Parker’s internal alarm went off. “At this time of night?”
“Otto said he hasn’t been outside the neighborhood today. Michael said that doesn’t matter. The picture is of people they suspect took the missing person. Two people, a man and a woman.” Nothing except the faint thrum of background noise came through until Otto spoke again. His voice was much louder.
Lines creased Jane’s forehead as she translated. “Otto’s asking if there is a mistake. He says those people can’t be involved because he knows them—”
A thump sounded, then there was the sound of Otto shouting, none of which Jane translated. His final words cut off as the phone went dead.
All color drained from Jane’s face. “Did you hear that?”
Parker’s stomach twisted. The ground dropped from beneath him. “Otto was talking about the picture.” Parker swallowed. “To men speaking German. Not Russian.”
Jane hadn’t needed to translate the very end. Right before the line went dead, Otto had said two names. The two men had shown him a picture of herself and Parker. “Those men were not Russian.”
“Call the Berlin police,” Parker said. “Report a disturbance at Otto’s address.”
As she frantically dialed, Parker checked every mirror and took several turns in succession, then braked without warning. If anyone was following them, he couldn’t see it. He stomped on the gas at a green light, leaving black streaks on the road as they headed deeper into Frankfurt. All the while, he turned the facts over in his head, struggling to piece things together. First, the Russians had found them, then Father Bakker. Next, Russians had come to Otto’s door, followed by a different pair of German-speaking men soon afterwards.
Parker’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. He fought the urge to reach between his seat and the center console, to touch the cool metal hidden between. For the first time since he’d grabbed the Russian assailant’s gun and checked the magazine, fifteen bullets didn’t seem like enough.
Chapter 9
National Freedom Party Headquarters
Berlin
The chanting faded as Frank Weidel closed the door behind him. The crowd was yelling the tagline of his re-election campaign, two words that struck fear in the hearts of European Union supporters across the EU. A rallying cry for the nationalist fervor that had started as a spark, but grew hotter every day. A movement Weidel’s National Freedom Party would ride to power. Deutschland zuerst.
“Germany first,” Frank said.
One of his security team turned around. “I’m sorry, sir?”
“Nothing. To the car, please.”
Frank followed the two security men down a well-lit hallway, one of a maze of routes out of the convention center where the National Freedom Party was ending their latest rally. Frank was the favored keynote speaker. He had come to enjoy the screaming supporters, the pageantry party leaders put on for each show. And what a show Frank had given them. Full-throated and decisive, he’d presented himself as the man capable of leading Germany into a better future, free of oppressive foreign shackles. A Germany for Germans. Easy to remember, easy to repeat, Words the average voter would hear over and over.
Two cleaning staff greeted Frank as he passed. He stopped, shaking hands and posing for selfies before heading outside into the cool night air. At first, he had hated these rallies, with their manufactured, carnival-like atmosphere. Then his campaign manager had reminded him that each vote brought them closer to power. Frank had re-evaluated his position on the issue. Now they called him a man of the people.
His phone buzzed. Frank slid into the back seat of the SUV and its armored door closed behind him, shutting out all other noise. Frank raised the privacy screen he had insisted be installed before agreeing to have a security team chauffer him around each day. The campaign consultants had given in on that issue.
“Hello?”
It was Kurt Pierce. “We talked with Claus Elser’s nephew. Otto.”
Frank tapped one finger on his knee. Rapid-fire. “Did he identify the man and woman?”
“Yes. We have their names and put them under casual electronic surveillance. According to one of our police contacts, both recently crossed from Luxembourg into Germany. A rental vehicle was obtained in Jane White’s name, though so far efforts to track it using the GPS have been unsuccessful.”
“The device must be turned off,” Frank said offhandedly. “Did you learn anything about their relationship with Claus Elser?”
“Obtaining information from America is challenging. We believe a relationship existed between Claus and the bank employing Parker Chase’s father, and that may have led Elser to connect with the younger Chase.”
“When you find them, only watch at first.” He frowned. “What more do we know about the woman?”
“Jane White is a professor in Edinburgh. Her family has means and she is unmarried.”
“Continue searching. Do we have anyone to check road cameras?” Kurt said he was working on it. “Contact me with updates,” Frank said.
Kurt said he would, then rang off. Frank blew air between his lips and set the phone down. He was buying time, hoping Kurt might listen to him instead of whatever the man above him said. Kurt’s true boss had the money, so he made the rules. Just as he had made Frank into a political star. Frank hoped the…unsettling ideas held by his shadowy bosses didn’t conflict with what mattered most: taking control of the Bundestag. Overcoming Angela Merkel and her allies was hard enough. He didn’t need a fanatic determined to turn back the clock to make that path even more treacherous.
Chapter 10
Frankfurt
“Damn, it’s cold.” Parker’s breath frosted the air. Precious little warmth came from a sun hiding behind gray clouds. Morning pedestrian traffic was light; few people were up early for Frankfurt Cathedral’s opening hour. Jane had both hands wrapped around a cup of coffee, and was constantly looking back and forth. He had no idea if she’d even slept. After they had found a nondescript hotel not far from the cathedral last night, Parker had tumbled into bed and been out in seconds, night vanishing in a flash that had ended when Jane pounded on his door that morning.
“I thought something happened to you,” Jane had said when he opened the door, shirtless and disoriented. “You didn’t answer.”
“My bad.” She had darted into his room, locking the door behind her as he hurriedly dressed before they headed to the cathedral.
Coffee spilled as his hands shivered. He needed a thicker coat. Who knew it got this cold here? It was barely even fall. “Any idea what we’re looking for?”
“I couldn’t find many photos of the basement chapel,” Jane said. “Claus didn’t give a specific location.” She worried her lower lip. “Keep your eyes open for anything unusual. Whatever we need to find may be in plain sight, like it was with Father Bakker.”
A metal fence surrounded the cathedral, pointed spikes marking the boundary between holy land and sidewalk. As they walked through an open gate toward the black metal front doors, three times the height of a tall man, the slight bulge in Parker’s back weighed on him. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if German authorities caught him carrying a firearm.
“I’m texting Nick to meet us here,” Parker said. “Cell phones might not be welcome in the church. Or work in the basement.” He fired off a message letting Nick know where to look for them, took a deep breath of bracing air, then followed Jane inside.
The ceiling stretched far enough up that Parker half expected to see clouds forming at their apex. Reddish pillars glowed where the first rays of sun hit them. Anything below the sunline was much darker, as though the walls ate up what little light any source cast. Four-story stained-glass windows surrounded the space, and vaulted support arches connected the pillars. After an admiring glance, Parker hardly noticed them. What demanded his attention stood thirty-odd pews away, high above and behind the altar.
Cascading waves of polished steel pipes, the biggest church org
an Parker had ever seen. Behind all the gleaming metal, a window big enough to fly a biplane through washed uncolored light across the sanctuary. A few worshippers stood huddled near the front of the sanctuary, heads bowed in silent prayer. Parker spoke and found his words swallowed whole by the vast building. “Where’s the basement?”
“This way.” Jane grabbed his elbow, pulling him along. “We may have a problem.”
Parker stopped himself from reaching for the gun. “What problem?”
She pointed to a sign, one clearly meant to guide visitors. At least those who read German. “It says the basement chapel is ahead. The private basement chapel. It may be closed.”
A priest passed as they walked, hands clasped in front of him. Parker kept his head down. The church gave him pause, this monument to the faithful. A thought Parker found hard to reconcile with the evil that had been in here, had passed it in tanks and jackboots.
He blinked, found his jaw was clenched tight. Take a breath. Ever since Erika’s death a year earlier he had found himself questioning topics he had rarely considered. Not even his father’s death had shaken him the way Erika’s had.
He caught up to Jane. “You ever consider the irony in this?”
“In what?” She didn’t stop moving.
“How we’re in a church searching for artifacts and paintings stolen by the most unholy killers in modern history.”
Her shoes chirped on the polished floor as she stopped short. Jane twisted to face him. “What are you talking about?”
“The Nazis. People who tried to eradicate an entire culture and damn near succeeded.”
“Watch your language. We’re in a church.”
“Yeah, I know. Claus Elser was forced to work for them, and along the way he fought back by stealing things they’d already stolen, from churches no less.” His neck muscles tightened. “A church headed by a pope who didn’t speak up against the murder of innocents. A church that stayed silent as Hitler took over the country. We may be trading one evil for another.”
Expecting a fight, Parker was stunned at what she said. “Silence instead of resistance. Complicity by inaction.” Jane looked up from studying the ground. “It’s hard to reconcile. Yes, what we search for is connected to pure evil. Yet one of the men who was forced to serve them took a stand, did what he could to fight back.” She took his hand. “At the time, Claus had few options. Hoping whatever he stole from them could be turned into cash to fight back took guts.”
The heat flushing his face faded. Maybe she’s right. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Jane got there first.
“Could the Church have done more? Certainly. But painting every Catholic with a broad brush is wrong.” Her fingers tightened around his. “Erika and I spoke about her beliefs several times, which I’m certain you know were complex, and, if she was being honest, she was skeptical. I don’t think she’d want you raging at the failures of history when you could be doing something positive now. Save the anger. I need you. Claus and I both do.”
That hit him hard. I need you. Erika had needed him, and he had failed. But Erika would have told him the same thing Jane did. Focus on what you can do, what positive changes you can make. Which, right now, in this Frankfurt church, meant helping Jane uncover the next step on Claus Elser’s path of revenge against the Nazi regime.
All this and more flashed across his face in a heartbeat. Jane seemed to catch every bit. “Thanks,” Parker said. “You’re right. I’m mad for a good reason, which isn’t helpful now.” Now he felt silly. “Sorry.”
She kept her grip on his hand. “You care. Enough to hold on to her. Never apologize for that.” Her eyes lingered on his for another beat. She blinked, let go of his hand, and turned on a heel. “Now, the basement chapel.”
“Which way?”
“See that doorway?” She indicated a massive shadow on the far wall, where full sunlight would fall in an hour or so. For now it was a subdued patch of darkness where red walls morphed into shades of gray. “The one with a rope in front of the staircase? We need to go down there.”
He squinted. A set of stairs disappeared beneath the floor. The top of a door came into view as they approached, set deep within the wall. He looked around, found the closest visitor two hundred feet away, the nearest person in religious garb farther than that. “Looks to be off limits.”
“I bet they take the rope down when it’s open to the public.” Jane found a small sign hanging near the roped-off stairs. “It doesn’t open for another hour,” Jane said. “My guess is they don’t have enough staff here yet to keep track of everyone. Look.” She pointed to a padded chair and small desk several feet away. “Someone must sit there to be sure people don’t fall in. Those stairs are solid stone.”
“If it’s roped off,” Parker said, “the door could be open. No reason to lock it.”
Jane looked over his shoulder toward the main entrance. The nearly empty cathedral stretched on behind her for several hundred feet. The only people in sight moved around behind Parker, from where they’d come. “No one’s watching.”
He tensed, leaned over the rope and checked the stairs. No security cameras.
“What are we waiting for?” Jane asked.
He ducked under the rope in one smooth motion and moved down the steps. The square hole swallowed him, the church floor now well above head height. He could reach up and grab it, pull himself up if needed, but right now it hid him perfectly. He reached for the door, found the brass knob cold and stiff. He twisted it lightly. The latch slipped, and the door moved more silently than a centuries-old slab of wood had any right to. He slipped inside without looking back. Darkness surrounded him. Chilled air snaked up the legs of his pants. He couldn’t see anything.
Several deep breaths later, his eyes began to adjust. Two rows of pews, each row four deep. A setting meant for private worship, a sanctuary within the cathedral. A small altar stood atop a raised portion of stone floor ahead. Sparks of light flashed behind it. Rows of them, glinting like tarnished silver. Parker turned his phone’s flashlight on. White light washed across the room, and that’s when Parker realized he wasn’t alone.
The silver sparks were burial vaults set into the wall. At least two dozen of them. “Those are headstones.” Well, whatever you call headstones on a wall. His flashlight caught several paintings hanging around the room, clad in heavy, old frames. Too bad he didn’t recognize a single one. Parker stepped back to the door. “Jane, is it—”
“Where did you go?”
He started, tripped, and went down ass over elbows back into the subterranean chapel. Jane had been standing on the bottom step and came barreling in the instant he reappeared. “Ouch.” He rubbed an arm. “This floor is stone, you know.”
“Stop whining.” She reached down and hauled him to his feet. “Did you find anything? This place is cold.”
“We shouldn’t turn on any lights,” he said. “Get your phone out and look at these.” She followed him behind the altar to the biggest painting. “Recognize this?”
He pointed to a cherubic vision of a young man, his hair shining with curls more perfect than those of any fashion model. Above him, the heavens had turned dark, while an extravagantly muscled man sporting a gray beard reached down, whether to exact justice or lift the apple-cheeked boy to heaven Parker couldn’t tell.
“No idea,” Jane said. “Run over and make sure no one heard us and is coming.”
“Why me? I can’t speak German.”
“Even better.” Jane didn’t turn around. “If they show up, act confused and make a lot of noise. You’re good at that.”
He grumbled all the way to the door. Jane’s light bounced around the walls, spilling outside into the sunken entrance. It lit the darkened bowl like a spotlight. “Keep your flashlight down,” he growled. Parker crouched low, his head beneath ground level. No voices, footsteps, or other sounds to suggest discovery. Even so, this place was huge. A security guard could be headed their way and he’d have no idea.
Parker crept up the steps on hands and knees, stomach scraping the timeworn stones, until his head reached floor level. Pausing for a count of ten, he went up one more step, scarcely breathing as the cathedral opened up. He blinked once, twice. No one for hundreds of feet in any direction. The crowd had grown a bit, with more people milling around, though none seemed interested in the subterranean chapel. It wasn’t yet open, and the security ropes were a perfect guard against curious visitors. Slithering back down to the sunken floor, he returned to the chapel room.
“We’re good.” Parker slipped through the door, leaving it cracked behind him. No one would notice unless they walked down the steps and inspected it up close. With the area roped off for at least another hour, why would they? A quiet voice in the back of his head asked a different question: What if they do? Keep your ears open, he said to himself. If trouble comes, deal with it.
“This painting is a reproduction.” Jane pointed to the closest painting. “So is this one,” she said, and pointed to the adjacent work. “Claus wouldn’t have stolen either of these.”
With Parker urging her to keep moving, Jane examined the remaining paintings, six in all. None was original. “What about the sculptures?” Parker asked. Two marble carvings of holy people stood at either side of the raised platform. “Any chance those are what he left?”
Jane inspected one, crossed the room to the other, then came back to the altar. “No. Nothing about them stands out.” She frowned. “What else could he have left behind?”
“Nothing. If we’re in the right place, and everything points that way, there’s nothing else to find. The paintings aren’t it, and neither are these sculptures. Any piece we can see isn’t the answer.” He chewed his lip, running the sentence through his head again. “Which means if it’s here, we can’t see it.”
“Check if anyone is outside.” She practically shoved him toward the far door, where he repeated his moves from earlier. Stay low, crawl up the steps, poke his head up like a periscope. More people in the church now. None much closer than before. Parker ducked back down and headed for the chapel door.
A Tsar's Gold (Parker Chase Book 6) Page 11
