Nazi Gold (Order of the Black Sun Book 5)

by P. W. Child

  Petra wondered what he had with Nina. They appeared very close, almost romantically involved, yet there were factors lacking for that to be true. She reckoned they were probably in love, but either did not admit it, or one of them was suffering unrequited love while the other was indecisive.

  Petra was aware that she was too old for Sam, save for perhaps a drunken one night fling somewhere in a frenzied feast of lust and loneliness, but romantic interest remained. Being an intelligent woman, she decided to nurture the crush as just that and not to make assumptions on her ability to seduce him into a mutual bond.

  Just enjoy his presence. Enjoy your time with him and be as unassuming as you can be, not to scare him off. There are some things in life you simply cannot have, she told herself just before she switched off the reading light above her.

  Igor was bored. He had insomnia, a problem he had been struggling with since his early teens. His mother wrote it off to some sort of modern day psychological issue that American doctors made television shows about and women’s magazines blew out of proportion. But Igor knew why he could not sleep. The incessant nightmares he suffered kept him from sleeping, but his waking night terrors had him frantic without even sleeping. In short, Igor had spent his entire life terrified of winding down. Anywhere, where sleep or the end of the activities in general enveloped him, he was restless.

  This condition had come as a great advantage when he applied to be Professor Kulich’s assistant during her Lidice project. There was much controversy when she had received the approval to run sonar scans of the foundations of Lidice for intact artifacts. Professor Kulich had wanted to retrieve artifacts from what little the Nazis left of the obliterated mining town and bring them to the Modern History department of the National Museum in Prague. Her team worked tirelessly for days to get all their work documented and finds catalogued by the last day of their permit. Igor was the star of the show with his aptitude for staying up for days at a time. This was why Petra Kulich decided to keep him on indefinitely as her main assistant.

  On top of his hard work she found him irreplaceable due to his background at the Theresian Military Academy in Austria where he had attended a degree program. Igor’s knowledge of modern history, especially the less known facts of the Third Reich during World War II, came in very handy.

  He had worked with her for five years, since he was 23 years old and he thoroughly enjoyed prying into the secrets the world tried so desperately to hide. The atrocious acts of the Nazis, their greed and their underhanded dealings all came out through the documentation of many excavations and cultural studies.

  Professor Kulich sometimes used her status as anthropologist to help her curious freelancing peers in various fields to dig into history and its enforcers. That way she had gotten involved with some infamous agents of organizations not to be trifled with. Therefore her deceased brother must have assumed that she would be able to retrieve and destroy what he had not been able to find.

  Igor sat watching the petite Scottish historian where she lay listening to music, hands folded on her flat stomach. Her dark curls fell in a halo on her seat, giving her an essence of godliness he relished beholding. Igor had wasted no time in doing several background checks on the feisty little Scottish academic after his first encounter with her. Slightly infatuated at first, he simply had to know all about her, but knew that asking would be inappropriate and he certainly did not possess the patience to wait until he knew her better.

  “What are you staring at?” she said suddenly, keeping her voice down for the other sleeping people.

  Igor jumped. He did not think she was awake or that she would notice him through her apparently virtually closed eyelids. Her big brown eyes with eyeliner slightly smudged to make her look more formidable and a tad dangerous, locked on his. Nina’s expression was impossible to read. There was no frown, but the lack of a smile convinced him that it was not a friendly question.

  “I’m sorry. I was deep in thought,” Igor answered indifferently. “Did not realize my eyes happen to be resting on you.”

  Nina did not buy it, but she accepted it.

  “Don’t you ever sleep, Igor?” she asked, sitting up with her one earphone still plugged in her ear.

  “I do. On occasion I’ll even sleep for two or three hours.” he replied. Nina chuckled with a nod, but Igor was quite sincere. “I have never been much of a sleeper,” he continued with a coy, boyish charm she enjoyed. By Nina’s standards, his looks did not hurt either.

  He reminded her of some medieval prince from a painting – his tall, fit body dressed impeccably at all times, the narrow blue eyes that pierced through whatever he looked at and his conspicuously raspy voice. Igor spoke perfect English, but his German decent was undeniable in the hard accent. His hair was blond, much like Petra’s, and shorn only over his ears to give his straight hair a spiky look. It was a peculiar look, suited to the astute authority of the 28 year old.

  Maybe it was this unique appearance that intrigued Nina. Just like Sam, Igor had a childlike quality to him, just under the intelligence and stubbornness. It was just something she liked, oddly enough the one thing about Dave Purdue that made his being her romantic partner believable. And that was the only thing.

  Nina poured herself a coffee and sat down. She looked extremely tired, not in the sleep deprived way, but rather a fatigue that seemed to seep through her ailment and her emotional turmoil in dealing with it. Igor could see that she was troubled. He poured himself a rum and water and sat down on the seat opposite hers.

  “You seem very concerned, Dr Gould. If you want to get rid of some of that poison, I am a remarkably good listener – especially when I can’t sleep,” he smiled mildly and lifted his glass. His sharp eyes searched hers and Nina felt a pleasurable jolt shoot a pulse through her. “It’s no big deal, Igor,” she smiled through her unkempt hair that made her look sensual and wild. “Just some strange effects I have to make sense of in my current fight with a temporary illness. It is causing me to get tired quickly, so there is really nothing to report.”

  “Does it have something to do with the mark on your arm? I know I pried before and I have to confess, I did find out that you were apparently abducted and poisoned by your captors. Such things infuriate me,” he admitted to her, but Nina was not impressed.

  “And where did you learn of this?” she asked abruptly. “That is none of your business.”

  “Don’t worry. In no way does it affect your employment on this project. As you know, I am in charge of research. That research is not reserved to relics and history and genealogy, my dear Dr. Gould. To be frank, I can unearth anything about anybody with the resources I have. Please, don’t take offense like that,” he explained in a tone that denoted a surprisingly aggressive retort.

  “I do not take kindly to being investigated,” she snapped with her dark eyes blazing at him.

  “And I do not take kindly to having my sincerity insulted, Dr. Gould. If you are easily shaken then perhaps you should not play with powerful people,” he returned the blow with a tranquil coldness that warned of his exceptional confidence. He was not like Sam after all, she realized. For once Nina was wary of someone. Not only did her usual method of intimidation not work on this young man, but she had the distinct notion that he was more than a mere assistant. Something about Igor was strong and disciplined and she elected to save this rapidly collapsing sweetness between them and to control herself.

  “You have to understand that I am terrified, Igor. It scares me that I am being watched when I can hardly survive my own nightmares,” Nina feigned her vulnerability to appease his ego.

  Igor’s scowl melted into an expression of care at the mention of Nina’s nightmares. It was a subject she inadvertently brought up, one that he could relate to.

  “Your nightmares?” he asked. His voice was gentle and his eyes softer.

  “Yes,” she replied. “I am going through a horrible time these days. They say it is the poison, but I wonder if it is not my o
wn shortcomings that torment me.” At first Nina started talking such matters just to appease the aggressive young man, but before she knew it, she was speaking her mind about very real fears, fears she could not discuss with anyone else.

  “I know all about nightmares,” he whispered and dropped his gaze in a trance-like recollection. “You have no shortcomings, Nina. You are everything women should aspire to be. I respect women who keep fighting to the end. My mother is a strong woman. My employer is a strong woman. You…” he stopped, and just looked at her.

  In that moment Nina felt like she could tell him anything, even more than she could with Sam. He was a kindred spirit, but a stranger who would not let his emotions dictate his support of her.

  “I’m so very tired, but something in me just will not give up. You know? Call it spite for fate…or simply being incapable of relinquishing my power over myself and my life. Giving up is not an option, no, but that does not mean I don’t get scared of what is happening to me.” she carried on, when Igor brought her a double rum and ice.

  “I told you. You are strong, Dr. Gould. People like you are leaders. People like you question everything, from your telephone bills to your genetics. Those who question are the only ones who make a difference in this world, who change fate,” he explained.

  Nina raised her tumbler to toast. It had been months since she felt this liberated, emotionally relieved.

  “To fate and its mutability,” Igor smiled and clinked glasses with her.

  The sound woke Sam.

  “Drinking without me?” he complained from behind his backpack.

  Nina did not want him to spoil the conversation she so enjoyed with Igor. By the look on Igor’s face he shared her sentiment.

  “Just a night cap, Sam,” Nina said bluntly. “We are going to sleep now anyway.”

  Sam said nothing and went back to sleep. The other two finished their drinks and then Nina curled up on her seat where she felt the sleep seize her.

  Igor returned to the liquor cart. He poured another drink and stole quietly to where he had sat before. As he sipped his alcohol to the monotony of the engines, he looked down on Nina. She was fast asleep, her breathing deep and her hands folded under her chin.

  Igor frowned at the sight of her, as if he had not seen her there before. He peered into his glass and looked for his ice, but there was no cube in his rum. Perplexed, he looked around in the cabin, taking note of each of the sleeping passengers in his party. Then he shook his head and whispered, “

  Chapter 20 – Not all Rain Brings Thunder

  A terrible rainstorm pummeled Dresden in the early morning hours. It came seemingly from nowhere and woke Heinz from a deep sleep. Shattering thunder cut through the darkness, keeping him from drifting off again, so he turned and checked the clock radio – 2:45am.

  Snorting like an old boar, the tall German sat up to survey the room. The room glowed in blue from the light powder blue curtains that carried the electric flashes of lightning to the screens and walls and he could see the dripping shadows of the droplets against the window glass.

  Heinz would never admit it, but since he was a child he was afraid of thunder. Its roar reminded him of his late father and his vicious orders when Heinz was a child in Bremen. The old drunk bastard had been a tyrant and often took his fists to Heinz and his sisters for no reason. A survivor of the Second World War, Heinz’s childhood was fraught with dreadful living conditions and hardships and one thing that persisted throughout was thunder – the thunder of his father’s threats and curses, the thunder of the bombs and grenades, the thunder of the cold nights after the slaughter of the day, rumbling on and on to warn the young Heinz that the ferocious gods were looking down on him.

  Even now, as an old man, he still felt that uneasy feeling in his stomach whenever he heard the angry voice in the clouds and sometimes he could swear he heard his father’s curses in it. But he reminded himself that the past could not hurt him anymore and that he was now the thundering voice of the household, although his methods were more threatening than violent. His hand found nothing when he reached for Greta. Her side of the bed was empty, save for the mount of rumpled blankets.

  “Greta?” he said, looking toward the bathroom door. It was shut, but he could see that the light inside was not on. Checking anyway, he switched on the light, but found the bathroom empty. Where would she be at this time of night? He braved the fury of the angry weather in the dark and made his way down the corridor to the spare rooms, but did not find her there either. He did not want to wake the Romanian boy in the adjacent room by calling for Greta, so he searched in silence.

  Heinz descended the stairs and finally saw that the light in the guest bathroom was on behind the locked door.

  “Greta?” he tried again, but she did not answer him. He frowned, his heart palpitating slightly at the terrible scenarios that flashed through his mind. Given his experiences in life with strangers and family alike, Heinz was prone to think the worst of mysterious situations and this one could present some pretty grisly options.

  As he approached the illuminated door frame edges in the hallway with his feet on the cold marble floor scenes of his wife hanging from the pipes presented themselves. Then another mental image of her mangled body, ravaged by a stalking killer, came to mind. “Greta!” Now he shouted, but the weather was wild and the whistle of the gale drowned his voice.

  Before he knocked on the door, calling her again, he placed his ear to the wood and listened. Inside he could hear weeping. Heinz was befuddled. Weeping occasionally became little muffled screams into what sounded like the dampening of a pillow. Another unsettling sound reverberated through the acoustics of the bathroom – profuse vomiting. He had enough. He hammered on the door, “Greta! Open up! Let me help!”

  He chose his words carefully not to sound angry but concerned. Suddenly it was deathly still on the other side of the door. Nothing happened. Heinz was worried sick about his wife. Now he kept his voice as calm as he could, even though his heart sank at the sounds he had heard. He knew Greta better than anyone and she was never one to cry for nothing, and the fact that she chose not to discuss her unhappiness with him told him one of two things – she did not trust him with her feelings, or worse, she was crying about something he was not supposed to know.

  “I’m alright, Liebling,” she croaked from inside the bathroom, “go back to sleep. I am just feeling a little off.”

  “Then let me in,” he pressed.

  “Heinz, I am fine. Go away!” she shouted.

  He did not like that one bit. Gripping the copper doorknob in his giant hand, he started turning it with force to let her know he was coming in, it only a question of how he would gain entry.

  Greta knew her husband could tear the door off its hinges if he wished, and that he would have no reservations in doing so, so with this she weakly dragged herself to the door on her knees and hands.

  “Wait, goddammit!” she shouted as she slowly progressed to the lock. With great effort she turned the key and just collapsed right there, remaining motionless.

  Panic stricken, Heinz gathered his wife up in his arms and in the flashing blue that lit up the contours and corners of the foyer and living room he carried her to the big velvet couch in the living area. Carefully he placed her on her back. Greta was still gripping the bloody towel in her hand that she had used to scream into. Her nose was lined with dry blood, as was the corners of her mouth and under her nails where she tried to cover her nose before she made it to the bathroom.

  “My god, Greta, what is going on?” he asked. His normally robust voice was now reduced to a withering and sorrowful whine. He tried to wake her up, but she was out cold. Again the thunder sounded and he was too worried about his wife so he switched on the reading lamp next to the couch to have a good look at her. Her skin was moist and ashen; her lips blue and she had dark circles under her swollen eyes. It was obvious that she had been sobbing for a long time as well, the weeping had heard from outside the d
oor. Continually he tried to revive her with wet cold towels and calling her name, softly tapping her cheek with his palm and patting the back of her hand until she finally groaned.

  Heinz felt a huge weight lift from his shoulders, but he knew it was not all well yet.

  “Greta! Greta! Can you hear me?” he said loudly, still tapping to keep her conscious.

  Greta’s eyes fluttered open and it took her a moment until she knew where she was. Then he gaze fell on her husband and her reddened eyes grew wide in terror.

  “I am being punished, Heinz-Karl!” she wheezed suddenly, gripping his hand tightly as if he was holding her over the edge of a cliff face.

  “Calm down. You fainted, probably dehydrated from the vomiting. You have to rest,” he said with reassurance while rubbing her fingers with his own.

  “No! No, I am not safe! Listen to me. I am being hunted by my own deeds. My fate is sealed,” she blathered hysterically with eyes frozen in hellish fear.

  “What are you talking about?” he asked, hiding well his absolute apprehension for his wife’s condition. “What could you ever have done that would have you in this state? You are a wonderful woman who has helped countless people all these years. Now come, you are talking nonsense,” he tried to sound encouraging, even light, but she would not settle down. Her grasp caused his fingers to go numb as she wailed in desperate sorrow.

  “No, Heinz-Karl, no! I was…I am a bad person and my soul is doomed!” she cried. “My time is running out. My time…r-run…my t-t-time isss…”

  Greta’s eyes fell shut again and she released her grip on his hand. Heinz checked her vitals and determined that she was only sleeping. Color had returned to her cheeks and lips and she breathed comfortably, so he carried her back to bed and covered her to rest. For the remainder of the night the horrific incident would not leave him be. The look in her face, her sincerity and the utter terror in her eyes haunted him as the thunder clapped and chased his heart in his chest until the windows grew light and the only the soft patter of rain was left of the terrible night.