The Secret of the King's Tomb

by Garrett Drake

  “But I have to be on that ship,” Richard said.

  “If you don’t have enough money, I’m afraid that ship will have to wait.”

  “When does the next one leave for Alexandria?”

  “When this one comes back to port in two weeks.”

  Two weeks wasn’t an option—but neither was forking over the $150 necessary to purchase a first class ticket.

  Chapter 6

  WITH HIS HANDS SPREAD WIDE, Karl Wilhelm leaned on the table, his gaze bouncing all around the map splayed out in front of him. He tried to resist the urge to laugh, but he couldn’t help himself. Dr. Miller wouldn’t talk but ultimately didn’t stop the Reichswehr unit’s mission. And Wilhelm enjoyed a nice glass of French wine while two of his men managed to snatch the document right from under the nose of the naïve housekeeper.

  “Men,” Wilhelm began as he stood upright, “you were chosen because you are the most elite soldiers the Reichswehr has among its ranks for your particular talents. And with the stunning results you have already produced, I can no longer refer to you simply as a unit. No, there is only one name suited for the way you have handled task after task on this mission, and from now on I will call you my wolfsrudel.”

  Once, as a young boy on a camping expedition,, Wilhelm witnessed a pack of wolves devour a crippled lamb with unfathomable precision and efficiency. Within five minutes, the animals had hardly left any bones for the vultures to pick over. And so began Wilhelm’s obsession with the ferocious hunters. But now he had a pack of his own—and one worthy to be called as such.

  “Does anyone have questions before we board our ship tonight?” he asked.

  Felix Ludwig nodded. “Sir, I wanted to let you know that I believe we’re being followed and watched.”

  Wilhelm’s eyebrows shot upward. “By whom?”

  “I noticed a man in Monte-Carlo at the hotel as well as today in the restaurant while we were eating. He appears to keep to himself, but I saw him studying our team.”

  “Our wolfsrudel,” Wilhelm corrected. “Have you spoken with him?”

  “No, but I believe he’s spying on us and it would be in our best interest if we disposed of him before he became a problem.”

  “Then make it happen.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ludwig said before saluting.

  “Please, don’t salute me, not even in private,” Wilhelm said. “All it would take it someone to catch you doing that and suddenly international police are cracking down on us again, claiming we’re violating the treaty.”

  Ludwig put his hand down and nodded knowingly.

  “Well, what are you waiting for?” Wilhelm said. “I want to see this man suffer for his sheer arrogance. Anyone who thinks they can spy on us without experiencing great consequences is mistaken. Let’s ensure he meets a violent end as a lesson for all those who might dare to track us.”

  Ludwig leaked a wry smile before exiting the room first with the other men right behind him. Wilhelm took up his position at the rear along with Hans Reinhard.

  “Are you sure this is a wise move?” Reinhard asked.

  “Did Ludwig yield his position as chief questioner to you this evening?” Wilhelm replied.

  “No, sir, it’s just that—I thought we wanted to handle our business as quietly as possible. Murdering a spy doesn’t exactly seem to fit our preferred operational procedure.”

  “What’s preferred is that we send a message to deter this type of behavior from ever happening again.”

  “Our enemies may not see it that way,” Reinhard said. “They may seize upon this as a chance to exert more pressure.”

  “And by the time their bureaucratic ways grind through their antiquated system, Germany will have all the resources necessary to launch an offensive and sustain it until the allies yield.”

  “Isn’t it possible to get the same result but without attracting such attention?”

  Wilhelm shrugged. “Anything is possible. Besides, we’ll be gone before anyone can trace the death back to us, even if a host of people witnessed it.”

  “As you wish,” Reinhard said, refusing to press the matter any more as they both continued on in silence.

  Wilhelm appreciated that about Reinhard, a second-in-command officer who wasn’t afraid to challenge a decision but would ultimately respect it regardless of how the discussion concluded. When left alone, Wilhelm would often contemplate his men’s alternative suggestions, discarding them more often than not. But sometimes he took their ideas seriously and on the rare occasion would reverse course. Just not this time.

  If someone was following his wolfsrudel, that person needed to be eliminated.

  “I know my response might seem harsh to you,” Wilhelm said, breaking the quiet between them. “But I can explain.”

  Reinhard held up his hand. “There’s no need, sir. I trust your judgment.”

  “I feel I must.”

  “Then by all means, please continue.”

  Wilhelm took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly. “My father was nearly sixty years old, but he refused to quit, volunteering to pilot a Gotha for the Imperial German Air Service. Navigating one of the airships was often viewed as a suicide mission, but my father didn’t care. After a successful bombing run over London just before Christmas four years ago, he crashed on an attempted landing in Rochford. His entire crew survived, but he got caught and was quickly scuttled away to a British prisoner of war camp. We never saw him again. The official report was that he died of a heart attack while being interrogated, but we knew better. My father was in outstanding health. I can only imagine what they did to him to break his body down to the point that he couldn’t survive their torture.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, sir,” Reinhard said. “I never knew what happened to him.”

  “Thank you,” Wilhelm said, fighting back tears. “What they did to him was barbaric according to some of the other soldiers who were there. He never stood a chance. And as a result, they refused to send his body home.”

  “I cannot imagine such tragedy.”

  “And then there’s my grandfather, the owner of a ball bearing factory, whose fortunes have been squelched by the suffocating sanctions handed down as a result of the Treaty of Versailles. He used to have a very profitable business, exporting his manufactured items all over the world. But no longer. He’s limited to selling his wares to his countrymen, who are all too poor to afford his products. He had to shutter his business two weeks ago, and I fear there is no one who will be able to take care of him properly. He barely has enough to eat these days.”

  “We will change all of this.”

  Wilhelm nodded knowingly. “For my widowed mother, for my grandfather, for your Annemaria, for your Emilia.”

  “For all of them,” Reinhard said. “They all deserve better.”

  “They deserve the best. Let’s give it to them.”

  Once they reached the street, Ludwig needed only a few minutes to round up the suspected spy.

  “I swear, I’m not a spy,” the man said, his eyes wide with fear.

  “No one ever admits to being a spy,” Ludwig said. He turned and looked at Wilhelm, who gave the signal.

  * * *

  POSITIONED NEAR THE RAILROAD tracks, a train came roaring toward them.

  “I’m just a poor college student,” the man said, his voice quaking. “Please don’t hurt me. I don’t even know who you are.”

  As the train bore down on their position, several of Wilhelm’s wolfsrudel surrounded the young man.

  “Now,” Ludwig said.

  Acting in concert, the wolfsrudel snatched the man off the ground and hurled him toward the tracks. The lead engine shredded his body, leaving a grotesque mess.

  A tinge of blood landed on Wilhelm’s nose. Using his index finger, he scraped off the fluid and looked at it before wiping it off on his pants. He smiled in satisfaction at the gruesome execution of a spy who dared to follow them.

  That was for you, Father.

 
“To the docks,” Wilhelm said. “We have a ship to catch.”

  The world will respect us now. No, they will fear us again.

  Chapter 7

  RICHARD SLUNG HIS BAG over his shoulder and clutched the strap. Crouching down behind a stack of pallets, he waited in the shadows for the Harvraise steamship to finish loading. Once the last passenger was ushered aboard, several deck hands retracted the platform and began untying the ropes from the dock.

  He waited until the ship shoved off before making a move.

  Securing his pack by cinching it tight to his back, he took a deep breath before breaking into a sprint. With his eyes focused on the rope dangling over the side of the deck, Richard gauged his jump to perfection. He hit the metal on the edge of the dock and leaped toward the hull. Before he crashed into the ship, he secured both hands around the rope. However, he slid down a few meters, dipping the bottom half of his body into the water before shimmying his way to the top. The darkness provided all the cover he needed to sneak aboard without getting detected.

  However, he wasn’t expecting to be questioned less than a minute after climbing over the railing. A man wearing a uniform eyed Richard closely for a moment before asking to see his ticket.

  Richard placed both hands on his chest and then dug into his trouser pockets before shrugging.

  “I guess it’s in my bag,” he said. “If you’ll give me a minute, I can probably find it.”

  Richard hoped the gentleman would dismissively wave him away and move on to the next traveler who appeared suspect. But the man didn’t. Instead, he crossed his arms and tapped his foot.

  “I’ll wait,” he said.

  Richard rooted through his bag, knowing that he would never be able to produce the required document. He only hoped the delay would frustrate the man and drive him to move along.

  After a few minutes, Richard was disappointed to look up and see the man still standing there.

  “I’ve been around long enough to know a stowaway when I see one,” the man finally said.

  Richard shot a glance at the ship’s orchestra gathering on the deck to perform a few songs as the vessel headed for the open seas.

  “Perhaps I could earn my keep by playing the violin for you?” Richard said.

  The man smirked and then furrowed his brow. “Can you actually play—or is this another ruse?”

  Richard decided to let his skills speak for themselves. He snatched the nearby instrument and started to saw away. Within seconds, the man’s countenance transformed from a scowl to a look of surprise.

  “You actually do know how to play,” the man said. “And I think you’d give my first chair quite the challenge.”

  Richard forced a smile before halting the tune. “I wouldn’t tease you with such a thing. However, I did buy a ticket—it’s just that I was mugged on my way through the streets of Marseille, and my boarding document was stolen as well. I intend to find out who used it, if anyone at all.”

  “Well, if you play like that, you can have first chair in my orchestra until we get to Alexandria,” the man said. “I’ll even make sure you get a cabin in first class.”

  Richard flashed a wide grin. “Thank you, sir. I promise you won’t regret this decision.”

  “Then make sure that I don’t,” the man said. “I’m Francis Gerard. Welcome to my orchestra.”

  Richard introduced himself as Frederick Powers before shaking the man’s hand. Fortunately, the Harvraise didn’t have an orchestra comprised of elite musicians. The performers were merely sufficient, at least that’s how Richard assessed the situation based on his ability to land a spot as first chair among the orchestra’s violinists. To make a more proper judgment, Richard would have to wait and hear how everyone sounded together, but in the moment, he was grateful to his mother for forcing him to take violin lessons from a demanding instructor.

  Francis ushered Richard back to the sleeping quarters where he was paired with a tall, thin man named Antoine Pavard who played the French horn. Antoine was still unpacking his clothes when Richard entered the room. Despite a kind welcome, Richard perceived that Antoine was rather miffed that he wasn’t going to spend the next few days with a room to himself.

  “Don’t worry,” Richard said. “I don’t snore.”

  Antoine chuckled. “Well, I do. You might want to find something to plug your ears before you go to sleep.”

  Richard used the warning as a good opportunity to venture around the ship for a pair of earplugs all while covertly searching for the Reichswehr unit. Ten men traveling in the first class cabins was a surefire way to attract attention, just as it would be in third class. Based on the group’s desire to move stealthily around Monaco and France, Richard speculated that they would be scattered throughout various classes.

  Hustling down to the laundry room, Richard found a fresh shirt and pair of linen pants that fit him. After changing, he began exploring the rest of the ship. His search for the Reichswehr team wasn’t five minutes old when he strode into the dining hall and identified the man he believed to be the group’s leader. His voice was distinct, one filled with bass—and unforgettable. Richard closed his eyes and could hear a man speaking in the same tone as he gave the order to search Dr. Miller’s hotel room again. It was the man referred to as Wilhelm.

  Richard poured hot water into a cup at a self-serve station and dropped a teabag inside to let it steep. He then meandered over to a table near the men, taking a seat next to a couple who were canoodling, uninterested in engaging him in conversation. Staring at his drink, he strained to hear the Reichswehr commander speaking with one of his subordinates. For ten minutes, they droned on about benign subjects—family, the arts, the challenges of sleeping on a boat while tossing about at sea. Eventually, they got up and retreated outside.

  Casually following them, Richard circled the deck, catching snippets of the two men’s discussion. And while he didn’t hear much, he heard enough to know what he would eventually be doing once they arrived in Egypt.

  “When you say this map will lead us to one of the richest treasures in the world, how rich are we talking?” the subordinate asked in French.

  “As it was related to me, this would be enough to change the fortunes of an entire country,” the leader responded.

  Richard’s eyes widened. The fact that the Germans were chasing treasure wasn’t news to him. But this didn’t sound like just any treasure. This was the secretive type, perhaps the kind of fortune Dr. Miller was preparing to excavate once he received permission from the proper authorities. Without knowing anything else, Richard let his imagination run wild with just how much money such a discovery could bring. Maybe his pursuit of being a travel writer was misguided as was his moonlighting venture as a spy. Treasure hunting was starting to sound more his speed.

  “All we need is a guide and someone to help us interpret this map,” the commander said as he tapped his breast pocket.

  All I need is to get my hands on that map.

  Chapter 8

  Somewhere in the Mediterranean Sea

  THE FOLLOWING EVENING after an early concert performance, Richard roamed around the ship in an attempt to gain a better understanding of what he was up against. Hank Foster’s information on the Reichswehr soldiers had been scant, forcing Richard to do some of his own reconnaissance work. While he was still attempting to identify where all ten men were on the ship, he found the leader engrossed in a game of poker with several other gentlemen. Richard lingered nearby long enough to notice a document tucked inside Wilhelm’s jacket pocket. And then Richard hatched a plan.

  Hustling back to his room, Richard found Antoine slipping into his pajamas, signaling that he was retiring for the evening. However, it was what Antoine took off that made Richard’s jaw go slack.

  “Your mustache is fake?” Richard asked in disbelief as Antoine placed it delicately into a small case on top of the desk in the corner of their quarters.

  “I stopped growing hair a long time ago,” Antoine sa
id, pointing to the top of his bald head.

  “You can’t grow any facial hair? I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Richard said, shaking his head. “What I wouldn’t give to have a life without shaving so often.”

  “Just grow a beard, and you won’t,” Antoine said with a cheeky grin.

  Richard sighed. “You know what I mean.”

  Antoine chuckled before easing beneath the covers and pulling them taut.

  “Can I borrow your mustache?” Richard asked boldly.

  “Borrow it? It’s not a piece of property to be bandied about.”

  Richard wasn’t flustered. “Do you have an extra?”

  Antoine sighed before flinging the covers off and then stomping across the room to the closet. He removed a small box from the top shelf to place it on the desk. Opening the top drawer, he produced a mustache and handed it to Richard along with an adhesive.

  “You’ll want to slather the glue on the back because it doesn’t hold as well for some reason,” Antoine said. “If you really want to walk around the deck with a mustache, this one should hold up for you.”

  Richard thanked Antoine before promptly slathering the back of the mustache with the sticky substance. After several adjustments, Richard studied his upper lip in the mirror, satisfied that no one would be able to identify his prop as such. Richard palmed a pair of reading glasses Antoine had left sitting out as well as his hat. Once Richard was in the hallway, he situated the spectacles near the end of his nose, straightened the bowler on his head, and marched back toward the card game.

  As soon as Richard arrived, several men were pushing back from Wilhelm’s table. The men stood to leave, ignoring the large pile of money sitting in the center. Richard sat down and chuckled as Wilhelm raked the money toward him with a sly smile on his face.

  “Did you leave the poor fools penniless?” Richard asked.

  Wilhelm grinned. “You’re the poor fool who’s next if you take that chair.”