russian, who lay sprawled in the roadway, groaning. He wasn’t dead, and Parker had no interest in running him over. He tore around the corner and merged with the
flowing city traffic.
Jane grabbed his leg. Parker nearly swerved into an oncoming truck. “Dammit. Don’t do that.”
“Look.”
He was busy driving. “What is it?”
She shoved a corner of the canvas into his face. “Writing. On the back of the painting. I recognize it.”
He risked a glance, then a longer one. “Is that Claus’s writing?”
“It is.” She frowned. “And I have no idea what it means.”
Chapter 8
Luxembourg City
Thirty minutes later, Parker uncovered the truth. Sitting in their car in the growing shadow of a church on the outskirts of Luxembourg City, he and Jane had studied the next letter Claus had written to his sister, which should point to the next destination. Jane had finished matching fictional Bible verses with pages from Baskervilles. She had turned off her cell phone, and Parker had done the same with his. The Russians had tracked them somehow, and it stood to reason that their cell phones were the weak link.
“His notes on the painting are only numbers,” Jane said. “No words, and they don’t seem to tie into his hidden message in the letter.” She sighed. “The painting isn’t helping, but I did finish decoding this letter.”
Parker studied the church as a breeze drifted through their open windows. Summer had not yet left Luxembourg City, the evening air warm enough that fall’s long nights seemed far away. Jane stared through the windshield.
“The Bible verses are inaccurate, as expected. One of the books is called Luke, though for some reason it had the surname Grab crossed out. It makes no sense. They do correspond to pages and words in Conan Doyle’s book. Only this time I don’t understand what Claus is saying.”
“What’s the message?” Parker asked.
“Tell me if this makes sense to you,” Jane said. “Seek the master in a mirror. Back will lead.”
“It could be a secret word or phrase that only makes sense to Claus and Margot.”
“That’s a defeatist attitude,” she said, with a bite to the words. “It’s only us now. You and me. The Russians coming after us shows we’re not the only ones who think this is real. We’ve been through a lot together. I know this is dangerous. But tell me honestly. Do you want to stop?”
The smart move, of course, was to cut bait and run. Too bad he rarely made the smart move. “No. I know you don’t either, and someone has to keep you safe.”
He dodged her first punch. Not the second. He rubbed his arm ruefully.
“Very funny,” Jane said. “Now focus. Claus used the same code as before, fake biblical passages to call out pages and words in the German edition of Baskervilles.”
“Speaking of Bible passages, did Father Bakker call you back?”
“No. I’ll call him once we know the next destination. Back to Claus’s message. Seek the master in a mirror. Back will lead. I’ve never heard the phrase before.”
“Same here. What if we think about it in terms of contemporary Germany? It could be a phrase people who were alive during the war would understand.”
“It’s possible.” Jane looked toward the church. A pair of teenage boys stood outside, laughing as they stared at one’s cell phone. “I’d love to check online.”
“I’m sure there’s a store nearby we can buy a prepaid phone.”
“I have a better idea.” Jane hopped out of the car and headed straight for the teens. She tousled her hair on the approach. Jane had been Erika’s friend, close enough that the two of them kept in touch even after Jane had returned to her native Scotland, so Parker had always looked at her as a friend. Still, he’d admit she had a certain something. Men noticed Jane. Two teenagers didn’t stand a chance.
She spoke to the one holding the phone, smiling and laughing. Seconds later she had his phone and was tapping rapidly at the keyboard, all while keeping the conversation going. A minute later the body language shifted and the teens were speaking earnestly as Jane listened. Parker scanned their surroundings, seeing nothing beyond a gray-haired couple walking a dog. He watched as Jane returned the young man’s phone and left; disappointment showed on both boys’ faces.
They were still watching her when she slipped back into the car. “My German isn’t flawless, and they helped me search for the phrase in Claus’s letter. It doesn’t have any cultural significance we missed.”
Another dead end. Parker rubbed his chin discontentedly, the short hairs in equal parts black and gray rustling against his fingertips. So what did Claus mean? They were either missing an obvious answer, or this was a personal message they’d never figure out. Perhaps Otto could help.
Parker looked over as the teenagers posed for a selfie, making faces and laughing. Parker turned to Jane and his chest froze. Selfie.
He punched the steering wheel. The horn barked, the teens jumped, and he had the answer. Selfie. A self-portrait. “The painting we found. Raphael’s. Who’s it of?”
“No one knows for sure,” Jane said. “Some scholars think it’s actually Raphael, a self-portrait. One challenge is no one has been able to study it since the war.”
“Claus is talking about the painting. ‘Seek the master in a mirror.’ The portrait is like a mirror. Raphael looking at himself.”
Jane actually lifted off her seat. “The numbers on the rear side aren’t straightforward. Back will lead. He’s telling his sister where to look.”
“On the back of the painting.”
Jane unrolled the painting to reveal the numbers scrawled across the rear. At first glance they seemed to be a random string, perhaps a tracking method used by Claus’s team.
Jane thought for a moment. “These could refer to passages in Baskervilles.”
Parker held the book as Jane rattled off page numbers and the corresponding words on each page. Parker had the conversion spelled out in short order. In German, which Jane translated.
“Nights City Forest. Great Fire Holy Leader Hat.”
Parker frowned. “Are you sure?”
She checked her work once more. “I’m positive. Claus included a period between Forest and Great. That’s his message.”
He twisted in his seat. “I have an idea. Buckle up.” He raced out of the parking lot without explaining and zipped to a stop moments later outside a sprawling building across the street. A steady flow of pedestrian traffic moved into and out of its revolving doors. “Let’s check in here.”
“Not a bad idea,” Jane said. She climbed out and grabbed the canvas. “The painting comes with us.”
Parker agreed, hopping out and following Jane up the front steps, past a sign reading Bibliothek. He hardly spoke a word of the language, but Parker knew a library when he saw one. And a library meant anonymous internet connections. They charged through the doors, Jane holding Raphael’s lost masterpiece under her arm, and found the bank of public computers.
“I’m typing it in verbatim, one line at a time,” Jane said after logging on. “Beginning with the first phrase.” She scanned the results of her search, translating as her finger moved on the screen. “This first hit is a car show of some sort, then a bluegrass band.” She looked at Parker. “What’s bluegrass?”
“A kind of music. Probably not your style.”
“I enjoy a variety of music.” She kept translating. “Several nightclubs, another car event.”
“What if you add Germany at the end?”
Jane added the country. “First hit is about the Black Forest, a mountain range in Germany. The Brothers Grimm fairy tales are set there. That’s possible, but it’s vague. The next hit is something called Frankfurt City Forest.”
“As in the city of Frankfurt?”
Jane nodded. “A city in Germany makes sense.” She fell silent as a woman sporting a severe bun walked by slowly, eyeing them over the top of her glasses. “That librarian is serious,” Jane said, her voice noticeably lowered. “Don’t cause trouble.”
Parker chuckled. “What makes you think I’d do that?”
Jane rolle
d her eyes. “A German city aligns with what I expected. If you consider the dates and locations where each of Claus’s letters have pointed, a pattern emerges. His letters are dated throughout spring and summer 1944. We’ve been to Brussels, then Luxembourg. We traveled east each time we moved, and if Frankfurt is the next location, we’d continue moving east again.” Her lips turned up at the corners. “Any idea what happened around the time of these letters? I’ll give you a hint: it likely influenced where Claus was stationed.”
“D-day.” The world-famous image of an Allied soldier wading ashore amid heavy surf and fallen comrades sprang to mind. “The Allies invaded Normandy on June sixth.”
“Which the Germans knew was coming. They didn’t know the location, but the invasion was a poorly kept secret. The Nazis made preparations well before the attack. I expect this included moving non-combat troops to more secure locations. Also, Otto told us Claus’s unit moved around based on where the front lines were at the time.”
“Which makes sense given Claus was a non-combat soldier inspecting cultural artifacts.”
“Correct. More secure areas lay to the east, toward Germany. If we’re right, Claus would have moved east from here, and Frankfurt is a three-hour drive in that direction.”
“Good catch,” Parker said. “Erika always said you were bright.”
“Funny, she never said the same about you.”
Parker laughed out loud, quickly covering his mouth before the world’s most serious librarian kicked them out. “That was good. Two points for Jane.”
“I try. Now, please focus. The Germans are retreating, moving east as Allied troops begin their approach from the Western Front.”
“Pushing them to the city forest.” Logical. “What about the Nights part? Claus used three words. He wouldn’t have included that one unless it held meaning.”
A Tsar's Gold (Parker Chase Book 6) Page 9