A Tsar's Gold (Parker Chase Book 6)

by Andrew Clawson

  “I’m working on it,” Jane said. “So far, I – no, I did not mistype. Stop it.”

  Parker leaned over. “What’s wrong?”

  “The search engine tried to correct my entry,” Jane said. “To knights, like King Arthur.”

  Parker’s heart rate picked up. “Click on it.”

  Jane grumbled, but did as he asked. Her grumbling ceased. “Knights,” she whispered. “It wasn’t a mistake.”

  Parker leaned over the keyboard and scrolled down through the article. “In the thirteenth century, the Teutonic Knights owned the land that later became Frankfurt City Forest. They sold it to the city. He’s talking about the forest.”

  Her hand found his bicep. “Well done, Mr. Chase.” She squeezed once, then pushed him aside. “We are agreed on Frankfurt. Now, what about the rest?”

  “Great Fire Holy Leader Hat.” Parker waited while she typed in the phrase. “Hold on.” He didn’t look at the results, looking away on purpose. “Let’s think before humanity’s collective wisdom pollutes our process. What do you think he’s talking about?”

  “Another good idea. That’s two. A new personal record.” He chuckled as she minimized the browser. “I’ll start. The first part appears clear, referencing a well-known fire. If we find one in Frankfurt, all the better. The next part uses Holy, which probably references a church or religious component of some kind. Agreed?”

  Parker didn’t respond. Two men had walked through the door. With short hair and thick builds, the pair wore suits and blank looks. They scanned the building, heads turning slowly. One carried a briefcase. The other had both hands in his pockets.

  “Jane, get down.”

  She ducked low beneath the table. Parker covered his face with one hand and peered around another seated computer user. The men didn’t move.

  “What is it?” Jane asked.

  “Two guys who don’t fit in.”

  Incoming library patrons were forced to walk around the men, who stood motionless at the entrance. The no-nonsense librarian appeared at one man’s side and whispered at him with authority. Parker knelt down, one hand on Jane’s elbow, looking for a rear exit. As he tensed to move, Parker looked back to the front.

  One of the men opened a briefcase to reveal a set of carpet samples. The other man held out a business card, pointing to the floor at their feet. Parker exhaled.

  “They’re salesmen,” he said.

  As Jane slipped back into her seat, a man with a tool belt and a nametag on his shirt appeared, shaking hands with the pair of suits and pointing toward a room in the rear. The universal sign for UNDER CONSTRUCTION had been attached to one door, and when it opened the sounds of hammers banging poured out.

  “False alarm,” Parker murmured.

  Jane squeezed his bicep. “Thanks for watching my back.”

  Parker tapped his fingers on the tabletop. “Back to the message. As to the hat, it seemed odd until you realize Claus only had so many phrases to work with. Hat may have been the closest word to what he really meant.”

  “Agreed.” Her fingers flew over the keyboard, re-entering their original search terms. “Look at this. Frankfurt Cathedral. The city’s largest church. And until 1792, where emperors of the Holy Roman Empire were crowned in a private subterranean chapel. Crowned with a very expensive hat.”

  “What about the Great Fire?”

  Her finger shook slightly as she pointed and read. “A fire destroyed the church in 1867.” Jane’s words grew softer. Parker had to lean over to catch it. “The church was rebuilt, only to be severely damaged in March 1944 during an Allied air bombardment.”

  “When did Claus write the letter pointing to Frankfurt?”

  “January 1944,” she said. “Before the church was destroyed.”

  “It still stood when he was sent there,” Parker said. “Then the Allies blew it apart.” His stomach dropped. Whatever Claus had left behind would have been blown to bits by Allied bombs.

  He yelped when Jane clasped his forearm. “Look,” she said. “Part of the church survived intact. The basement chapel was unscathed.”

  Parker read it twice to be sure. “If Claus is pointing to the basement chapel, whatever he wants her to find should be there.”

  Jane clapped her hands, making a booming sound in the quiet room. A woman from the front desk looked over with a frown. “Forgive me,” Jane whispered. “I think this is it.”

  He grabbed her in a bear hug. “Time to move.”

  Two hours later the Rhine River passed beneath them as Parker and Jane drove toward Frankfurt. Having never been to Germany, Parker found it hard to concentrate as he drove along roads cut into the sides of mountains, towering evergreens running up from rivers far below. Snow-capped peaks dazzled in the sunlight, as though the mountaintops had been set ablaze. As the early evening moon rose, they crossed the border into Germany, though Jane didn’t seem to notice the brilliant scenery or taste the impossibly clean air. Maybe she was used to all that in Scotland. Or, maybe, she had been trying to peel back another layer of Claus’s message.

  On their way out of Luxembourg they had picked up two new cell phones, and Parker had immediately checked in with his secretary. His investment business basically ran itself with him gone, the trading and account management handled by the trusted employees he had on staff. One safety precaution he took was keeping an anonymous email account open that only his secretary could access. Parker used the new phone to email his new number to her, and she promised to contact him in case of any emergencies. Which is why he nearly jumped out of the seat when his phone rang.

  Jane grabbed it from the center console before he could. “A blocked number. Don’t answer it.”

  Parker hesitated. “Only my secretary has this number.” He connected the call on speaker as Jane shot laser bolts from her eyes. “Yes?”

  “What are you doing in Germany?”

  Parker nearly dropped the phone. “Nick? How did you get this number?”

  “I have my sources.”

  Deadpan delivery, just like Parker remembered. A CIA agent who worked off the books on American soil as part of an international task force, Nick Dean had come into Parker’s life with the thunderous force befitting a former U.S. Navy heavyweight boxing champ. He’d saved Parker’s life along the way, a favor Parker had eventually returned.

  “I just got this phone a few hours ago,” Parker said. “Do you listen to my office calls?”

  “I don’t. I just read reports. And get alerts when you book international travel.”

  A guardian angel with questionable intentions. “How long has that been happening?”

  “No comment.”

  Of course. “I assume this isn’t a social call.”

  “Actually, it is. Why are you in Germany?”

  “You won’t believe it.”

  “Try me.”

  “Is this line safe?” Nick didn’t dignify him with an answer, so Parker started talking. This guy was a government agent who casually kept track of Parker’s whereabouts, ostensibly with his best interests in mind. A motive Parker believed, for the most part. He’d saved Parker’s life before, after all.

  Nick didn’t speak until Parker had finished. “What are you going to do with the paintings?”

  Jane shouted out, “Give them back to the rightful owners.”

  “That’s Jane,” Parker said. “A friend.”

  “Hello, Jane. You realize this guy gets in over his head sometimes, don’t you?”

  “Not unlike you, it sounds.”

  Silence. Parker glanced at the phone. Still connected. Then Nick growled. Or laughed; it was hard to tell. “Fair enough. Why are you helping him?”

  “Jane was Erika’s classmate,” Parker said. “We can trust her.”

  “Glad to hear,” Nick said. “Tell me what’s next. You have the Raphael painting, a plan to check out the basement chapel in Frankfurt, and a pair of Russians on your tail.”

  “First you tell us why you’re so inte
rested in Parker now,” Jane said. “He’s been to several countries since leaving America. Why call us now, in Germany?”

  This time Nick really did chuckle. “You don’t miss much, Jane. I called because I’m here too. Arrived in Berlin today for a meeting later this week. I have a few days to myself, so when I saw Parker was here, I wanted to see why.”

  Parker had a tough time reconciling this with the Nick he knew. “Did you call me to…hang out?”

  “I’m checking you aren’t in trouble,” Nick said. “Some things never change. You’re up to your neck in it.”

  “We’re fine,” Parker said. “Nothing the two of us can’t handle.”

  “That’s what people say right before it all goes wrong.”

  “Want to come to Frankfurt and help us find Claus’s next message?”

  He said it in jest. Jane even rolled her eyes. Only Nick didn’t seem to get it. “A train gets me there in five hours. Think you can stay out of trouble until then?”

  Jane held up her hand. “Are you coming to join us as a government agent or a private citizen? I hope you’re not trying to bring the U.S. government into this hunt.”

  “That’s the last thing I want,” Nick said. For a man who didn’t show emotion, his voice grew harder. Only a bit, but Parker noticed. “I’m trying to make sure Parker, and you, are safe. Is that not good enough for you?”

  Jane’s hand dropped. “I didn’t mean any offense.”

  “None taken,” Nick said. “Keep your heads down for tonight. I have to tie up some loose ends, but I can be there tomorrow morning. I’ll call when I arrive.”

  He clicked off. Parker tried to look at Jane without moving his eyes, then settled for pretending to check a mirror. She was staring right at him.

  “What? Nick’s a good guy. We can trust him.”

  She shook her head. “Who has a CIA friend who owes them favors?” Jane crossed her arms, studying the harvested fields stretching around them. “Fine,” she said at last. “If you trust him, then I won’t argue.”

  “If you think Nick is going to take credit for finding anything, you’re wrong.” His lips curled up. “Wait until you see him. He’s a handy person to have around.”

  Her arms stayed crossed, but her attitude softened. “If you say so.” She sighed, then traced a circle on the dashboard with her finger. “This is new to me. I’m not as familiar with life-and-death situations as you and Erika.” Her circling finger stopped. “Wait. I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “I know.” Ever since they’d met, Jane had danced around the subject. He couldn’t dwell on the past. Erika was gone. “I’m glad you’re here. Truly. And I appreciate you watching my back.” He pointed at her. “It’s not as though you haven’t been through a few scrapes before. A couple of Russians back in Luxembourg City can attest to that.”

  She fought a grin and failed. “We handled ourselves, didn’t we? I’m only glad Father Bakker – oh my. I forgot to call him.” A sign indicating that Frankfurt lay ten kilometers ahead slid by as Jane grabbed her phone and dialed Father Bakker’s number, putting the call on speaker. It rang five times before someone answered.

  “Hallo? Wer ist das?”

  It wasn’t Father Bakker. Jane answered the question in German. “This is Jane White. I’m looking for Father Bakker.”

  The response started in German, but Jane interrupted. “Do you speak English?”

  “Of course,” the man replied instantly. “This is Officer Fischer with the Luxembourg police. Do you know a Ray Bakker?”

  Ray. Parker realized they’d never known the father’s first name.

  “Is he a priest?” Jane asked. The officer said he was. “That’s who I’m trying to call. What’s wrong?”

  “How are you associated with the father?”

  “He’s an old friend,” Jane said vaguely. “Please, is he okay?”

  “We are with Father Bakker in hospital,” Officer Fischer said. “He was assaulted in his church. The doctor believes he will recover, although he received an injury to his head. Hold one moment.”

  A muffled conversation came through the speaker. Parker looked down and noticed the phone trembling in Jane’s hand. “Father Bakker is awake,” Officer Fischer said. “Here he is.”

  A familiar voice. “Hallo?”

  “Father, it’s Jane and Parker. Do you remember us?”

  “Of course.” You could practically hear the old man’s spirits lift. “How are you?”

  “We’re fine,” Jane said. “What happened to you?”

  “After you left, I returned to the church and found one of our staff unconscious outside my office. Then a man grabbed me and asked questions.” Father Bakker coughed. “About the painting. He overheard the conversation we had. He was in the church, listening somehow.”

  “Are you hurt?” Jane asked.

  “I have been injured much worse before. The last thing I remember is him walking behind me, then I woke up with someone carrying me to an ambulance. The doctors say I will be fine shortly.”

  Parker leaned over. “What did the intruder ask you?”

  “Whether the painting was real,” Father Bakker said. “And where you were going. I am sorry, my friends. I told him nearly everything I know.”

  “You had no choice,” Parker said.

  “I worry he will come after you,” the priest said. “I did hold one item back. He does not know deciphering the letters requires a specific edition of Hound of the Baskervilles. I told him only that the book was used as the basis. Nothing more.”

  “We appreciate it.”

  “Is the painting gone?” Jane asked.

  “It is.”

  “All that matters is you’re okay,” Parker said. “We can recover the painting later. We suspect they made it farther than Germany.” He detailed their encounter in Luxembourg City, beginning with how he and Jane had accessed the private bank, found the Raphael, and then nearly lost it when the two men had attacked them in the street. “I doubt they’ll stop.”

  “I am sorry I told them your destination,” Father Bakker said. “However, I did not tell them how to decipher Claus’s letters. Perhaps that will slow them.”

  Nick’s offhand comment about tracking passports was fresh in Parker’s head. “It could, but there are other ways. The best we can do is move quickly. Finding the end of Claus’s trail is the only way to end this.”

  The car’s GPS unit, which Parker had taken the precaution of placing in incognito mode, chimed a warning. They had arrived at their destination. The structure standing in their path demanding nothing less than their full attention. Floodlights lit the main building from below, shadows racing up fifty feet of stained glass, now black under the moonlight. A sharply angled roof stretched to the sky. Behind it, the cathedral spire soared upward, its sharp pointed towers with ornate crosses reaching twice as high. A clock was affixed to the front side.

  Parker whirled his hand around, and Jane took the hint.

  “Father,” she said. “We have to go. I’ll call with an update soon.”

  “Thank you for calling. And please stay safe.”

  Parker drove past the church, slowing to a crawl to look at the imposing building. “We need to come here first thing in the morning,” he said. “I didn’t realize how big this place was.” The guide lights of a barge hovered on the river on the other side of them, its horn blasting in the night. “The Russians found us once already. We have to assume they’re not far behind.”

  “Let’s find the closest hotel,” Jane said. “I have to call Otto. If those Russians found Father Bakker, they could find Otto. The least we can do is warn him.” She dug out Otto’s contact number and dialed. “I hope he’s not asleep.”

  “Or out at the pub,” Parker replied. “He’s not an old man.”

  Ringing filled the car. The fifth one cut short. “Hello?”

  “Otto, it’s Jane White and Parker Chase.”

  “I was worried you would not call.”

  �
��We’re in Frankfurt now,” Jane said.

  “Is that so? I have news to share.” Otto took a breath. “Are you safe?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I had a visitor after you left,” Otto said. “A man knocked on my door, asking for my mother. He claimed to be from a government agency representing the surviving family members of servicemen. However, when I asked for identification, he had none.”

  “He was lying,” Jane said.

  “I believe so. It is not unheard of for conmen to come through this neighborhood, attempting to swindle old people out of money. I would have forgotten him soon enough, except for the way he spoke.”

  “Did he ask about your uncle?”

  “Not directly. But it wasn’t what he said so much as how. He spoke with a Russian accent.”

  “How long after we left did he show up?”

  “Less than an hour.”

  “They could have been following us since we left Berlin,” Jane said. Both she and Parker looked around, as though they could find a Russian tail in the stream of cars moving around them in evening traffic. “How will we know if they made it here?”

  “We move fast and keep our eyes open.” Parker flashed a grin he didn’t feel. “Don’t worry. We’ve handled worse.”

  She didn’t seem convinced. “Otto, is it safe for you to stay in your house?”

  “I am not concerned,” Otto said. “What do I have that they could want?”

  Knowledge about the letters from Claus, to start, Parker thought. And chances were good that one of the correct editions of Baskervilles had made its way to the house. Claus would have made sure of it.

  Parker started to explain their journey and all the interference on the way, but didn’t make it ten seconds in before Otto cut him off. “One moment. My doorbell is ringing.”

  Parker’s protests went unanswered. Garbled words came from the speaker. Jane ratcheted the volume up to full blast.

  “Hallo?”

  She translated as the conversation continued in German. “The man introduced himself as Michael Schmitz. He is with another man, Jan Muller.” She pronounced the J as a Y. “They’re looking for a missing person in the area, helping the police canvas. Wait – two missing people. They want to show Otto a photograph.”