The Romanov Ransom

by Clive Cussler

  “Or,” Sam said, “it’s buried beneath all that rubble we saw down there.” He reloaded his revolver, then aimed at the air shaft, waiting to pick off anyone who emerged. “What’s the fastest way out of here?” he asked Gustaw.

  “To the west,” the miner said over the low rumble of an approaching train. “But the Guard. They patrol these woods. If you shoot, they’ll hear.”

  “Any other option?” Sam said, never moving his gaze from the opening. “I am open to suggestions.”

  “Block the opening?” Sergei replied.

  Before Sam could tell him there wasn’t enough time, it grew suddenly quiet in the shaft. He put his finger to his mouth. Grass around the hole rustled with movement. Sunlight glinted off the steel barrel of a handgun as well as the brown hair of the man holding it. The gunman looked around, his gaze widening when he saw Sam aiming at him.

  Sam fired. The sharp crack echoed through the forest.

  “It’s blocked now,” Remi said as the man fell down into the shaft.

  “Not for long,” Sam replied, still hearing movement below. “Should buy us a few minutes, though. Let’s get out of here.”

  They ran through the trees toward the tracks. Sam, hearing voices, glanced back, seeing a dozen armed men in the woods behind them.

  “The train!” Gustaw called as a blue locomotive rounded the bend.

  A shot whistled past them as they raced down the hill.

  The four neared the tracks as the rails began to creak from the approaching drive wheels of an old 2-4-2 locomotive that struggled to pull a long freight train up the steep grade. The first few flatcars, empty and rattling, were followed by several tankers and a long line of boxcars, most covered with graffiti.

  Sam leaped from the trees bordering the tracks, realizing if they didn’t cross to the other side, they’d be trapped. Luckily, he saw several boxcars that were empty with their doors open. Then a quick glance to see if the engineer and fireman were concentrating on the track ahead, and he took off running.

  “Quick! Get in!” he called above the clatter of the wheels against the rails.

  Sam ran and leaped to the floor of the boxcar, rolled to his knees and jumped to his feet in one motion. Then he leaned out and caught Remi by the wrist as she ran and pulled her in. Sergei followed as Gustaw tossed his rifle into the car but fell slightly behind.

  Sergei grabbed Sam around the legs, allowing him to lean farther out the door and grasp Gustaw around one arm and haul him into the boxcar.

  Sam found his gun, moved to the doorway, leaning out, as the Guard ran out to the tracks behind the last car. When they caught sight of Sam, they raced after the train, far too late.

  Sam pushed away from the door, turning toward the others, glad to see everyone appeared unharmed. “Any chance you know where this stops next?”

  38

  Put the gun away,” Tatiana said to Viktor. “They’re gone.” She glanced down the hill through the trees at the handful of men who were catching their breath after chasing the train.

  Wolf Guard.

  She would have dismissed them outright if not for Rolfe’s involvement with them. “I’d be interested to know how long they’ve been in Rolfe’s pockets. Every time I turn around, that man surprises me.”

  “Speaking of . . .” Viktor nodded toward their left.

  She glanced in that direction and saw Rolfe with a half dozen Guardsmen tromping through the woods. His attention was fixed on the heavy brush where the Fargos had emerged and where a couple of the Guard were trying to extract the body of one of their fallen comrades.

  Rolfe said something to the men, then continued on. When he reached her side, he stood next to her, his eyes on the departing train. “Not too bad. We only lost one man,” he said.

  “Which would not have happened if you’d done as I asked and not shot at the Fargos. What’d you expect? That they were going to ignore the bullets flying past their heads?”

  He gave her a thorough appraisal. “Whose side are you on? Not mine, apparently.”

  “When it comes right down to it, mine. However, I’m not the only one searching for this treasure. Which makes it difficult when I have to work with—” She stopped at the look of warning from Viktor. He was right, of course. Making an enemy of Rolfe Wernher at this point wouldn’t be wise. “Let’s just say I’m not used to being the one who isn’t in charge.”

  “So I’ve gathered.”

  Time to deflect attention away from her. “Are you sure you can trust those men?”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t trust anyone.”

  “Then why are they working for you?”

  “Their ability to gather forces anywhere in Western Europe at a moment’s notice, and their willingness to skirt the law, has been indispensable.” When Leopold and his men reached them, Rolfe gave a benign smile. “Any chance the Fargos found something down there?”

  “Unfortunately,” Leopold said, “we believe so.”

  “‘Believe’? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “We’ve long suspected the chamber was in one of these tunnels. Until today, we’ve never found it.”

  “And the Fargos did?”

  “No doubt. What we don’t know is whether or not it was sealed when they entered or if anyone else had been there before them.”

  Leopold’s radio crackled as someone called in. He listened, then turned to Rolfe. “The train is headed to Wrocław.”

  “Can you get it stopped before it gets there?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Good. Find them. I want to know everything they have in their possession.”

  Leopold walked off, relaying Rolfe’s orders into his radio. Tatiana waited until he was out of earshot, then leveled her gaze on Rolfe, not about to let him skip over what she needed to know. “You were saying . . . ?”

  “About what?”

  “About what the Fargos found down there. Clearly, it’s not the ransom. All they had was one backpack. So what is it?”

  “I really don’t have time—”

  “If you want to do business in my country, you’ll make time.”

  Rolfe glanced at Viktor, then back at her. “I’ll tell you, but it goes no further.”

  She waited.

  “Lose your bodyguard.”

  A flick of her head, and Viktor walked off. Even then, Rolfe hesitated. She crossed her arms. “I’m waiting.”

  “What do you know of the Romanov Ransom?” he asked.

  “That it was stolen by the Nazis, stored in the castle at Königsberg, then secreted away at the end of the war.”

  “I mean, what it was intended to be used for.”

  “I have no idea.”

  “To fund Unternehmen Werwolf,” he told her. “To start the war again.”

  She hid her surprise over this bit of news. “I’m listening.”

  “The sole purpose of the Wolf Guard was to protect the Romanov Ransom so that it could be used to bring back the Third Reich. The plan was so secret that only a few in power knew.” His gaze flicked toward Viktor, and even though he was still out of earshot, Rolfe lowered his voice even more. “They divided the code into three parts so that if any one part was captured, it would be useless. The plane that went down in Marrakesh belonged to a Nazi pilot who was an Allied spy.”

  “The pilot knew of the code?” Tatiana asked.

  “Possibly. He’d found the first part in Königsberg, which would lead to the second part.”

  “In the Project Riese tunnels.” She realized how very little she actually knew about what had happened to the Romanov Ransom after it’d been stolen from the Catherine Palace in Russia. If there was one thing she was good at, though, it was prodding for information. “Are you telling me that there’s more to this than what Durin found in the courier bag on the plane?”
<
br />   “I am saying that we have nothing until we get all three boxes gathered in one place. Only then will it lead to the location of the Romanov Ransom.”

  “Not even an educated guess?”

  “I know this much. The war was over, and the Nazis were scurrying like rats to get out. Every treasure they hid was meant for their eventual return. The Romanov Ransom was the exception. It was smuggled out of Königsberg for one purpose only—to bring about Operation Werewolf.”

  She glanced over at Leopold and his men, off in the distance. “That doesn’t make sense. They’re part of Operation Werewolf. So where’s the treasure?”

  He laughed. “They’re the Wolf Guard, a big difference. Their primary duty is to protect the hidden caches that lead to the Romanov Ransom.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “My father, who believed in the Nazi idealism, spent his life researching it.”

  “I never would’ve taken you for a Nazi.”

  He regarded her with a look of scorn. “I have no desire to resurrect that failed ideology. I’m in it for the money.”

  “Do they know that?” she asked, nodding toward Leopold and his men.

  “I’ve never pretended to be anything other than a capitalist, but why would I tell them?” he asked. “As long as it continues to be mutually beneficial for both parties, our respective motives and beliefs matter little.” A distant train whistle caught his attention. He picked up his radio, keying the mic. “Why is that train still moving? I don’t care if you have to blast everyone on that thing. Just get me what they took from the tunnels.”

  Tatiana waited until he walked off before waving Viktor over.

  “What’s your plan?” he asked.

  “Find the Fargos and whatever they took from the tunnels before Rolfe does.”

  39

  Tell us something good, Selma,” Sam said into the phone over the steady rumble of the train as it sped along the tracks.

  “I wish I could, Mr. Fargo. But we’re still missing quite a bit of information. The letters we found in the courier bag appear to be just that.”

  Lazlo added. “I’m still trying to figure out the reasoning behind carrying the letters in the courier bag if they’re of utterly no importance.”

  “Exactly,” Selma said. “But, enough about our end. What do you have on yours?”

  “You’re not going to believe it but we have a key and a tin.”

  “‘Tin’?”

  “Typewriter ribbon tin,” Sam clarified.

  “The same as—”

  “The same.”

  “Interesting.”

  “There has to be some significance. There were no typewriters, to speak of, in the tunnel. And someone went to the trouble of putting one of those tins in the courier bag. So why are they there?”

  “Send me photos of the one you found. Top, bottom, inside. I’ll see what I can find. In the meantime, you were saying something about a key?”

  “Old antique type. Brass. I’ll send a photo of it as well. Other than that, we’ll be heading to Wrocław, waiting to—” He looked out the open door of the boxcar.

  “What’s wrong?” Selma asked.

  “The train’s slowing down.” He moved to the door for a better view, but they were on a curve, and he couldn’t see far enough up the tracks to see if anything was going on.

  Gustaw joined him. “This isn’t anywhere near the next stop.”

  “Selma, I’ll have to call you back. We have a problem.” He shoved the phone into his pocket. “Any idea where we are?”

  “I’m familiar with the area,” Gustaw said. “They had to have called for help. They couldn’t have gotten here this quick.”

  “The Guard’s that big?” Remi asked, coming up behind Sam.

  “They are. Especially around any of the sites rumored to have hidden Nazi treasure. That is, after all, one of their reasons for being.”

  Sam eyed the low, grass-covered hill, and the forest beyond, thinking about the length of the train. It’d take a few minutes for this many cars to come to a complete stop. “Why wait? We should get off here.”

  He looked over at Remi, who gripped the side, the wind whipping at her auburn hair. He wasn’t worried about her. Sergei and Gustaw, on the other hand . . . “Think you can manage that jump?” he asked the both of them.

  Gustaw nodded.

  Sergei glanced out, looking a bit unsure. “Yes . . . Maybe . . .”

  Sam stood back. Gustaw tossed his long gun out, then leaped. Sergei hesitated, and Sam put his hand on his shoulder. “I’ll tell you when . . . Go!”

  Sergei jumped, then rolled down the hill.

  “Your turn,” Sam told Remi.

  “Tuck and roll, Fargo!” Remi called out as she jumped.

  Sam tossed his pack, then followed, landing a few feet away from her. He looked over, saw Sergei start to rise. “Stay down.” He drew his gun, then crawled through the long green grass, up the side of the hill, looking below the passing boxcars.

  Gustaw grabbed his long gun, belly-crawling next to Sam.

  “What do you think?” Sam asked him, talking loud enough to be heard over the train. “If the Guard is the one who is stopping the train, we’re going to need a better place to hide.”

  “If we can get across the tracks to the forest, there’s a back road I know of. We’re not too far from a friend who can help.”

  Sam eyed the tree line on the other side. They’d be exposed on the hill leading up to the woods, which was a lot farther from the track than he liked. Not that they had much choice. Behind them was a wide-open field. He waved Remi and Sergei over. “We need to get across before that train clears the curve. Otherwise, if they’re anywhere in the area, they’ll see us.”

  After the last car rumbled past, they raced across, up into the trees. Sam found a thick stand of shrubs and directed everyone behind it.

  The squealing of the train brakes faded as it finally slowed to a stop. Above them, birds chirped and leaves rustled in the breeze. In the distance, Sam heard a high whistle. Human. And then another.

  “The Guard,” Gustaw said. “One of the ways they communicate. No doubt they’re checking the train.”

  From the sound of the whistles, Sam estimated that they were at least a quarter of a mile away. He crawled out, catching sight of the last train car on the tracks up ahead, before turning back to the others. “No sign of patrols. Stay low, we’ll have a better chance. They’ve got a lot of cars to search.”

  “This way,” Gustaw said, and they followed him up the hill into the woods, breaking every so often to listen. The whistles between the patrols grew fainter the farther they traveled. After a half hour, the trees grew thick enough to provide decent cover. Now all they needed was distance.

  40

  Rays of sunlight broke through the treetops, lighting up the forest floor, as Sam, Remi, and Sergei followed Gustaw. An hour after that, they came to a cabin in the woods. “There it is,” Gustaw said, pointing.

  It was slightly bigger than the one he lived in. No smoke from the chimney. A bad sign, Sam thought.

  “Wait here,” Gustaw told them. “I’ll see if he’s home.”

  They watched as he broke cover and walked up the dirt drive to the cabin. He knocked on the door, the sound carrying down to them. After a moment or two, he walked around to the side, then disappeared around the back. Five minutes later, he returned.

  “He’s not there.”

  “What about a car?” Sam asked.

  “I checked. Nothing. It’s possible he’ll return.”

  The faint whistle of the train drifted up to them. It was moving again. Which meant the Guard was done searching.

  “They’ve got to know we’re in the woods. Let’s keep going. The more distance between us and the train, the better.”

  Gu
staw nodded. “Our only option at this point is to head higher into the woods or try to get to one of the towns between here and Wrocław. They’ll set up checkpoints, so we’ll have to find a way past them. Once we do, there are plenty of people who are against the Guard who will help.”

  They continued on. After fifteen minutes, they heard the rumble of an approaching vehicle—a large one, by the sound of it.

  Sam motioned everyone to the ground. He peered through the bushes, seeing a red World War II Opel Blitz truck bouncing down the road. Used for cargo or soldiers, this truck had been refurbished, the once-open cargo bed completely enclosed with hard siding. White lettering on the door read CC’s Antykwariat.

  “Antique dealer,” Remi said.

  “I’ve seen the shop in town,” Gustaw added. “The man who owns it as well. I think he’ll help.”

  The truck pulled into the drive of a nearby cabin, backing in. The driver, a tall white-haired man with a gray, neatly trimmed beard, got out of the truck.

  “Worth a try,” Sam said, watching as the man unlocked the back of the truck, rolling up the door. If they didn’t do something soon, the Guard would catch up to them. “Ask if he can give us a lift.”

  Gustaw called out.

  The man turned, his green eyes regarding them with curiosity as they approached.

  Gustaw spoke rapidly. The only word Sam understood was American.

  The man eyed each of them, rattled off a response to Gustaw, then settled his gaze on Sam, asking, “Got yourself into some trouble?”

  “You’re American?” Sam said, surprised. “Running antiques in Poland?”

  “Started off collecting cars and branched out a bit. Interesting work that keeps me busy. Never know what’ll turn up from one day to the next. So what is it I can do for you?”

  “We’re looking for a ride into Wrocław.”

  “I’m headed that way. If a couple of you don’t mind riding in the back . . . Not enough room up front.”