Rhineland Inheritance

by T. Davis Bunn

  “I will write the letters tonight,” Jake replied. “And send the couriers off at first light.”

  The German inspected him carefully. “You are taking a risk, yes?”

  “This entire episode will probably cost me my rank,” Jake replied soberly. “Maybe earn me a tour of duty behind bars.”

  “Then why do you do this?”

  “I have my reasons,” Jake said, rising to his feet. “When can I have your answer?”

  “In the morning,” Konrad replied. “I shall think about your request and tell you my decision in the morning. Perhaps your colonel will have come back by then.”

  “Perhaps,” Jake said, unconvinced.

  “You think he has run away and left you with all the risks?”

  “No,” Jake replied, definite for the first time that night. “Colonel Beecham is a good man.”

  “He may be, Captain,” Konrad said, stretching out on his mattress. “But my trust lies in you. Good-night.”

  Jake marched back downstairs, stopped by Sally’s door, and asked, “Any word?”

  “He seems to have vanished from the face of the earth,” Sally replied. She ran tired hands through her hair. “It’s as if he had never even existed.”

  “Go get some sleep,” he told her.

  “What about you?” she responded. “You look ready to join the ranks of the walking wounded.”

  “That was an order,” he said.

  “Well, in that case—” She groaned her way to her feet, patting his arm as she passed on the way to the door. “Good-night, Commander.”

  “I’m just a simple soldier,” Jake corrected.

  “Not anymore,” she replied. “Try to get some rest, Jake. From the looks of things, tomorrow is going to be a long day.”

  * * *

  But when at last he was bedded down in the HQ’s visiting officers’ quarters, Jake found himself unable to calm his mind. As he rolled restlessly back and forth, he heard Pierre’s voice calling softly through the darkness, “Are you asleep?”

  “No.”

  “Worried about the treasure?”

  Jake shook his head, then realized that Pierre could not see him. “No.”

  “What, then?”

  “Sally,” he confessed.

  “I suppose I should be jealous,” Pierre said. “I confess that I am not.”

  “Girl back home?”

  “There was, back when the war began. But I lost her.”

  “Sorry to hear that,” Jake said, and recalled his own loss.

  “When I think of her, which I try to do as seldom as possible, it is with great regret.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  “Yes, I believe you. Perhaps that is why I can speak with you, that and the cloak of darkness which surrounds us. It hides my shame from the world.”

  “Shame over what?”

  “It is said that some people are destined to love only once. I fear that I am not only such a man, but, I also loved the wrong woman. A lovely lady, truly beautiful. Half French, half Moroccan. But also treacherous. It still pains me deeply to think of her. Perhaps it always will.”

  “I know it’s hard to believe,” Jake said, and laced his fingers behind his head. “But you’ll get over it. I did.”

  Pierre was silent for a moment, then said, “I marvel at you sometimes, my friend.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “Because you care.” Pierre’s bed creaked as he shifted around. “You have seen the worst of war and still you are alive inside. How have you managed this?”

  “I don’t know that I have,” Jake replied quietly.

  “You have, my friend. I see it in your eyes. I see it in the way you look at Sally. I see it when you are with the children. I have no doubts. None.”

  “Sometimes,” Jake said slowly, “I remember . . . things.”

  “Ah, yes. Things. I have memories like these as well.” The springs squeaked beneath Pierre as he raised himself up on one elbow. The white of his T-shirt and the dog tags hanging around his neck glinted in the faint light coming through their window. “I was seventeen when the Nazis invaded my country and made a laughingstock of the French army. I have never felt such helplessness as I did in those days, glued to the wireless, unable to do anything but cry and curse as Petain announced his capitulation to the Boche.”

  “Where were you raised?” Jake asked.

  “Montpellier. West of Marseille. I ran away from home four days later. I caught a freighter to Algiers with a hundred other boys, all of us fired by the rumor that De Gaulle was gathering an expeditionary force to return and liberate my country.”

  “Did you have any brothers and sisters?”

  “One brother. We were twins. He remained behind and joined the Underground. He was caught and shot in the last year of the war.” Pierre’s voice turned bitter. “I languished in Algiers for two years. Two years. I watched my friends give in to the hopelessness and the drink and the emptiness of life. But I fought it, my friend. I fought the only way I knew how. By hating. I hated the life. I hated the heat. I hated the foul things these losers did to their minds and bodies. I hated the politicians and the generals for their endless bickering. And I hated the Boche most of all.”

  “But you survived,” Jake reminded him. “Don’t forget that.”

  “Yes, it’s true. But sometimes, Jake, when I look at you and see how you still care, I wonder if perhaps some part of me was destroyed by all that hating. My hatred is gone now. I lost it somewhere on the battlefield. It was burned up in the smoking ruins of another village whose name I don’t recall. But nothing has come to take its place, Jake. Inside me now there is only emptiness.”

  Jake thought of his own struggles. “The chaplain told me to find the answers in prayer.”

  “Yes?” Pierre swung himself into a seated position. “And what do you think of that?”

  “I don’t know,” Jake confessed. “But maybe I’ll give it a try.”

  “But why, Jake? If you are not sure, how can you risk so much on the ramblings of a priest?”

  “Because,” Jake said, choosing his words carefully, “every time I look inside myself or let myself care, what I feel most is pain.”

  “Yes,” Pierre murmured. “This pain I know very well. Too well.”

  Jake turned toward his unseen friend, an appeal in his voice. “I’ve got to try to find some way to be healed, Pierre. I’ve got to make this pain go away before I can start over.”

  “And you truly think this pain can be healed?” Pierre demanded.

  “I’ve got to try,” Jake repeated quietly.

  Pierre slid back down, sighed, and said to the dark night, “Then perhaps I shall give this a try as well.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “You have heard from your colonel?” Konrad demanded when Jake arrived the next morning.

  “Not a word,” Jake replied, making no attempt to conceal his anxiety. He handed Konrad a steaming mug of coffee and sat down across the table from him. “The couriers have left for the border internment stations. I can’t promise anything, but at least we are trying to have your partners released.”

  The German sipped, making his painful swallowing effort, then rasped, “But I have agreed to nothing.”

  Jake reached into his pocket and handed over a sheaf of folded papers. “Call it a sign of good will,” he said. “Your documents, as promised.”

  With slow, deliberate motions, Konrad set down his cup and opened the papers. He looked at them for a long moment, then, without raising his head, said, “Very well, Captain. I agree.”

  Jake leaned back, releasing a sigh. “That’s it, then.”

  The German pulled damaged facial muscles into the semblance of a smile. “No, Captain, that is where you are wrong. It is only the beginning.”

  * * *

  When he left Jurgen Konrad’s chambers, Jake walked outside for a breath of air. Konrad’s news had shaken him to the core. He stepped through the doors into brilliant winter
sunlight. It took him a moment to focus. When he did, he found himself staring out over a field of green uniforms. All eyes were upon him.

  Sergeant Morrows mounted the stairs. “I guess word got out, sir.”

  Jake surveyed the throng. “Is anybody shirking their duty?”

  “Not so far as I can tell,” Pierre replied from below. “I’ve checked with as many of the department chiefs as I can find.”

  Jake raised his voice and said, “If anybody is out here expecting to go home rich, you might as well return to your barracks.”

  No one moved.

  “You know how the army works,” Jake continued in his parade-ground voice. “Maybe your great-grandchildren might get a penny on the dollar, but it’s highly unlikely. If the treasure really is there—and we don’t have any guarantee that it exists at all—the bigwigs will be quarreling over it from now ’til doomsday.”

  The soldiers remained where they were. A voice from somewhere in the crowd called back, “We know that, sir.”

  “You will all be searched thoroughly,” Jake persisted. “Don’t think for a minute you’ll be able to sneak something out.”

  They remained a solid wall of fatigue green. “All right,” Jake relented. “Captain Servais and Sergeant Morrows will act as liaison. Everybody is dismissed. Platoon leaders, report to the squad room in fifteen minutes. Anybody caught shirking duty will be flailed alive—by me personally. Dismissed.”

  Jake walked back inside the headquarters building and said to no one in particular, “Would somebody mind telling me what’s going on?”

  “It’s very simple,” Sally replied, coming up beside him. “They know a leader when they see one.”

  * * *

  Jake unfolded the city map on the colonel’s desk. “This is the best we’ve got?”

  Sally nodded. “About a quarter of the streets don’t exist anymore. Nothing’s there but fields of scrap and waste. Survey has marked most of them.”

  “All right, then it will just have to do.”

  “Why couldn’t it have been somewhere else?” Pierre muttered to himself.

  “Because it isn’t,” Jake said, his finger tracing possible routes.

  “And you’re sure this isn’t just a ruse?”

  “Konrad insists he’s giving us the scoop,” Jake replied. “He says he even took a shipment in there himself just before the Allies arrived. One of the officers back on leave used him as a pair of trusted hands.”

  “What was it like?”

  “Stolen Nazi loot from floor to ceiling, by the sound of it.” Jake covered his own excitement with a scowl. “But you’re right. They really picked the spot.”

  Morrows knocked on the open door. “The men are all assembled, sir.”

  “Right. Grab that map, Pierre. Anybody seen my hat?”

  Sally walked over and handed it to him. “Here you are, sir.”

  “Thanks. Are you coming?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Sally replied, her eyes bright, “sir.”

  Jake marched into the meeting hall and straight to the podium. The gathered squad and platoon leaders snapped to attention as he entered. “At ease,” he said, taking strength from the fact that his voice remained steady.

  He waited until Pierre, Sally, and Morrows were seated. Then he went on. “I’ve got good news and bad news. The good news is that it appears there is indeed a larger stash of treasure inside the city.”

  There was a moment’s electric silence, then a raised hand. “Yes?”

  “How large is large, sir?”

  “I don’t have the exact figures,” Jake replied. “But from the sound of it, big enough to set off alarms from here to Madagascar.”

  A stir rippled through the group. “Settle down,” Jake said. “You haven’t heard the bad news yet. And believe me, it couldn’t be worse. Captain Servais?”

  With Sergeant Morrows’ help, Pierre unfolded the large-scale map and held it up against the back wall. Jake walked over and pointed to an area, “The treasure is supposed to be located right here. Does anybody recognize the place?”

  People half-rose from their seats as they strained and searched and finally started in alarm. “Sir, isn’t that—?”

  “That’s right, gentlemen,” Jake affirmed. “The treasure is right smack-dab underneath the stockade.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “Nobody moves without an order from me, Sergeant Morrows,” Jake said, climbing into the second jeep beside Pierre.

  “But, sir—”

  “I’ll be back,” Jake assured him.

  “I will personally see to that,” Pierre confirmed.

  “But just six men, Captain, ain’t that—”

  “We can’t tip them off, Sergeant.” Jake stopped further conversation by rapping his knuckles on the side of the jeep. “Let’s go.”

  When they arrived at the feeding station they found it in full swing, manned by the ten men Morrows considered most likely to keep a lid on their excitement. Still, despite the warnings, their arrival caused a major stir.

  “Back to your positions, gentlemen,” Jake ordered, his voice low. “We are being watched.”

  On the other side of the street a squad of MPs loitered around a couple of jeeps. They watched Jake’s arrival through narrowed eyes, but made no move. Jake helped Sally down from the jeep and murmured, “Do you see Karl?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I’ll check around,” Pierre said.

  “Not alone,” Jake reminded him, and turned with Sally toward the créche.

  Inside, all was normal and calm, or as calm as any room could be that held twenty-eight infants under the age of four. Sally was immediately engulfed in a press of little figures, their voices raised, their hands lifted to touch and be recognized and receive attention. Jake stood back and watched the transformation in her face, saw the love shining in her eyes, and felt himself a thousand miles from where he would like to be. When Pierre returned he walked over and asked, “Did you find Karl?”

  “Outside. How do you want to handle this?”

  “Not here.” Jake pulled out pen and paper, scribbled a note, and handed it to Pierre. “Give him that.”

  When Pierre was gone, Jake turned back to the gathering of happy little girls. “Sally?”

  “I think I’ll stay awhile, Jake,” she replied.

  “I’ll tell the kitchen detail to pick you up on their way out.”

  “All right.” For a moment, a brief moment that seemed an eternity yet was over as soon as it began, she granted him the same look of love and tenderness she had bestowed upon the little girls. “Take care, Jake.”

  “I will,” he replied, and because he could not say the other things tumbling through his mind, and did not want to risk seeing that look vanish from her eyes, he turned and left.

  Jake walked across the vacant lot and pretended to inspect the kitchen. He accepted the smart salutes and brisk replies with an assumed calm. From the corner of his eyes he noted the MPs tracking his every step. When he deemed that the charade had continued long enough, he returned with his guard detail to the jeep.

  “Where to?” Pierre asked.

  “Head back toward HQ,” Jake replied, determinedly keeping his gaze off the MPs. “Take it slow.”

  They were perhaps three blocks away from the center and rounding a corner when Karl and two of his companions popped up from behind the waist-high remains of a house. “Slower,” Jake ordered, and then barked in German, “Move!”

  The jeep continued rolling as the trio scrambled over the wall, covered the distance, and piled into the back. Jake signaled to the jeep behind them that all was well, checked swiftly for spying eyes, found none, and shouted, “Go!”

  The kids sat bright-eyed and excited as they sped back out of town. Jake directed Pierre to turn down a dirt track not far from the HQ. When the second jeep had halted behind them, Jake turned to Karl and said in German, “We got the man.”

  “And the treasure, I hope,
” Karl said in his accustomed sharp tone. But the gleam in his eyes was strong. “The man is nothing without his hoard.”

  “That too,” Jake agreed. “Or part of it, at least.”

  “And where is the rest?”

  “That is what I want to speak to you about,” Jake replied, reaching for the map. He folded it out to the appropriate section, pointed to the building with the circle drawn around it, and asked, “Do you know where this is?”

  Clearly the boy had never been challenged in this way before. “I don’t—”

  “The stockade,” Jake said.

  “Where the white hats gather. Of course.” Karl bent over the incomprehensible map. “They have taken the treasure there?”

  “Not exactly,” Jake replied. “The place used to be a bank. According to Herr Konrad, the bank’s vault was in the cellar. What was not so well known was that they had also constructed a second cellar. Directly underneath the main vault.”

  Karl reacted with a hunter’s eager tension. “A secret vault.”

  “Very secret,” Jake agreed. “So secret not even the bank employees themselves knew of it.”

  “How was it reached?”

  “Through a tunnel,” Jake answered. “This much we know for sure. A tunnel at least forty paces long. With stairs leading to it.”

  “The man has seen this tunnel?”

  “His name is Jurgen Konrad,” Jake said. “And the answer is no, not exactly. Toward the end of the war, he was taken down there by his employer, who wished to get an inventory of some of his treasure and to make sure nothing had been stolen. He trusted Konrad enough to enlist his help, but before they began the journey, a hood was placed over Konrad’s head. Though he couldn’t see he could still hear, and he knows he was led through a narrow concrete tunnel before entering the vault itself.”

  “So how does he know that the vault is located there?”

  “He says he heard them boasting,” Jake replied. “Every time the officers would gather and drink too much, their talk would turn at one point or another to the cache beneath the bank.”

  The girl with Karl demanded, “And the treasure is still there?”