The Stolen

by T. S. Learner

  ‘Is this real?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Latcos whistled in appreciation. ‘I’ve never seen a real one, although I’ve manufactured a few fake ones. Heavy, isn’t it?’ He held it up under a lamp and peered at the gold filigree work that covered the top half. ‘Such fine work.’ He was about to slip it into his pocket when Matthias grabbed his wrist. Reluctantly Latcos returned the egg to its stand.

  Matthias walked over to the clock collection on the side table. On the far side sat the clock that symbolised Water and next to it was the timepiece that represented Earth. Then came Fire and lastly Air. He wondered why he’d never really noticed their design before. Was it because they were always Christoph’s domain, emblematic of his great need to control the environment around him, perhaps even Time itself?

  ‘They are beautiful.’ Latcos’s whisper right beside him jolted Matthias back into the room.

  ‘Commissioned by Marie Antoinette and almost two hundred years old. Water, Earth, Air and Fire. Which do you think should be placed next to which? Perhaps there’s meaning in the way the four faces relate to each other?’ he pondered, at a total loss as to how they could possibly provide a clue to the location of the statuette or any other treasure.

  ‘Think about which came first, when the Earth was created,’ Latcos suggested hopefully.

  ‘Well, first there was Fire, Earth, Water then Air.’ Matthias switched the positions of the clocks accordingly but any connection between the four seemed arbitrary.

  He noticed that the time on all the clocks was a minute to midnight. He checked his own watch – the time was correct; they were still running on Christoph’s last winding. The hands ticked into one and the clocks began to chime the hour. To Matthias’s surprise the individualised chiming joined together to make a tune, as if the chimes had been re-engineered to be heard in concert. The melody was tantalisingly familiar yet unrecognisable out of context.

  Latcos clapped his hands in excitement. ‘These clocks, they have a song – one song from four clocks.’

  ‘Christoph must have done it deliberately before he died. It’s a clue, Latcos, one he wanted me to find. I know the tune, but from where?’ Matthias said as the chiming stopped. The grief he hadn’t been able to express at Christoph’s funeral now swept through him. The image of his father mustering enough strength to recalibrate the clocks in the hope that he would find the trail of clues distressed him. Was I too harsh in my judgement?

  ‘Matthias? Are you okay?’ Latcos asked, worried by his sudden silence.

  ‘It’s nothing…’ Matthias, embarrassed, turned to carefully rotate the old brass knobs at the back of each clock, winding each hand back so they were again set just before the hour. After a minute they all began chiming again. And then, ‘I know it, Latcos, I know it! This is the way the bells chime at the Alte Uhr Kirche. Christoph and several others funded its restoration years ago. It’s off the Hirschengraben. That has to be the location!’

  Latcos’s eyes narrowed in perplexity.

  ‘But why go to so much trouble to conceal the goods? Why not just lodge it all in a Swiss vault?’

  ‘Because this way there was absolutely no possibility Interpol, the Swiss banking association or the world Jewish lobby would ever discover it. And if I’m right the direction of the four sides of the other symbols will tell the rest of the story.’ Swept up in the exhilaration of discovery, he held out his hand. ‘Give me the pieces you made.’

  Latcos fished into the pocket of his waistcoat and pulled out a small packet wrapped in tissue. Matthias pulled out the three pieces he had and, with trembling fingers, slotted the five pieces together. It was a perfect fit.

  ‘Latcos, you’re brilliant,’ Matthias said, impressed. ‘If this is a key, all four men would have to meet to open the vault.’

  ‘Including Ulrich?’

  ‘Exactly. Remember he told me just before he died that he had been betrayed to a Nazi hunter. He must have made visits and then…’

  ‘The other men cut him out of the deal.’

  ‘But the question is where exactly in the church…’ Matthias glanced round the room. Sandwiched between two books was a map of central Zürich. He pulled it down. Excitedly he opened it to the page where the Alte Uhr Kirche was located then placed the symbol so that the hourglass apex lay on top of the church.

  ‘There is a clock tower at the church – that is our hourglass. All we need to look for now is where Earth sits above Air. I’m guessing that will be the crypt.’ He peered at the street names and exclaimed, ‘The bottom symbol is Air and the showroom for the Holindt Watch Company lies in that direction. The left triangle is Fire…’ His finger traced the marked streets, west of the church. ‘There you go, Zellweger Industries, Arms Manufacturers of Zürich.’ His finger moved along to the Water symbol on the right of the hourglass. ‘Something or someone represents Water to the east. Remember Ulrich told me he chose that in honour of his brother who was in the German navy. Now the top symbol is Earth, that’s north.’ Looking closer, he racked his brains for a substantial business headquarters in that area and direction. His eyes fell on a particular street and he blanched visibly.

  ‘Matthias, are you all right?’

  ‘It’s not possible.’ Due north of the Alte Uhr Kirche was the Mueller Bank. He looked for alternatives but could see none. ‘Thomas is Earth? Not Otto Kuven? Thomas was my wife’s mentor and he is my daughter’s godfather.’ Matthias stared at Latcos, shaking with rage. ‘I have been a complete fool.’

  The gypsy put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Matthias, we must find the vault.’

  Matthias took a long shuddering breath.

  ‘Matthias, come back to me,’ Latcos shook his shoulder then looked back down at the symbol lying over the church on the map. ‘These men, they choose a holy place to hide our stolen treasure. This is sacrilege…’ Latcos crossed himself, ‘but clever. If I’d stolen such treasure I would hide it where no one would think of, and you know the place people always forget to look?’

  ‘No?’

  ‘Right under their noses.’

  ‘There has to be information about that restoration. Christoph was meticulous; he filed everything.’

  Matthias began pulling open the drawers of the desk, and found a lower drawer stacked with files, the top one marked with the word Philanthropie. He pulled each file out furiously until he found what he was looking for. A slim A4 cardboard file marked Alte Uhr Kirche. His fingers trembled with excitement as he opened it and began reading out loud. ‘Restoration 3rd of March 1963 until 7th of January 1964 – just after the murder of Eberhard Neumann – and here the list of private donors who funded the restoration —’

  ‘Let me guess. Christoph von Holindt, Janus Zellweger and Thomas Mueller.’

  ‘Exactly, and look – a nice little footnote explaining that Thomas himself personally oversaw the restoration.’

  Matthias swept up the map and the key then made for the door. Latcos hurried after him.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Church.’ Matthias raced through the entrance hall and yanked open the front door.

  ‘But it’s almost midnight.’

  ‘So? No time like the present.’

  ‘But there are graveyards next to churches,’ Latcos called after Matthias. ‘And graveyards have ghosts.’

  By the time they’d found themselves walking through the narrow lanes of the Altstadt it was past midnight and the streets had emptied of the night revellers and tourists that frequented the area’s bars and clubs. They walked swiftly, Matthias with a large canvas bag over his shoulder filled with some of the mountain-climbing equipment he kept in his car boot: a crowbar, climbing rope and a pickaxe. Latcos was in his sheepskin jacket, his leather boots quiet against the snow-covered pebbles. They turned the corner into a cul-de-sac with a tinkling fountain in the middle. Latcos, seeing the exclusive shop window advertising Holindt watches, froze.

  ‘This is the place where my uncle was killed,
isn’t it?’

  ‘We’ll finish what he began, I promise you, Latcos. Yojo will not have died in vain.’

  ‘It is not about revenge. As the firstborn son it would have been Yojo’s duty to protect the statuette, to hand it onto his sons. All he wanted was to bring it back into the family. For this he was killed.’ Latcos walked over to the fountain and touched the surface of the water. ‘Sometimes I feel he is with us, his breath on the back of my neck trying to tell me things I can’t quite hear. Until we finish this he will not rest in his grave. Keja knows this also; she just cannot bring herself to say the words.’

  Matthias studied his half-brother’s face, the faint echo of his own features catching the lamplight. He recognised so little and yet at times Latcos would surprise him with traits he knew they shared: the tendency to obsess, a fierce pride, an aloofness born of shyness.

  ‘Come, we should get there while there’s still cloud over the moon.’

  The narrow side lane broadened into a tiny square with Alte Uhr Kirche looming opposite. A small church, it was sunk by its antiquity into the pavement. The clock tower dwarfing the structure was like a finger pointing up at the heavens, piercing the huge yellow disc of a full moon, half-covered by the feathery lace of a cloud. The street was empty except for a stray cat that yowled then dashed across the cobblestones as if being chased by something invisible. Matthias stared up at the tower, the memory of the opening ceremony all those years back flooding through him: the brass band, the gaggle of officials clustered awkwardly in their suits and hats, the parade of priests as they carried in a large gold altar cross.

  The cloud cleared allowing the moonlight to fall on the clock face. It was then that Matthias noticed something extraordinary. ‘Latcos, look!’ He pointed up to the clock face. There were no hour or minute arms. ‘Infinity! What holds up Time?’ he quoted. ‘There’s the answer to the riddle.’

  ‘God, my brother, God holds up time – only him.’

  The side of the church had no windows, except a small one set high up. He guessed this probably led into an office. He turned back to Latcos.

  ‘How good are you at climbing?’

  Latcos followed his gaze then grinned. ‘Good? I am professional.’

  Ten minutes later Matthias found himself waiting silently in the shadow of a tree, staring up at the side window for a signal from Latcos inside, when a policeman on foot patrol walked into the square. Matthias immediately pressed against the wall, hoping he would melt into the background, praying Latcos would not open the church doors just yet. He glanced up – luckily the gypsy had swung the window shut after he’d crawled through it. He’d had to stand on the physicist’s shoulders to hoist himself up, but he was as nimble as a monkey and Matthias suspected it wasn’t the first time Latcos had broken into a building.

  Suddenly a twig snapped under Matthias’s shoe as he leaned back against the wall. At the noise the policeman swung round and stared blindly in his direction. Just then the stray cat Matthias had seen earlier jumped out of some nearby bushes and skipped over to the policeman, winding around his legs affectionately. The man leaned down to pat him. In that minute the beam of Latcos’s torch inside the church caught the glass of the window. Matthias glanced at the official. He was still stroking the cat. Finally the policeman stood up then walked off round a corner. A minute later there was the sound of a bolt being drawn on the inside of the church door and Latcos pulled it open. Without saying a word Matthias stepped in.

  They stood staring down the nave towards the main altar, their torches cutting a swathe of light down the flagstones. The church had been built in the shape of a cross and the nave ran the traditional west to east. The main altar was at the east end with a life-size wooden statue of Jesus on the cross. The Saviour himself, his elongated Northern European face carved with a serene expression despite his contorted, tortured and bleeding limbs, seemed to cast a supercilious look down at the two men as they made their way past the empty wooden pews, past the baptistery with its stone font, past the simple stone arches and columns.

  The only other light, apart from the torches, was moonlight pouring in from the windows set high in the clerestory. It’s like walking through a de Chirico painting, Matthias thought, the muted black-and-white landscape of a dream; the statues of the saints in the altars seemed to be teetering on the brink of movement or breath. The atmosphere was strangely vibrant, as if there had been a flurry of activity that had mysteriously and abruptly ceased. It was unnerving, even to Matthias, who now found himself somewhat desperately clinging to his atheism.

  ‘Where do we start looking?’ Latcos whispered.

  ‘We’ll begin with the three altars and if I’m right, we should be looking for a symbol.’ Using his finger to draw on the dusty surface of a lectern, he outlined the original logo for Zellweger Industries. ‘This is what we’re looking for.’ The two men fanned out and began searching.

  Minutes later Latcos joined Matthias at the main altar.

  ‘Nothing but saints and angels. What about you?’

  Matthias shrugged. ‘The crypt is next.’

  As they descended the narrow stairwell the temperature dropped. At the bottom, Latcos swept his torch across the stone vaults that criss-crossed the low ceiling. The shadows of tombs and gravestones set into the floor of the crypt ran across the wall like fleeing spirits awoken.

  ‘I can’t stay here, Matthias. This place is full of ghosts and they’re watching us,’ Latcos whispered, failing to keep the dread out of his voice.

  ‘For a man who’s taken on the Stasi I expected you to be braver.’

  ‘That’s different.’

  ‘Trust me, Latcos, we’re close.’ Matthias’s beam caught the glint of brass. Standing in the corner were two tall, thick altar candles set in waist-high candlesticks. ‘Give me your lighter.’ Reluctantly the gypsy pulled out a gold lighter and Matthias walked over to the candles and lit them. Immediately light flowed into the crypt, illuminating the stone features of the medieval sculptures that lay across the lids of the stone tombs.

  At the far end was a thirteenth-century statue of one of the Habsburgs set in an altarpiece at one end; it was sitting on a stone base which had a relief of the resurrection of Christ carved out along it, with inserts of gilded metal over various faces and figures, highlighting halos and armour. The mid-section was a depiction of the fallen Christ being held in his mother’s arms, a remarkably young-looking Mary, her angelic face framed by the rays of a golden halo set behind it.

  Matthias began walking between the tombs, directing his torch beam into each crevice along the sides of each sarcophagus.

  ‘It’ll take hours to find,’ Latcos pointed out.

  ‘Just keep looking.’ Matthias arrived at the tomb of a medieval knight and paused. The face of the knight had an idealised Teutonic beauty and there was a stone lion crouching at his feet, but the marble he was carved from looked oddly contemporary. Curious, Matthias glanced at the name carved onto a plaque at the foot of the tomb. Wilhelm Gustloff. There was no date of birth or death. Matthias almost dropped his torch. ‘Latcos, I think I’ve found it.’

  A moment later they were both staring down at the tomb.

  ‘Wilhelm Gustloff was the assassinated German leader of the Swiss Nazi Party, a real icon for them. What we’re looking at is a contemporary homage to Gustloff, disguised as a great Teutonic knight, but this is definitely not his tomb,’ Matthias observed, appalled at the audacity and grandeur of the pretence. ‘Here, help me shift the lid.’

  Both men began to push with all their strength and to their amazement the stone lid suddenly lifted open on a hinge, revealing a metal safe cemented onto the floor of the tomb. In the centre of the safe’s door was a keyhole, a curious design they recognised immediately.

  Matthias glanced over at Latcos. The gypsy’s face was tense, but his eyes burned. ‘Remember, brother, whatever we find, it is stamped with blood.’ Matthias nodded, then placed the assembled key into the lock. The safe
door clicked open immediately. Reaching down, he pulled the door up, revealing several compartments stuffed with cloth bags and wrapped objects.

  ‘Jesus Christ, a real Aladdin’s cave,’ said Latcos.

  ‘Probably hundreds of families’ heirlooms and wealth, all stolen to finance the Thousand-Year Reich.’

  Matthias emptied his canvas bag out onto the floor, then lowered himself into the marble sarcophagus and they started to empty the safe. Matthias carefully handed each bag out to Latcos, who checked the contents before placing it inside the canvas bag.

  The first contained gold coins – most of them over two hundred years old – four Russian roubles, ten Empress Marie Josef’s coins and a couple of Ottoman lire. The next was a collection of exotic gold necklaces, earrings and rings. Each item had an old yellowing paper label attached to it, marked with a number and a swastika.