“About that,” Sam said. “Might be better if we all hid in the back.”
The man stroked his beard a moment. “Exactly what sort of trouble are you in?”
“Don’t suppose you’ve heard of the Guard?”
His brows went up. “How’d you cross paths with them?”
“Sort of a long story.”
“Give me the condensed version while I load the truck. Get us out of here that much faster.” He unlocked the cabin door, dropped the keys into his pocket, then rolled the dolly in.
Sam, Sergei, and Gustaw followed while Remi kept watch out front. A few boxes were stacked by the door next to a table and, beside it, two wooden crates. “What goes in the truck?” Sam asked.
“Everything. Couldn’t get it all in the first trip. This is the last of it.” Sergei and Gustaw carried the table out as Sam helped move the two crates onto the dolly, all while giving a quick version of their hunt and the Guard’s pursuit.
Once everything was removed from the house, the man locked the door, then met them at the back of the truck. “It’s a good thing I happened along, then, isn’t it?”
“Definitely,” Sam said. “So you’ll help?”
“Gladly. But we’re going to want to move those boxes to the other side of the truck bed.”
“What’s wrong with them?” Sam asked.
“They’re covering the trapdoor to the false bottom.”
Sam eyed the truck, only then realizing that the rear bumper and side panels concealed the hidden compartment beneath the raised floorboards so that it couldn’t be seen from the outside. “You think we’ll all fit?”
“Three of you, it’ll be tight. It was used to smuggle supplies so the Nazis couldn’t find them. Occasionally, children and resistance fighters were smuggled out as well. Someone will have to ride up front.”
“I’ll do it,” Sergei said. “I’m probably the last person they’re looking for. And I speak Polish.”
Sam jumped into the back of the truck. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
41
Remi slid onto her back into the hidden compartment in the truck bed next to Sam, who was next to Gustaw. Sergei and the driver lowered the floorboards over them, then moved the boxes into place, the space turning suddenly dark. As the truck started down the road, she wondered how terrifying it must have been for the children hidden there during the war.
After several minutes—the road, thankfully, fairly smooth—she felt the truck slow, then stop. A few moments later, she heard someone talking and strained to listen as the antique dealer, speaking Polish, said, “Is something wrong?”
“There was an escape. Dangerous criminals in the area. We’re searching every vehicle.”
“Nothing back there but boxes and old furniture. It’s been locked the whole time. I can’t imagine how they could get in, then lock it.”
“We’d like to look. For your own protection.”
Remi slid her hand toward Sam’s as she heard the sound of someone walking toward the back of the truck. “Do you have a key?” the man asked the driver.
“I can open it for you.”
“Just the key. Please.”
The engine shut off. “Here it is.”
“Thank you.” She heard someone walking toward the back, then the sound of keys jangling as the person unlocked the cargo door, then rolled it up. Light filtered in through the cracks in the floorboard a moment before the back of the truck dipped as someone stepped inside. Remi felt Sam tensing beside her as he gripped his gun with both hands. She tried to even her breathing, sensing that the man was standing directly over them.
“Anything?” someone from the outside asked.
“Just furniture,” the man above her said.
“Let’s go.”
The truck rose slightly as the man jumped out, then walked back toward the cab. “You haven’t seen anyone around, have you?”
“I saw several people walking through the forest about a kilometer or so back, but they didn’t look like criminals. There was a woman with them.”
“That could be them. We heard a woman was helping. How long ago was this?”
“No more than five, ten minutes, I’d say.”
“Thank you.”
The truck started, the engine sputtering before it turned over, then accelerated down the road. After a few minutes of driving, he called out, “I think we made it. No one’s following.”
Even so, Remi didn’t relax until they arrived in Wrocław and the four of them were out of the truck. He’d parked in the street behind the antique store, and she was grateful that no one was around to see them emerging from the hidden compartment below the floorboards. “We can’t thank you enough,” Remi said. “We owe you our lives.”
He smiled at her, his green eyes alight. “My pleasure. I’d heard rumors that the Guard was active in these woods. But this is the first time I’ve ever seen them.”
“We hope,” Sam said, “you’ll never encounter them again.”
They followed him into the back of the darkened shop. He turned on a light, and Remi was surprised by the quality of the antiques as she ran her fingers along a spinning wheel that was from the turn of the nineteenth century. “These are beautiful.”
“Feel free to look around.”
“We really do need to get going,” Sam said.
As the man walked them to the front door, Sam paused by a glass case near the cash register. “Quite a few old keys here. Do you know anything about them?”
“A bit.”
“We have one we found in the tunnels,” he said, slipping his pack from his shoulder and taking the key from one of the pockets.
The man took it from him, moving toward the window for better light. “Very distinctive bow.”
“‘Bow’?” Sergei asked, trying to see what he was talking about.
“The grip,” he said, holding it up. “Looks a lot like one I’ve seen around here fairly recently. Some are more decorative than others, which is why I have so many. Old keys appeal to collectors . . .” He eyed the keys in the glass cases, then looked around the shop. “Where did I see it? . . . Ah, yes. Over here.” He crossed the room to an old writing desk, turning a lock and pulling out a key, which he brought over to them, placing it side by side with the key they found in the tunnel.
The bow of it was similar, though not as extravagant, as theirs. The bit that slid into the keyhole was also different.
Remi examined the desk. “Where was that made?”
“Good question,” he said, returning the key to Sam. “I bought it from a man who restores old furniture. Wilhelm Schroeder. He has a shop in Münster. He’d definitely know something about the locks and keys of old furniture.”
Sam unzipped a small pocket in his pack, dropping the key inside. “Guess that’s our next stop. Gustaw, you’re welcome to come.”
“Thanks, but no. I need to get back. I’ll be fine.”
“You’re sure?” Sam asked.
“I’ve been fighting the Guard this long on my own. And now that you have what they’re after, I expect things will ease up—around my property at least.”
“There’s still the Gold Train to be found,” Remi pointed out.
“True. And now we know which tunnel it isn’t in. So there’s that.” He nodded at Sam’s pack, where the tin and key were hidden. “Let me know what that leads to. I’ll be interested to find out.”
“Almost forgot,” Sam said. He took out the cash and the gold bar. “The paper money might not be any good, but I’m pretty sure the gold’s gone up a bit since then.”
“Thanks,” Gustaw said, hefting the gold bar in his hand. “I can put this to good use.”
He caught a ride home with the antique dealer, and Sam, Sergei, and Remi took a taxi to the airport. Once there, they purchased Sergei’s
ticket to Kaliningrad, since he had to return to work, then walked him as far as security clearance. Sam shook hands with him. Remi, however, gave him a hug. “We can’t thank you enough. Give our love to your Cousin Leonid.”
“I will,” he told her.
After watching him clear security, they left, texting their crew that they were on their way.
“That’s strange,” Sam said, reading the return text.
Remi glanced over but couldn’t see it in the glare of light. “What is?”
“The pilot says our jet’s been moved to a private hangar.”
“Why?”
“He doesn’t know, but he’s telling us to get there right away.”
42
The main hangar door was closed, but a side door was open, and Remi could see one of their two pilots standing just inside it. “He looks worried,” she said.
“Let me go in first.”
As Sam was about to enter, a man in a gray suit walked out. “Mr. and Mrs. Fargo? So glad you could make it.”
“And you are . . . ?” Sam asked.
“Forgive me. Tomasz Gorski, with the Internal Security Agency. We have a few questions about your activities in Wałbrzych.”
He indicated they should precede him into the hangar.
Sam went first, Remi followed. Both stopped short at the sight of ten uniformed, armed men standing just inside, as well as the Fargo flight crew seated nearby. The crew gave Sam and Remi nervous smiles, but before she or Sam had a chance to ask if they were okay, Tomasz closed and locked the door behind them.
“What’s going on?” Sam demanded.
“All in good time. I’m just waiting for the commander of—”
“Are we under arrest?” Sam asked.
“Of course not.”
“Then why the armed guards?” He nodded toward the group of men. “And the locked door?”
“For your protection.”
Remi moved closer to Sam, resting her hand on his arm, feeling at once how tense he was. He leaned into her, whispering, “Feel free to lay on the charm.”
Remi tried for a doe-like expression. “Captain—”
“Lieutenant,” he corrected. “But, please. Call me Tomasz.”
“Lieutenant,” she continued. “Perhaps if you took a moment to explain to us why we’re being detained?” She gave him her sweetest smile, noticing a slight softening in his expression. “Please?”
“What I can say is, we’re aware you have been to several restricted areas and possibly removed items from those areas without approval from the government. Therefore, we’d appreciate your cooperation so that we can quickly resolve this matter and get you on your way. Once the commander arrives, of course.”
Sam crossed his arms. “And how long will that take?”
“Soon.”
Remi eyed the armed men, noting each with his finger relaxed along the trigger guard of his weapon, ready for action. She focused on the lieutenant again. “The only reason we neglected to get the proper authorization was because circumstances forced us to take shelter in the very tunnels we’re being accused of entering. People were shooting at us.”
He gave a bland smile but didn’t comment.
Time to change tactics, she thought. “I’m sure that you can appreciate that after our . . . narrow escape, I’d like to freshen up.” When he seemed unmoved by her request, she added, “Or is there some reason we can’t wait on the jet?”
“Forgive me, Mrs. Fargo. Of course. You are not prisoners here.”
“Thank you.” She and Sam started toward the plane.
“But I must ask your husband to leave his backpack behind.”
They stopped, looking back at him. “Why?” Sam asked.
“We know you have guns. And there is the matter of what was taken from the tunnel . . . I should have specified that you’ll need to be accompanied by a guard. In case there are more weapons in your hold.” His smile this time was patronizing. “My source tells me this is probably the case.”
Sam slid the pack from his shoulder, setting it on the ground, just as someone knocked at the hangar door. Several men pointed their weapons that direction as Tomasz asked the visitors to identify themselves. Apparently satisfied by the response, he opened the door.
A tall man, wearing fatigues and with a holster carrying a high-caliber pistol, walked in, followed by the man and woman who’d tailed them at the Amber Museum.
Remi edged closer to Sam as he eyed the couple, then pinned his gaze on Tomasz. “What’s going on?”
“Finally!” came a woman’s voice from just outside the door. The group parted and let her through. She glanced around the hangar, saw Sam and Remi, then gave a stiff smile. “Clearly, you’re the Fargos. I understand you’ve met my associates in Kaliningrad?”
“And who are you?” Sam asked.
“Commander Petrov. But, please, call me Tatiana.”
43
The door,” Tatiana said to Tomasz, her tone one of authority. He quickly closed it as she turned to Sam and Remi, “You’ll have to forgive our rather unorthodox method of contacting you, but, as the good lieutenant undoubtedly explained, we were worried about your safety.”
She walked toward them, pausing to pick up Sam’s backpack. “I’m sure you must have questions. I know I do, particularly about what you found in the tunnel. So,” she said, holding the pack out to him, “I propose we go inside the jet and discuss—assuming you don’t mind?”
Sam exchanged glances with Remi, then took the pack. “What about my crew?” Sam asked.
“Give us a few minutes of privacy and then bring them aboard?”
Sam glanced over at them. “You’re okay out here?”
They nodded in return.
“Let’s get this over with,” he said.
Tatiana motioned the man in fatigues to follow them up the stairs while the couple from Kaliningrad remained behind.
Once on board, Sam led them to the table, dropping his pack on the top. Before he even had a chance to ask what was going on, she said, “Again, my apologies for delaying your departure, but I didn’t know how else to get you alone without any possibility of someone overseeing us.”
“Why would that be an issue?” Sam asked.
“Because your hunt for the Romanov Ransom has brought the attention of Rolfe Wernher, who will do anything to get it, including killing you and your wife. I couldn’t have that on my conscience.”
“What about them?” Sam asked, nodding out the window toward the man and woman from Kaliningrad. “What’s their part in all this?”
“They were supposed to follow you to determine why you were in Kaliningrad.”
“They shot at us.”
“It wasn’t them,” the man behind her said. “The group who came after you were part of the Wolf Guard, sent by Rolfe Wernher.” He glanced at Tatiana, then back at Sam, saying, “We were, however, responsible for the shooting at the apartment in Marrakesh. That was before we realized who you were. For that, we apologize.”
“And you are?” Sam asked.
Tatiana glanced behind her, then back at Sam. “My partner, Viktor Surkov.”
“Partner?” Remi said. “I wasn’t aware that was a rank in the military.”
Exactly what Sam was thinking.
The woman had a pained smile. “The subterfuge of my . . . exalted rank was necessary in order to receive the help we needed from the Polish government. They’re not exactly going to roll out the red carpet for a couple of police investigators, especially when they find out we’re using the cultural property as our—”
“Investigators?” Sam said. “For which agency?”
“FSB,” she clarified. “Viktor and I have been working undercover for the last six months, cultivating contacts with Rolfe as part of our investigation. No one out there can know.�
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“You have identification?” Sam asked.
“Not with us. We were, after all, in the middle of an operation, so you can imagine what might happen if someone ran across it.”
Sam’s gaze flicked toward her so-called partner, who certainly held himself in a manner of someone with military training. But he’d also seen ex-military who were employed by criminals. “There has to be some way of verifying it.”
“There isn’t,” she said. “If an inquiry is made through any law enforcement branches, it signals an alert. In fact, we’re breaking protocol just by talking to you. What I need, what I’m hoping for, is your trust.”
“Trust,” Remi said, “isn’t something we give too easily. Especially considering you’re not giving us any way to check.”
“It has to be that way,” she said. “We don’t know if Rolfe or the Wolf Guard have anyone working on the inside of any of these agencies.”
“Why come to us?” Sam asked.
“There’s no delicate way to put it, except to say that you’ve stumbled into the middle of what had been a meticulously planned operation. As a result, your lives are in danger.”
“From whom?”
“Rolfe Wernher and another, larger organization called the Wolf Guard. They’re working together.”
“Operation Werewolf.”
“You’ve heard of them. No doubt from your friend Gustaw here in Poland and Miron in Kaliningrad.”
“Miron?” Remi asked. “We haven’t been able to reach him since we’ve left. You’ve been in touch?”
Tatiana nodded. “Right after you fled Kaliningrad, the Wolf Guard picked him up on the orders of Rolfe. They were in the midst of beating him to find out what he’d told you. A little subterfuge on our part—along with his cooperation—we were able to track you to Poland. He’s fine, by the way. In hiding until we can be assured of his safety.”
Sam wanted to believe them if only because her story answered a lot of questions. Even so, he wasn’t about to risk the lives of Remi and his flight crew on the say-so of one woman he’d never met until today. “What’s your opinion, Remi?”
The Romanov Ransom Page 17