“Why would Claus hide a map of Northern Europe in a grave?” Nick asked.
“It’s not just a map,” Jane said. “A route is marked on here, running from Russia, across the Baltic Sea, around Denmark and on to France. There are numbers and dates.”
“What dates?” Nick asked.
“All of them are in 1918. Claus wasn’t even alive then.”
Nick glanced at Parker. “You took phones off those guys?” Parker said he had. “See if there are any useful text messages and then throw them in the river up ahead. Throw the guns too. If we get pulled over and you have a weapon, even I can’t keep you out of jail.”
A check of the phones revealed they were brand-new, one never used and the other with only one call. Parker scribbled the numbers on a piece of paper before opening his window and tossing both phones into the river, followed by the guns. A motorcyclist behind them didn’t seem to notice, his red-striped helmet never moving. He even had matching stripes on his pants.
Nick eased to a stop at a traffic signal. The idling engine was the only sound as Jane opened the envelope with Margot written across the front. She read in silence. Parker watched the sidewalks, peering into every car around them, looking for danger. Nick had his eyes on the rearview mirror.
“See anything unfriendly?” Nick asked.
“No,” Parker said.
“Any guess who those Germans were?”
Parker had been asking himself the same thing ever since the pair had got the drop on them. “People working with the Russians? Except I could overhear a bit of their phone call. The shorter one spoke German, as did whoever was on the other end. I didn’t pick up any Russian accents.”
The light changed, and Nick drove on, passing a sign for the highway ahead. “What does the letter say?” Nick asked. “Any directions would be appreciated.”
“I know why he did it,” Jane said.
“Did what?” Parker asked.
“Why Claus stole these artifacts. Why he’s fighting back against the Nazis.”
“Does that tell us where we need to go?”
“No.” Jane twisted around, digging in her pockets and handbag until she pulled out the other letters, the ones Otto had given them in Berlin, plus Hound of the Baskervilles. “But this does.”
She bent over the text, scribbling notes in the margins. Behind them, the motorcycle engine whined. Two minutes later she snapped the Conan Doyle book shut. “Go to Nuremburg.”
Chapter 11
Train to Nuremburg
A train whistle blared, electricity hummed, and the train took off like a bullet. The trip from Frankfurt to Nuremburg would take two hours, and thirty minutes into their journey Parker finally joined Nick and Jane at their corner table in the dining car. Nick had his back to the wall. A newspaper sat in front of him, with Frank Weidel’s face plastered on the front page.
“Okay,” Nick said. “I haven’t seen anyone following us yet. What does that letter say?”
Jane had been checking her work, confirming what a rushed analysis in the back seat of Nick’s car had told her. She didn’t look up when Nick spoke, instead lifting one finger. Nick, to Parker’s surprise, waited. He lasted twenty seconds before his knuckles began a slow drumbeat on the table.
“We’re stuck on this train until we reach Nuremburg,” Jane said. “No need to rush me.” Nick grunted. “There.” Jane took a deep breath. “Claus wanted his sister to go to Nuremburg. He left two items for her in the vault: a letter and a map. The map is of Northern Europe, specifically Sweden, Denmark and Northern France. The route is marked with dates on certain locations that correspond to large cities. The dates are all in the summer of 1918.”
“Any idea what the map’s for?” Nick asked.
“Yes. But if you want to understand my theory, we should go over the letter first.” She held the sheet in front of her. “Claus wrote this to his sister in plain language. He didn’t encode it.”
“Why take that chance?” Parker asked. “He’d be executed if his superiors found it.”
“I think Claus uncovered something incredible. Listen to this.” She began reading the letter in a low voice. Parker and Nick both leaned over the table to catch her words.
Dear Margot,
I applaud your bravery. The contents of the companion envelope are the key to stopping Hitler. You must do whatever it takes to share this intelligence.
Recently our unit came under the command of a new leader. Sturmbannführer Rickhey arrived to lead our mission of stealing art and artifacts. Why this happened was beyond me, until I found a map, one which I have copied and left for you.
During the Great War, a treasure was stolen, one few knew of and which vanished when the Czechoslovakian troops charged with guarding it were massacred. While I do not know what this treasure consists of, I know the Führer is sparing no expense to locate it thirty years later. Sturmbannführer Rickhey brought the map with him. I was able to copy it.
The map shows the path of this treasure, along with what few dates I found. What it is, what happened to it, and where it is now, I do not know. All I know is our leaders believe German salvation depends upon this treasure. We move to Nuremburg soon. I will write you with more details.
“Does the map say what treasure’s he talking about?” Nick asked.
Jane lifted a strand of hair from her face. “No. It shows a path and several dates, but no indication what happened on the path. I have an idea about what this map is for, though.”
“He talks about the Great War,” Nick said. “That’s World War One, not World War Two.”
“Excellent catch,” Jane said. “Now look at the map.”
She laid the map in front of them. It was a map of Northern Europe. A line ran across several countries and over water before terminating at a shoreline. Parker’s grasp of European geography was tenuous.
“Point out the countries,” he said. “I’m a little rusty.”
“Follow the line.” Jane traced it with her finger, naming countries and bodies of water as she went. “The line originates off the map, east of St. Petersburg. I have no idea why he didn’t include a beginning point. What we know is the first marked city is St. Petersburg.”
“It has massive ports,” Nick said. “Makes sense as a launching point.”
“The line travels to the Baltic Sea next.” Jane’s finger went over a body of water. “You can see the coasts of Sweden to the northwest, Poland to the south, then as it travels west, Germany and finally Denmark.
“Then the line turns sharply north until it clears the northern tip of Denmark, then roughly follows the coastline south into the North Sea, passing the Netherlands until it finally returns to land here.” She tapped the northwest coast of Belgium. “This is a port town not far from Bruges. The line ends in Brussels.”
“Father Bakker was there,” Parker said. “It’s where he met Claus and got the Caravaggio.”
Nick pointed to a spot on the map. “There’s a date on here, near Brussels. What does that have to do with anything?”
“August 1918.” Jane chewed her lip. “It gives context and a basis for my theory.” She lifted one hand, ticking off points as she spoke.
Parker couldn’t help but think of Erika. She used to do the same thing.
“First,” Jane said, “Claus was stationed in Brussels, where he stole a Caravaggio painting and gave it to Father Bakker. This happened in 1944, and his path aligns with this map.”
Nick wasn’t buying it. “How can you tie him stealing a painting in 1944 to a line drawn through Brussels during World War One?”
A spark flashed in Jane’s eyes. One Parker knew. Nick was in trouble. “I can’t connect Claus with the painting across thirty years,” she said. “Add a pair of world wars, and any connection becomes nearly impossible. Lucky for me, I don’t think Claus’s map is about the Caravaggio – or any stolen painting, for that matter.”
Nick crossed his arms. “I’m listening.”
“Consid
er what was happening in this part of the world in 1918,” Jane said. “World War One had two main combatants: the Allied and Central Powers. The Allied Powers were France, the United Kingdom and Russia, with the U.S. and a few other countries at different times. The Central Powers were Germany, Austria-Hungary, the Ottoman Empire and a few friends.” She raised her eyebrows. “Including Poland.”
Parker flipped the map around. “You think the line on this map purposely avoids the Central Powers?”
“I do. Someone traveled from Russia to Belgium via water. Germany invaded Belgium at the beginning of the war and occupied it until the armistice in 1918.”
“What could have come from Russia that someone would go to this extent to hide it from the Central Powers?” Parker asked.
Jane shrugged. “I don’t know. But I do know this route was the safest path to Western Europe. They didn’t go to England or France. It’s possible they tried to get to France but were stopped in Belgium in August 1918.” She lifted her hands. “Whatever made them do it, I’m certain it was more than one Caravaggio.”
“This sounds as though Claus found information in Brussels,” Nick said. “It’s where he met Father Bakker. It’s not what made him turn against his superiors, but something happened here that made him give a painting worth millions to a priest.”
“Hundreds of millions,” Jane said.
“Even better,” Nick said. “Enough to make him put up a real fight against the Nazis. After Brussels, Claus keeps working against his country, stashes that Raphael in a bank vault. Could be he learned something he felt could turn the tide against the Nazis. Something bigger than the paintings.”
“And this map ties into it,” Parker said. “The question is how?”
Jane opened her mouth to reply. Nick coughed.
“Don’t turn around,” he growled. “Keep talking, but listen.” Jane kept her lips moving, though no words came out. “I’ve seen the same man come through here twice now. Heard him speaking to the conductor earlier.” Nick leaned closer. “He spoke in German. Russian accent.”
Parker’s knuckles went white on the table. “Could be a coincidence. There are lots of German-speaking Russians who aren’t trying to kill us.”
“How many of them were riding a motorcycle beside my car while we drove to the train station? Look by his foot.”
Parker turned and pretended to tie his shoe. The guy’s pants had red stripes on black. “That’s the same guy.”
Nick didn’t blink. “He also has a gun in his waistband.”
Chapter 12
National Freedom Party Headquarters
Berlin
“Thank you for taking a few minutes to sit with us, Member Weidel.” The news anchor beamed, reminding viewers across Germany he knew a top-notch dentist. The guy’s teeth were like headlights. “It is a busy time for you with the election approaching.”
“Call me Frank.” Frank gave a soft smile, the kind his advisors said played well with audiences. “Thank you for having me.”
“Millions of Germans are deciding who they will support,” the anchor said. “The latest polls show your National Freedom Party challenging the Christian Democrats for total members in the Bundestag.”
A non-question he could take anywhere. Frank’s campaign manager had picked a reliable reporter for this interview. “We are just beginning,” Frank said. “Germans want a stronger Germany, and the National Freedom Party will make this a reality.”
“A stronger Germany.” The anchor nodded. “Your message resonates with many across the nation. As does the story of your rise to power, Frank. A man from the streets, spurred by tragedy toward leadership in politics. How does it feel to have victory so close at hand?”
Frank crossed one leg over the other and folded his hands on his knees. His angular frame accentuated how lanky he truly was. He purposefully removed his glasses during interviews. They made the sharp lines of his nose and face even more pronounced. One enterprising pundit had referred to him as Ichabod Crane, and he’d never forgotten it. Image was king.
He sighed. Yes, his story drew voters in. His message kept them. “My sister’s death at the hands of foreign criminals was the lowest point of my life. She was an innocent girl, caught in the crossfire. I would give anything to have her back.” Neither he nor the interviewer made any mention of the full circumstances that had led to her death.
“After her death, you began spreading your message online.” The interviewer made a show of checking his notes. “Scarcely five years ago. Your podcast grew from a handful of followers to more than a million within months. Why do you think your message has connected with so many Germans?”
“I studied political science at university. I suppose I can make connections others miss, and can explain them in straightforward terms. Many people say our world is shrinking. I was able to articulate how this brings unintended consequences. For instance, how the murder of my young sister resulted from unchecked immigration across German borders. Our citizens must become more informed, and I am trying to make that happen.” Now he leaned closer, elbows on his knees. “Would you like to know my biggest secret?”
The reporter glanced at his cameramen. “Yes, we would.”
“I care.” He pointed to the news anchor. “About you. About everyone in this room.” He now looked directly into the camera. “And about all of you at home. Our nation needs to stand united against the external threats we face. Without change, Germany as we know it will cease to exist.” He sat up straight. “My fellow Germans know it could be their loved ones who are next. I will stop that from happening.”
The man across from him beamed. “A powerful message.”
Off camera, Frank’s campaign manager walked through the conference room door and held a cell phone aloft. The message was clear. Time to end it. Frank wrapped up the interview in short order and stepped out into the hallway. He took the proffered phone. “Yes, the interview is over. No one else is around. I will wait.”
The call ended as he slipped into his office. Frank Weidel’s private retreat had little in common with most politicians’ offices. No shots of Frank with world leaders, only one television on the wall, and a single phone on his desk. No personal touches beyond the framed photo of his sister. It kept him focused while somehow throwing his guests off. He really didn’t know why, and after a time he had stopped trying to understand. If they were busy wondering why he worked in a barren office, they weren’t focused. Distracted people often let things slip, bits of useful information.
He brushed the frame holding his sister’s picture as the door opened. A short, trim man walked in, followed by another. The second man didn’t speak as he stalked into the room, waving an RF signal detector wand over everything. Only after he was satisfied did he fade into the background. His boss took a chair in front of Frank’s desk. Frank walked around the desk and joined him.
“Hello, Member Weidel.”
Short where Frank was long, thick where Frank was slim, the visitor had a receding hairline he tried to hide with a buzz cut. Monogrammed cuff links made of gold held his sleeves in place. Bjorn von Storch rested both hands atop his ample belly. When he smiled, warmth seemed to run from the room. “The latest polls are in our favor.”
“As expected, Herr von Storch.” Frank waited. Bjorn von Storch had taken the unusual step of coming to Frank’s office. Normally Frank made the trek to Bjorn’s compound for their meetings, as Bjorn disliked speaking over the phone, preferring the security of his compound. Bjorn was the money man, the first to throw his cash behind Frank, an upstart podcaster. His money had been instrumental in catapulting Frank and his message onto the national stage.
Bjorn sat utterly still. Only his lips moved when he spoke. “It is what we planned. I have not received word regarding our ongoing operation.”
“I have not had a moment to myself in some time.”
“You work too hard, Frank.” Bjorn took a breath, the air whistling between his teeth. “Perhaps you s
hould rest tonight.”
Not likely, and you know it. “Rest can wait until after the election.”
Bjorn offered a curt nod. “Well said.” He lifted an eyebrow. On with business.
Frank continued. “Our men tracked the American man and Scottish woman to Frankfurt. We detained them in Frankfurt Cathedral and recovered artifacts from an underground chapel.”
Bjorn von Storch actually moved at that. His chair protested as he leaned forward. “What did they find?”
“Two envelopes. They did not have time to inspect the contents.” A flicker of some unnamed emotion crossed Bjorn’s features. Frank plowed ahead. “As the men were leaving the cathedral with the pair, there was an incident. An unknown man assaulted them, and the American attacked as well. The three escaped, taking the artifacts.”
Bjorn failed to react, which made Frank’s heart beat faster. The man had a tendency to explode without warning. Best to keep going. “Our friends in Frankfurt’s law enforcement provided access to traffic cameras around the city. We are reviewing the feeds to identify where the three went after leaving the cathedral. We are also working to identify the third man through his vehicle registration. We have no results as yet.”
Bjorn had not blinked in some time. “I see.” Silence stretched on, Bjorn’s gaze never leaving Frank’s face. Through sheer will Frank kept his expression neutral. All the while his heart thundered.
“It is imperative you regain contact with the American, the Scot and this new man. Remind me of their names?”
As if you ever forget anything. “Parker Chase is an investment banker. His firm, of which he is the sole owner, has nearly one hundred million dollars in assets. Jane White is a university professor in Edinburgh. Her family is one of the region’s oldest and most well-known, with ancestors stretching back five hundred years. She is the only child of the current patriarch. Both of them are unmarried.”
A Tsar's Gold (Parker Chase Book 6) Page 13