“Mama!” cried Julian, utterly terrified. The old bookseller had his left arm around the boy’s neck; the other hand was pointing the gun. Paul looked for his brother’s gun in vain. The holster was empty; Alys had left it in the car. “I’m sorry, he surprised me. Then he saw the suitcase and took out the gun…”
“Julian, darling,” said Alys calmly. “Don’t worry about that now.
I-”
“Silence, everyone!” shouted Keller. “This is a private matter between me and Paul.”
“You heard what he said,” said Paul.
He tried to nudge Alys and Manfred out of Keller’s line of fire, but the bookseller stopped him, squeezing Julian’s neck even tighter.
“Stay where you are, Paul. It would be better for the boy if you stood behind Fraulein Tannenbaum.”
“You’re a rat, Keller. Only a cowardly rat would hide behind a defenseless child.”
The bookseller began to step backward, burying himself in the shadows once more until they could only hear his voice.
“I’m sorry, Paul. Believe me, I am sorry. But I don’t want to end up like Clovis and your brother.”
“But how…”
“How did I know? I’ve been following you since you walked into my bookshop three days ago. And the last twenty-four hours have been very informative. But I’m tired now and I’d like to get some sleep, so just give me what I’m asking for and I’ll release your son.”
“Who the hell is this lunatic, Paul?” said Manfred.
“The man who killed my father.”
The surprise was clear in Keller’s voice.
“Well, now… so you aren’t as naive as you seem.”
Paul stepped forward, positioning himself between Alys and Manfred.
“When I read the note from my mother, she said he was with her brother-in-law, Nagel, and a third person, ‘a friend.’ That’s when I realized you’ve been manipulating me from the very beginning.”
“That night, your father called me to intercede on his behalf with certain powerful people. He wanted the murder he had committed in the colonies and his desertion to disappear. It was complicated, though your uncle and I might have been able to make it happen. In exchange he offered us ten percent of the stones. Ten percent!”
“So you killed him.”
“It was an accident. We were having an argument. He drew the gun, I threw myself at him… What does it matter?”
“Except it did matter, didn’t it, Keller?”
“We expected to find the treasure map in his papers, but there was no map. We knew he’d sent an envelope to your mother, and we thought she’d kept it, that one day… but years passed and it never came to light.”
“Because he never sent her any map, Keller.”
Then Paul understood. The last piece of the jigsaw fell into place.
“Have you found it, Paul? Don’t lie to me; I can read you like a book.”
Paul looked around before answering. The situation couldn’t have been any worse. Keller had Julian, and the three of them were unarmed. With the car headlights trained on them, they would make perfect target practice for the man hidden in the shadows. And even if Paul decided to attack and Keller turned the gun away from the boy’s head, he would have a perfect shot at Paul’s body.
I have to distract him. But how?
The only thing that occurred to him was to tell Keller the truth.
“My father didn’t give you an envelope for me, did he?”
Keller guffawed scornfully.
“Paul, your father was one of the biggest bastards I’ve ever laid eyes on. He was a philanderer, a liar, and a coward, though he was fun to be with too. We had some good times together, but the only person Hans ever worried about was himself. I made up the story about the envelope just to get you going, to see if you could stir things up a bit after all these years. When you retrieved the Mauser, Paul, you retrieved the gun that killed your father. Which, in case you haven’t noticed, is the same gun I’m pointing at Julian’s head.”
“And all this time…”
“Yes, all this time I’ve been waiting to get my hands on the prize. I’m fifty-nine, Paul. I’ve got another ten good years ahead of me, with any luck. And I’m sure that a trunk full of diamonds will liven up my retirement. So tell me where the map is, because I know you know.”
“It’s in my suitcase.”
“No it’s not. I’ve searched it from top to bottom.”
“I’m telling you, that’s where it is.”
There were a few seconds of silence.
“Very well,” said Keller at last. “This is what we’re going to do. Fraulein Tannenbaum will take a few steps toward me and she will follow my instructions. She will drag the suitcase into the light and then you will crouch down and show me where the map is. Is that clear?”
Paul nodded.
“I repeat, is that clear?” Keller insisted, raising his voice.
“Alys,” said Paul.
“Yes, it’s clear,” she said in a steady voice, stepping forward.
Concerned by her tone, Paul caught her arm.
“Alys, don’t do anything silly.”
“She won’t, Paul. Don’t you worry,” said Keller.
Alys freed her arm. There was something in the way she walked, in her apparent passivity-in the way she entered the shadows without revealing the tiniest hint of emotion-that made Paul’s heart constrict. All of a sudden he felt a desperate certainty that it had all been useless. That in a few minutes there would be four loud bangs, four bodies laid out on a bed of pine needles, seven dead, cold eyes contemplating the dark silhouette of the trees.
Alys was too horrified by Julian’s predicament to try anything. She followed Keller’s short, dry instructions to the letter and immediately reappeared in the illuminated area, walking backward and dragging an open suitcase full of clothes.
Paul crouched down and began to rummage through the tangle of his belongings.
“Be very careful with what you’re doing,” said Keller.
Paul didn’t reply. He had found what he was looking for, the clue to which his father’s words had led him.
Sometimes the greatest treasure is hidden in the same place as the greatest destruction.
The mahogany box where his father kept his pistol.
With slow movements and keeping his hands in sight, Paul opened it. He stuck his fingers into the fine red felt lining and yanked hard. The cloth tore away with a ripping sound, revealing a little square of paper. On it were various drawings and numbers, handwritten in India ink.
“Well, Keller? How does it feel to know the map was under your nose all these years?” he said, holding up the piece of paper.
There was another silence. Paul enjoyed seeing the disappointment cross the old bookseller’s face.
“Very well,” said Keller hoarsely. “Now give the paper to Alys, and let her approach me very slowly.”
Paul calmly put the map in his trouser pocket.
“No.”
“Did you not hear what I said?”
“I said no.”
“Paul, do what he’s telling you!” said Alys.
“This man killed my father.”
“And he’s going to kill our son!”
“You have to do as he says, Paul,” urged Manfred.
“Very well,” said Paul, putting his hand back in the pocket and retrieving the note. “In that case…”
With a quick movement he crumpled it up, put it in his mouth, and started to chew.
“Nooooo!”
Keller’s cry of rage echoed through the forest. The old bookseller stepped out of the shadows, dragging Julian with him, the gun still pointed at his skull. But as he approached Paul, he trained it on Paul’s chest.
“Damned son of a bitch!”
Come a little closer, thought Paul, getting ready to jump.
“You had no right!”
Keller stopped, still out of Paul’s reach.
Closer!
He began to squeeze the trigger. Paul tensed the muscles in his legs.
“Those diamonds were mine!”
That last word was transformed into a high-pitched, shapeless scream. The bullet left the gun, but Keller’s arm had jolted upward. He let go of Julian and spun around strangely, as though he were trying to reach something behind him. As he twisted, the light revealed a strange red-handled appendage in his back.
The hunting knife that, twenty-four hours earlier, had fallen from Jurgen von Schroeder’s hand.
Julian had kept the knife in his belt all this time, waiting for a moment when the gun was no longer pointing at his head. He had stuck the blade in with as much force as he could, but at a strange angle, so he hadn’t done much more than give Keller a superficial wound. Howling in pain, Keller aimed at the boy’s head.
Paul chose that moment to leap and his shoulder struck Keller’s waist. The bookseller toppled to the ground and tried to roll over, but Paul was already sitting on top of him, pinning his arms down with his knees and punching his face again and again.
He lashed out at the bookseller more than two dozen times, not noticing the pain in his hands-which the following day would be completely swollen-or his grazed knuckles. His conscience disappeared and the only thing that mattered to Paul was the pain he was causing. He didn’t stop until he couldn’t cause any more.
“Paul. That’s enough,” said Manfred, putting his hand on his shoulder. “He’s dead.”
Paul turned. Julian was in his mother’s arms, his head buried in her chest. He prayed to God that his son hadn’t seen what he had just done. He removed Jurgen’s jacket, which was soaked in Keller’s blood, and went over to hug Julian.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m sorry I disobeyed what you said about the knife,” said the boy, starting to cry.
“You were very brave, Julian. And you saved our lives.”
“Really?”
“Really. Now we have to go,” he said, heading toward the car. “Someone might have heard the shot.”
Alys and Julian got in the back, and Paul settled in the passenger seat. Manfred started the engine and they returned to the road.
They continued to glance nervously in the rearview mirror, but they weren’t being followed. No doubt someone was in pursuit of the Dachau fugitives. But it appeared that heading in the opposite direction of Munich was the right strategy. Still, it was a small victory. They would never be able to return to their old lives.
“There’s one thing I want to know, Paul,” whispered Manfred, breaking the silence half an hour later.
“What’s that?”
“Did that little piece of paper really lead to a trunk full of diamonds?”
“I believe it did. Buried somewhere in South-West Africa.”
“I see,” said Manfred, disappointed.
“Would you have liked to look for it?”
“We have to leave Germany. Going in search of treasure wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Shame you swallowed it.”
“The truth is,” said Paul, removing the map from his pocket, “what I swallowed was a note awarding my brother a medal. Though, given the circumstances, I’m not sure he’d mind.”