A Tsar's Gold (Parker Chase Book 6)

by Andrew Clawson

  A few curious onlookers watched, one pointing when they went outside into the courtyard. “I do not see any staff members,” Alexander said. “Perhaps the shots haven’t been reported yet. Please, hurry. I have a car near the castle gates.”

  “Just keep moving,” Nick said through gritted teeth. Nobody else argued when Alexander led them out of the front gate and down a side street to his car, which turned out to be a full-sized yellow BMW sedan.

  “Very inconspicuous.” Nick glared at the Russian. “You couldn’t find something brighter?”

  “I did not have much time,” Alexander said.

  “It’s incandescent yellow.” Nick held on to the passenger door. “You can see it from space.” Nick folded himself into the front seat, swearing only once during the process.

  Parker and Jane piled into the back. When Alexander fired the engine, Nick clamped one hand on the gearshift. “Your gun. Give it to Parker.” Only after Parker had the weapon did Nick let go. “Parker, if you think he’s double-crossing us, shoot him.”

  “There will be no need for that.” Alexander put the car into gear, one foot on the brake and another on the clutch. “Is everyone ready?”

  He popped the clutch and floored it. The luxury sedan roared as it shot forward, narrowly missing a city bus before veering down a side street. A trash can ricocheted off the fender before they cut on to a larger thoroughfare and merged with traffic. Parker flew forward in his seat as Alexander mashed the brake to avoid rear-ending another car, his head bouncing off Nick’s seat. The gun came up out of instinct.

  “As I said, Mr. Chase. No need for the firearm.” Traffic flowed around them while Nick and Alexander checked mirrors. “I do not see anyone following.”

  “Same here.” Nick spoke through clenched teeth. He reached for his ankle, then stopped himself. “You have GPS in this car?” Alexander said he did. “Take me to this address.” He rattled off a street name and house number.

  Alexander pointed to the car’s touchscreen. “You type it in. I’ll focus on driving.”

  Parker leaned forward while Nick typed, careful to keep the gun out of Alexander’s reach. “Where are we going?”

  “Not we,” Nick said. “Me. This is an Agency safe house. I can lie low there and see a doctor I trust. My part in this has to be over.”

  Parker glanced at Jane. She was bent over the metal box, peering intently at the lid’s underside. The gem-encrusted egg was in her lap like a forgotten toy. “How long will it take for you to see a doc? Your ankle is messed up.”

  “I’ll get medical care here a lot faster than in any local hospital.”

  “We can stay with you until help arrives.”

  “Me showing up unexpectedly with two civilians wouldn’t go over well.” Nick adjusted himself in the seat, hanging on to a door handle as Alexander accelerated and veered toward an exit ramp. “Getting rid of me is the best choice. Now I’ll just slow you down.”

  “He’s right.” Jane spoke for the first time. “We have to get out of Nuremburg now, and Nick can’t travel with a broken ankle.” She twisted the metal box towards Parker, displaying the lid’s underside. He squinted. There’s writing on it.

  “Is that a message?” he asked. Jane nodded. “What does it say?”

  Nick twisted in his seat. “What are you two talking about?”

  Parker glanced up and found Alexander’s eyes locked on the rearview mirror. “Jane found writing inside the box’s lid.”

  “It’s connected to the last message.” She dug the folded papers from her pocket. “One obvious way to skip ahead is decoding Claus’s last message and jumping to the last stop on his journey. However, it looks like he anticipated his letters could be intercepted and the false biblical verses somehow decoded. That’s why all his remaining messages give either incomplete locations or multiple choices.”

  “Multiple as in he gives two cities to choose from?” Parker asked.

  “Exactly.” She handed him a letter. “This is the next letter Claus wrote, which should tell his sister where to go after Nuremburg Castle.” She pointed to her notes decoding Claus’s invented verses. “Read it.”

  Parker kept a firm grip on the pistol as he read aloud. “Where he was baptized.” He frowned. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “Taken alone, no. But listen to what’s scratched on the lid,” Jane said. “It says Standchen 13 W-A-M. Maria. And before you ask, I have no idea what that means beyond the obvious Standchen to Serenade translation in English.”

  “Serenade as in singing?” Parker asked.

  “Correct.”

  The turn signal clicked as Alexander changed lanes, slowing to follow a less emphatically painted BMW. “You read the capitalized letters individually. W-A-M. You do not believe it is a word?”

  “There’s no English word I know spelled this way. The closest is wham, which is spelled with an h. As for Maria, I don’t even have a guess.”

  “The two messages are supposed to be used together, agree?” Parker asked. Jane said she did. “Then we can narrow it down. The next location has to be near wherever Claus’s unit was moved after Nuremburg. Maybe not in Germany, but likely no farther than a bordering country. His timeframe between these two letters is limited to a few weeks at best.”

  Alexander spoke up. “The closest countries to southern Germany are France, Switzerland and Austria.”

  “Switzerland was neutral,” Parker said. “It’s possible they went there. Austria supported Germany throughout the war. When Claus wrote these letters France was well on the way to liberation. Claus’s unit wasn’t made for combat, so I say we cross France off the list.” He chewed his lip for a moment. “And we have to consider they never left Germany.”

  Jane looked at their driver. “Any ideas on a German city, Alexander?”

  His voice was distant when he responded. “None.”

  “And we have to tie this back to the letter,” Parker said. “A place someone was baptized. Is Claus talking about a deity, as in his with a capital H, like Jesus?” The lip-chewing intensified. “Did Jesus ever sing to anyone?”

  “I do not believe this references a spiritual being,” Alexander said. “Jesus sings a hymn in the Gospel of Matthew, though it should be noted the Hebrew word for sing actually references crying out. It is often interpreted as being aligned with prayer or praise. In regards to the baptism, modern-day Jordan is the location of Jesus’ baptism.”

  “I agree with everything he says,” Jane said. She leaned forward and looked in the rearview mirror, meeting Alexander’s eyes. “Sounds like you have an idea. Out with it.”

  “The three letters refer to a person.” Maneuvering through a quieter suburban town, Alexander took them down a bustling main street and toward a river, the road rising as it crossed a bridge. They stopped at a street light while pedestrians crossed. “Do you enjoy classical music?”

  “No,” Nick said. “Get to the point.”

  “The phrase indicates we are searching for a man’s place of baptism. Without the correct name, anyone trying to follow Claus’s path is lost.” They surged ahead as the light changed. “The box’s lid gives us the person’s name. Serenade 13 is one of the most well-known pieces of music ever written.

  “Its composer is Mozart. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart composed Serenade 13.” Alexander pulled into an open parking spot along the street, stopping outside a small block of flats. He put the car in park and cut the engine.

  Jane smacked the seat. “Claus is telling us to find where Mozart was baptized.”

  “Mozart was Austrian,” Alexander said. “He was born in Salzburg.”

  “What about Maria?” Parker asked.

  “One mystery at a time,” Jane said.

  A mother pushed a stroller past their parked car. Flowers lined the walkway leading to the apartment building. A white metal door fronted the structure. A man was visible through the door’s wide window. After staring at the yellow vehicle for several long moments, he opened the door an
d stepped out. Even from the street Parker could see the shoulder holster bulging under his zip-up.

  “Do you know him?” Alexander asked.

  Nick opened his door. “That’s my doctor. Parker, get out and help me stand up. My ankle is a little sore.”

  “A little.” Parker hopped out, tucking Alexander’s gun into his waistband. To Nick’s credit, and likely his ankle’s detriment, he barely leaned on Parker’s shoulder. “Do all your doctors carry guns?”

  “We give them extra training after medical school,” Nick said.

  Jane jumped out. “Will you be okay?”

  “I’ll be fine.” He looked through the window, motioning for Alexander to lower it. “I’m not sure about you,” he said after it whirred down. “But I know this. These are my friends. If they get hurt, and it’s your fault, I’ll rain fire on your ass. Doesn’t matter if you’re in Russia, Germany or Antarctica. I’ll find you. Understood?”

  Alexander raised his hands in mock surrender. “I have no intention of doing anything other than helping them. We are a team now.”

  “That remains to be seen.” Nick straightened and turned to Parker and Jane. “Don’t trust him. Even if you think he’s on your side, he’s not. We have no idea why he’s really involved.”

  “We won’t,” Jane said. She wrapped her arms around Nick as best she could. “I’ll check in with you after we get to Salzburg.”

  Nick dug into his pocket and came out with a business card. It had nothing beyond a phone number on it. “Call me here. It’s secure.”

  Jane pocketed the card. “Everything will be fine.” She remained by the car as Nick and Parker began to shuffle toward the apartment building.

  “Keep your eyes open,” Nick told her over his shoulder. “We have no idea who those Germans are, and the same goes for Alexander and his Russian thugs. Both figured out where to find you in a different country. That takes connections.”

  “Then we need to find the end of this before they catch up again,” Jane said.

  The armed doctor met them halfway to the front door. He did not speak as Nick moved from Parker’s shoulder to his.

  “I’ll stay in touch,” Parker said.

  “Call me if you get in a tough spot. I have friends in Austria.” They shook hands, then Nick jerked his chin towards the Russian’s pistol in Parker’s waistband. “Be careful with it. Don’t forget what I said: don’t trust him.” With that, Nick turned and continued his halting progress toward the apartment.

  Parker hurried back to the car and replaced Nick as the navigator. Jane climbed into the rear seat. “Have either of you ever been to Austria?” Parker asked.

  “Several times.” Alexander pulled away from the curb. “It is several hours from here by car. Jane has identified our destination.”

  “Which is?”

  “Salzburg Cathedral,” Jane said. “Mozart was baptized there. And there’s one more piece of this puzzle that’s clear now. The cathedral is known for its seven bells. Two date from 1628. Five were added in 1961.” She paused. “Maria is what they named one of the two original bells. That’s where we should look.”

  Several taps on the car’s GPS system brought the recommended route on-screen. “How safe is this car?” Parker asked. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you GPS can be tracked.”

  “I would not use it if the system could be hacked,” Alexander replied. “You have my utmost assurances we are not being followed. The encryption software on this vehicle is military-grade.”

  Parker wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or worse. “Less than three hours to get there.”

  A minute passed in silence before Jane spoke from the rear seat. “Alexander, how much do you know about the Germans who followed us here?”

  “Not enough. My associates are working to learn more now. Once they make progress, you will know as soon as I do.”

  “Is there a chance they’re affiliated with the German government in any way?”

  “It is possible. Though to what extent I cannot say. Why do you ask?”

  “There’s a far-right rally in Salzburg tomorrow night,” Jane said. “Very close to the cathedral.” She turned to watch the green fields flying past outside her window. “The main speaker is Frank Weidel.” Now she turned her gaze to Alexander. “If the Germans following us are part of the government, we’re truly walking into the lion’s den.”

  Chapter 15

  Berlin

  Behind a podium in the city’s largest public square, Frank Weidel had the crowd roaring, a hurricane of noisy support for the National Freedom Party. Electricity filled the air. Thousands of people screamed, hanging on his every word. Television cameras were clustered to one side in the press area. Far to the rear, barely visible across a strip of grass, a sizable contingent of protesters shouted and waved signs. Frank couldn’t hear them, not above the shouting of his faithful. A line of Berliner Polizei three-deep occupied the strip of grass, all in riot gear. The police president had assured the public there would be no further clashes on her watch, not after the last campaign rally had sent dozens to jail, the hospital, or both.

  Frank took a breath. A trickle of sweat ran down his cheek despite the cool night air. The pot had been stirred, the fuse lit. The powder keg of his supporters knew what came next and were primed. Now came the same promise he made nightly. Frank leaned into the microphone array.

  “For too long Germany has been held back by the incompetence of our neighbors. Together Germans have engineered the greatest turnaround in modern times, pulling a country from utter ruin to our rightful place as a leader of nations, demonstrating how to succeed. We have done so in spite of the restrictions forced on us by shortsighted alliances with those who are weak, who lack decision, who have failed their citizens. It is our duty to lead. And when the National Freedom Party wins this election, we will show the entire world Germany’s true greatness. Vote for a better future.” He paused. The fuse burned. “Vote the National Freedom Party for a stronger Germany forever!”

  They exploded in cheers, chanting and applause, a physical force that almost lifted Frank off his feet. He waved while riding it offstage and into the waiting armored car. Secure and alone at last, he closed his eyes and leaned into the seat. There was nothing like it. No drug compared to the utter adulation lavished on him by the crowds, the incredible power imbued by their cries. For these few moments, Frank Weidel sat atop the world.

  A ringing phone pulled him back to ground. Frank glanced at the screen. “Damn.” He connected the call. “Yes?”

  “The latest polls are in.” His campaign manager’s tone told the story. “Our adversaries are closing fast. Our internal polls align with the national ones. In the past two weeks there has been a consistent decrease in the gap between—”

  “Speak plainly.”

  “They’re well within the margin of error.” The manager named two parties, both close enough to Frank’s in the most recent poll that they could actually be ahead. “It’s bad, Frank. We’re losing.”

  “How?” Of course, Frank knew the answers. They’d been the same all along, challenges he could only do so much to overcome.

  “Public perception of you has shifted. The violence associated with our rallies and supporters is influencing the overall view of our party. We didn’t anticipate that.”

  “A few idiots getting into fights cannot derail our efforts,” Frank said. “I already put out a statement condemning all of it.”

  “Given more time, perhaps it would have an impact. Unfortunately, the election is less than a week away. If this trend continues, we lose any chance at a majority government.”

  How quickly times had changed. Barely two weeks earlier, the National Freedom Party had been on track for a majority in the Bundestag, giving them power to set the national agenda and dictate policy. Two news cycles later, the script had turned upside down. A few fringe punks had gotten into fights wearing shirts with his name on it. Certain news agencies had taken his comments
out of context. Of course he didn’t mean they should deport all immigrants. Some of them were hard-working people who assimilated into German culture without question. His jaw clenched at the injustice of it all. Why couldn’t everyone see the truth, that he wanted what was best for all Germans? More innocents didn’t need to die. No more brothers should lose their sisters. All they needed to do was listen.

  His campaign manager coughed. “Frank, I know this isn’t the best time, but Mr. von Storch asked you to call him at once.”

  Frank’s stomach fell. This is never good. “Thank you.”

  Frank mouthed a silent prayer for guidance as he dialed. Bjorn von Storch’s assistant answered the call. “Good evening, Member Weidel. Please hold for Mr. von Storch.” Long moments passed in silence. Long enough for Frank to consider all the reasons von Storch wanted to talk.

  “Member Weidel.” Bjorn’s voice cut through the unpleasant fog of Frank’s concern. “I trust this is a convenient time?”

  As if von Storch worried about things like other people’s time. “Of course, Mr. von Storch. How may I assist you?”

  “Did the rally go well?”

  “Yes. A record crowd, from what I’m told. Enthusiasm is growing.”

  “That is not what the polls in front of me indicate.”

  Frank grimaced. “Our internal polls—”

  “—are biased. The same as all other internal polls. We are losing ground.”

  Bjorn may have inherited his fortune, but he was more than a dumb guy who’d won the birth lottery. You crossed wits with him at your peril. “We are confident our fortunes will change after tonight.”

  Von Storch laughed without humor. “You gave an inspiring speech this evening. Unfortunately, to the wrong audience. Rallying your base is not the proper focus. Those who waver, are uncertain – they are who you must court. Bring them to your side, convince them the best – the only – choice is the National Freedom Party. Without them, the election will slip from our grasp.” He paused. “I did not spend my money for you to fail. The public are losing faith in you. Germany is not hearing our message despite your speeches.” He paused again. Frank kept quiet.