Slowly, gradually the Library returned to focus. The energy of the old wood and books tuned into his consciousness. And the reason for his being at the Schloss returned to his mind. The heart!
Reinhardt’s gift…the Four Pillars of Salzburg…two days! He glanced at his watch. It was already nine. In precisely three hours the first pillar would be targeted. But the paramount question was: which was the first Pillar of Salzburg? And how would it be destroyed?
Re thrust the lingering, smouldering aftermath of Nisa’s vision into a corner of his mind. The present crisis was of paramount importance. The prime reason he was here. What Re really hungered for, was more information. He knew that in details and knowledge lay all the answers.
On an impulse he dialed his friend’s number.
‘Dan, your hotel guests are at breakfast.’
‘Yes, probably.’
‘While they are at it, can I have a quick peek into their rooms?’
The hesitation at the other end of the line turned into a longish pause. Then Dan replied. ‘Okay, make it super-swift!’
***
The housekeeper unlocked the door and stepped aside.
Re nodded a ‘merci’ and went into the room, which he knew belonged to the oldish couple. He strode to the centre of the room which sported yellow walls and a grand wooden headboard on the double bed. A medicine ball stood by a round wooden table and a comfortable rocking chair. But Re didn’t pay much attention to these icons of the hotel. For a moment, his eyes flicked over the tidy suitcase and some clothes thrown casually over another chair. He closed his eyes and absorbed the energy of the room for a couple of long minutes. Hyper-active, brimming, even happy. At length, when he opened his eyes, his gaze instantly focused on a small pouch which hung from the side of the suitcase. The seal on it was so small, that Re almost missed the blue cloth shield with the red compass with its sixteen points and the bald American Eagle. He sucked in a quick surprised breath, extracted the camera from its case and rapidly clicked some photos. Re was glad he hadn’t left his camera in the car with the video cam.
The next room was smaller but emanated the same elegance and careful décor. It was untidier, though. Clothes were strewn in a disorderly manner over the armchair, and the bedsheets were crumpled. Re smiled. The occupant was apparently not a man who believed in the tedious gratification of a tidy place. Re’s gaze swept across the room, picking up nuances of the owner’s character, until it rested on a small object on the round table by the window. He hastened to it, a slight frown between his brows. What a strange article! Re picked up the small white lace apron, tiny as a doll’s. For a moment he thought it would be a keychain, but the apron didn’t seem to have any chain. Re studied it for a couple of minutes, then dropped it back on the table, carefully adjusting it to exactly the same position he’d found it in.
The room after that was spick-and-span and Re felt no surprise to find it as tidy as if the housekeeper had just completed her task. The vibrations in the room were soothing, he realized, as he closed his eyes. A few moments later, he examined the violin which rested on the table. As he lifted it to strum the strings, an off-white and elongated smooth object caught his attention. It was a tiny flute, labelled ‘Mozart’. Re imagined the apron of the earlier room alongside the flute. What a perfect match they were—as if they came from the same doll’s set.
When Re stepped into the adjoining room, the housekeeper remained outside, respectfully awaiting the completion of his examination. Re once again occupied the centre of the room and closed his eyes, absorbing the onslaught of energy. What a vibrant person she was! An artist meticulous in her analysis of art. His nose picked up an odd smell which was faint and unidentifiable…somewhat like a burning cigarette. His eye caught a small photo frame laid by the bedside stand. It was a very old picture, almost faded, of a middle-aged woman with a child. Her hair was sleekly coiffed in elegant waves and she wore a fur coat. Was this the child’s mother? Re wondered. Despite the poor quality of the picture, the strong bond between the little girl and the woman was very evident. Re quickly took his camera and clicked a picture of the frame, once again replacing it in its exact former position.
The last room surprised Re the most. Except for the crumpled sheets, and the general disarray in the room, there was little indication of anyone staying there. Re checked the dustbin and found it to be empty. If Re didn’t know better, he would’ve thought the guest of this room had already checked out. He closed his eyes, sensing hostility in the atmosphere.
***
Stefan frowned, his eyes crinkling at the corners, as he stared at the note in hand. The one Isabel had claimed was written by Justin, her husband and had handed over to him the previous evening.
5th Heart Veronique AWEF MPCL
Stefan sucked his breath in with sudden realization. Heart! And today was the 5th! For a moment, excitement snaked inside him. Did Justin’s note mentioning the ‘5th heart’ have anything to do with the missing heart of the Archbishop? Did Justin know that the heart would go missing today? Had he overheard something or someone? Perhaps Isabel speaking to someone? After all, Isabel was a historian and she had a great deal of unusual interest in the Schloss. Always had, even way back when they were dating. Memories came flooding back. He remembered that one time in college. They had been strolling past the Schloss gates and she had suddenly halted, stared through the bars and declared, ‘That is my dream destination!’ Stefan had found it funny then, even endearing. And the time when she had declared to his mother that the Schloss had a special place in her heart. Her eyes had lit up and he still remembered that lovely smile on her lips. And then, Isabel had begun working at the Seminar. She had been obsessed with it, to the point of driving Stefan jealous. Was Isabel somehow involved with the theft of the bishop’s heart? Had Justin overheard her speaking to someone, planning a course of action? Was that the reason for his disappearance?
Stefan couldn’t control the sudden onslaught of options that flew into his face. Options which pointed accusing fingers at Isabel. Mein Gott…if any of it were true—what had she got herself into? He groaned and for a moment closed his eyes. He had loved her so much, and look where it was all heading. If he was right—if he was right—it would mean…
With sudden anger, Stefan banished his rampant thoughts, stuffed the two notes into the drawer and extracted the map of the town. Thank God the security of all the delegates at the Schloss had been taken care of. It meant that he could focus on the need of the hour: identifying the Pillars. He spread the map of Salzburg out on his table, a pencil poised between his fingers. Without hesitation, he circled some areas on the large sheet. It wasn’t very difficult to guess what some of the Pillars of Salzburg could be—there were so many possibilities. The cathedral, the Festung or fortress, the house where Mozart was born, Mozart’s residence—the list was long.
Salzburg was a heritage city. Almost every building had a historical significance and dated back to the early centuries. Each one was a ‘Pillar’ in its own right. The question was, which would be the first one to be targeted at noon? Also, how seriously was he to treat the threat at all? Could it be just a crazy prank by someone? No, if digging up two feet of earth in a chapel to make off with an archbishop’s heart was a prank, then all his understanding of human psychology would go for a toss. No, this was not a prank. This was something real. And immediate action needed to be taken before the situation spun out of control.
He frowned. He didn’t want to do it, but he would have to. He would have to involve the security department in this. It was an extreme action, the kind he hadn’t taken in a long time.
He picked up the phone.
‘Kruger, could you please come over? This is urgent.’
Twenty minutes later, platoons of equipped policemen left their headquarters in vans. Their instructions were clear: spread out to different historical venues of the city and scour the monuments for bombs and suspicious articles of any kind.
Chapter 3
here’s only one person whom I hold in extreme high esteem and who I think would be able to assist you—Isabel, the Seminar’s fellowship manager and historian—she’s brilliant! Has encyclopedias stored in her head. She knows all about the Schloss and Salzburg. She researched them for years for her Ph.D. which, unfortunately, she couldn’t complete,’ Dan informed him.
‘Why not?’ Re asked, as he shook his long hair loose, combed his hand through it and tightened the band round his ponytail.
The hotelier shrugged. ‘Well, it’s a rather sad, mysterious tale, actually. Three years ago, Isabel met this American tourist, Justin, in Vienna. It was love at first sight, they got married at once and both settled into marital bliss. She continued to work here as a fellowship manager and studied every inch of the Schloss, as well as its history. Unfortunately, about a month ago, Justin suddenly vanished. He never came back, and still hasn’t been found. The police tried their best to find him, but with no luck. Since then, she’s been heartbroken, and quite a recluse. Doesn’t really meet anyone and has quit coming to the Schloss completely.’
‘Interesting and sad,’ Re agreed. ‘Well then, is there anyone else who is as good as her? Who can help us?’
‘Hmm…’ Dan stared out of the window thoughtfully, a finger scratching at his stubble. Then he turned to his friend, a sudden gleam in his eyes. ‘You know what? Let’s try to get Isabel to help you. Earlier, she would have, without the slightest hesitation. She has to be persuaded that this is still the perfect job for her.’
‘But you said—’
‘We’ll try to convince her. Come on, let’s go! She doesn’t live far. She runs a B&B. She’s a complete housewife now, hiding in her old mill-turned-hotel.’
Re turned a startled face to the hotelier. ‘Did you say mill? Does her family own a chapel?’
‘Yes! How did you know?’
‘Eh bien, the world is a small place,’ Re grinned, nevertheless looking amazed as he strode out of the office.
***
Stefan stood before the Cragg’s Caldera in Markatplatz, a sculpture deeply significant to art in its balance of spaces, curves, and crevices. The centre of energy. The spirit of the city of Salzburg—Die Seele von Salzburg—he felt the energy at its strongest at this spot, walking inside the Caldera of bronze. Anthony Cragg, the artist, had described his creation as a ‘mental landscape’ that can also be experienced inside the actual ‘cauldron’. And Stefan couldn’t agree more. The sculpture represented more than just a work of art to him. It was the unification of the energy of the town, of spatial interactions, which was why every time he looked at the sculpture it appeared different. It was when he was inside the sculpture, feeling the cool metal, deciphering the interlocked faces in the shifting forms which appeared and vanished into the sculpture, that he felt more than a mental awakening. The feeling was so tangible that it felt physical, every single time. But not today. Today, he could sense the change in energy and he knew why. Anger bubbled inside him. It was the heart, Firmian’s heart, which they had done their best to protect and yet had failed miserably to do.
His phone rang just then and he took the call.
‘We heard. It is the energy. It has been disturbed.’ A deep voice spoke on the other end.
‘It is unthinkable! This has never happened before,’ Stefan agreed in an emotionless voice.
‘I know, we all know, which is why it is time for the SSS to meet…urgently.’
‘Ja, I agree.’
‘Eight o’ clock at the Schloss. You will inform the others and book the room?’
‘It is short notice…’
‘I know it is short notice, but they will all understand the gravity of the situation.’ The authority in the voice was unmistakable. ‘We have to take immediate decisions, tough ones, and it is important that everyone is present.’
‘I shall do what you need.’
‘Thank you. See you in the evening.’
Stefan ended the call and stepped out of the sculpture, a feeling of desperate yearning filling his being. Where was the heart? And most importantly who had stolen it?
***
For the second time that day, Re stood outside the mahogany grand door of the mill. For some strange reason, he felt a little anxious. Dan had driven like a maniac through the old town, taking sharp curves, narrowly and expertly missing collisions, and they had arrived at their destination in less than ten minutes.
Now, as he pressed the door bell, Re was curious as to how Isabel would react to their visit.
Feet clattered on the flagstones and the door opened. She stood there, looking at the two of them with startled eyes. A gentle violin began to play in Re’s mind. He experienced a rush of slow, sad emotion, filling him up from the feet upwards and pooling into his heart. He felt stifled and began to take deep breaths.
‘Dan! What a pleasant surprise!’ she exclaimed and spontaneously embraced him.
The hotelier threw a triumphant look at Re.
‘Meet my good friend Re, from Paris,’ he made the introductions.
Isabel’s eyes briefly rested on Re and narrowed in recognition.
‘Well, I’ve already met your friend this morning.’
Dan turned to look at his friend. ‘Really?’
A ghost of a smile flickered on her lips. ‘There’s only one person with a ponytail and with an “Om” pendant round the neck, staying at the B&B and that’s him.’
Dan arched an eyebrow at the journalist, who suppressed a laugh.
‘I am surprised you noticed the pendant.’ Re smiled at her.
‘You shouldn’t fiddle with it so much if you don’t want people to notice it,’ she retorted. ‘Come on in. That’s the marble from the Untersberg,’ she pointed casually, glancing at the checked red-brown floor as she led them through a wooden archway into a duplex hall.
The hall-cum-dining area was a picture of elegance in wood and stone, and the big window ledges overlooked a trail of flowers outside.
‘What brings you here?’ she asked directly as she indicated the chairs and drew one for herself.
Re left it to Dan to do the explaining. Since his arrival, the exquisite surroundings of the B&B had barely registered. He glanced around the warm, spotless lounge taking in details of the walls, the bookshelves and furnishings. He noticed a framed photograph, of an earnest-looking young man, resting against a book.
When Dan finished recounting their story, silence followed. Re glanced at Isabel curiously, but she was scrutinizing the floor with blank eyes.
‘The Archbishop’s heart stolen? What a strange thing to happen,’ she remarked at length, contemplatively. ‘Odd, really odd.’
‘Precisely. It’s too odd, which is why I need you to help find it.’
‘But Dan, you know my situation,’ she began.
‘I do.’
‘Ever since Justin disappeared, I can’t think of anything else. I’ve hounded the police for information but they have nothing to offer me. How can a person just up and vanish one day? There must be some trace of him! How can the police give up?’ she asked agitatedly.
Dan glanced at Re, a little helplessly.
‘I’ve gone through his things, his room, clothes, study… every paper I could find, but there’s no hint that he planned to leave. In fact, a week before and even the day before, he spoke of how much love meant to him and how he would do anything for love! A man who plans to leave wouldn’t declare his undying love, would he? And if he was unhappy, he would’ve told me he was unhappy—’ she cut herself off, suddenly realizing that she was speaking too much.
A slow blush crawled up her face.
‘Anyway, I am a hopeless wreck. I am of no use to you.
Why don’t you just hand this over to the police?’
‘I’ve already done that.’
‘Then rest assured, they would do a better job than him—or me,’ she shrugged, candidly.
‘Re is an investigative journalist. I don’t know if you’ve he
ard of this, but he uncovered an underground attempt to blow up the Taj Mahal in India. He has also foiled at least two terrorist attacks—one in a place in Kashmir and one in Paris. He has a fairly bad enemy list because of his continuous attempts to thwart drug-dealers, undercover rackets and a host of unhealthy dealings across the world—it’s sheer luck that he happens to be here at this crucial moment. Do you think I would let this opportunity pass to help me solve this damn business? I would be a fool!’
Isabel turned to observe Re. This time the casual disregard was replaced by a hint of respect in the aquamarine eyes and a glint of an acknowledging smile.
‘It makes sense.’
‘And you, with your knowledge of Salzburg, you two would make a formidable team!’
‘I guess you’re right but—’
‘Isabel, it’s only two days, do this for the Schloss. You love it, don’t you?’ Dan stared at her hard.
Isabel was silent. Re wished he could read the workings of the mind behind that expressionless mask of a face. Noncommittal, but deep in thought. Finally, when she glanced up, her gaze rested directly on Dan first, and then on Re.
‘I’m sorry—I can’t.’ Her tone revealed a mix of regret and sorrow.
Dan’s face fell and he rose reluctantly. But Re continued to be seated. He pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and studied her solemnly.
‘What if I offer to help you find your husband?’ the journalist asked, his words slow and deliberate.
‘What?’ Isabel glanced at him, startled.
Dan, too turned to gaze at his friend, his interest piqued. Re concentrated on Isabel, maintaining a steady eye contact, his hand clutching his Om pendant.
‘Isabel, here’s the deal: you promise to help us out and I promise I’ll do my best to help you find Justin.’
‘That sounds like a very good deal to me,’ Dan endorsed enthusiastically.
Isabel was quiet as she weighed the offer. Re observed her minutely.
Finally, she glanced up and her eyes were moist. ‘I’d love your assistance in locating Justin. Thank you!’ she said, her voice low and grateful.
The Trail of Four Page 5
