A Tsar’s Gold
Andrew Clawson
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© 2020 Andrew Clawson All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law, or in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Dedication
Also by Andrew Clawson
About the Author
Prologue
German-occupied Austria
1944
Ten men stood on the dirt road, emptying their canteens down dry throats. Sweat glistened in the moonlight. Silence hung over their numbers, the only sound that of some groaning when their commanding officer walked over. At this time of night, no one with honest intent prowled the landscape. A shadow darted from the group and raced toward the darkness of a nearby tree. Seconds later a harsh voice filled the air.
“Line up. Make ready to leave.”
Of course. Claus Elser hurriedly finished his business, zipping his fly as the unit’s commanding officer ordered them to get in line. The bastard didn’t even give them time to piss. Line up. Dig these holes. Carry this godforsaken heavy box. Now line up again. It never stopped. Claus’s unit had been quiet enough, a better place to be than most in the German army these days, a chance to put his unique skills to use and stay away from any fighting. That’s why the National Socialists had conscripted him into service: to fulfill a very specific mission. Then Sturmbannführer Rickhey had arrived one week ago. A member of the dreaded Waffen-SS paramilitary, he marched into their unit’s newest HQ unannounced to inform the specialized team he was their new commander. That was it. No explanation, no notice. Not that anyone argued with men sporting twin lightning bolts on their collars.
Claus Elser scurried back to get in line, ending up at the very front. He hunched down low, hoping Sturmbannführer Rickhey didn’t see him arrive late. Elser glanced over his shoulder, squinting in the moonlight. Rickhey was standing near the back, far from Elser. Thank goodness.
Then the shooting started. Men screamed, the horrifyingly familiar sound of an MP40 roared in the night, and men behind him crushed Elser to the dirt. Bullets ripped through skin and bone, bringing the fleshy thunk of death with every hit. A heavy boot crushed his arm, pinning him down. More bullets flew and the booted man fell on top of Elser. Before he could scramble away, a second man fell on the first; under their combined weight, Elser couldn’t move. He could barely breathe; he was unable to get up, to grab his gun, to do anything except lie still.
Thank the heavens for good German steel, though – the metal helmet those sadistic armorers gave them protected his head. By now the shooting had slowed, replaced by the sound of one man screaming while another wept. That didn’t last long. A pistol began barking. Bang. The screaming ceased. Bang. Now nobody cried. Elser spotted a pair of shining boots through a gap between the bodies pinning him down.
The shooting stopped. Elser held his breath and blinked through the blood – whose blood is it? – trickling down his face. He heard rather than saw boots walk away, headed toward where the transport truck had been parked alongside the road. The footsteps stopped once. Elser didn’t breathe even as his lungs shouted for air. Then the steps resumed, and Elser sucked in the sweetest breath of air he’d taken since, well, his last one.
When a door on the truck clanged open, Elser tried to move. Bodies covered him entirely. His dead comrades had saved his life, their corpses shielding him from the murderous, inexplicable wrath of the Sturmbannführer. A thought came to him as he struggled in silence. Maybe their new leader had planned this all along. This mission never made sense in the first place. Why abandon their facility and collect the items, packing what they could quickly retrieve for a mysterious journey to an undisclosed location? Perhaps this had been Rickhey’s plan alone.
Elser gained his freedom one twist and turn at a time. Digging the heels of his boots into the dirt for leverage, he wriggled until he had nearly made it to the side of the deadly pile. A body tumbled from the heap when he broke free. A head lolled down, vacant eyes staring accusingly at him. Gerhardt, my friend. A man he’d known for years. Now dead. Elser gritted his teeth. I’ll get the bastard.
The hell with this army. And with Germany. Elser had never wanted this war. He was an academic, not a warrior. Until the National Socialists came to power, he’d lived a simple life with his books and research. Then Adolf Hitler had taken control of Germany and turned the world upside down. Now Elser was crawling from beneath a pile of dead men in a strange land where Sturmbannführer Rickhey had tried to kill him. German High Command could kiss his tired, bloody ass – after he took his revenge.
Now Rickhey was leaning over the truck’s tailgate, from which an odd clacking noise emanated. Was he typing? Why would there be a typewriter out here? Elser watched the man’s fingers moving and realization hit him. He’s sending a coded message. With that brown box.
Elser had seen the box opened only once. It had a board with far too many keys, so many that the Sturmbannführer was still busy typing as Elser crept forward. Elser caught soft cursing as he approached. Something about a message not going through. It was the distraction he needed.
Elser’s pistol shouted for him, screaming to the heavens with a message of revenge for his murdered unit. Rickhey never turned, never even spoke as he writhed under the impact of a half-dozen shots. When it was over, his corpse slumped over the tailgate and hung there. Heat raged in Elser’s body as he hauled the body the rest of the way over the tailgate, threw it to the ground and took aim.
And stood there. Hands shaking, his finger motionless on the trigger. The dead Sturmbannführer gazed without seeing toward the sky. If there was an afterlife, Elser prayed this man would be tormented for eternity.
He holstered his weapon, acutely aware those gunshots could be heard for miles. Not that anyone in their right mind would come. More likely, anyone who had heard them would have hunkered down and hoped for the storm to pass.
The wind kicked up, ruffling the tall grass at the road’s edge and lifting a piece of paper from Rickhey’s grasp. Elser grabbed it as it twisted past him. When he held it to his face, all the answers became clear.
What their mission had been. Why no one could be told about it. And most importantly, why Sturmbannführer Rickhey had murdered his own men. Elser read it again, the cold pit growing in his stomach with each word. He had never wanted any of this. Now, he realized, one wrong move and he would be as dead
as the rest of his unit.
I’m supposed to be dead.
But Rickhey had never sent the message; the connection hadn’t worked. Elser darted back over to the truck and retrieved the brown box. It lay where it had fallen, its lid gaping open. After puzzling over the machine, which had not only keys but illuminated letters, Elser found the problem: a wire had come loose at the rear.
A dog barked in the distance and Elser went still. No message meant no one knew what had happened. Whoever was waiting on the other end of this machine was in the dark, clueless about the outcome. Given their mission, it wouldn’t be long before a search party came looking. Likely more than one. Elser looked around; no one in sight. Not a living soul as far as he could see. Plenty of dead ones, above and below ground. That would change when the sun rose, but for now, only one man knew the truth.
That’s when Claus Elser had the idea that changed his life. How he could turn the tables on every monster like Sturmbannführer Rickhey, all the fanatics who burned synagogues and broke Jewish windows. He could do his part to bring down those who followed Göring and Himmler, two demons in human form. All he needed was a key.
Which hung from a leather strap looped around Sturmbannführer Rickhey’s neck. Elser had seen it several times, though only now did he understand its significance. After sliding the key free, Elser looked to the moon. Hold on. No need to guess the time. He unstrapped the expensive watch from Rickhey’s wrist, attached it to his own. Four hours until sunrise. If he hurried, it would be just enough time. After grabbing a few crucial items from the transport truck, he went to work.
Pale pink light had scarcely bled into the sky when he finished, the sun not far beneath the horizon as Elser slammed the tailgate closed. “Forgive me, friends.” Casting a final look in all directions, he confirmed that nothing but the fading night sky watched him. Hopping into the truck’s cab, he cranked the engine and roared off, moving with purpose. No one would stop a German transport truck, least of all one with the feared twin lightning bolts of the SS flying from its hood flag. At least that’s what Elser hoped. If another German unit did stop him, then his fate was sealed.
Claus Elser sped down the roadway, racing away from this hell on earth and straight toward a new life.
Chapter 1
Pittsburgh, PA
Present Day
Parker Chase finished the last chalky dregs of a protein shake and set it on his office desk as the phone rang. His secretary was calling.
“Yes?” He swallowed the last gulp and grimaced. Scientists had figured out how to alter genomes. You’d think they could make a decent protein shake by now.
“There’s a gentleman here to see you, Mr. Chase.”
Parker kicked his gym bag behind his desk and out of sight. “Who is it? And please, it’s Parker. You make me feel like my father.”
“A Mr. Carl Ellis.” His secretary paused. “Parker.”
Carl Ellis? Parker couldn’t place the name, though that didn’t mean much. It was amazing how many people wanted to do business with you when they found out your investment firm was actually looking to invest.
The newly hired secretary came to his rescue. “Mr. Ellis told me he used to do business with your father.”
“He knew my dad?” Parker’s father had known half the city. Bankers tended to cultivate relationships, not avoid them. “Send him in.”
The man who walked into his office moments later may have known Parker’s father, but he came from the generation before. Shockingly white hair covered Carl’s head, thick enough to make men half his age jealous. Parker wouldn’t have been surprised if the man had tottered in with a cane, but the hand that gripped his nearly crushed his own fingers. This guy must have been something back in his day.
“Mr. Ellis?” Parker returned the handshake with gusto. “Parker Chase. I understand you knew my father.”
“A fine man. Taken far too soon. My condolences, Mr. Chase.”
Parker was terrible with accents. Austrian, perhaps? “It’s Parker, please. Have a seat, Mr. Ellis.”
“Then you must call me Carl.”
Carl sat in one of the chairs across from Parker’s desk. Parker eschewed his personal chair and took the one beside him. Informality was preferred in this office.
Carl declined refreshments, his back straight as a carpenter’s ruler. Parker forced himself to sit up straight.
“Did you work with my father before his accident?”
“Several of my investment accounts were with your father’s bank,” Carl said. “A most wonderful man, your father. I have nothing but fond memories of him.”
“As do I. Miss him every day.” Parker leaned forward. “I’m sure you know I’m not in the savings and loan side of things, Carl. My operation is more private equity – we invest in what we believe in.”
Carl blinked. “You mean you invest.” Carl Ellis had clearly seen enough to cut through the crap. “You have no partner in the firm, correct?”
“That’s right,” Parker said. “It’s just me. My funds, going where I think they’ll do the most good. Sometimes that’s generating a return; other times it’s different.” Parker tilted his head. Time to get to the point. “What can I do for you, Carl? Is there a business opportunity on your mind?”
“Forgive me for this, but I must ask.” Carl tapped the chair’s arm. “Is anyone else listening to this conversation?”
Parker sat back. “You mean eavesdropping?”
“Human or electronic, yes.”
“Not unless someone bugged my office,” Parker said. “This building has ample security. Nobody gets onto a floor without proper identification, and there certainly aren’t random people walking through my offices.” Then a rush of memories came back. “Well, I’ve never swept for bugs. I suppose it’s possible, but I doubt it.”
“I am more concerned about you recording conversations which others may later access.”
“I’m not recording our conversation. You have my word.”
Carl smiled. “Thank you.”
Parker nodded. “What’s on your mind?”
Carl steepled his fingers. “I am here today because of my relationship with your father. I still believe in what many people call the old ways: trusting those you know, believing a man’s word is his bond. Handshakes and relationships are valuable to me, Parker. Your father was a man of integrity who respected his clients’ right to privacy. Within the law, of course.”
“He was.” Carl was getting at something, but darned if Parker knew what.
“I brought an item to show you.” Carl picked up the briefcase leaning against his chair leg. “I trust you will keep this matter private. I believe your father’s son is a man of honor.”
Parker bit his lip. He hadn’t spoken about his father this much in over a year. Not since what happened in Ireland. “Thank you, Carl. I promise this will stay between us.”
Carl set the briefcase on his lap and flipped up the lid, blocking Parker’s view of anything inside. “Before I continue, I would like to tell you about my relationship with your father.” Carl peered over the top of his briefcase. “I utilized your father’s bank for deposit services. A not insubstantial amount of money in total, though that is irrelevant. I could have taken my funds to almost any bank, but I chose him. The reason? Your father treated everyone he met, including me, exactly the same – with the utmost respect. He protected my confidence, made certain I was treated fairly. Most importantly, he cared. About his work, about our relationship. A rare commodity today.”
Carl paused and looked at his hands, then back at Parker. He clearly had more on his mind than an old friendship.
“I see,” Parker said.
“That is important. However, another factor brought me here.” Carl’s gaze narrowed. “A man in my position has many contacts in the financial world. A percentage of my assets are in gold, Parker. In fact, you could say gold is my primary asset.”
A tingle ran across Parker’s chest. “A safe commodi
ty. Less likely to generate large returns, but that’s not always the goal.”
“I understand your investment firm was only recently founded. And is entirely privately funded.” Carl’s words came out more slowly now. “If I had to guess, you are the sole source of funds. An interesting position for a young man. I have heard whispers you are also a man who deals in gold.” Carl held up his hands, palms out, before Parker could respond. “None of which is my business. I am happy for your good fortune.”
How the hell do you know that? Carl Ellis was more plugged in than Parker would have guessed. The old guy clearly had money, likely piles of it, but what he’d just flashed was far more impressive than any amount of cash. The guy knew things. Information very few other people had access to, and those who did had made their careers on discretion.
“You’re well informed.”
“I merely wished to show you I am deadly serious about privacy,” Carl said. “I thoroughly research any possible business partners.”
That knocked him off-balance. “Business partners?” Parker asked. “I’m not looking for other investors.”
“Hear me out.” Carl looked back into his briefcase. “This is what I brought for you today.”
He twisted the briefcase around and Parker nearly fell from his chair.
He was staring at a dull, yellow rectangle with strange writing on it. If Parker’s thoughts hadn’t been so clouded by the sight of so much gold, he’d have recognized the script. As it was, all he could do was gape.
“The metal is pure,” Carl said. “Would you like to inspect it?”
Parker bent over the bar. “That’s solid gold?” Carl assured him it was. “Four hundred ounces. My goodness.” Then the mental alarm bells clanging for his attention finally broke through. “They don’t sell these to just anyone. And why did you bring half a million dollars in precious metal to my office?”
“To get your attention.”
A Tsar's Gold (Parker Chase Book 6) Page 1
