Sean Wyatt Compilation Box Set

by Ernest Dempsey

  Friedrich motioned for her to follow and led the way to the back of his shop through a thick, steel door. The room they had entered housed a table and several shelves stacked with old guns, army helmets, and other random military items. A pair of old floor-lamps were the only illumination in the room, casting an eerie glow from one end to the other. The things that most caught her attention were the badges and small flags with the familiar swastika on them.

  Located at the back wall, just beneath a small, barred window, sat a gray filing cabinet.

  Friedrich motioned for her to sit down at the table in the middle of the room. After he took a seat opposite of her he spoke. “So, Martin tells me you are looking for some artwork you believe was stolen by the Nazis. Correct?”

  She nodded. “Yes, Herr Mueller. I’m wondering if you can help me find it.”

  “As I am sure you well know, there have been many treasure hunters who have searched for such things with little or no success.” He finished the statement by crossing his arms.

  “I am. But this piece is different. I am looking for a specific painting that was stolen.”

  She pulled the old photograph from her jacket pocket and slid it across the table. He raised an eyebrow and reached out to pick up the picture. Instantly, his eyes grew large. He stood up and walked over to a shelf and picked up a magnifying glass. For a few seconds, he inspected the photograph closely then returned the tool.

  “So, he said as he stepped back over to the table. You are looking for the lost Van Gogh.” He chuckled and sat back down in his chair. “I have heard of this painting, though I have never had anyone ask me about it. Well, until yesterday.”

  She became suddenly alert. “Someone asked about it yesterday? Who?”

  He held out his hands. “I don’t know who he was. He came in late in the afternoon, asked me a few questions about the painting and then left.”

  “What do you know about it?” Adriana pressed. Concern had washed over her face. If the man that had been watching her yesterday knew about the painting, it seemed she was going to have some competition. Even though he was dead, she knew others were probably lurking. Her mind drifted to the mystery shooter who’d killed her assailant.

  Friedrich shrugged. “It was known as The Tree. Apparently, it was one of the last paintings Van Gogh created before he died.”

  “Have you heard anything about where it might have been taken when it was stolen?”

  He laughed again. “I have heard all of the same rumors that you have heard: booby trapped caves in the mountains, hidden vaults, all kinds of wild stories abound with legends of Nazi gold and stolen relics. I haven’t seen any of them turn out to be true yet. But this one is different.”

  His thought lingered for a moment. “What do you mean, different?” she asked and leaned forward.

  After a few more seconds, he spoke. His tone was just above a whisper. “Several years ago, I was asked to appraise some pieces for a local businessman by the name of Holger Foyt. Herr Foyt is extremely wealthy. He owns a mansion in the nearby mountain town of Schirke.

  “While at the home, I was given a the privilege of seeing nearly the entire collection of art and old antiques that the Foyt family had collected through the centuries. While I was documenting my findings, I noticed one particular piece that had been carelessly stacked with a dozen or so others in a storage room.”

  Friedrich tapped the photograph with his finger. “It was this painting.”

  Her eyes widened. “You have seen this in person?”

  He nodded. “When the man came by yesterday and asked me if I knew anything about the missing Van Gogh, I did not know which painting he was talking about. But now, having seen this photo and analyzed the signature on it, I am certain that is the painting you seek.”

  “How did you not recognize the painting’s creator when you were there?” she seemed dubious.

  Friedrich shrugged. “Herr Foyt did not ask me to appraise his paintings. In fact, he made it a point to let me know they were of little value to him. So, at the time, I thought nothing of it. But I have seen Van Gogh’s work before. And this is, most certainly, one of his.”

  She started to stand up. “Where is this Foyt’s home?”

  He held up a hand. “Miss Villa, you cannot just stroll up to Holger Foyt’s home and ask to see his collection of artwork. He is an extremely powerful man. To be honest, I felt very uncomfortable even doing the task he asked me to do.”

  “Why is that?”

  There was a pensive silence before Friedrich spoke.

  “Because, Holger’s father was a Nazi General.”

  Villa raised an eyebrow at the revelation.

  He spoke up before she could ask. “I don’t know for sure if Holger holds the beliefs of his father. He has lived most of his life out of the public view so it is hard to say. But he did inherit a great deal of money when his father died. It was

  money the old man had made during the war. Since then, Holger has built a small empire with a few companies he established, all legitimate businesses.”

  “How can I get into his home?” Adriana was direct with the question.

  He laughed loudly. “You want to steal from Holger Foyt?” He wagged his finger over the table. “This is not a good idea. There is much security around the estate. And while he may or may not be a Nazi, people who try to steal from him are dealt with ruthlessly. That much he did inherit from his father.”

  “I need that painting,” she said. Determination filled her eyes.

  Friedrich’s eyelids narrowed. “Why that one? Surely there are other pieces of artwork around the world that could be easily bought or more easily stolen than this one.”

  “I am no thief,” she corrected. “Taking something that was stolen to begin with is not stealing.”

  “Interesting justification, Ms. Villa.”

  She didn’t appreciate the condescending tone but she understood. “Can you get me into the mansion?”

  He shook his head. “That is one thing that I am afraid I cannot do. I have only been there one time and that was years ago. I wouldn’t even know how to tell you to sneak in even if that was a possibility.”

  Adriana sat quietly, considering what he’d said.

  Friedrich raised a finger. “There is someone who may be able to help you, though. She was a friend of Holger for many years. Some believe they had some kind of a romantic relationship. Of course, rumors abound that way. Her name is Helen Obermeyer. I believe she still lives in the same house. Every now and then she comes into my shop to buy something. We do not talk much but if there is anyone that can get you into that fortress of a home, it would be her.”

  “Where can I find her?”

  Friedrich gave her some quick directions and asked if she needed a pen and paper.

  “No,” she said, “I remember everything.”

  She stood up and reached into her jacket pocket then tossed a thick, white envelope onto the table in front of him.

  “Gracias.” She said and walked out of the room, headed for the front of the shop.

  He gently picked up the envelope and peeked inside. Within it was as stack of Euros, each bill worth one hundred. “Bitte,” he said the German word as he heard the door to the front open.

  Adriana had followed Friedrich’s instructions and had little trouble finding the place. Now she stood in front of a beige home with a white door. It appeared to be several hundred years old, though still well maintained. Of course, that was a common thing in Germany. Many homes were passed down through generations, each successive heir doing what they could to renovate and keep up the ancestral manor.

  An elderly woman with short, white hair appeared in the doorway a few moments later. She was tall and slender. While the skin on her face was wrinkled and old, she still carried herself with a youthful pride. The woman said nothing at first, sizing up Adriana.

  “Frau Obermeyer?” Villa asked after the woman had opened the door.

  The lady raised
an eyebrow. “Und who are you?” Her English was perfect despite the German accent.

  “My name is Adriana Villa. I have a few questions I’d like to ask you if you have a moment.”

  The woman appeared irritated. “Questions. What kind of questions?”

  “In regards to this,” Adriana held out the photo of the painting.

  The woman’s cold demeanor changed to confusion. She looked up and down the street then motioned for Adriana to enter. She did as instructed and followed the woman into the home.

  Inside, the appearance of the place was rustic. The old wooden floors made her feel like going back in history. The smell of the wood mixed with a scent similar to a library, again adding to the sense of long ago.

  “Would you like some coffee?” the host asked politely, carrying the photograph into the kitchen.

  “No, thank you.” Adriana preferred to get back to the subject of her visit. “So you know this painting?”

  The woman found her way to a small, black bistro table in a kitchen nook that looked out on a back yard. Helen sat down and motioned for Adriana to do the same. She held the photograph reverently. When she spoke, her voice was distant.

  “I have not seen this painting in many years,” she began.

  “Could you tell me where have you seen it?” Adriana asked.

  The woman laughed a little. “My dear, I am certain you arrived here after speaking with our friend at the antique shop. He no doubt told you where this painting is located. So why are you here to see me?”

  Adriana thought for a moment. “Friedrich told me that you were friends with Holger Foyt, that you might be able to help me get into his home.”

  “To what ends? Are you a thief? If so, what kind of friend would I be to show get you access of that nature?”

  “Frau,” Adriana said respectfully, “this painting was stolen a long time ago by some very bad people.”

  “And you justify your own thievery this way?” Helen tossed the photograph back across the table. Her eyes drifted to the window and stared out into the forest.

  “It was stolen from a family during the war. They are the rightful owners. I’m going to get it back with your without your help.” Adriana’s tone sincere and her determination impressed the older woman.

  Helen smiled momentarily. “Our fathers were friends,” she started. “Holger’s was a general, as I’m sure our friend Friedrich informed you. Mine was an officer as well. Since our fathers were friends, it was natural that Holger and I became close.

  “When I was younger, we spent most of our time together,” she spoke of the period fondly. “We became closer when my father was killed by the allies near the end of the war.”

  Adriana’s face expressed sympathy.

  The woman shook her head. “Do not take pity on me. My father was a Nazi and a thief. I do not condone what he, nor any of the others did. I loved him because he was my father but I am not proud of his legacy.”

  Adriana understood. Helen went on, “I remember seeing that painting with all the others in Holger’s sitting room. His father used to sit and stare at it while sipping on brandy. After the war, he was one of the few high-ranking officers the allies did not go after for war crimes. Then, things began to change.”

  Helen took a sip of her coffee from a small, porcelain cup before continuing. “What had once been a simple admiration became an obsession. Whenever I saw the General in his study, he was looking through maps, old books, and taking fierce notes. All of it had to do with the painting.”

  Adriana looked curious. “What was he doing?”

  “When the war ended, many German soldiers went back to their lives and started trying to move on. A few, though, were so dedicated to the Reich that they began looking for ways to resurrect it,” she paused for a moment, lost in thought. “Such folly.”

  “You said resurrect it. What do you mean by that?”

  Helen laughed and looked down into her mug. “You haven’t heard about Nazi’s search for immortality?”

  Adriana shook her head.

  “I suppose that is understandable,” Helen shrugged. “Most people only know the surface of what the Nazi’s were into. They see the history that was written by the victors: holocaust, madmen, cruelty. Only a rare few look beyond what is in the books and see what else the Reich was doing. Some have come across their research in genetics and the experimentation that was done on humans and animals. Others have looked into the testing that was done with quantum mechanics. There is even some evidence that suggests the Nazis were trying to find extraterrestrials. But one part of their research was of particular interest to Holger’s father.”

  She paused for a moment, seeming to consider something. Adriana leaned forward, anxious to hear the secret.

  “One of the greatest searches the Nazis performed was for something that could provide them with a source of power greater than anything known to man. Immortality.” The older woman eased back in her chair and took deep breath.

  “Immortality?” Adriana seemed slightly confused. “What could they possibly have been looking for that would provide immortality?”

  Helen smiled and pointed at the old photograph still lying on the table.

  “The painting?”

  The older woman let out a flurry of laughter. “No, no, my dear. Not the painting. The tree in the painting.”

  “I don’t understand. What is so special about this tree?” Adriana held up the picture and looked at it closely.

  “Adolf Hitler was a very religious man,” Helen said. “Though most people don’t know it. For all of the detestable things that he did, deep down he believed that God was on his side.

  Adriana was incredulous. “I find it hard to believe that he was a religious man.”

  Helen shrugged. “Most people find it hard to believe. But Hitler was deeply convinced that Germany was blessed by God, that it was a new nation of His chosen people.”

  “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard that,” Villa appeared deep in thought. “It sounds like a stretch.”

  “I understand your skepticism, my dear. But remember, my father was a Nazi officer, yours was not. Hitler believed the Jews stood in the way of the country’s potential greatness. In his mind, they had to be eliminated.”

  Adriana clearly seemed uncomfortable. “How does any of this related to the painting of the tree?”

  The woman’s tone became even more serious. “That tree is the source of eternal life. If humans were to eat of its fruit, they could live forever. It was an external sustenance that could stave off death forever.”

  “It sounds like a fairy tale,” Adriana said. “There is no such thing.”

  Helen shrugged again. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. What I know is that Adolf Hitler spent tens of millions in his search for it. He scoured the earth for clues, anything that could lead to the tree’s location. He was obsessed by it. The search for the tree occupied his mind at all times.

  “In the end he died like everyone else,” Adriana added.

  “Yes,” the older woman stood while she spoke. “He most certainly did. Although, he did not want to die. For someone who so easily sent men into battle to face death constantly, he was terrified of facing it himself. That fear further served to fuel his search for the tree. Men like my father as well as Holger’s were sent all over Europe and northern Africa in search of anything that could help pinpoint the location of the ancient source of eternal life.”

  Adriana’s eyes grew wide with the realization. Even with the far-fetched story about a tree that granted immortality, things were starting to make sense but she still wasn’t quite convinced.

  “The art, all of the ancient relics, the historical artifacts that were stolen during the war, those things were taken because Hitler was looking for some mythical tree?”

  “No, my dear. The other things that were taken were because of greed. Only the Van Gogh holds the first clue.” Helen stood next to the sink, her coffee mug in her left hand. “There have bee
n many throughout history who have searched for a source of immortality. Ponce de Leon looked for a fountain of youth in the Americas. The Egyptians tried to preserve humans after they died even though the body had already given up. Fear was only a portion of why Hitler searched so diligently. He wanted to live forever because of one simple thing. Power.”

  “Power?” Adriana asked

  “Yes. Imagine if he had been immortal. He would still be here, creating chaos and commanding atrocities without consequence. His dream of living forever was only the device to what he really wanted. World domination, run by a super race of people.”

  Adriana looked down at the photograph. She stared at it; trying to process the information that Helen Obermeyer had just given her. “What is Holger Foyt doing with the painting?” she asked after a moment.

  Helen leaned back against the sink. “Holger thinks the stories of the tree are just that, stories. He believed that our fathers and their precious leader were out of their minds. For him, the painting is just a piece of art that served to further their insanity.”

  “What do you believe?” Adriana asked, genuinely.

  “I have lived long enough to see many things. But I have never seen anything that would make me believe there is a plant that can overcome the power of death. We humans are frail creatures, easily destroyed by microscopic things or by random accidents. I believe their search was futile and I am disgusted by the means they carried out their mission.”

  Adriana looked down at the painting again. “Can you help me find the Van Gogh?”

  There was a sudden click from the window at the rear of the kitchen. Adriana looked over and noticed the glass had cracked from a hole in the center. The next noise was the sound of a porcelain coffee mug shattering on the floor. She glanced back at her host just before the woman collapsed. Helen’s eyes were wide, staring ahead. Blood oozed from a hole just above her ear. Adriana instinctively jumped back from the view of the window and took cover behind the corner of the kitchen entryway.

  She noticed a new, terrifying smell. Smoke. Panic crept into the back of Adriana’s mind.

  She looked over towards the hall and saw the smoke entering through room, creeping along the ceiling. She crawled back to the front of the house, trying to stay as low as possible. Through a hallway that stretched to the back of the house, she could see the source of the smoke. The entire back wall of the house was engulfed in a raging flame.