“How did Mr. Chase come to possess the information we seek?”
Frank described the police report detailing Carl Ellis’s identifying tattoo, and their subsequent discovery that Ellis was Claus Elser, a surviving member of the WWII unit handling appropriated cultural artifacts. Claus had been assumed dead, though his corpse hadn’t been recovered with the other bodies from his unit. The rest had been killed while on a mission in the last days of the war. “Until his corpse surfaced in Pittsburgh, we had no idea he was alive.”
The folds of fat on Bjorn’s face squeezed tighter around his eyes. “A traitor. Decades under the radar, hiding from his shame. His nephew in Berlin provided nothing of value regarding what Elser has been up to for the past fifty years. However, perhaps this man’s cowardice will serve a purpose for the Reich. When you recover what he stole, the public unveiling of a link to Germany’s glorious past will convince citizens to support a stronger Germany. Which, of course, you will deliver, thus securing even more votes for the National Freedom Party.”
He rubbed his jowls with a pudgy finger. “Any ties to the Reich will need to be discussed with care,” Bjorn said. “My marketing team can manage. The public will believe what we say is the truth. The rest will be forgotten.”
When you recover what he stole…? Did Bjorn think he, Frank Weidel, would lead this recovery effort? He was a prominent member of the Bundestag, not some amateur detective. “I am sure our men will follow Elser’s path and recover anything that remains. The three foreigners cannot hide for long.”
“Once our men find them and discover what is in those envelopes,” Bjorn said, “the three foreigners will be disposed of and you will take charge.” Small teeth like pieces of chewing gum flashed. “A leader for the new Germany.”
Frank swallowed his thoughts. He looked out of a window but found only his own reflection. Time to choose his words with care. “With the election close at hand, do you believe it is wise for me to become directly involved? I cannot think of a better goal than bringing glory to our cause,” he said quickly. “But I would never want to jeopardize our chances for even greater gains at the polls by allowing distractions. The election is less than a week away.”
“I am certain this will be resolved before the election. All of my resources are at your disposal.”
Bjorn von Storch ran one of Germany’s largest manufacturing corporations. A small-town operation prior to the onset of WWII, Storch Machining had grown explosively in the decade leading to the outbreak of hostilities, aided in no small part by his grandfather’s close ties to National Socialism.
And right now he was also a problem for Frank Weidel. He took a deep breath, exhaled. Don’t fight battles you can’t win. “We must move quickly.”
“Find what Claus Elser stole from us. Use any means necessary to locate the three foreigners, and then resolve this before the election. Your success will be broadcast around the clock.” A fleck of spittle flew from Bjorn’s mouth. “Germany will return to her former glory, and the National Freedom Party will take us there.”
Silence filled the room. Suddenly, Frank felt the full weight of the situation on his shoulders. Behind the mountainous form of Herr Storch loomed a nation of ghosts, determined to rise once more. A force now counting on Frank to bring them back. He blinked. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
“I look forward to learning of your progress.” Bjorn’s bodyguard appeared at his side. With a deferential nod, he took hold of the thick flesh of his boss’s upper arm and hauled the man to his feet. “Your campaign account is sufficiently funded?”
“Yes,” Frank said. “You are generous.”
“Our cause is worth every euro. Or mark.” Bjorn chuckled at his wit. “Soon we will be free of European constraints. And you will lead us there. You are to be the guest of honor at an Austrian rally tomorrow.”
“Yes, in Salzburg. I leave tonight,” Frank said. “Our friends in the Austrian Freedom Party invited me to speak.”
Bjorn leaned closer. “Spread the word and we reap the benefits. Our ideology cannot be stopped.” Bjorn’s gaze lingered on Frank for a moment longer. “Do not disappoint me.”
von Storch walked outside, headed for his armored SUV with the muscular guard leading their way. When his office door closed, Frank’s legs grew weak. One hand went out and found a chair for support before he fell into it. What had started as his personal movement, a way to make others aware of the dangers created by unchecked change, had turned into something else entirely.
Bjorn von Storch was a fanatic. He also possessed the means to fund Frank Weidel’s rise from obscurity to Germany’s current political superstar. Why? Bjorn’s ideology aligned with Frank’s goals, to a point. They agreed that German citizens required protection from the increasing tide of new faces and uncontrolled chaos threatening their way of life. The question of how to go about it set them apart.
Frank had experienced horrific loss, leaving a hole in his life that nothing could ever fill. Nadine’s death left him with nothing to hold, only the illusory comfort of her memories. More than anything he wanted to keep other Germans from traveling the impossible path of getting past a loss like his. He dreamed of changing his homeland for the better. Get rid of the lawless, desperate people with no regard for human life. Native or immigrant, it didn’t matter. Of course, his supporters leaned heavily toward keeping out those who wanted in, but it was better than nothing. Once he led the Bundestag, policy reform could be expanded to address threats both inside and out. He’d secure Germany, cleanse the streets of lawlessness and keep his pain away from others. That was his hope. Bjorn von Storch, in contrast, dreamed of a National Socialist revival. And in Bjorn’s vision, the charismatic Frank Weidel would lead the way.
Frank rubbed his eyes. Once again, sleep would have to wait. There was much to do. He could deal with Bjorn’s fanaticism after the election was won. He had no quarrel with the Jews. Greater dangers poured in from other nations every day, the dregs of society moving unchecked across the borders. Politics was about compromise. Frank could use the von Storch fortune to win this election, and then there would be time to defang the worst of Bjorn’s agenda. Until then, his hands were tied.
His desk phone rang. “Frank Weidel.”
“The CCTV review is complete. We found them. They are on a train for Nuremburg.”
“You are certain?”
“Traffic cameras tracked them to the train station, where they boarded a direct to Nuremburg. It arrived thirty minutes ago.”
Frank thanked the man and hung up. Who did they have in Nuremburg? Bjorn undoubtedly had contacts there, though what kind he had no idea. With a half-hour head start the three could be anywhere in the city. Dammit. Without local assistance, finding them would be a tall order.
Use Bjorn von Storch’s men, money and connections. Frank clenched his jaw. There must be another way. Using Bjorn brought…complications, ones Frank struggled to stomach. Accepting von Storch’s money left him beholden to the man, to his plans. A Faustian bargain.
If only I knew then what I know now. When Bjorn had first shown up, selling what Frank thought were dreams and hope, all he said he wanted was a platform to spread the message, a way to make people realize Germany was changing, and not for the better. There had to be other Germans who had lost loved ones at the hands of society’s dregs, Frank had reasoned.
Only a few of the current supporters of Frank Weidel’s party had actually heard the earliest versions of his podcast in their entirety, a week’s worth of heartfelt pain poured out over the airwaves. But they had caught the ear of Bjorn von Storch – who had listened with increasing interest, and then had the original recordings altered, editing Frank’s story to better suit his purposes.
Specifically, Bjorn von Storch had ordered his people to delete a particular piece of Frank’s heart-rending tale: the event that had led to his sister’s death, which had happened immediately before a group of immigrants had knocked his sister in front of a spe
eding vehicle.
When Frank had first spoken of that terrible day, he had begun with the part where a group of young Neo-Nazi skinheads had attacked the immigrant youths. When the youths had fought back, the Neo-Nazis had taken off, realizing they were outnumbered. The immigrants had chased them through the streets, and the two groups had blundered into the path of an unwitting young woman walking home. One of the skinheads had collided with the girl and knocked her into the street, where a passing car had crushed her. That girl was Frank Weidel’s sister.
Frank had convinced himself that once he became president of the Bundestag he would stand up to Bjorn. Until then, he had no choice. Honor his sister’s memory. Create a better Germany, one where innocent German women didn’t die on the street. For now, political priorities came first.
A knock sounded on his door. “Come in.”
One of his aides appeared. “You have a call with the FPO in five minutes.”
The Freedom Party of Austria could wait. “I’ll be out shortly.” Only after the aide left did Frank pick up the phone and dial. Bjorn’s bodyguard answered on the first ring, then Bjorn came on.
“Progress already, Frank?”
The air seemed to stall in his chest. He forced a breath. “Who do you have in Nuremburg?”
Chapter 13
Nuremburg
Travelers filled the Nuremburg train station. Long shadows painted the platform, a red sun falling outside the towering arched window fronting the structure. A line of people made for the escalator bank at one end, others heading for the shops, different platforms, or the ticketing stations. Amid it all, three people stepped off the express from Frankfurt with a single goal. Lay a trap and catch a tail. A tail from Moscow.
Nick had laid out the plan en route, using a map to sketch out the paths they would take, plotting exact turns and timing to force the Russian on board their train to make decisions that would put him at their mercy. Jane had demanded she be allowed to question the Russian first. Nick took one look at her face and didn’t argue.
“As long as I’m there,” he said. “Not that you can’t handle yourself.” His hands flew up, warding off the barrage she was about to unleash. “Safety is my primary concern. We have no idea who this guy is or what he’s capable of.”
That’s when Nick had explained their roles. All the while, their Russian target sat not thirty feet away, never once looking over as he read a German-language version of a popular spy thriller. No one moved when he put a bookmark between the pages and walked out of the car. “Let him go,” Nick had said. “He’s chased us this far. He won’t let us walk away now.”
The biggest unknown was whether the Russian had backup. It was possible others waited in Nuremburg for their arrival, so Nick had given Parker and Jane a refresher course on identifying a tail. “Try not to look around. Use windows as mirrors to check behind you. Remember what our man is wearing, how tall he is, things he can’t change easily. Unless he has luggage on board, his outfit now is what you look for.”
“That red stripe on his pants helps,” Parker said. “So does the blond hair.”
“That’s what I mean,” Nick said. “He’s average height, so use the blond hair as a target. And the shoes. He’s wearing black Adidas sneakers. It won’t be easy for him to change shoes on the fly.”
“We don’t want to lose him,” Jane said. “And you’re sure about no cell phones?”
“Positive,” Nick said. “Keep your heads in this map.” He handed over the folded-up tourist map on which a path had been outlined. “Follow the path. Walk normally, stop once in a while as though you’re confused. Try to keep an eye on the Russian to be sure he’s still around, but also look for anyone else following you. What should you do if you spot someone?”
“Bend over and tie my shoe,” Parker said. “You’ll be able to see us all the time?”
“Not for the first two blocks.” Nick tapped an intersection on the map. “We split up after getting off the train. You two go out the main exit. I’ll circle around from another side. That accomplishes two things: one, the Russian has to make a choice. You two or me. My gut says he picks the two of you. Two, it gives me a chance to flush out anyone else working with him. When we split, he’ll have to communicate with any teammates about his plans. Even a nod will help me. Once I know how many we’re up against, I can find the best place to make our move.”
Jane grabbed the map. “And if you decide it’s too risky?”
“I make myself visible. Don’t worry, it will be obvious and in a public place. Out in the open, where it won’t be easy for them to move on us. We either get a cab or hop a bus. That’s why your route is on main roads. Crowds increase your chances of staying safe. This guy probably isn’t out to hurt you, at least not now. If he wanted to do that, it would have already happened.”
Parker leaned forward as the train slowed, approaching the station. “Don’t worry, Nick. We’ve been through worse than this.”
“Jane will be fine. It’s you I’m worried about.”
Parker laughed. “Fair enough. And this all comes to an end in twenty minutes.” He tapped Jane’s watch, which had been synced with Nick’s. “Be at the intersection in twenty. You’ll take care of the rest.”
“As long as you stay on the route, I’ll know where to find you if I get to the intersection and you’re not there.”
The train stopped, the doors opened, and it was time to move. Parker and Jane went first, Nick behind them. They didn’t speak as the crowds moved around them, didn’t look back to see if the Russian was following.
Before Nick split off, he touched Parker’s bicep. “Stay safe.” With that, he was gone. Even though Nick stood nearly a head taller than everyone else, he managed to fade into the crowd.
Jane slipped her hand into Parker’s. “We’ll be fine,” she said. “Now get moving.”
She pulled him through the crowd. The scent of fresh-baked bread grabbed his nose outside a restaurant, then the spicy notes of Indian food pushed everything aside. And this was before they even got outside.
One final push, then sunlight warmed his face. The hum of electric train engines and squeal of metal wheels vanished, replaced by buzzing cars and roaring diesel buses. Jane pushed through a line of people waiting for cabs. Only once they faced a red traffic light did she stop, her hand still latched to Parker’s. “See anything?”
“Not yet.” He scanned every face they passed, looking for anything at all – a memory from the train, from Berlin, from somewhere. Nothing but strangers, none of them the least bit interested in the pair pushing through the masses. Hell, with all the people milling about, he could probably bounce off a person tailing them and never realize it. How Nick could hope to pick anyone out in this mess was beyond him.
“Same here.” Jane held her ground as a pair of teenagers tried to push through. They took one look at her scowling face and backed off. Traffic whizzed past a few feet away. “They could be right beside us speaking in another language and I’d have no idea.”
“Listen for the hard consonants,” Parker said. “And if you hear comrade, that’s our guy.”
She grinned. “You look for the little guy with a dark trench coat and bad mustache. I’ll find the girl in a tight dress with dark hair.”
Parker laughed. Must find moose and squirrel. Tires screeched as the light changed, traffic stopped, and the crosswalk opened for business. This time he pulled her, darting ahead of the crowd. Now shops and restaurants surrounded them, some with tables spilling out the door onto the sidewalk. Foot traffic slowed to a more leisurely pace, mostly because every few steps they had to dodge around a person stopped dead in their tracks.
“Stop up there,” Jane said, pointing. “Under the awning.”
A puttering old VW Beetle rattled by when Parker stopped under the awning in question. It hung over the front of a candy store; the rich smell of chocolate filled the air. “Hungry?” he asked.
“You can watch them making it.” She moved
closer to the window, where a man with a bow tie and an apron poured treats by hand. Parker barely noticed his display of craftsmanship. While chocolate flowed, he studied the window, looking for a specific reflection: the Russian Nick suspected would be close behind.
“I don’t see him.” Parker lowered his voice, letting the ambient noise cover their exchange. “You?”
“No,” Jane said. “Let’s keep going.”
They forged ahead, stopping once at a street vendor so Parker could buy a hot dog, which he gulped down. They then doubled back so Jane could buy a water. Each time, the other person checked for any sign of pursuit. Parker spotted him as Jane cracked open her water.
“There he is.”
The bottle stopped halfway to Jane’s mouth. “How close?”
“Half a block back, opposite side of the street. He’s reading the menu outside a restaurant.”
“Is there a bus coming our way?” Jane asked. Parker discreetly looked up the street and confirmed that one was approaching. “Run to the bus stop,” she told him. “We’ll duck down in the crowd after it stops. Hopefully he’ll think we’ve boarded and run after it to catch up. If he does, we should see anyone else running to catch him.”
“If they exist. Good plan.” A moment later the bus slowed and began to pull in at the stop. “Go,” Parker hissed.
They hurried to the stop, arriving moments before the bus. It braked to a halt, the doors opened, and people began to clamber off. Instead of boarding, Parker and Jane ducked low and stepped onto the street at the rear of the bus, walking along the curb against traffic. As the bus pulled away, Parker stood and looked around. The Russian tailing them had vanished. Where had he gone? The other side of the street was less crowded, half-filled with foot traffic. If the man was there, Parker would have seen him.
“Do you see him?” Jane asked.
“I lost him.”
“Same here. Damn. Keep moving. He’ll know we’re looking for him if we stay here too long.”
A Tsar's Gold (Parker Chase Book 6) Page 14