by Sewell, Ron
He pointed at some stiff- backed wooden chairs. “Please find a seat and relax. What you have discovered I am aware of. My predecessor made me promise on the Holy book never to reveal the secret of the tunnels. The tomb is false as you found out but reminds us that the young of Poland fought its oppressors. When this church was rebuilt the entrance was covered. We thought, for all time. How did you find it?”
“Tell him, PK.”
Petros reiterated the story of the boy, the book and the missing treasure. The bishop sat and listened, not once interrupting.
The bishop’s mind was razor sharp. “So you found the sacred items belonging to the Jews of Poland and a rather large bomb. We must contact the army and pray to God that they have the expertise to diffuse it. This church of mine survived the Warsaw uprising and bombing. I’d hate to see it destroyed. Go back to your Rabbi Jacob and let him know what is happening. One of you will be required to show the army where this bomb is located.”
“I’ll assist the army,” said Petros.
The bishop picked up his mobile. “Go before the police seal off the vicinity.”
Both men dashed past a bemused Father John and out the main door.
Bear looked about him. “Bloody hell, PK, Rabbi Jacob’s tent is less than a hundred metres away. Underground I thought we walked for miles.”
“Maybe we did but does it matter?”
Rabbi Jacob jumped as both men entered the tent. “How on earth did you find a way out?”
“Long story, Rabbi, but the police will be here in minutes to seal off the area. We found the treasure along with an unexploded bomb of world war two vintage. In a few minutes, the police will be clearing this area. PK and I will wait and one of us will show the explosives expert where it is. Then we are out of here.”
Sirens wailed and loud speakers broadcast the news no one wanted to hear. Barriers were erected sealing off the square and the police directed the locals and tourists to a place of safety. Ten minutes elapsed before an army truck arrived, dropped off two men with holdalls, before it roared away.
Petros and Bear peeked out of the tent and recognised the bomb disposal insignia on the truck.
“Time you left, Rabbi,” said Petros.
The two men in army overalls strolled across the square as if out for a walk in the park. The elder-looking of the two spoke first, his voice calm and formal. “Sergeant Antoni Duda. Are you the two who found the bomb?”
Bear didn’t hesitate. “Yes we did, looks German, World War Two vintage.”
“One of us will show you where it is,” said Petros.
“Are you sure it’s German?” asked Antoni.
“Definitely,” said Bear.
“Then it will be straight forward unless it’s German with a Russian fuse. But as it failed to go off seven decades ago, you never can tell.” He grinned. “My third wife hates my job. Isn’t that right, Drugi?”
“My second wife left me two weeks ago. The sergeant knows how to defuse bombs but he will not tell you his secrets.”
“Drugi talks too much. Looks like the police have completed the evacuation.”
“How can you tell?” asked Bear.
My mobile is receiving a text.
He pulled it from his overall pocket, read the message and turned it off. “Ready, Drugi?”
“I’ll take you to it,” said Petros before Bear jumped in.
Antoni prodded Petros’ chest. “You leave when you have shown us. I will not have you on my conscience if something goes wrong. This task never gets easier, because the greater the time that has elapsed since the war, new potential problems are uncovered. Do you know that one in eight bombs dropped on Warsaw did not explode?”
“I’ll lead.” Petros entered the tent, dropped into the drain and waited.
Antoni and Drugi followed with their equipment.
“Why do you do this? Is it simply a job?” asked Petros.
Antoni smiled, his voice hard and cold. “You don’t live long if you regard it as just a job.”
“Up there,” pointed Petros, “there’s a shaft to the left, which leads to a chamber. Careful as you enter, the bomb’s right there.”
“Thanks. See you in an hour or so. If we make it faster, you’ll soon know.” Antoni laughed as he and Drugi removed triple headlamps from their bags. They ascended the makeshift ladder and vanished into the shaft.
At a trot, Petros ran back and clambered out and into the tent. Outside he saw Bear waving from across the square.
“So you left the experts to it,” said Bear as he shifted the barrier.
Petros gave a satisfied smile. “Defusing bombs, I leave to the professionals. I thought you’d gone home, Rabbi.”
“I did leave but bumped into a few people who are waiting back there,” he pointed, “and would like a word. Sorry but finding a World War Two bomb is news”
“What shall I tell them?”
“I’ll need to interpret but the truth works for me.”
“Okay, let’s not waste time. Tomorrow we’re out of here.”
“You’d better believe it,” said Bear.
Cameras flashed and rolled as Bear followed by Petros and the Rabbi entered a safe street.
Petros studied the location and decided the main backdrop for the interview would be a rough stonewall with no distinctive features. With ease, he guided Bear and the Rabbi into position. Questions came fast and furious from the male and female reporters. He held up his hand until there was silence and started to speak.
He paused for effect to study their faces. “Ladies and gentlemen, I will say what I have to say and once.” At each pause, the Rabbi interpreted. “There will be no questions and you have my word and that of Rabbi Jacob I am telling you the truth. Ready, Jacob?”
Petros told the tale, omitting the part where Bear ended in the Catholic church and other minor details.
“Bear, Rabbi, it’s time we left.”
The media realised that was one side of the story and returned to the police cordon where they waited for the explosives specialists to surface.
A light wind wafted through the old market square. The babble of spectators and the media stopped as Sergeant Antoni Duda, and his assistant came out of the tent. Together they marched across the square and located the senior police officer.
“We must speak with them,” said Bear. “No one should enter those tunnels. Sergeant Antoni,” he shouted, his deep voice carrying across the gathering.
Antoni glanced towards him and waved.
Petros followed Bear’s huge frame through the throng until they stood next to Antoni with a metal barrier in between.
“You were right, my friend, the bomb was German. A well-made bomb with a fuse that could not work.”
“You mean it was a dud,” said Bear.
“No,” said Antoni. “The cocked firing pin was missing.”
“How come?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. Perhaps a simple mistake or a worker left it out on purpose.” He chuckled. “You can’t test a bomb to see if it works.”
“The passages that lead from the chamber contain an assortment of skeletons, grenades and ammunition. I suggest it’s removed before the trophy hunters arrive.”
Antoni gave him a stern look. “I’ll get my team to sweep through tonight. Rabbi, when we’ve finished, get your people together and take away every one of those boxes. We plan to remove the bomb in the morning and detonate it in a disused quarry.”
Petros turned to Bear. “I’ve had enough excitement for one day. A hot bath and a good meal are top of my agenda. Pleased it went well, Antoni.”
He shook Petros’ hand. “So am I.”
Bear smiled and waved as they wandered back to their hotel.
Chapter Three
Petros snapped open his eyes as the ringing of the telephone woke him. The gloom tempered by dull sunlight filtered through thick curtains. He grabbed the handset. “Petros Kyriades.”
“Good morning, Mr Kyriades
, Alicja in reception. We have arranged for breakfast in your room.”
“May I ask why?”
“Reception is full of the media wanting to interview you and your friend.”
Petros sat on the edge of the bed. “We spoke to them last night. Now what do they want?”
“The artefacts you discovered are on show at the Yiddish Theatre. And from what I’ve heard, many thought these were lost forever. The Chief Rabbi of Poland has contacted the hotel and wants to speak to you.”
“Breakfast for two in my room sounds perfect. I’ll give my friend a call.”
Ten minutes later Petros opened the door to a bleary-eyed Bear holding the morning paper. “Have you seen this?”
“Slim chance as you’ve just picked it up. Come in. Breakfast’s on its way.”
Bear went and slumped into an armchair. “Our picture with Antoni is on the front page. Must be a slow news day.”
“Alicja told me the press are in reception.” A knock on the door interrupted their conversation.
“Ah, with luck food,” said Bear.
Petros opened the door and Alicja wheeled a trolley laden with food and a large pot of coffee into the room. “When you are ready to talk to the press let me know. I suggest we use the dining room.”
“Sorry about this,” said Petros.
She raised her eyebrows. “Why? This is the cheapest advertising the hotel’s had in years. I’m charging that mob a fortune for tea, coffee, and sandwiches. We’ve made more in the last couple of hours than we make in days.”
“That’s out and out profiteering,” said Bear in a serious tone.
Alicja’s voice rose with amazement. “If they want refreshments cheaper they can go elsewhere, I’m not stopping them. By midday it’ll be over and tomorrow you’ll be gone. In your country you say, make hay while the sun shines.” She turned to leave but stopped. “Eat your breakfast before it gets cold.”
“Yes, miss,” said Bear, grinning as she closed the door.
Petros poured a cup of coffee and sipped the hot liquid while Bear filled a plate with bacon, eggs, tomatoes and beans.
“Leave some for me.”
“What you eat fits on one piece of toast,” said Bear, his mouth full.
Petros sat at the table, retrieved a slice of toast and covered it in marmalade. “What are we going to tell them this time?”
Bear glanced at him. “Can I finish eating before we discuss the mundane stuff?”
Petros laughed. “My apologies.”
Bear stared at him. “You talk, I’ll listen.”
“Not much more we can tell them. Let’s face it, we haven’t a clue what’s in the crates.” With a gulp, he finished his first cup of coffee. “I’m going for a shower. Leave me enough in the pot for another cup. When you’ve finished stuffing your face and had a shower, give us a knock. We might as well hit the press together.”
Bear grunted.
***
Petros looked around the crowded dining room before he turned to Rabbi Jacob. “I’ll leave the questions to you, Rabbi. In spite of everything that’s happened we haven’t seen the treasure.”
Bear motioned to Alicja, who stopped pouring coffee and sidled towards them. “Any chance of a coffee?”
She smiled. “On the house, three coffees and sandwiches on their way.”
“Ready?” shouted Petros to the waiting news teams.
“Two long wasted hours,” bellowed a male reporter from the nearest table.”
Jacob smiled. “I will give you a few details of the items found and answer any questions. Three boxes have been opened. I can tell you there are many more.”
A barrage of questions followed.
He waited until there was silence. “Thank you, I hate having to shout. The finding of this treasure is of great importance to our community. In times of distress these items are often hidden and for many reasons never found. On opening the first box we discovered the Torah scrolls from a synagogue destroyed during the occupation. Most appear to be in excellent condition and will be in time displayed in the Museum of the History of Polish Jews. Much to our surprise, the next contained silver plates and Menorahs. The last held a large quantity of jewellery. Every item will be documented and photographed in the hope existing members of a family can make a claim. With the passing of time this may be unlikely but we must try.”
He sipped at his coffee. “I must thank these two men who followed the words written by a man who died in one of the camps. Any questions?”
A blonde woman, her hair pulled back in a pony tail, stood. “Rabbi, is there any truth in the rumour a passage leads to the Catholic Church?”
“While these two men were underground they discovered many tunnels, most are storm drains and others roughly constructed. These might or may not lead to the church you mention.”
She beamed a smile. “So there’s no truth that the dark-skinned gentleman alongside you rose from a tomb inside the church?”
“You have obviously spoken to members of the congregation who he frightened. Yes, he travelled through various tunnels, which ended in that church. In those passages are the remains of Poles who died defending their country. Whether they remain there or these tunnels are defined as a war grave is not our decision and most certainly not yours. Please allow the authorities to complete the grisly task. I’m certain the correct decision will be made.”
A small rotund man stood. “On behalf of all here I thank you, Rabbi. Would it be permissible for us to enter the theatre and photograph those treasures you have?”
Jacob turned to Petros and Bear and in English asked, “Would you like to see what you hit upon?”
“Of course, Jacob,” said both men as one.
Jacob faced the media. “Ten minutes and you may take your photographs. Let’s go.”
Outside, Jacob followed by Bear and Petros, walked fast to the Jewish Theatre. He nodded to the two security guards and entered. Three empty boxes rested on the stone floor. “We opened them here and shifted the contents further inside where it has been documented.”
“Never realised there was so much,” said Bear.
“Why would you? One wall as you saw it was five boxes deep and you know how high.”
They followed Jacob.
“Wow,” said Petros, “all these scrolls.”
“Historically, priceless,” said Jacob.
“The jewellery?” asked Bear.
“Sorry, in my safe until we take it to the bank.”
“Jacob, how much sleep did you get last night?” asked Petros.
There was a pause. “None. Half a dozen employees of the museum and I worked through the night.”
“The army must have removed the grenades and ammo,” said Bear. “Old grenades can be lethal if you pick them up.”
“Yes, they were there most of the night as well.” He threw back his head and stretched his arms. “Must get on and let the media in. Thank you.”
“We get paid for our work,” said Petros, “but this time it was a pleasure.”
The two men left the building and the media charged in.
On entering the hotel, Alicja handed Bear a printed message. ‘Saw your pictures on the news. Please return my call re a collection from Libya. Eva. Berlin.’
“Anyone we know?” asked Petros.
“Not yet. But I have a strong suspicion we might.”
Part Three
Chapter One
Berlin 2012
The interior of the large white concrete rectangular room was Spartan. In the centre stood a wooden table with thirteen chairs placed at regular intervals around its circumference. On the walls hung pristine Nazi flags; their red background with white circle and at the centre a black swastika. One gilt-framed picture of Adolf Hitler adorned the far wall.
Eva Engel, carrying a black leather briefcase, followed Maximilian Meyer into the room. Eleven men stood and waited. A close knit group recruited from around the world, their eyes fixed on him. In his early thirti
es, with hair styled similar to Hitler, he wore a light grey suit, white shirt and a red tie. Walking to the high-backed wooden chair he motioned for all to sit.
He gave the Nazi salute. “My friends,” his voice boomed around the room, “thank you for making time to be here. I know you have busy lives in your diverse occupations. We are the core of the New Order and will, when the time is right, rule Germany, our beloved Fatherland.” Maximilian spoke with excitement. “Europe is in financial chaos, immigration is uncontrolled, unemployment is at its worst for decades, and our people want change. Tonight we begin the campaign to rid our country of those who have full bellies and bow to the rest of the world. We reflect the emotions of the people for strong leadership. We will tell the masses what they need to know. Your patronage of the New Order is for the future of our country. Tonight at 22.00, many of our followers will start damaging riots across Europe. No one will know whom to blame. The police will find suitably drugged or drunk immigrants after the first confrontation. Evidence is in their homes to incriminate them and their like. London, Rome, and Paris will erupt with burning cars and mayhem. The most important factor in our schedule to win power and support is correct timing. We must not waver or turn back.” He continued, with his own version of Hitler’s twenty-five point plan for the new Germany.
He lifted the briefcase to the table and removed eleven named packages. “Gentlemen, in these are your orders and money for our storm-troopers. You will position yourselves as directed and film tonight’s action. These snippets you will place on face-book and twitter and any other site that will spread the word. Now go. Be proud, you are part of the rebirth of Germany.”
“You have worked out the strategy for this well,” said the nearest man.
“Unfortunately, I cannot see into the future and predict the exact time governments will fall under the pressure from the people. When chaos rules we will make our move. Until that moment sow the seeds of domination.”
Eva smiled but remained silent, her pleasure being with him.
Maximilian stood and ended the meeting.
When the room emptied, he turned, his voice tense, “Eva, are you certain the diamonds are where your grandfather left them?”