All rights reserved. No part of this book shall be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, magnetic, photographic including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher. No patent liability is assumed with respect to the use of the information contained herein. Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher and author assume no responsibility for errors or omissions. Neither is any liability assumed for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2012 by Garner Scott Odell
ISBN 978-0-7414-8107-8 Paperback
ISBN 978-0-7414-8108-5 eBook
Library of Congress Control Number: 2012919657
INFINITY PUBLISHING
1094 New DeHaven Street, Suite 100
West Conshohocken, PA 19428-2713
Toll-free (877) BUY BOOK
Local Phone (610) 941-9999
Fax (610) 941-9959
[email protected]
www.buybooksontheweb.com
For my daughters, Mary Lou and Chrys, who keep my memory of family strong.
Contents
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
PROLOGUE: London, 1931
CHAPTER 1: Switzerland in the mid 90’s
CHAPTER 2: Switzerland
CHAPTER 3: Switzerland
CHAPTER 4: Tel Aviv
CHAPTER 5: British Hong Kong
CHAPTER 6: Geneva
CHAPTER 7: Tel Aviv - - - Geneva
CHAPTER 8: Geneva
CHAPTER 9: Munich - - - Geneva
CHAPTER 10: Geneva
CHAPTER 11: Geneva
CHAPTER 12: Geneva - - - Berlin
CHAPTER 13: Geneva - - - Munich
CHAPTER 14: Munich
CHAPTER 15: Munich - - - Geneva
CHAPTER 16: Geneva
CHAPTER 17: Geneva
CHAPTER 18: Geneva - - - Munich
CHAPTER 19: Geneva
CHAPTER 20: Munich
CHAPTER 21: Munich
CHAPTER 22: Munich
CHAPTER 23: Munich
CHAPTER 24: Munich
CHAPTER 25: Munich - - - Tel Aviv
CHAPTER 26: Rome - - - Munich - - - Tel Aviv
CHAPTER 27: Munich
CHAPTER 28: Tel Aviv - - - Ein Hod - - - Munich
CHAPTER 29: Tel Aviv - - - Munich - - - Buenos Aires
CHAPTER 30: Geneva - - - Tel Aviv - - - Munich
CHAPTER 31: Geneva
CHAPTER 32: Munich - - - Geneva
CHAPTER 33: Geneva
CHAPTER 34: Geneva - - - Tel Aviv
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
To: Stephen Douglas and Jessica who thrasher through pages of words to find some semblance of order.
Nancy for rescuing me at every computer glitch
“Freddy Rocker” for a vision of the joy and mystery in beautiful stones
Central Valley Writers for patience in listening to the reading of rough chapters
Michael Caskey for cover art that really pops
And: Especially to “Amazing” Grace for her constant love and support through it all.
“And, as long as people hunger to possess the magical green fire of an Emerald, there will be people who risk all to satisfy that hunger - - - at any price.” Anonymous
PROLOGUE
London, 1931
A cold September rain slanted down on King Street in St. James and sharpened the noise from the steady stream of honking cars, taxis, and red double-decker buses as they made their halting way towards Clarence House.
Shaking the silver rain droplets from his umbrella Bixby Reynolds entered the vestibule of Christie’s London Auction House with great anticipation. The last two weeks, the sun had hardly broken through the damp London fog long enough to assure anyone it was still in the sky. Today was no exception. It seemed that the continuous rain had imprisoned them for days. Stamping the water off his black rubbers and shaking his black brolly he shoved it into the umbrella stand near the front door. Walking quickly down the green-carpeted corridor, he nodded slightly to several of his employees, careful to keep a casual distance appropriate to his stature as Managing Director. Auction day always started promptly at ten each Monday morning, but that was only one of several things on his mind. Was the catalogue ready? Was the gallery spotless? Would there be a good crowd in spite of the rain? Soon, he hoped, the gallery would begin filling up with the on-lookers, the rich, their agents and other hopefuls. Bixby was always nervous on auction day, but especially today, September 15, 1931, because some of the impressive collection of jewels from the Bavarian National Treasury was to be offered. He entered his private office sanctum, hung his derby and greatcoat on the hall-tree just inside the door.
As if listening for his entrance his personal secretary entered from the inner door. Placing a small silver tray on his desk, she announced, “Your tea, sir.”
“Thank you, Miss McIntyre, any mail?
“Not until after nine, sir.
“Yes, of course.”
“Will there be anything else?”
“Not for the moment. Please let me know as soon as our guests begin to arrive.”
“Certainly, sir,” and with a slight nod, she left the office.
Henry Jones, Bixby’s young assistant, tapped on the jam of his open door. Bixby wondered whether Jones’ ruddy complexion was from being Welsh or because he drank too darn much. Since he never associated with employees outside the office, he would never know. He wished Jones would have his suits pressed more often, though.
“Anything special for me this morning, sir?”
“Ah, Jones, come in. Are the catalogs ready?”
“Yes, sir. I instructed the clerks to place them on the usual table at the gallery entrance. I’m sure they are there already. And the gallery is spotless.” Henry knew Bixby would throw one of his little tantrums if there was the least bit of dust in the gallery prior to a sale. The Director carried a pair of white gloves in his coat pocket just for inspection every auction day.
“Good, good. That is all for now, Jones. Oh…Jones, put a Carnation in your buttonhole, please. We must keep up appearances, mustn’t we?”
“Certainly, sir,” Henry bristled. He hated being called just “Jones”. Bixby looked down on anyone not born in jolly old England, and Henry suspected the reason he had not received a promotion for several years was because he was Welsh. He hated that his superior always found something wrong with his appearance, no matter how hard he tried to be perfect. If I had the nerve, I’d go right up to the old sod. I’d give him a piece of my mind. Someday, he thought. He turned and walked quickly back to his desk, vowing again to look for a position in another firm.
Henry quickly forgot his vow when he returned to his own office and picked up the thick catalog filled with pages and pages of beautiful antiques, art works and jewelry lying on his desk. He sat down looking at all the fascinating items, starting with the Rembrandt and Goya paintings featured in the fine arts section. He paused.
I wonder what it would be like to have paintings like these hanging on the walls of my flat instead of just seeing them in a museum, he mused. Bypassing pages of beautiful furniture, he stopped at the fine jewelry section. It was his favorite part of any catalog.
His secret ambition was to possess one of those beautiful jewels some day, even a small one. Closing his eyes, he dreamed of what it would be like to give a beautiful sparkling necklace to his wife.
> Coming out of his reverie, Henry noticed it was just past nine: time to make sure the men had prepared the items for auction correctly in the proper sequence. He left his office, striding through the great holding hall behind the auction gallery where he checked off each item and made sure it was labeled with its corresponding number. When he got to the gem section, he stopped. Would that it could be me who is allowed in the vault to prepare the jewelry for display. But only Bixby was allowed to handle the gems. He said it was because of the company’s insurance policy, but Henry knew better. In Bixby’s narrow mind Jones was an outsider, a foreigner and always would be.
Bixby nervously glanced at the oak clock on the wall opposite his desk. Have I taken care of everything, he asked himself. He mentally checked off the items on his Auction Day checklist, a process he went through each morning of every auction. Yes, he assured himself, all was ready. He hoped for a large crowd of bidders and a grand profit for the company.
At nine thirty-five, on the dot, Bixby finished his morning tea and rose from his desk. It was time to open the safe and place the gems into their numbered velvet pouches.
Just outside the vault room, he greeted the two security officers: “James, Owen. Good morning. Keep a keen eye out today. We have quite a display for this auction.”
“Something special today gov?” Owen asked, moving closer to the vault door.
“I’ll say. A large lot of beautiful jewels. One’s the biggest emerald you’ll ever see.”
Bixby stepped forward and twirled the dial on the front of the huge safe and, hearing a click, turned the dial the other way, another click, then slowly and carefully this time, the final click. With a hard turn of the large lever, he swung the heavy door open and entered the vault interior. The security officers held their ground, standing at attention outside the gaping door. In a few moments Bixby came out of the vault pushing an oak file cabinet on soft rubber wheels. He paused, opened one of the top drawers and took out a silver box, opened it, and took out a black velvet bag.
“Feast your eyes on this beauty, gentlemen,” Bixby said as he reached into the pouch and gently held in his hand an emerald the size of his fist. It caught the overhead lights and sent a flash of green around the room.
“Good Lord, Mr. Bixby, that is the biggest emerald I’ve ever seen,” James remarked.
“It’s the largest jewel of any kind I’ve ever seen, outside the Crown Jewels in the Tower, I meant,” Owen said in awe.
“That it is, lads, and it’s worth a fortune.”
“Where did it come from, sir?” Owen asked.
“This one’s the famous Wittelsbach Emerald, part of the collection of jewels from the Bavarian National Treasury. Well, I guess we’d better get these beauties out of the holding area. Stay close to me, boys, and don’t let these out of your sight all day.”
“Sold…to number 317,” The auctioneer exclaimed pounding his gavel as he stood facing the packed gallery. Some bidders had even lined the back wall, standing. The expectant air in the room was reflected on the faces of the crowd. Then a white-smocked attendant walked in, everyone’s eyes following him in anticipation. With white gloves, he took out a black velvet pouch from an ornate silver box and placed it on a revolving stand beside the auctioneer’s podium. Loosening the drawstring on the pouch he carefully drew out a large green stone, laying it gently on top of the pouch then turned and took his place against the wall to the left of the auctioneer’s podium.
As if orchestrated by some unseen conductor, the audience gasped in wonder. People in the rear stood to get a better look; others shifted their chairs for a less obstructed view.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the auctioneer stated, “we have now come to item number one-thirty-eight in your catalogue, the piece de resistance of this auction, if I may say so. I’m sure you have already read the provenance of this outstanding emerald, but let me read the description again for you.
“A 98.98 carat, magnificent quality, hexagonal stone, part of the Wittelsbach collection, until recently, housed in the Bavarian Treasury of Residenz in Munich, Germany. We are fortunate today to have this glorious emerald on offer. Originally, this deep green emerald with bluish highlights was mined from the Orozcachua Mines of Columbia in the 16th century and brought to Spain it is suspected by the Conquistador Francisco Pizarro. Historians tell us that in 1699 Maximilian Emanuel’s first son, Joseph Ferdinand, was appointed heir to the Spanish crown but died early in his life. It was probably during this time that the emerald became part of the Bavarian National Treasury and known as the Wittelsbach Emerald, after the name of the ruling family. It is believed to have been a gift from King Ludwig I, of Bavaria to Lola Montez, in the 19th century, but the stone was returned to the Treasury when Miss Montez mysteriously left Munich. At one time many years ago, for some unknown reason, the Bavarian government sold a great many of its treasures on the open market. This magnificent gem was purchased by the Munich Huber family who held it for several years until financial difficulties forced them to sell it back to their government. And now, once again, the glorious Wittelsbach Emerald is back on the market. As you can hear, this beautiful stone has quite a long and interesting history”
Murmurs and chuckles came from the gallery. He added, “Bavaria was weakened by King Ludwig’s sentimental extravagances and never fully recovered. They are offering the Wittelsbach Emerald among other precious jewels today from their collection.”
Standing behind the auctioneer, Bixby observed the crowd, studying the faces and posture of the audience, trying to guess which person would bid on each item. After all these years watching guests at the auctions, he prided himself adept at who would bid on a particular item. As the auctioneer read the description of the Wittelsbach Emerald, he noticed a general feeling of excitement swelling throughout the room. Several patrons were nervously playing with their assigned numbered paddles.
The bidding opened. Several of those who raised their paddles Bixby knew by name. There was Lord Perth with his lovely young second wife who, it was known, had been a dancer in a London club when the Lord met her. After a not-so-secret love affair, he divorced his wife, to marry her. Now Lord Perth tried desperately to keep up with his new spouse and her spending sprees.
Looking over the crowd, he recognized the agent for Sir Basil Giles, obviously hoping to add another famous gem to his client’s already extensive collection. Then there was Paddy Drexler, just recently elected to the House of Commons. There also was a new bidder from Paris, Bixby had been told, as well as some agent for a wealthy industrialist from Germany, neither of whom he had been able to meet prior to the auction.
Then, he noticed a nervous man, sitting near the rear of the gallery. The man suddenly rose from his chair and moved along the sidewall, closer to the podium. He seemed to be trying to get both a clear view of the emerald and to be simultaneously seen by the auctioneer. Bearded and wearing thick glasses, he was impeccably dressed in a dark gray suit of European cut. He nervously patted his thigh with his numbered paddle.
He’s the one. Bixby just knew it. There was something about the man that was like a crouching tiger ready to spring.
Just then, the bid reached £140,000. The bearded man raised his yellow paddle to his shoulder. It had a large, black number 17 on it. He held it there just long enough to get the attention of the auctioneer, who nodded slightly in his direction. Bixby counted only three other bidders remaining.
“£140, 500,” the auctioneer exclaimed, looking around the room. All three bidders responded, and Bixby saw the auctioneer smile slightly in the direction of the bearded man.
“Do I have £140,700? Yes, I have £140,700 from the gentleman by the wall.”
Suddenly all eyes were on the man.
“Now, £140,800? Going once – I have £140,800 from the gentleman on my left. Thank you, sir. Do I have £140,900? Yes, I have £140,900.”
There was a sigh from the woman bidder as she dropped out. Only two bidders remained. The auctioneer said
, “I have £140,900, going once, going twice, going…” Just as he raised his gavel, the bearded man waved his paddle furiously.
“Yes? Will you bid £141,000 sir?”
The man stepped forward, lowered his bidding paddle and in a loud clear voice said with a distinctly German accent, “I bid £150,000.”
The audience gasped. Bixby was astonished. Raising the bid by almost £10,000! Would the man who had just lost the bid at £140,900 bid again? All eyes were on the smallish dark-suited gentleman in the second row to the right of the podium. The auctioneer looked at the man and paused. After a tense moment, the man shook his head dejectedly, rose and walked out of the gallery. The auctioneer turned to the bearded man.
“You bid £150,000 for item one thirty eight, the Wittelsbach Emerald? Is that correct, sir?” inquired the auctioneer.
Without hesitation, he man nodded and exclaimed, “Ya! Das is correct. £150,000.”
“I have a £150,000 bid for the Wittelsbach Emerald. Do I hear a further bid?” In the stunned silence only the rustle of clothes and the murmurs of the crowd were heard. “Going once, going twice, and sold for £150,000” The auctioneer banged his gavel down.
When the audience turned their eyes from the auctioneer back to look at the gentleman who had caused such a stir with his amazing bid, he was no longer standing against the gallery wall of Christie’s Auction House. He had vanished.
CHAPTER 1
Switzerland in the mid 90’s
The early Swiss morning was crisp and clear as Hans carried the gloves of the woman he killed last night to the garden shed behind the garage. He unlocked the heavy padlock and the door creaked as he entered. Standing in the doorway he looked at the old leather steamer trunk amid a collection of shovels, rakes, hoes and a rusty lawnmower. Taking a small brass key from the chain around his neck he knelt, unlocked the trunk and lifted the lid. Memories of past killings swarmed inside as he gently placed the fawn, suede gloves on top of his trophies. Closing the lid he paused before locking it and rubbed his hands over the warn leather top. This travel trunk held everything his father was able to spirit out of Germany in those days as the glorious Third Reich began to topple. It survived the long U-boat trip to Argentina in the mid 40’s and now was with Hans in Switzerland as he searched for his long lost inheritance.
Emerald Page 1
