Lasche consulted his file and read: “Nearly seven hundred pounds of diamonds and pearls, one thousand two hundred and fifty paintings, five thousand Persian and Oriental rugs, over eight hundred and fifty cases of silverware, fine porcelain, rare stamps, coin collections, furs, watches, alarm clocks, cameras, topcoats, typewriters, even silk underwear. The list goes on and on.” He looked up. “The spoils of war. The fruits of murder.”
“It must have been worth millions.”
“Two hundred and six million dollars in 1945 money, to be exact. Several billion dollars today.”
“And all this on one train?”
“One train of fifty-two carriages, of which”—Lasche consulted his file again—“. . . twenty-nine were freight cars. Heavy-duty and, in some cases, specially reinforced freight cars, the best that the Nazis could lay their hands on at the time.”
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“So it got away safely?” Archie asked. “The Russians didn’t capture it?”
“It left Budapest on the fifteenth of December.” Tom checked his list as Lasche spoke. The train’s departure date tallied with the date marked on the map. “Then it stopped in Györ, where its load was increased by a hundred old masters from the local municipal museum. Over the next three months it traveled barely a hundred miles, its journey hampered by the battles raging around it and ten unsuccessful robbery attempts—nine of them by rogue elements of the SS—which the Hungarian soldiers detailed to protect the train’s special cargo successfully fought off.”
“Where was it headed?” Archie again.
“In all probability Switzerland. But by the time it reached the outskirts of Salzburg, the war was almost over. And although it had successfully outrun the Russians, the Allies were making rapid progress into Austria. On the twenty-first of April, the 405th Bombardment Group of the Fifteenth Air Force destroyed the railway bridge at Brixlegg, and a few days later the Seventh Army joined up with the Fifth Army at the Bremner Pass. Austria was effectively split in two and the train’s route to Switzerland blocked.”
“So it was captured?”
Lasche smiled. “I think found would be a more accurate description. The 3rd Infantry Division of the 15th Regiment discovered it in the Tauern tunnel, only a few miles from Brixlegg, where the Germans had abandoned it, still crammed with its precious cargo. The Americans moved it to Werfen and then on to Camp Truscott on the outskirts of Salzburg, where all twenty-seven freight cars were unloaded into secure warehouses.”
“And what happened to it then?” Tom asked.
Lasche shook his head ruefully, his voice suddenly hard. “Although it was known that the assets on the Gold Train were Hungarian Jewish in origin, they were designated ‘enemy property,’ making it possible for high-ranking U.S. officials to requisition the entire load.”
“Requisition?”
said
Archie.
the black sun 197
“A euphemism for legalized theft. Rather than return the remaining goods to the Hungarian State for restitution to the survivors and relatives of those who had been robbed and killed, a few greedy and unscrupulous American officers simply helped themselves to what they wanted, decking out their field offices with all the trappings of a conquering army and then shipping most of the remainder home to the United States.”
Lasche sounded almost angry now. “The Americans handed over a thousand works of art to the Austrian rather than the Hungarian government and then auctioned the remainder in New York.”
Tom shook his head, his tone suspicious. “Forgive me for asking, Herr Lasche, but you seem remarkably well informed about this one train.”
“You forget, Mr. Kirk, before I was reduced to pissing into a bag”—Lasche patted the side of his leg disconso-lately—“I used to pursue foreign companies and governments on behalf of Holocaust victims. It was my job to know about incidents such as these.” He tapped his finger on his file. “Rumors about the Gold Train have been floating around for years, but it was only after I’d retired that the Presidential Advisory Commission on Holocaust Assets finally admitted to what I have just told you. A class-action suit was mounted by survivors. Predictably, the U.S. Department of Justice opposed all attempts at compensation, at first denying the charges, then saying that the events were too long ago for a contemporary court to consider. But the courts ruled in the survivors’ favor, and they received a payout of close to twenty-five million dollars. A tiny fraction of what they were owed.”
“Hang on a minute—” Archie had been frowning in concentration for the past few seconds. “You just said that the Yanks unloaded twenty-seven freight cars? But earlier you said there were twenty-nine.”
“Indeed I did.” Lasche turned to Archie, seemingly impressed at his alertness.
“Because it appears, Mr. Connolly, that somewhere between Budapest and Werfen, two carriages
disappeared.”
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“Disappeared?” Archie frowned. “Two railway carriages can’t just vanish into thin air!”
“That would indeed be the logical assumption,” Lasche agreed. “And yet the fact remains they were gone. And what was in them, and where they are now, is something I fear
we
will
never
know.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CIA SUBSTATION, ZURICH
January 8—4:51 p.m.
It’s him!” Bailey exclaimed, tapping the screen excitedly with his finger. “It must be.”
“Are you sure?” Cody urged. “We only get one shot at this. If we tail him and someone else shows up, we’ll miss them.”
“Sure as I can be. Stocky, cropped blond hair, early forties, smoker. He matches the description we were given. And, according to your guy on the inside, he’s just come down from Lasche’s floor.”
“Fine. Get a still off to the lab and have them run it through the system,” Cody instructed the girl standing next to him. “See if they come up with a match.”
“What about his buddy?” Bailey asked, angling his head slightly for a better view of the jittery picture being beamed in from the agent stationed opposite the hotel entrance.
“We should check him out too.”
“Good idea,” said Cody. “Chances are, he’s not acting alone.” The girl nodded and then disappeared into the adjacent room. “What do you want to do, sir?” asked one of the operatives, looking over her shoulder at Cody.
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“Our FBI friend says he’s a match”—he winked at Bai-ley—“so tell Roberts to roll.”
She turned back to face her screen. “Mobile One, this is Central. Be advised that the subject has been confirmed as our primary mark. Track and hold your distance.”
The image on the monitor jerked unsteadily as the agent wearing the concealed camera set off, the shifting red dot on the plasma screen above confirming that he was on the move.
“All agents,” the operator continued, “primary mark is leaving the hotel and heading north toward the river. Move to intercept at grid point—”
“Correction, Central,” the speaker hissed. “Primary mark has turned east. I repeat, primary mark has turned east toward Bahnhofstrasse.”
“Bahnhofstrasse? Shit,” Cody muttered, approaching the back of the operator’s chair.
“Who else have we got down there?”
“Mobile Two and Three are—”
“Their names, Jesus, give me their names,” Cody snapped. “We haven’t got time for all this code-word bullshit.”
“Marquez and Henry can be there in sixty seconds. Jones, Wilton, and Gregan will take about two minutes to get in position.”
“Get them all down there, ASAP. I need as many pairs of eyes on this guy as we’ve got.”
“What’s the problem?” asked Bailey.
“The problem is that Bahnhofstrasse at this time is like Fifth Avenue on the first day of the winter sales,” Cody replied with an anxious shake of his
head. “If he gets down there and we’re not sticking to him like a hot date on prom night, we’ll lose him in the crowds.”
Bailey glanced up at the plasma screen. Six red dots were rapidly converging on Bahnhofstrasse.
“Okay, here we go,” Cody said with a rueful sigh, as the image on the camera showed the backs of the two men as they filtered into the thick stream of rush-hour shoppers and commuters. “Stay with him, Roberts,” he muttered. “Don’t lose him.”
the black sun 201
The man identified by Cody as Roberts stayed close, the image he was beaming back suggesting that he was only twenty feet behind the two men. That was much closer than was typically safe or advisable, but under the circumstances it was an unavoidable risk. Two more agents closed in on the targets, one from each side, so that they now had three camera feeds of the same scene, each showing a slightly different angle, on the small monitors in front of them.
The targets paused in front of one of the innumerable jewelers, paused, shook hands, and then separated, heading briskly off in different directions.
“What do you want to do?” Cody spun to face Bailey.
“Shit!” Bailey anxiously rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know. I need to ask Carter.”
“Carter isn’t here. This is your call now.”
Bailey was silent as he considered what to do. Carter had told him that he was there to observe, not to make decisions. But if he didn’t make one now, both men would get away.
“Seconds count, Bailey,” Cody urged.
“Blondi. Follow Blondi.”
“You sure?”
“That’s who we came here for,” said Bailey, hoping his gut instinct was the right one.
“We can’t lose him now.”
“You got it. Roberts, Marquez, Henry—stay on the primary mark,” the operator intoned. “Jones, Wilton, Gre-gan—take up your positions and be prepared to relieve the others as they come past. I don’t want him seeing the same face more than once.”
“Roger,” came the crackled response.
The man known as Blondi moved on, casually surveying the shop windows, pausing momentarily in front of one particularly gaudy display. And then, without warning, just as a tram came past, he broke into a run.
“Shit, he’s made us,” Cody exclaimed. “Okay, all units move in. Repeat, move in. Let’s take him down.”
“What do you mean, he’s made us?” Bailey took a worried step toward the screen.
“How did he make us?”
“Because he’s good.”
“He’s
getting
on
the
tram,”
the
speaker
crackled.
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“Well, get on it with him. Don’t lose him.”
The images being beamed back bounced wildly as the three agents broke into a run, the sound of their breathing echoing through the room. No one was talking, their eyes and attention totally focused on the screens.
Rapidly closing the gap on the tram, the two agents leaped aboard, one closely followed by the other, just as the doors shut behind them.
“Where is he?” Bailey whispered.
“Find him and get him off,” Cody ordered.
The images showed the tram’s interior and close-ups of other passengers’ surprised faces. But there was no sign of the man they had followed.
“There!” Cody exclaimed, thumping his finger against the screen. On one of the monitors they could see, through the tram window, a man standing on the pavement, waving them good-bye.
“How did he do that?” Bailey asked, his voice a disbelieving whisper.
“Because he’s a pro.” Cody banged the table in front of him with the palm of his hand.
“Jesus, it’s like he knew we’d be waiting for him.”
“Maybe he did, sir.” Returning from the room next door, the young operator handed Cody a piece of paper.
“What’s that?” asked Bailey.
“Austrian police have just put out an APB on a man they are looking for in connection with the murder of a woman, Maria Lammers, and the fire-bombing of a church in Kitzbühel in the Austrian Alps early this morning,” Cody replied, reading from the sheet.
“What’s that got to do with this case?”
“Several witnesses have reported seeing a stranger with the victim the previous day. They were able to give a description.”
Cody held up the composite sketch faxed through by the Austrian police and next to it the still photo just taken of Blondi leaving the Hotel Drei Könige. It
was
unmistakably
the
same
man.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
WIPKINGEN, ZURICH
January 8—5:17 p.m.
What’s wrong?” Dominique’s eyes were wide with con cern. “Is Archie back?” Tom was breathing heavily, his voice strained. “Why, what’s happened? Are you okay? You’re not hurt, are you?” “No, I’m fine. It’s Archie I’m worried about. A man followed us when we came out of the hotel.” Tom took off his overcoat and threw it over the arm of one of the worn sofas. “He was waiting for us.” He turned to Dhutta. “Have you told anyone we’re here?”
“No, Mr. Tom, I can assure you that—”
“I hope for your sake you haven’t,” Tom said coldly. “I can think of several people who would be very interested in your current whereabouts. If you’ve breathed so much as a word about us to anyone . . .”
“We have made a deal,” Dhutta pleaded, furiously rolling something invisible between his right thumb and forefinger. “I would never betray that trust. It’s all people like us have left.”
There was a long, uncomfortable silence until the shrill sound of the bell broke the spell.
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“Maybe that’s him,” Dominique said with a hopeful smile. Dhutta slipped gratefully out of the room, then reappeared moments later with Archie only a few steps behind him.
“Sorry I’m late.” Archie sat down heavily on one of the sofas. “Spot of bother. I’m sure Tom filled you in.”
Dhutta made straight for his medicine shelf, ran his fingers along the line of brown bottles, selected one, opened it, took a swig, and replaced it. Whatever it was, it seemed to calm his nerves.
“Any idea who it was?” Dominique asked.
“I didn’t exactly hang around to find out.”
“What the hell did he want with us?” Tom asked.
“They, you mean,” Archie observed drily. “I counted at least three. And in case you hadn’t noticed, it was me they were after, not you.”
“You been up to anything I should know about?” Tom eyed Archie suspiciously.
“You’ve never had heat like that before.”
“ ’Course not.” Archie sounded almost offended.
“Your recent American trip, for example. You never did say what that was about.”
“Oh, come on,” Archie protested. “I’m out of play, and you know it.”
“What were you doing there, then?”
“Nothing that’s got anything to do with this. That should be enough for you.”
“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Tom conceded. “Guess I’m a bit jumpy. Anyway, I’d say it’s about time we moved on. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to hang around to find out who they were and what they wanted. Besides, we got what we came here for.”
“Did we?” said Archie. “Fine, so we found out that Weiss-man and Lammers were both members of some secret order of SS knights. We know that they spent a small fortune protecting a map that concealed the final journey of a train loaded with stolen Jewish treasure—”
“Lasche told you that?” Dominique asked excitedly.
Tom
quickly
recounted
the
story
of
the
Hungarian
Gold
the black sun 205
Train. Dhutta’s eyes widened with each new revelation, the feverish twirling of a pen through his fingers increasing, until it was a blur of black plastic.
“The point is, two carriages were taken from that train and we haven’t got a bloody clue what was on them or where they are,” Archie said resignedly. “So I’m not sure we did get what we came for.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Dominique said, a smile playing around the corners of her mouth.
Tom looked around, recognizing the tone in her voice. “You’ve found something, haven’t you?”
“The map wasn’t the only thing they were protecting in that safety-deposit box,” she said.
“Wasn’t it?” Archie frowned.
“This was kept in there too.” She picked up the frayed leather satchel that the map had been kept in.
“It’s just a regular satchel,” said Tom. “German made, late forties. Probably one of millions.”
“Come on, Dom,” Archie said impatiently. “What are you getting at?”
“Well, after an hour of turning it up and down and shaking it, nothing. But then I noticed this.” She pointed at the front flap.
“The stitching?” Archie eyed it carefully, then looked up with interest. “It’s a different color.”
“It’s newer than the rest. So I unpicked it. And I found something inside.”
“Another map?” Dhutta suggested eagerly, moving in for a closer view.
“No. Not even close.” She slipped her hand between the two pieces of leather that made up the satchel’s front flap and withdrew a small flat shard of what initially looked to be orange-brown plastic. She handed it to Tom, who examined it, then passed it silently to Archie.
“It’s lined with gold leaf,” Dominique said.
“No.” Archie shook his head, turning the shard over in his hands. “It isn’t. It can’t be.”
“Why
not?”
Tom
said
quietly.
“It
makes
sense.
It
makes
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