Kaiser whispered. ‘Remember what Petr said. The Nazis marked everything. Admittedly, I’ve never seen this symbol before, but what if this was one of theirs?’
Payne glanced over his shoulder, paranoid. The last thing he wanted to do was ruin Ulster’s mood, unless it was completely necessary. ‘What if it was? For all we know, Conrad found one of their crates and used it to store his belongings. Remember, a war was going on. Supplies were in high demand. People used everything they could get their hands on.’
‘Trust me, it’s not that simple,’ Jones assured him.
‘It’s not? How can you be so sure?’
Jones grimaced and pointed towards the crate. ‘Go see for yourself.’
16
Although his journey was a short one, every step that Payne took was filled with dread, as if he were a convicted felon heading towards the gallows. Time seemed to slow as he approached the crate, giving him a chance to envision all the horrendous possibilities that might be inside. He realized the contents had spooked Jones and Kaiser, two men who didn’t spook easily.
Still, he hadn’t been expecting anything like this.
The crate was packed with several rows of gold bars that glowed like the legendary city of El Dorado, thanks to the bright light of the halogen lamps. Each bar weighed 5,000 grams (approximately 11 pounds) and had been carefully stamped with the elaborate swan symbol that had been branded onto the lid. Payne had no idea what or whom the swan represented, but it was pretty obvious that money hadn’t been a problem – at least until the gold had disappeared.
‘Shit,’ Payne mumbled under his breath. ‘This isn’t good.’
‘No, it’s not,’ Jones whispered. ‘Not good at all.’
During their time in the MANIACs, they had discovered thirty crates of gold bars in a bunker outside Baghdad. The treasure, plundered from a royal palace, had been hidden by an Iraqi diplomat who had tried, in vain, to smuggle it across the border. Realizing the roads were patrolled by American troops, he had buried the cache in the desert, planning to return a few years later after tensions had calmed. But much to the diplomat’s chagrin, Payne and Jones had uncovered the bunker before the Iraqi had a chance to claim his plunder.
In retrospect, it was the first treasure the duo had ever found.
Payne grabbed one of the bars from the crate. It felt like a brick in his hand. Using his body to shield it from Ulster, he flipped it over and searched for additional markings but saw none. ‘What do you know about Nazi gold?’
Jones whispered, ‘Do you want facts or myths?’
‘Both.’
‘In simple terms, Nazi Germany financed its war effort by looting its victims. Most of the assets were stored in regional depositories that were heavily guarded. When the Nazis needed a large influx of currency, they cashed in the gold at dozens of financial institutions in Europe – including the Vatican Bank and the Franciscan Order. That is, if you believe the civil suits filed by Holocaust survivors.’ Jones made sure Ulster wasn’t listening before he continued. ‘Now this is where things get complicated. After the war, most of these accounts miraculously disappeared. I’m talking here today, gone tomorrow. Some people believe the gold was stolen by the upper class and hidden in vaults, much like the gold we found in Iraq. Others speculate that only the paperwork was destroyed, that the depositories themselves are still waiting to be found. Personally, I’m not sure what to believe. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s a combination of the two. Some gold was stolen, and the rest got lost in the shuffle.’
Payne held up the bar. ‘What about this gold?’
Jones struggled for words, not wanting to condemn a man he had never met – especially the grandfather of one of his friends. ‘For the time being, the best thing we can do is figure out the meaning of the swan. For all we know, it might be something innocuous, like the crest of one of the families that Conrad smuggled out of the country. Maybe he was storing this gold for them.’
‘And if he wasn’t?’ Kaiser asked, worried about the repercussions.
‘If he wasn’t, we’ll have some tough choices to make,’ Jones said.
Payne glanced at Ulster, who was so focused on his grandfather’s journal he was oblivious to everything going on in the back of the room. ‘As much as I hate to do this, I have to ask Petr about the swan. He knows more about history than the three of us combined. It would be foolish to leave him out of the loop just to spare his feelings.’
Jones grimaced at the task. ‘Do you want me to join you?’
Payne shook his head. Things would go smoother if he did it alone. ‘While I talk to Petr, open some more crates. Hopefully, you’ll find something that explains the gold.’
‘Such as?’
‘A receipt would be nice. Preferably one without a swastika.’
Jones leaned closer. ‘I know people who could forge one.’
‘So do I,’ Kaiser admitted.
Payne winced at the suggestion. ‘Guys, I was kidding. We’re not forging a receipt.’
‘Of course not,’ Jones said in a less than convincing tone. ‘Wouldn’t even think of it.’
Kaiser didn’t blink or smile. ‘I was serious.’
Back when Kaiser was starting his operation, one of the first people he hired was a world-class forger who specialized in visas and passports. Not only was he an expert on ink, paper, and handwriting, but he also had a unique perspective since he used to be a border guard at the Berlin Wall so he knew what would be looked for. In recent years, the forger’s son had entered the family business, but unlike his father, he specialized in artwork and older documents.
Payne smirked. He was quite familiar with Kaiser’s services. ‘Although I appreciate the offer, both of us know that’s not the best way to go.’
‘I never said it was. I’m just letting you know it’s an option.’
‘Thanks, but no thanks,’ Payne said, trying to distance himself from the topic. ‘But if you think of something legal, be sure to let us know.’
Mueller’s assistant answered the encrypted satellite phone in the front seat of the Mercedes Benz limousine. The custom-built car had more safety features than the Popemobile. Armour-plated doors, bulletproofed, non-splinter, multi-layered windows, a fuel-tank safety system, run-flat tyres, and a remote starting system that could be activated from a distance of 300 metres – just in case an explosive device had been wired to the ignition. To some people, equipment like this would be overkill. But in Mueller’s line of work, it was essential.
He made enemies every day, and most of them were criminals.
Gazing at the Binnenalster, one of two artificial lakes in Hamburg, Mueller sipped his morning coffee in the back of the limo while pondering his hectic schedule. Rarely awake before noon since most of his business was done at night, he wasn’t in the mood to speak to anyone except the arms dealer he was about to meet in the park. If all went well, Mueller would make seven figures before lunch.
‘Sir,’ said his assistant over the intercom system, ‘there’s a call for you.’
Annoyed by the interruption, Mueller jabbed the button. ‘Who is it?’
‘It’s Krueger. He has news from Bavaria.’
Mueller nodded his approval. Krueger was a trusted worker who wouldn’t call unless it was important. ‘Fine. Give him to me.’
With a flip of a switch, the soundproof partition behind the front seat was lowered. After handing the phone to his boss, the assistant raised the partition to its original position.
Mueller spoke to Krueger in German. ‘Yes?’
‘My apologies, sir. Sorry to disturb you so early.’
‘What is it?’
‘Over the past few days, I’ve noticed some unusual activity in Garmisch-Partenkirchen. The type of activity that might interest you.’
‘Define unusual.’
‘Helicopters, sir. Both coming and going to the foot of Zugspitze.’