A Tsar's Gold (Parker Chase Book 6)

by Andrew Clawson

  “You have no idea,” Jane said. “I promise we’ll call back soon, once we’ve found what we’re looking for. You’re not going to believe our story. Your uncle was a true hero.”

  “I look forward to that conversation.”

  The picture came through a minute later. Jane zoomed in as Parker looked over her shoulder. “My goodness, this is sad.” She read out loud, translating the German to English.

  Dear Margot,

  This will be my final letter. The war is over for me. Know that I am safe. The battles will soon end, leaving behind a world I believe can be better for it. If we should not meet again, I will carry a love for you in my heart forever. Seek golden solace in the verses from Deuteronomy below.

  Marx 71:73

  Eberle 18:81,19:45

  Herzog 18:93,19:45

  Your brother,

  Claus

  “It sounds like a man whose world shifted under his feet.” Parker rubbed his chin. “Something big happened, enough to make him realize the war was over. But that’s not what gets my attention. Those Bible passages do.”

  “Same with me,” Jane said. “I’ve never heard of Deuteronomy Eberle or Herzog before. It’s strange to see it written this way.”

  “What if it’s misdirection? A way to hide what he really means?” Parker frowned. “He writes that these are chapters from Deuteronomy, but it could be he’s using that name to mask the actual message. If we ignore the word ‘Deuteronomy,’ does it make sense?”

  “It could,” Jane said. “The other names certainly aren’t prophets or saints. Marx is a version of the English name Mark, and Mark the Evangelist is well documented in the Bible.”

  “Right.” Parker looked out the window, chin hair rustling. “What about the numbers? Are they verses or passages?”

  “Not that I can see. The Book of Mark doesn’t have seventy-one chapters.”

  Headlights flashed to life as a car rounded the corner far behind them, lighting the road long before it passed. The beams washed along the gated cemetery, glinting off its metal posts. For the first time, Parker noticed that the short walls on either side of the entrance road were made of stone, not brick. A metal sign flashed as the car passed.

  “Did you see that?”

  Jane remained bent over the phone. “See what?”

  “That sign. Over there, on the wall. What does it say?”

  She looked up and squinted. “I can’t see it in the dark.”

  He flicked their headlights on. “Look at the name. Sankt Marxer Friedhof.”

  “St. Mark’s Cemetery.” She cupped her hands against the glass and peered through the window. “Look at the address.”

  “Seventy-one to Seventy-three. I’ll be damned.”

  “This is it.” She danced in her seat. “He’s pointing us to this cemetery.”

  Inspiration struck. “I know what the other names are. Look at the numbers. They aren’t chapter and verse. They’re years. Birth and death years. I bet there are tombstones in there with those exact names and years on them.”

  She stopped dancing. “You think Claus is pointing us to people’s graves? That would mean—”

  “—we have to dig. What better place to hide something than in a grave?”

  Jane clearly didn’t like the idea. Parker didn’t mind, perhaps because this wouldn’t be the first time he’d dug up a grave. If he’d been squeamish about robbing graves a few years ago, he and Erika would never have found a hoard of British treasure from the American Revolution.

  “It’s…disturbing.”

  “We’ll be careful,” Parker said. “You know our best chance – hell, our only chance – is putting all of this under the bright light of day.”

  Jane didn’t respond. She leaned closer to him until her face was inches from his, her breath warming his skin. “All right. I couldn’t have done this without you.” Her lips brushed across his.

  Just as quickly, she pulled back and seemed to find the floor interesting. “Right. Let’s go.” She jumped out, leaving him in the dark wondering which way was up.

  Butterflies still waged gentle war in his stomach outside the cemetery gates. “Okay.” He shook his head. “Right. We need to get in.”

  “Boost me over the wall,” Jane said. “You can jump up and pull yourself over.”

  The wall was eight feet high at best. “One problem. We can’t dig up graves with our bare hands.”

  “I see a shed at the top of the hill,” Jane said. “If we can’t break the lock on it, we’ll shoot it off. There have to be shovels in it.”

  Hard to argue with that. She stepped on his clasped hands and vaulted up and over. “I’m down,” she called softly.

  Parker leapt and pulled himself up in one smooth motion. Headlights appeared down the road as he kicked one leg over. Twisting and grunting, he managed to scramble up and then tumbled over into the cemetery, landing next to Jane with a thump as the car rumbled past.

  “Are you okay?” Jane reached out, trying to pull him up and somehow managing to make it more difficult.

  “I’m fine.” He brushed mulch from his pants. The gun was safe in his waistband. “Let’s get over the hill before anyone spots us.”

  Jane took off at full speed up the slope towards the shed, leaving herself momentarily exposed to anyone who happened to be looking into the cemetery. There was a full moon in the cloudless sky, lighting her up like a spotlight. Parker looked left and right and then sprinted after her. The soft grass silenced their footsteps, at least. Parker reached the shed first and darted around the closest corner. Jane joined him an instant later. They peered back on the road. No cars had appeared in either direction.

  Parker looked out into the cemetery. Hundreds of tombstones stretched out in front of them, running down the gently sloping hill and then back up again until they disappeared over the crest. “Damn. This could take a while.”

  Jane nodded, then turned and hauled the shed door open with a thunderous bang.

  “I thought it would be locked,” she said sheepishly. “It wasn’t. Now help me find two shovels.” She disappeared into the darkness. Loud clanging ensued, followed by a blast of colorful language.

  Parker pulled out his penlight and shone it in after her.

  “This place is a mess,” she growled. “They just throw tools everywhere.” He stifled a laugh when she fired off a few choice words. She turned and stared at him, hands on hips. “Well, don’t just stand there. Come and help me. There must be shovels here.”

  A few more moments of clattering and cursing ensued. Then, “Aha. Found them.” Jane banged more metal around and then straightened, triumphantly holding two shovels aloft. “A lot of help you are.”

  “You’ll need me to fight off the dead people you woke up breaking into an unlocked building.” He grabbed the shovel thrown his way. “But I’ll still help dig.”

  Jane brushed past. “First we need to see how the graveyard is organized. Hopefully graves are grouped according to burial years. This could take a while if they’re not.”

  “Time we don’t have.” He heard the sound of an engine and headlights appeared on the road. “Duck,” he hissed. They leaned into the shadows, but the vehicle passed without stopping. Jane stepped out of the shadows. “Check tombstones visible from the street first. If the ones we need are in front, we have a problem. The sun will be up in a few hours and there’s no way we can dig up that much dirt before it’s light.”

  “Worry about one problem at a time. Find the tombstones first.”

  Leaving the shovels by the shed for now, they split up. He took one side of the field, and Jane took the other. They jogged past row after uneven row, shielding their lights and dropping to the ground whenever a car passed. Thirty minutes later they’d cleared several hundred tombstones. None matched the names in Claus’s letter.

  “Some of my graves were grouped by death year,” Parker said as they reconvened back by the shed. The sweat on his forehead turned cold as wind blew, rustling l
eaves on a massive tree nearby. “Some weren’t. Either way, they’re not here. Time to inspect the next section. Grab your shovel and stay behind me until we’re over the ridge.”

  She ignored him and headed off. He crested the hill to find her kneeling by the closest tombstone, squinting into the distance.

  “I counted thirty rows of graves on each side,” she said. “We’re in the middle. I’ll continue with my side and you stay on yours. If you find anything, shout. Nobody can see us from the main road, and the trees block us on every other side. We can risk it.”

  He agreed. Thick, full trees lined the perimeter on three sides, shielding them from view. This rear part of the cemetery abutted a more residential street. Keeping the same cadence as before, Parker bent over and jogged from one tombstone to the next, this time lugging his shovel along. Each of the thirty rows stretched roughly ten deep, giving them another six hundred or so chances. They had two names. One had to come up soon.

  A cloud covered the moon, reducing their visibility. He groaned inwardly and leaned closer to each gravestone he passed. No time to stop now. The Germans could be right behind them, though how they’d find their prey scurrying through a graveyard in the dead of night, so to speak, was beyond him. Which meant nothing at all. One mistake, one piece of bad luck, and this was his last adventure. He considered it, then blinked in surprise when he realized that the knot of worry in his gut hadn’t made him think of what Erika would say. Tonight, Jane’s face appeared.

  “Huh,” he said, shaking his head. That’s when he caught his foot on the corner of a grave marker. He sprawled forward, arms flailing to avoid leaving his teeth in the dirt. Cool grass met his face as he crashed down. His shovel had vanished. Before he could brush the dirt from his chin, he heard Jane shouting.

  “Where are you?” she bellowed, loud enough to carry across the entire cemetery. “Parker?”

  He stood up and waved his arms, risking using the light to get her attention and make her be quiet. She steamed over at a run, somehow managing to arrive upright. “Did you find it?” They were near the tree line on this side, dangerously close enough to the road.

  “Shh.” He put a finger over his lips. “No. I tripped,” he whispered.

  “You tripped?” she hissed incredulously. “What was all the banging for?”

  “I dropped my shovel. Do you see it?”

  “You lost your shovel. Great.” Grumbling, Jane turned her light to the ground. “Which way did it go?”

  “Toward you,” he said. His light joined hers. “I lost my grip when—”

  “Here it is.” She bent down with her back to him. “Try not to give us…”

  There it is. He grabbed his lost shovel and brushed more dirt from his pants. The ground was soft here, loose and loamy. At least it would be easy to dig. “I’ll be more careful.” She didn’t respond. He looked up to see her standing still as a statue. “Are you okay?”

  “Get over here.”

  Circling a tombstone with care, he caught his foot on something and nearly pitched forward again. He reached down and snatched up a shovel. Jane’s. “This is your shovel. I just about broke my—”

  “Be quiet.” Jane grabbed his arm and practically hurled him to the ground. “That stone. What does it say?” Her light was aimed at a tombstone.

  “Move over a bit. Your shadow is…” He blinked in the dark. “Lukas Eberle. Born 1881. Died 1945.”

  “That’s not all. Look at this.” She ran a finger over the adjacent headstone. “Hannah Herzog. 1893 to 1945.”

  He barely had a chance to blink before she jumped into his arms, nearly squeezing the life out of him as he dropped their tools. “We found them,” she said, then released him. “This makes perfect sense. The road is close, but blocked by trees. Easy access for vehicles and secluded enough no one would see you digging. Or doing whatever happened here.”

  “Well, we’d better get digging, then.” He grabbed their shovels and tossed one to Jane. She barehanded the tool and then spun it in a tight circle like a majorette’s baton. “We have until the sun comes up.”

  Both blades bit into the soft earth. “Don’t throw it far,” Jane said, meaning the dirt. “We need to refill these before we leave.”

  “Not a chance.” Parker tossed more dirt aside. “Did you forget about the Germans on our tail? We might find the Holy Grail or nothing but bones. Either way, we’re out of here in short order. It’s not like the groundskeepers won’t notice freshly turned earth anyway.”

  She tossed dirt at his feet. They set to it, earth flying on both sides of the grave plot, stopping only when headlights came into view and then resuming when they passed. Within minutes sweat rolled down Parker’s forehead and stung his eyes. His hands blistered, the wind picked up, and more than once he nearly lost a few toes after getting his foot in front of Jane’s shovel.

  “This is slow going.” Parker wiped the salty liquid from his eyes and checked the time. “Only an hour in. Three more until sunrise. We can do this.”

  The deeper they dug, the harder it became to make progress; the earth farther below the surface was packed tight, with less rainwater penetration to loosen it. The blister on Parker’s hand grew larger than a silver dollar. He stopped, felt the first pang of doubt creep in, then shook his head. No time for that now. The cemetery was still empty; no cars had stopped on the road, and there were no curious pedestrians on the sidewalks, no barking dogs to give them away. There would never be a better chance than now, with the Germans playing catch-up and the graveyard all to themselves. This was their shot.

  He lifted his shovel and slammed it down, then cursed with pain as his shovel hit something solid.

  Jane jumped, and Parker bit his lip hard enough to taste blood. “I hit a rock,” he said through clenched teeth. “Feels like a boulder.”

  “Stop complaining.” Jane stepped over and lifted her shovel. “I’m sure you can—” Thunk. Her teeth must have vibrated. “That’s not a rock,” she said.

  Parker dropped down and reached into the hole. “Feels like wood. Turn your light on.”

  Jane aimed her penlight over his shoulder. Sloped wooden boards came into view. “It’s a chest. A wooden chest, with metal bands on the top. Look, there’s a lock on it.”

  “Move aside.” Jane slipped her shovel blade in front of the box, wiggling it back and forth. No dice. “It’s stuck.”

  “Dig around the sides. We need more room.”

  They worked feverishly until the chest – three feet long and half as deep – was freed. Metal bands framed a rounded lid, with a lock on the front keeping the box latched tight.

  “There are handles on the side,” Parker said. He reached in again and grabbed the one closest to him. “I have this one. Can you reach the other?” Jane could. “Try to lift it.” They counted to three and heaved. The box barely budged. Parker threw more dirt out, and this time they pulled the chest halfway out before their grips gave way. “That thing is heavy.” Parker wiped a forearm across his face. “Use your shovel as a lever. Lift the end and I’ll slide the box up and out. Easier than lifting it straight up.”

  Jane pushed and cursed until her shovel blade was beneath the chest.

  “Lean on it,” Parker said. He yanked the chest’s handle, and as every muscle in his arm screamed, the chest began to skid up and out of the hole. “I almost have it.”

  Jane’s feet came off the ground as she leaned her entire weight on the handle of her shovel, giving Parker enough of an angle to slide the box up and out of the hole. He fell over backwards as a wooden crack announced Jane’s shovel was no more.

  “We got it,” he said, with the chest between his legs. Jane held a broken shovel handle which now resembled a spear. The blade remained in the grave. The clouds shifted and the moon reappeared.

  “We’re down to one shovel,” Jane said, tossing her spear to the side. “Help me get this lid open. Use your shovel to bash the lock off.”

  “And break our only shovel? We aren�
�t done digging yet.” He pointed into the grave.

  Jane gasped as his penlight illuminated a second chest. “They’re buried on top of the coffin,” she said. “There could be even more. Don’t break that shovel.”

  Parker dug with a vengeance, soon exposing the second chest. With difficulty, they managed to get it up to ground level; it had to weigh three hundred pounds. A third chest appeared beside the second, and they hauled it up too.

  “That’s the last one.” Parker jammed his shovel in the dirt and leaned on it, breathing hard. “Let’s open these before I start digging in the other grave.”

  “What makes you think I can’t dig up the other grave?”

  In the dark he couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. He was too tired to care. “Have at it.” He tossed the shovel her way, only to have it come flying back. “Hey, that hurt.”

  “There is no chance I’m leaving these unopened.” She floated through the dark to appear at his side. Her eyes glowed in the moonlight. “This is Claus Elser’s last prize.”

  “And our ticket back to a normal life.” He blinked, looking in every direction. “If we turn this over to the press, at least. Then those Germans won’t be able to come after us so easily.”

  “Worry about that later.” Jane knelt by the chests and inspected the locks. “These are serious. We could use your gun and shoot them off.”

  “I have a better idea.” He dug in a pocket for the key he’d found inside Claus’s journal. “I found this in Claus’s house in Pittsburgh.” He gave her the story, then braced himself for another punch in the arm.

  “I will kiss you if that works,” she said, to his astonishment. “Give it to me.” Jane held out her hand and he put the key into her palm. “I need light,” she said, hunching down in front of one chest. Then she paused, the key hovering in front of the lock. She looked up at him uncertainly.

  “It will work,” he said. “Go for it.”

  She did. The key went in with a screech that made his teeth ache.