by William Kerr
There was a second woman, shorter than the other, with her back to him. Broadly built but shapely, she wore a silky, form-fitting, black dress that offset her reddish blond hair. Something about her seemed familiar, but what? And from where? And when? If she’d turn around, perhaps he could identify her—but at that moment he saw Eric Bruder turn in his direction, an arrogant sneer on his face.
“You were right, Steve,” Matt said, focusing on Bruder as Brandy approached, stopping here and there to speak briefly with several other attendees. “The BMW convertible—Eric Bruder. And there’s that fat-assed sonofabitchin’ senator I told you about. But who the hell is the woman they’re with?”
“In the pantsuit? That gorgeous-looking lady, my friend, is Starla Shoemaker. Quite a looker, huh?”
“Looker’s not the half of it. And the other woman? Something familiar about her, but—”
“What other woman?”
When Matt looked back, the woman in black was no longer there. Nor was Bruder. He looked around the crowd, but could find neither. “She’s gone. Bruder, too. Anyway, the Shoemaker woman? How do you know it’s her?”
“Her picture’s on the Florida Times-Union fashion page or in the society section at least once a month.”
“Whose picture’s in the paper?” Brandy asked, finally arriving and giving Matt a quick embrace and the breeze of a kiss on the cheek. “Was wondering if you’d make it. Mr. Park told me about Ashley—a terrible thing—and what happened to you. He said you’d been released, but didn’t know where you’d gone.”
Turning to Park, she repeated, “Whose picture? Certainly not mine.”
Park nodded in Starla Shoemaker’s direction. “Mrs. Shoemaker’s.” Extending his hand, Park added, “And I’m Steve Park, Dr. Mason. Been looking forward to meeting you.”
Brandy briefly took Park’s offered hand. “Likewise, I’m sure. Matt’s often spoken of you.” Turning back to Matt, she said, “You certainly don’t look like you’ve had the problems I’ve heard about.”
“I hide them well, and you look different. The dress. The colors, and your hair. I’ve never seen you so lovely. Not the conservative Brandy Mason I know.”
Smiling, Brandy clasped the sides of her skirt with her fingers and spread the material to show the colors. “A caftan, the colors to remind me of my West African heritage. Decided it’s time for me to break out of my shell. Places to go; things to do and see. I’ve handed my resignation to the governor, effective first of December.”
Matt’s eyes grew wide with surprise. “Resignation?”
“Let’s just say my uh…ship has come in, and life is about to take a turn for the better.”
Giving Brandy the old Berkeley evil eye, he said with a certain amount of deliberate concern in his voice, “I trust it’s not the AFI ship that’s come in.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just that life’s too short to get in a rut, and when fate smiles…A life of my own, doing what I want to do.”
“How’s that?”
“You might say, I’ve had certain offers that I couldn’t refuse, offers I’m not at liberty to discuss at the moment, even with you, Matt. One thing’s for certain, no more day-in, day-out state politics.”
Matt let out a huge sigh of relief. “I thought…” He laughed at his suspicions. “I thought you were in cahoots with the Shoemakers, AFI, and that bootlicking state senator over there. Thank God I was wrong.” Matt put both arms around Brandy and gave her a quick hug. “But getting back to my problems, other than what Steve might have told you, what problems have you heard about and from whom?”
Brandy clasped Matt’s hand in an affectionate squeeze. “Come now, Matt, the archaeology community is so small and close-knit, it’s difficult for word not to get around. I was terribly sorry to hear about Ashley. But there were also the deaths of your friends, in Washington I believe. And your being held by the police, out on bail. All that has happened. That’s really why I didn’t expect to see you tonight.”
“As I said, I hide it well. As for who’s been telling you, Bruder’s my guess.” From the corner of his eye, Matt took in Senator Jameson and Starla Shoemaker across the room, drinks in hand, the two of them looking in his direction and talking among themselves. About him? he wondered. Returning his attention to Brandy, he continued, “I have an idea Bruder knows more about a lot of things—things he’s not telling you. I think he’s using you and the state’s Division of Historical Resources.”
Matt saw Brandy give him a sideways glance that signified What do you mean?
“He’s Henry Shoemaker’s man, and if not, he’s hers.” Matt nodded toward Starla Shoemaker.
Matt could see an immediate frown of annoyance on Brandy’s face as she said, “That, Matthew Berkeley, is ridiculous.” Touching Park’s arm, she said, “Hope you’re not listening to him, Mr. Park. Matt’s imagination has a tendency to run wild at times.” To Matt, she added, “It’s the same way you acted toward Senator Jameson in my office. Uncalled for and, in that case, inexcusable.”
With Park a few feet behind, Matt took Brandy by the arm and not too gently led her closer to the door. “I didn’t come here to argue with you, Brandy. More to the point, Steve and I’ve been inside the submarine.”
Brandy tore her arm from Matt’s grasp and whirled around, her face in Matt’s. “You’ve what?” Heads immediately turned in their directions at the sound of her voice.
“Damn it, Brandy, hold it down. Steve, show her what we found.”
Brandy’s eyes glared with anger at Matt, then at Steve, her voice lowered but just as sharp. “What did you find?”
Park took a five-by-seven-inch envelope from inside his jacket, opened the flap, extracted several color photographs, and handed them to Brandy.
After a cursory glance at each of the pictures, she asked, “What are you showing me?”
Park pointed to the first photograph and explained, “Emblems on the side of the conning tower of a WW Two German U-boat Matt’s pretty sure is the U-Twenty-five thirty-seven. The second photo, a gold ingot we found inside the submarine.”
“You have it?” Brandy demanded, her eyebrows furrowed in both surprise and anger, each word fired through clenched teeth like a blunt-nosed bullet. “You have this gold ingot?”
“Yes, we have it, Brandy,” Matt answered, his eyes locked on hers. “Evidence, which will be turned over to the right people.”
“Right people? I am the right people, Matthew.”
“Normally, I’d say yes, but this is a German warship. The Abandoned Shipwreck Act of Nineteen Eighty-seven states it very clearly. Even within the three-mile limit, the Feds continue to hold title to sunken U. S. warships and other shipwrecks entitled to sovereign immunity. You know that as well as I do.”
In an obvious effort to at least limit the confrontation, Park inserted himself verbally between Matt and Brandy. “Unfortunately, from the looks of the wooden cases broken up and lying on the deck of the torpedo room, somebody else got there before us. Antiquity Finders, we’re sure. It’s apparent at least one, maybe more, of the wooden cases holding the gold was broken open. The ingot in the photograph was all that was left. Probably accidentally kicked under one of the torpedo racks, and they missed it.”
Brandy looked at the photographs. “The markings?”
“The skull, crossbones, and swastika indicate the SS Death’s Head Units,” Park answered, “the ones who ran the death camps during World War Two. The A and B…” He pointed to the tiny letters. “They indicate Auschwitz Birkenau, the camp where the ingot was cast. The thumbprint—”
Brandy interrupted, “And the other photograph?”
“A very long story,” Matt said. “The main thing is that a German U-boat is down there. It’s a tomb for sailors and at least one Nazi SS officer. From all appearances, watertight since the time it disappeared until the AFI crowd opened the hatches and flooded the thing.”
“Sometime in the last week or two,” Park added. “With the
exception of that one ingot, it’s probable that whatever gold or other items of value might have been on the sub are gone.”
Slipping the photographs in her purse, Brandy turned and took several steps before stopping. With hands on her hips, she stood for a moment as though allowing her thoughts to mix with the hum of conversation around the room. Suddenly, she turned back to Matt and Steve Park. Very softly, she said, “I’m sorry I blew up. I’ve tried to protect—” Brandy caught herself. “You’ve broken the law, both of you, but at least you’ve come to me with what you’ve found.”
“Too much respect for you not to, Brandy,” Matt said. “It’s AFI you and the Feds want to stomp on, not Steve and me. But you started to say something about protect. Protect what…or who?”
Brandy quickly shook her head. “Nothing. Freudian slip, I suppose. I’m always trying to protect the state’s past, but as for AFI, I can take care of that,” she responded. After a momentary pause, she asked, “Besides gold and, of course, the bodies of the men who died in there, and simply the historical and archeological significance of the submarine, do you think there’s anything else of value to be found?”
Matt studied Brandy’s face, trying to determine what she meant. At the same time, Hannah Richter’s words about an important document being picked up in Berlin kept running through his mind. “Why do you ask?”
Brandy shrugged. “Simple intellectual curiosity. Ship’s log, personal letters, et cetera, et cetera, that might have been preserved from the water?”
Before Matt could answer, Park said, “Supposedly, some kind of important papers affecting postwar efforts by the Nazis. A friend of Matt’s in Germany is checking that angle for us.”
“What kind of important papers?”
“We don’t know,” Matt said hurriedly, not wanting to divulge anything further. “If there were such papers, they’re probably pretty much ruined by now.”
“You’re right,” Brandy agreed. “First, no more entering the submarine. Promise, and I’ll make certain no charges will be brought against you.”
“If that was first, what’s second?” Matt asked.
“Second, I’m tied up the next day or so, but I want you in my office…” She paused a moment as though counting. “This is Monday…In my office, both of you, on Friday. No later than one p.m. And bring the ingot. Understand?”
“Understood.”
“And third, say nothing of our conversation or the ingot. If the Shoemakers and AFI know what you’ve found, it could ruin any case I’ll have against them.”
“Thought you were resigning,” Matt said. “Getting ready to grab life by the horns.”
“Until I leave office, AFI will be my primary concern. You can take that to the bank. Now go before you start a row with Eric, Senator Jameson, or both.”
“See you Friday,” Matt said. Taking Brandy’s hand, he added, “Be careful and be sure of who you contact on this. There’s not a doubt in my mind that AFI’s behind the death of my wife, and if they think you’re gonna stand in their way, they’ll kill you, too.”
Halfway along the hotel’s front lobby en route to the exit, Starla was surprised to hear “Eric, Mrs. Shoemaker, a word, please.” Turning, she saw Brandy Mason hurrying from an open elevator.
“Yes, Doctor?” Starla answered.
As Brandy joined them, she said, “If we could move to the side away from the main corridor.” They followed Brandy to an empty reading alcove as far from the front desk as possible. “I’m staying overnight. Returning to Tallahassee tomorrow, but I’ve a question.”
Starla eyed Brandy suspiciously. “What?”
“There’s something on that submarine you haven’t told me about, isn’t there?”
“Whatever you’re thinking,” Starla said, “we’ve already agreed on the amount you’re to get for looking the other way. A rather extravagant sum, I might add. What we take that is not directly associated with the submarine itself is of no concern to you.”
“The gold,” Brandy said, at the same time producing Matt’s photograph of the gold ingot from her purse. “Knowing Eric and the senator, the above normal interest they’ve had in this thing, and the actions taken to scare Matt Berkeley off, I thought as much from the beginning. I now know the source of the gold and want nothing to do with it. But you, Eric, I’ve always known you were a self-centered, greedy little bastard.”
Bruder’s face turned red with anger. “You stupid black—”
Starla’s arm flew up against Eric’s chest, holding him back. “That’s enough, Eric. If not the gold, Dr. Mason,” Starla said, her face showing lines of impatience, but her voice and manner still very much in control, “what are you saying?”
“A document. On the submarine. Something of great value. Perhaps something to be used by those who escaped after the war?” Brandy waited for a response, but when none came, she continued, “Eric’s told me, only a few more dives. If you’ve already taken the gold, is that why? To find this supposedly valuable document?”
“Is that what you and Berkeley and that man Park were talking about?” Eric asked, his voice more malicious than angry.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Brandy said. “Matt will be in my office on Friday with the ingot he found on the submarine. I’ll see that you get it. I have no interest in the gold,” Brandy continued. “As long as you pay what you’ve promised, I’ll take care of Matt, but if there are papers on that submarine dealing with the war, papers that have survived the water, historically relevant papers, for example, plans for a Fourth Reich—”
Eric laughed. “And what would you do with them, Doctor?”
“They’d secure my place in the world of archaeology. They’d give me—”
“And if we say no?” Bruder interrupted. “If we say we’ll take what we want, what will you do, Dr. Brandy Mason? Send us to jail?” His laughter was as contemptuous as the smirk on his face. “I think not. You’re in as deep as we are.”
“Dr. Mason,” Starla said, “this discussion has gone far enough. The funds we agreed upon were deposited a week ago in an account established in your name. A bank in Georgetown, Grand Cayman. You will receive the name of the bank and the account number as soon as we conclude our business with the submarine.”
“But I—”
“Let me finish. Should you decide to take actions to disrupt our business, a state audit of your department’s books, already tentatively scheduled by dear Eric, will reflect certain irregularities, namely state funds embezzled by one Dr. Brandy Mason.”
“…along with information about your mysterious Grand Cayman account,” Bruder added, the smugness in his voice as irritating to Starla as it was to Brandy.
Ignoring Bruder, Starla said with finality, “If you have nothing more to say, Doctor, Eric and I have other business this evening, so we’ll bid you good night.”
After leaving the hotel, Bruder gave the valet the ticket to retrieve the BMW convertible. While waiting, Starla said, “On the ship the other night, I may have been a bit hasty in signing Mr. Berkeley’s death warrant.”
“Oh?”
“It’s evident he’s learned about the documents, apparently while in Germany. Whether or not he knows the subject matter and significance is debatable, but he does know something was or is down there.”
“I don’t think—”
“I’ll do the thinking, Eric, and I think it’s time for you to do whatever you have to do to lure Mr. Berkeley back to the submarine.”
“Why? What good’ll that do?”
A faint smile crossed Starla’s face as she remembered the way Matt looked at her in the Jacksonville Room earlier that evening. “Not only do I find our Mr. Berkeley attractive in an earthy kind of way, but more importantly he seems the total survivor, no matter what we do.”
Eric grunted a deep-throated, “Harumph. If it hadn’t been for Dr. Mason’s squeamishness, I would have killed him along with his wife and that muscle-bound Neanderthal, Striker.”
Starla ign
ored Eric’s outburst. “He seems to always be one step ahead of us, or certainly not far behind, so why not use him? Perhaps he can find the document where you and your divers failed.”
Eric shook his head and exhaled a deep sigh. “You’ve got to be more consistent, Starla. The clock is already running.” Eric looked at his watch. “Berkeley and Park left a good thirty minutes ago. It’s possible they’re already dead.”
“What?”
Eric spread his hands in a show of helplessness. “You said kill him. Doing what you wanted, I had them followed. When I left the meeting, I made a phone call. My orders were your orders. Kill him and the Park man.”
“Damn!”
As the convertible pulled to the curb beneath the porte cochere, Starla shoved Eric toward the valet stepping from the car and commanded, “Stop them, Eric. Whoever it is, whatever you have to do, stop them.”
Eric pushed the valet out of the way and reached through the doorway for the cell phone mounted on the car’s dash. “I’ll try, Starla. I’ll try, but it could be too late.”
CHAPTER 41
“Hey, Race, your cell phone’s ringin’,” Peanut said out of the side of his mouth. His eyes were playing tag with the high-speed swish of the windshield wipers while trying to keep the white Jeep Grand Cherokee in sight.
“Yeah, I know,” Race growled, his concentration also on the SUV in front of them. “Only person’s got this number’s that fucking Kraut-head Bruder. Jes keep your eyes on the friggin’ Jeep. I’ll call Bruder when the job’s done.”
If anything, the rain was heavier since Matt had turned off I-95 onto the Butler Boulevard expressway. Surprisingly there was little traffic for so early in the evening, except for the headlights that had been with him since his exit from the interstate. “Wish this guy would go ahead and pass,” he said to Park, who had his eyes closed and was keeping time with Billy Joel on soft rock FM-96. “Either a helluva big SUV or pickup, or he’s got his high beams on.”