‘Ten o’clock,’ Payne whispered to Jones. ‘Behind the fallen rocks.’
Jones glanced in that direction and nodded. Although Kaiser’s men were dressed in woodland camouflage – a mixture of greens, browns and black that was perfect for this terrain – Payne and Jones had spotted four guards in less than a minute. An amazing feat in dim light.
‘Unbelievable,’ Kaiser gushed. ‘You found them all.’
‘Not yet,’ Payne said. He pointed to the hillside that overlooked the site. ‘Twelve o’clock, on the ledge. There’s a bird’s nest up there.’
Bird’s nest was military slang for an elevated sniper position.
‘Nice spot,’ Jones said. ‘Good protection, wide field of fire. And high enough to take a nap without the other guards knowing. That’s where I’d set up with a camouflage blanket.’
Kaiser studied the rock face. ‘Sorry. I forgot about him.’
‘Somehow I doubt that. But if you did, it makes me wonder,’ Payne said.
‘About what?’
‘What else you’ve forgotten to tell us.’
Kaiser grimaced when he heard the tone of Payne’s voice. Usually playful, it was now tinged with distrust. ‘Forgotten? Nothing about the site. Omitted? Plenty. But I promise, there’s a method to my madness. Once you see what we’ve discovered, you’ll understand why I brought you here. Not only that, you’re going to thank me for my discretion.’
Payne stared at him. ‘Who’s we?’
Kaiser blinked a few times. ‘Excuse me?’
‘You said we discovered the site. Whom were you talking about?’
‘Come on, Jon. Did you really think I found this place on my own? Look at my stomach. See the way the fat hangs over my belt? Do I look like I climb mountains in my free time?’
‘Not unless they’re made of sausage,’ Jones teased.
Payne rolled his eyes. ‘In that case, who found it?’
‘A friend of the deceased.’
‘And when did you get involved?’
Kaiser explained. ‘As luck should have it, I was notified right after the site was discovered. Due to the embarrassing nature of the hunter’s death – getting crushed by a flying pig – a colleague of mine was paid good money to move the corpse to a secondary location, one that would be more dignified. He made it look as though the hunter died in a fall.’
‘This colleague of yours. Is he your partner?’
Kaiser shook his head. ‘Thankfully, my colleague owed me several favours, so I traded them for the rights to the site. Personally, I think it was a bargain.’
‘Do you trust this guy?’ Payne asked.
‘Not completely, but I have enough dirt on him to guarantee his silence.’
Payne agreed. ‘Sometimes that’s better than trust.’
Kaiser read between the lines, trying to remain calm. ‘Listen, I understand your frustration. I truly do. You’ve come all this way, and I’ve been stonewalling you the entire time. But I promise, that’s about to change. Give me five minutes – just five more minutes. That’s all I need. After that, everything will make sense. My secrecy, your involvement, everything!’
‘It’d better, or we’re leaving,’ Payne warned him.
Kaiser smiled, hoping to lighten the mood. ‘Trust me, Jon. What you’re about to see will convince you to stay. I guarantee it.’
Payne glanced at his watch and noted the time. More than twenty-four hours had passed since Kaiser’s initial call. Since then, he and Jones had travelled nearly 4,500 miles from Pittsburgh to Munich to Garmisch-Partenkirchen. And now, under the vigilant watch of five armed guards, the duo had followed a smuggler up the side of Zugspitze, yet they didn’t know why. In many ways, it was exhilarating.
‘You’ve got five minutes. Lead the way.’
Kaiser did as he was told, leading them into the natural cul-de-sac where the boar had been killed. The area didn’t seem special in any way, except for the large hole in the forest floor. For safety’s sake, the perimeter had been marked with several wooden posts and a bright yellow rope. With a buffer zone of ten feet, the rope formed a semi-circle with the rock face on the far side of the hole.
‘What do you think?’ Kaiser asked.
Jones crouched and examined the boundary. ‘I like the rope. Is this nylon?’
‘I meant about the site.’
Payne scrunched his face. ‘This is the site?’
‘Technically, it’s the entrance to the site, but what do you think?’
Payne paused, searching for words. ‘It looks like a hole.’
‘Well, it is a hole. But a hole in what?’
Payne guessed. ‘The ground.’
Kaiser shook his head. ‘Actually, it’s a hole in the roof.’
Jones stood, confused. ‘The roof of what?’
‘A secret bunker,’ Kaiser replied. ‘As far as I can tell, the ground collapsed from the weight of the pig. I’m telling you, it’s a massive sucker. At least six hundred pounds.’
Jones whistled. ‘That’s a big pig.’
‘Unfortunately you’ll get to see it – and smell it. It’s way too big to lift by hand. We’ll need a winch to move all that meat.’
Jones grinned. ‘I dated a girl who said the same thing about me.’
Kaiser ignored the comment. ‘Obviously I can get you anything you need. But extra equipment means extra workers and at this stage of the game, I felt privacy was more important.’
Payne smiled. ‘Same old Kaiser. Still loving your privacy.’
Kaiser corrected him. ‘Not my privacy, your privacy. I’m doing this for you.’
‘For me?’ Payne asked.
‘For all of you.’
Although he wanted Kaiser to explain himself, Payne figured it would be a waste of time. Why settle for an ambiguous response when they were this close to learning the truth? On multiple occasions, Kaiser had said everything would make sense once they saw the contents of the site so it seemed foolish to ask any more questions.
They were standing ten feet from the entrance to the site.
It was time to climb inside.
8
Due to the instability of the terrain, the fifteen-foot extension ladder did not lean against the sides of the hole. Instead, the ladder was attached to scaffolding on the floor of the bunker. The last thing they wanted was for the ground to open any wider and swallow another victim.
‘Coming down,’ Kaiser yelled as his feet clanked on the aluminium steps. At the bottom, he was greeted by a sixth guard, who was positioned underground just in case intruders slipped past everyone else and tried to raid the site.
‘You’re next,’ Payne said to Jones. ‘I’m fifty pounds heavier and the ground is unstable.’
Jones nodded and carefully approached the opening. As he did, his heart pounded in his chest. Not from fear of the unknown but for the promising possibilities. The last time he had felt this way was in Greece, right before they had found the treasure that had changed his life for ever. Until then he had been making a decent living, running a detective agency out of free office space at the Payne Industries Building. A solid life, for sure, but not nearly as exciting as he had hoped it would be. Then again, compared to his time with the MANIACs, what could possibly compete? In many ways, he felt like a star athlete who had been forced to retire at the height of his career. No matter what he did to stay near the game – coaching, scouting or broadcasting – the thrill just wasn’t the same as it was in his former life.
But moments like this came close.
Grabbing the ladder with his right hand, Jones stretched his left leg over the opening and placed his foot on the metal step. A moment later, his second foot followed. As it did, the top of the ladder rattled and swayed. Not enough to be dangerous, but more than enough to get his attention. While waiting for the ladder to settle, Jones peered into the dark void below. A single beam of light danced underneath him, revealing nothing but a glimpse of the bunker’s floor. It looked old and dusty, like a p
haraoh’s tomb.
‘Hurry up,’ Payne urged. ‘It’s getting darker by the minute.’
‘Trust me, Jon, it doesn’t matter. It’s like a black hole down there.’
‘Speaking of black a-holes, what are you waiting for?’
Jones smiled. ‘I’m waiting for the ladder to settle.’
Payne rolled his eyes. ‘And you wonder why I normally go first.’
‘You know, if I were you, I’d want to stay on my good side.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘I’ll be invisible in the dark.’
‘Great! We can play Marco Polo without closing our eyes,’ Payne teased, referring to the children’s game. ‘Now hurry the fuck up and climb down the ladder.’
Jones laughed as he started his descent. When he reached the bottom, he pulled out his flashlight and flicked it on. Thirty seconds later, Payne was standing next to him, doing the same thing. Suddenly the room around them came into view.
At first glance, nothing about it seemed remarkable. Eleven feet long and twenty feet wide, the chamber’s walls and floor were made of white concrete. Over the years, cracks had formed in two of the walls, allowing moisture to seep in. The tiny fissures were surrounded by patches of lime-green mildew that appeared to move in the light like something from science fiction or something from outer space. On closer examination, Jones realized it was simply an optical illusion – light refracting off different surfaces – yet the effect was still creepy.
‘Take a look at this,’ Payne said from the other side of the room.
Jones whirled and spotted him behind the scaffolding. He was crouched down, examining a large object wrapped in a plastic sheet. ‘What is it?’
‘The murder weapon.’
‘The what?’ Jones asked, confused. A few steps later, he saw the face of the dead boar pressed against the plastic, its bloodstained tusks poking through. ‘Holy balls! Look at that thing. It’s huge!’
‘It’s the biggest boar I’ve ever seen.’
Jones knelt next to it and patted its side. Even though it was wrapped in plastic, the scent of death lingered in the air. Grabbing one of its tusks, he said, ‘This little piggy had roast beef.’
Payne smiled. ‘No wonder the other piggy had none. This one ate the whole cow.’
Jones laughed. ‘Hey Kaiser, is this why we’re here? To see the nursery rhyme pig? If so, we’re a little late. No way Hogzilla is going to market. He’s a little too ripe.’
‘Actually,’ Kaiser said from the far corner, ‘I brought you down here for this.’
Payne stood. ‘For what?’
‘For the other room.’
Jones stood, too. ‘There’s another room?’
Kaiser nodded, and then twisted a small handle in the wall. Made of metal, the recessed lever had been painted white to conceal its existence. Intrigued, Payne and Jones shone their lights in the corner and watched in amazement as a door suddenly appeared in the concrete.
One moment, it looked solid. The next, there was a slight opening.
‘How’d we miss that?’ Jones whispered.
Payne shrugged and walked forward to examine it.
In a brightly lit space, the doorway would have been easy to spot. But years of dirt and mildew, coupled with the gloom of the underground lair, had obscured its presence. Not only to Payne and Jones, but to Kaiser, too. On his first visit, it had taken him an hour to notice it.
Kaiser said, ‘I’m pretty sure this back room was a bomb shelter.’
‘Why do you say that?’ Payne asked.
‘Feel this sucker. It’s solid concrete. Doors like this are built for two reasons: safes and shelters. And since there isn’t a lock, I’m guessing it’s not a safe.’
Payne knocked on the door, impressed. ‘What’s back there?’
‘A tunnel, then a room.’
Payne glanced at the ladder to get his bearings. ‘Unless I’m mistaken, the tunnel goes underneath the rock face. That’s the best place to build a bunker. Use the mountain instead of concrete. Much cheaper that way.’
Kaiser leaned against the door, but it barely budged. ‘If you don’t mind, can you give me a hand? This thing weighs a ton.’
‘No problem. I like helping the elderly.’
Payne smiled and pushed the door with all his strength. Slowly but surely, it swung open from left to right until it crashed into the tunnel wall behind it. Made of concrete and painted the same colour as the first chamber, the arched corridor was nearly six feet wide and seven feet high, and it stretched twenty-two feet into the mountain. At the far end of the passageway, there was another thick door. In between, there was nothing but concrete and empty space.
No lights. No signs. No markings of any kind.
‘Thanks,’ Jones said as he slipped past Payne. ‘I knew we brought you for a reason.’
‘Please, after you,’ he mumbled sarcastically. ‘Really, I insist.’
Jones grinned in the dark as he took the lead. Guided by his flashlight, he studied the tunnel’s construction as he moved towards the back room. ‘Notice anything about the walls?’
‘Not really,’ Payne said. ‘Then again, you’re blocking my view.’
Jones answered his own query. ‘They’re spotless. No mildew or cracks of any kind. Whoever built this section did a much better job. Then again, that makes sense if the next room is a bomb shelter – although I’m beginning to have some doubts.’
‘Why’s that?’ Kaiser asked from the rear.
‘As far as I can tell, there’s no ventilation.’
Kaiser nodded. ‘Actually, you’re right. Not a single vent anywhere. I checked.’
Payne stopped and shone his flashlight at Kaiser. ‘No vents? There has to be vents. No vents mean no air. No air means no people. Why build a bunker that can’t hold people?’
Kaiser smiled cryptically. ‘You’re about to find out.’
9
Mitte District
Berlin, Germany
Hans Mueller grabbed the sharpest knife he could find and plunged it into the sausage. It hissed when its skin was pierced, grease oozing like lava onto the hot grill.
Watching closely, the man across the kitchen winced.
He knew this was a message, not a meal.
Born in India but a recent resident of Berlin, Asif Kapur had been invited to dinner through unconventional means. Two thugs had kicked in his front door and dragged him out of his shower. At first, he had screamed and tried to fight back, but a swift kick to his groin and several layers of duct tape round his hands and mouth had put an end to that. Dripping wet and completely naked, Kapur had been thrown into the trunk of a Mercedes and driven round the city for more than an hour. By the time they were done, he was shivering with fear.
That’s when he was delivered to the restaurant.
Recently purchased by Mueller as a way to launder money, the complex was still being renovated. Over the past few decades, the entire neighbourhood had received an extensive facelift. Formerly a part of East Berlin, the borough of Mitte had been surrounded by the Berlin Wall on three sides. Although there had been some crossing points between East and West Berlin during the Cold War – the most famous being Checkpoint Charlie – Mitte hadn’t been a popular tourist destination until the wall came tumbling down in 1989. Since then, the area had experienced a renaissance. Galleries had been built, cafes opened, derelict houses destroyed. After so many years of being an embarrassment, Mitte has re-established itself as the heart of Berlin.
And Mueller hoped to take advantage of the influx of visitors.
‘Tell me,’ he said without turning away from the grill, ‘do you know who I am?’
Kapur, still naked but no longer gagged, nodded in fear. ‘Yes, sir.’
Mueller stabbed another sausage with the tip of the knife. ‘Do you know why you’re here?’
Kapur gulped, his heart pounding in his throat. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘One more question,’ Mueller said as he turned off the
flame and faced his guest for the very first time. ‘Do you enjoy curry?’
The topic caught Kapur off guard. ‘Excuse me?’
Wearing a white apron over his dress shirt and tie, Mueller carried the platter of sausages across the kitchen and set it on a large butcher’s block. Made of maple, it sat in the centre of the workspace and was partially covered with kitchen equipment. ‘It’s a simple question, really. One I thought you could answer without much difficulty – especially considering your heritage. You are Indian, correct?’
Kapur nodded from the opposite side of the wood.
Mueller, a fit German in his forties with a military haircut and eyes as black as coal, glared at his guest. ‘I believe I asked you a question. If you’re unwilling to answer me verbally, my men will gag you once again. Is that what you’d prefer?’
Kapur shook his head. ‘No, sir.’
A smile returned to Mueller’s face. ‘Good. You are Indian, correct?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Mueller stared at him, sizing him up. ‘Do you enjoy curry?’
Kapur nodded. ‘Yes, sir. Very much, sir.’
Mueller leaned closer. ‘Do you like it … spicy?’
‘Yes, sir. Very spicy.’
Mueller considered Kapur’s answer, then nodded his approval. ‘This restaurant, once the renovations are finished, will serve the finest currywurst in all of Germany. Are you familiar with the dish?’
‘No, sir.’
Mueller gasped in surprise. ‘You are an Indian living in Berlin, and you are not familiar with currywurst? How can this be?’
Kapur swallowed hard. ‘I haven’t been here long. Only a month.’
‘A month,’ Mueller echoed, letting the words hang in the air like smoke from the grill. ‘You are correct. You have been here a month. One month exactly. One month to this very day.’
Kapur nodded. He was very aware of the date. ‘Yes, sir.’
Mueller took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, trying to control his rage. ‘Even so, you cannot go anywhere in this city without passing a currywurst stand every fifty feet. I am surprised that an Indian, such as yourself, did not smell the spice and stop for a taste of your homeland. To me, that’s inconceivable. Tell me, are you a vegetarian?’
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