Retribution

by T. K. Walls

The basement wasn’t as large as he thought it should have been. The floors were dirt, the walls were stone, and the ceiling had wood planks. It wasn’t possible for the Vatican to store or protect any type of art in this basement. As he glanced around, he couldn’t imagine hiding people in this small, dark hole. He pulled the audit record out of his inner jacket pocket. According to the record, the basement should be larger. Perhaps he was in the wrong church. This simply didn’t make sense. Everything with the church followed the Vatican’s documentation, except this basement.

  He took the flashlight and bathed the stone walls in light, looking closely at the stones. He was almost ready to leave the basement when he finally saw it: the symbol of Archangel Michael. At first glance, it looked like a scratch in the wall, but standing back a little, he saw it was obviously an organized stick symbol of the Angel of Strength and Protection.

  “Michael,” he said under his breath. He ran his hand over the stone and thought it gave a little. He wondered if this was the opening to where the rumored art and gold were kept. He pressed it again, but nothing happened. He felt around the stone, and still nothing. The symbol had a circle on the far left end, a total of three points and one long downward line. “Of course,” he muttered. It wasn’t the stone with the symbol, but the stone where the line stopped. That stone was flat, almost square in shape, and slightly recessed into the wall. Tedesco felt the stone and ran his hand around the edges. When he did, he heard a click. The wall ever so slightly moved.

  He stood back in amazement. There wasn’t one secret basement or room; there were two. He pushed open the wall, shone the light into the room, and saw what he had only dreamed of—the Nazi gold. Stacks of gold bars, stacks of dusty bags that had to contain more gold, and small-to-very-large items wrapped in dusty, brittle-looking paper.

  Tedesco completed a quick inventory check of the contents of the room. Before leaving the room he picked up one small, dusty bag and placed it in the inner pocket of his jacket. He closed the door as quietly as he could and walked back up the stairs.

  “Did you find anything in that room?” asked Father Joseph without looking up.

  “Yes, actually, I did find a few items. Not much, though. You were right: there isn’t anything in either of the known rooms.” Tedesco looked at the elder priest. Father Joseph was leaning back in his leather chair, his arms folded comfortably in his lap with his eyes closed. “I carefully examined the walls and found a small switch that led to another room. I will need to make annual audits. Even though there are only a few items, the Vatican is insistent on maintaining security. Thank you for allowing me access to the basement.”

  Father Joseph nodded his head in response. Tedesco wasn’t sure why he had lied to the priest, and he wasn’t even certain if Father Joseph had believed him. He was still trying to comprehend the vastness of his discovery. He also knew that his primary function for the Vatican was to maintain the secrecy of the vault and to protect its contents. He rationalized to himself that was the reason he had lied.

  Outside the church and inside the privacy of his car, Tedesco removed the small bag from the inner pocket of his jacket. He gently and carefully opened the cloth bag and peered inside. Once again, he was stunned by the contents. The bag was a least half full of what looked like gold coins. He took one of the coins out of the bag and saw the proof that this was no doubt the rumored Nazi gold. The city name “BERLIN” was stamped along the bottom of the coin, and “DEUTSCHE REICHSBANK” was stamped along the top of the coin. The letters were so small they were barely legible. In the center of each coin, on each side, was the symbol of the Nazis, an eagle atop a swastika with the number 5 to the left of the eagle. The coin was dated 1939.

  Tedesco could barely breathe. He sat in shock as he realized his find. He rubbed his thumb over the coin, and turning it over, he rubbed it again. “What are you worth?” he asked quietly. He would count the coins when he returned to his hotel. In the meantime, he placed the coins back into the bag and put the bag back into his jacket pocket.

  The drive back to Nykøbing Mors took what seemed like a very long time. Tedesco couldn’t stop thinking of the basement, with its stacks of gold bars and bags of gold coins, and wondering what was wrapped in the paper. He felt the bag through his jacket and estimated he had around fifty coins. By the time he made it back to his hotel, he was already thinking of a way to remove the contents of the basement.

  It was during this drive that he thought of a pilot who would fly anything for the right amount of money, and this was the initiation of the charter business between Tedesco, Brad, and Eric.

  TWENTY-SIX

  NOW, FIFTEEN YEARS AFTER THE DISCOVERY OF THE VAULT, TEDESCO WAS BEING CALLED TO A MEETING REQUESTING A FORMAL AUDIT. The meeting was to be held in the large conference room at Domus Sanctae Marthae, the official Vatican guesthouse. When Tedesco arrived, he was greeted by the cardinals’ secretary, Mr. Castillo, who took his coat and led him into the conference room. All five cardinals were already seated, talking to each other and looking over stacks of paper, as Tedesco took his seat to the right of the fifth cardinal. On the table in front of him was a file. He opened it, and inside was a copy of a letter addressed to the pope by the heads of state for Poland, Hungry, Romania, and Prague on behalf of the Czech Republic. Before he could read the letter, a horn sounded announcing the entrance of the pope. All stood as the pope entered the room.

  The pope gestured for everyone to sit after he took his place at the front of the podium. “Good morning, everyone. I am glad you were all able to come at such short notice. In front of each of you is a file that contains a letter by several countries, requesting repatriation of any and all art, property, and gold taken from them and secured by the Vatican during Hitler’s regime. The Church has always sought to return all property that was secured during the war to the rightful owners. Several years ago we requested Monsignor Tedesco to audit each of the locations where the Church had stored property on behalf of these countries and people. I have asked all of you to come today so we can discuss completing the repatriation of whatever is left. In past years the Church has always believed the gold was nothing more than a rumor. However, in recent days it has come to the attention of the Institute that there could be some truth to those rumors. According to our head accountant, Monsignor Tedesco, we still have secure locations that contain works of art, property, and even possibly gold.”

  Cardinal James, one of the only American cardinals at the Vatican, stood to address the pope. “Holy Father, I agree with returning all of what was held for safekeeping, but I am confused, as I thought everything had been returned decades ago. Even if some items were not returned, how do we determine their rightful owners?”

  The pope gestured toward Tedesco. “Would you like to address the cardinals, Monsignor?”

  Tedesco stood up to address the group. “When I first became the Vatican accountant several years ago, I did an audit of a few—if you will—‘safe locations’ around northern Europe. It was during this audit that I did, in fact, find art and property, as well as what appeared to be gold bars and coins. As of today, all remains secure and has not been moved or touched in decades.”

  The cardinals sat quietly, soaking in the information. Tedesco continued to speak. “The problem with returning the property is that we have no way of knowing who the proper owners are anymore. The owners of personal property and art should be easier to determine, but the gold bars and coins will be more difficult. And given the length of time that has passed, it’s very possible the owners are no long alive. The question now becomes: To whom do we entrust this property and money?”

  The Holy Father arose from his seat. He was visibly angry but understood the accountant’s concern. “I want the property and gold inventoried, and the Institute will return to the countries everything it has safeguarded. It is not our place, and has never been our purpose, to find and locate each and every person who had property and money stolen from them! We know the destruction—the wo
rld knows the destruction that occurred under the Nazi occupation. The Vatican will entrust the repatriation to the countries, and they will determine how it is to be given back to the people. We cannot continue to hold it for safekeeping, seventy years after it was taken, for it now looks as if the Vatican is profiting from the pain of others! I am ordering an immediate inventory of each secure location, and once we have the inventories, we will invite a representative from each country to the Vatican. We will provide a list of the inventories to each country, and once it is decided how to divide the property and gold, we will arrange transportation for the items to be delivered to each country. In the meantime, I want all the contents of each location delivered to the Institute!”

  Tedesco stood to address the pope. “Holy Father, do you have a specific time frame in mind for this? There is a total of five secure locations; each one is several hundred miles apart. Some are in rather remote areas and can only be reached by driving.”

  “I would like the audit completed before the start of the new year. Once it is complete we will reconvene to decide how best to move forward with contacting the countries. I will compose a letter in response to the request for repatriation, informing them of today’s decision and assuring an outcome that will satisfy their request.” The Holy Father did not wait for any questions and quickly left the conference room. For a brief moment the cardinals were quiet, and then all at once started asking Tedesco questions.

  Once the meeting was over, Tedesco made his way back to his office. He needed to call Brad, but this call would require absolute privacy. His office was not the place to make this call. He finished with the day’s work, walked to his home, and checked to ensure his house staff had left for the day. Once his privacy was assured, he called Brad.

  Since his initial discovery of the gold under the church in Nykøbing Mors, he had been slowly removing the gold and other treasures. He had hired Brad, and eventually Eric, to fly the gold out of Europe and into the United States, and then to the Caymans. He had never turned in an accurate inventory of the contents of any of the locations. This next delivery would be the last.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” BRAD SAID. “Last we spoke, I made myself clear that I wasn’t interested in hearing from you. What the hell do you want?”

  Brad was instantly pissed and slightly uneasy. He was in the hangar behind the plane when his wife’s friend from the funeral surprised him. This guy wasn’t very tall, maybe five feet ten inches, but he was muscular. He had short, curly dark-brown hair and piercing dark eyes. He looked familiar, and not just from the funeral.

  “Since you have barged into my hangar, I have a question for you. How do you know Beverly? I knew everything about her, and whoever you are, she didn’t know you.”

  The other man didn’t reply at first, but just stared at Brad. Then he asked, “What makes you think I knew Beverly?”

  Brad took a step closer to him. “Look here, don’t play games with me. You came to the funerals, and you told me you knew my wife.”

  “Yes, and I did know your wife. That was accurate. But I never met Beverly. What I didn’t say was that I knew your first wife.”

  He waited for a response and was pleased when he saw a glimmer of nervousness.

  “Rachel, it was Rachel I knew. Like I said at the funeral, you could say our families were friends. Let me introduce myself to you. I’m Seth. I knew Rachel many years ago. We were best friends throughout much of our childhood. In fact, we remained friends after she married you. Elizabeth and Stephanie weren’t your daughters, Brad; they were mine.”

  Watching Brad process the information was oddly satisfying.

  “The twins were mine. We decided long ago to allow you to believe the girls were yours. We made that decision because we thought it was best for everyone, especially for our daughters. You see, I have a hobby of sorts that doesn’t make for a good family life for one child, much less two. And there is always the risk of getting caught. We didn’t want them to grow up with that stigma.”

  “Wait,” Brad stammered. “Elizabeth and Stephanie weren’t mine?”

  “You look surprised, Brad. You don’t know as much as you thought you did. Rachel wasn’t the demur, submissive housewife you thought she was. I knew the first accident wasn’t really an accident, but as long as Stephanie was alive, you would live. Your lifestyle would remain the same, and I would watch and wait.”

  Brad took a step back and shouted at Seth, “Get out of here before I call the police. You don’t come onto my property and threaten me. Get out of my hangar!” He noticed now that Seth’s hands were no longer in his pockets and he was smiling. “Listen, you need to leave. Just go!”

  “No, Brad, I am not leaving,” Seth said as he slowly walked toward Brad, stopping only a few feet in front of him. “I have questions, Brad, and I already know the answers. But I want to hear you say it, and I want to know why.”

  Before Brad could respond, he felt an instant, sharp, burning pain that began in his chest. Just before he passed out, he realized Seth had shot him with a Taser.

  Brad woke up seated in the pilot’s seat of his latest jewel, a Piper 341A. He tried to move but was unable. He looked down and saw that he was strapped into the seat; his arms were fastened to his sides with duct tape. Slowly realizing what was happening, he turned to his right and saw Seth sitting in the copilot’s seat. Angrily, he shouted, “What the hell do you think you are doing? You get this shit off me and get out of here!”

  Seth had been looking out the copilot’s window, but now he turned to look at Brad. He waited until Brad was calmer and then said, “Brad, I am not leaving yet. I will when we are finished. Right now we are going to have a chat. You are going to answer my questions, and depending on those answers, I may let you live to see the sun go down. Otherwise, Brad, I am going to kill you.”

  Brad struggled against the duct tape, still unable to move. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he yelled. “Do you honestly think I am going to do anything you want or tell you anything, you fucked-up piece of shit?”

  Seth didn’t react to Brad’s outburst. Instead he again waited until Brad calmed down and then patiently asked, “Why did you kill Rachel? This is the first question, Brad, and you will answer each and every one of my questions. Don’t forget I already know the answers, so if you lie, I am going to know.”

  “I didn’t kill Rachel!” Brad quickly answered. “It was an accident! A horrible accident. You know that. You said you know the answers, so you know the FAA ruled it was an accident.”

  Seth opened what looked like an old, green steel coffee thermos and poured some of the contents into the cap. He held the cap under Brad’s nose.

  “Get that shit away from me! Are you crazy?” Brad was nervous now, verging on fear. Surely this guy was bluffing.

  Seth smiled and turned in the seat to face Brad. “You killed her and the kids, and it was intentional. Just like this last crash. We both know it was intentional. What I don’t know is why you did it. Let me explain how this is going to go down. I am going to ask you a question. For each question you refuse to answer truthfully, I am going to pour a capful of gasoline on whatever part of your body I want to watch burn. But don’t worry, you won’t burn to death. I will extinguish the fire, and then we will start over again with another question. You will either answer all of the questions, or you will slowly watch yourself burn.” Seth waited for Brad to respond. He had no intention of waiting long.

  “Seth, is it? Let me reason with you…,” Brad stammered.

  “Wrong answer, Brad,” Seth said as he poured a small capful of the gas onto Brad’s upper right thigh and lit a match. Just as he was going to place the burning match on top of his thigh, Brad yelled for him to stop.

  “Yes, yes, OK! I killed her! I had to! Damn, I didn’t want to. I swear to God, that’s the truth. I loved her. I always loved her! I didn’t have a choice. She found out about a client in Rome that Eric and I flew charters for occas
ionally.” Brad hung his head and cried softly while trying to determine whether Seth would really burn him alive.

  “Were those charters out of Rome? Don’t lie to me, Brad.”

  With a nervous laugh, Brad explained, “No, Eric and I fly charters for a priest out of Vatican City. The actual flights are flown out of Germany, Denmark, or Italy, never directly in or out of the Vatican.”

  Brad paused until Seth lit another match, then started talking again, faster this time. “The charters were carrying gold, OK? Sometimes art, but mostly gold. We had to get it out of the country and into an offshore bank.”

  “Whose gold is it, Brad?” Seth asked as he dropped the lit match on Brad’s upper right thigh. Brad screamed and fought against the duct tape.

  Through his screams he managed to yell, “It was gold collected by—I don’t know—various people, and hidden during the Second World War. I am answering your questions, you fucking freak!”

  Seth extinguished the fire on Brad’s leg with a jacket he had taken from the back seat of the cabin. “Yes, you did answer my question, but you took too long. I am not here to play games. I told you how this was going to go down. You either follow my rules, or I burn you one section at a time.”

  Brad took a chance and looked over at Seth, who was holding the jacket in one hand and the thermos of gas in his other hand. Seth was looking out the window instead of at Brad. He didn’t seem to be paying attention to him. Brad squirmed and pressed against the tape, trying to loosen or even break part of the restraints. “I am trying,” Brad said carefully.

  Seth nodded his head and turned again to face him. “That’s good, Brad, a good start. Now try telling me the details. Who collected the gold, who hid the gold, and how did you become part of the gold trade?” Seth poured another capful of gasoline while waiting for Brad to answer.

  Brad slowly drew in a deep breath, trying to calm himself before answering. “I don’t know who originally collected the gold. It’s rumored that maybe it is Nazi gold, but that was never proven. One of the vaults had been long forgotten.” Brad paused again and looked at Seth.