Where the gun’s owner had come from and how he had managed so completely to get the drop on Klaus were issues he would have to address and resolve moving forward.
Assuming he survived.
A voice, calm and in control, said, “Very slowly, you will extend the hand holding the pistol straight out in front of you. You will not attempt to discharge your weapon or you will die. Do you understand, Herr Newmann?”
The accent was not German, although the phrasing was accurate and the words clear. The speaker was a foreigner, but one with considerable experience in the German language.
And the man to whom the voice belonged had not uttered the code words Klaus had waited so long to hear. Had not even come close to uttering the code words.
This was not his contact.
For a split-second Klaus considered cocking his wrist and firing semi-blindly in the direction he knew his assailant was standing: slightly behind him and to the left. He calculated the odds at slightly better than fifty-fifty he could squeeze off a shot before the mystery man could react and fire his own weapon, blowing a hole in Klaus’s skull.
But almost as if reading his mind, the assailant said, “Do not shoot, Herr Newmann. It is not worth the risk. Even if you succeed in killing me, the chances are good my gun hand will spasm reflexively as my muscles contract, and then you will die right alongside me. And even if not, I did not come into these woods alone. There are two other weapons trained on you even as we speak. Do as I say or you will die.”
Klaus blew out a breath in frustration. Adrenaline pounded through his body, the fight or flight instinct was almost overwhelming. Still, he forced himself to remain calm and hold his ground.
Consider the man’s words.
It was extremely unlikely his assailant was telling the truth, at least where the existence of two other gunmen were concerned. Klaus knew his instincts were not what they once had been. Age and comfortable living had eroded them years ago. But he simply could not accept the notion that three men could have tailed him successfully this far into the forest without him noticing.
One man, perhaps—well, okay, he thought. One for certain, obviously—but not three.
But the assailant’s point was still a valid one. Klaus must acquiesce or die. And as long as he was breathing there was always the chance he could turn the situation around. He couldn’t imagine how at the moment, but that was irrelevant. He would accomplish nothing dead.
There’s always the chance this attack is unrelated to the key. The thought flashed through his mind but the likelihood of that being the case was so slim as to be laughable.
Not that he could manage to laugh at the moment.
He considered all this in a half-second, and then did as he was told. Extended his arm and held his Walther away from his body, barrel pointed at the ground.
A hand snaked under his arm and plucked the gun away. A man Klaus had never before seen stepped out from behind him and into his line of sight. The man held Klaus’s Walther in his left hand. With his right, he lowered his own weapon and trained it squarely on Klaus’s chest. It did not waver.
“Excellent decision,” the man said.
“What is this all about?” Klaus asked. He had envisioned this scenario and his potential responses to it hundreds of times over the years. Thousands. He had imagined himself remaining calm and collected, analytical almost, coolly considering his options and then selecting the most appropriate one.
Now that the thing he had dreaded most was happening, Klaus discovered it was all he could do to keep his voice steady.
“You know what this is about,” the man said.
“I am certain I do not. I was out for a hike and now I find myself accosted by a hooligan with a gun. This is outrageous. Unacceptable.”
“A hooligan,” the man repeated. A trace of a smile ghosted across his bland face and then vanished. “Let me ask you a question. If you are simply a man out for a hike, why were you carrying this very nice Walther? Why was it necessary for me to disarm you?”
“Look around you,” Klaus said without hesitation. “This area is wild. Untamed. I carry the pistol for protection. I had assumed it would be for protection against wildlife. Little did I realize.”
The man smiled broadly now. He nodded. “I applaud your manufactured sincerity,” he said. “Or I would, if I weren’t holding a pair of guns in my hands. Now, let us dispense with the charade. We are alone out here, it is just you and I, so please give me what I require and I shall be on my way.”
“I thought you said there were two other assassins pointing weapons at me.”
“You caught me in a lie. Oops. Now, give me the key.”
“I told you already, I do not know—”
“Enough.” The man stepped forward and shoved his gun roughly against Klaus’s ear. “This game has grown tiresome. I did not simply stumble across you out here in the middle of nowhere, kilometers from Wuppertal, Herr Newmann. You have been under surveillance for quite some time. I, personally, have followed you on your daily hike more than a half-dozen times. So your protestations of innocence are wasted on me, regardless of how sincerely you are able to repeat them. Drop the act and give me what I came for. Hand me the key.”
Fear mushroomed in Klaus’s belly, hot and sickening. He had always known this moment was a possibility, in some ways was surprised it had taken this long to arrive. But in the thousands of times he had envisioned the scenario, he had always managed to convince himself there would be an escape. A way out.
Now he knew there was no way out.
He sighed heavily. Realized he was shaking, and not just from the adrenaline. “You are going to kill me.”
“Give me the key and I’ll let you live.”
“You’re lying.”
“All I want is the key. I have no interest in harming you.”
“You can’t afford to let me live. Even if you take possession of the key, you could not possibly move the contents it protects before I could alert my superiors to the situation. That would create complications you do not need, and probably could not handle.”
“You are too perceptive for your own good, Herr Newmann. It is no wonder Hitler chose you as custodian of the merchandise.” He shrugged. “Fine. Your analysis is correct. You will not leave this forest alive.”
“If you’re going to kill me anyway, there is no benefit to me to hand over the key. And you will never find it if I do not give it to you.”
“But there is a benefit. If you give me what I came for, your death will be quick and painless. You have my word on that. If you do not, well…” He dragged out the last word and let it hang in the air between them.
Klaus had by now formulated a plan. It was born of desperation and unlikely to succeed, as the gunman had stepped back two paces, placing him out of reach. But there was no downside to making the attempt. Klaus placed his hands on his hips and leaned back as if stretching while considering the merits of his attacker’s argument. He slipped his right hand under his windbreaker and grasped his backup gun, nestled under the waistband of his trousers at the small of his back.
He looked into his assailant’s eyes and saw a twinkle of amusement. The corners of the man’s mouth twitched upward.
There would be no taking this man by surprise. No getting the jump on him as he had gotten the jump on Klaus.
There was no point even in trying.
He tried anyway.
He yanked the Walther out from behind his back, the movement as smooth and polished as any sixty-seven year old man could accomplish, and drew down on the assailant.
He never saw the shot coming. Never felt the bullet enter his skull.
He was dead before he hit the ground.
2
November 12, 1987
8:25 a.m.
Wuppertal, Federal Republic of Germany
Dobromir Victorovich spat on the ground. He had started out the day hung over and things were only going downhill from there. Now he was annoyed an
d hung over.
He holstered his weapon and tossed Newmann’s to the side. He had had no alternative than to gun down the German fool once he went for his second pistol, but that fact was small comfort now.
Dobromir had hoped for a smooth, stress-free transaction: key for him, two bullets to the cranium for Newmann. Had counted on it, in fact, given the element of surprise and the old Nazi’s advanced age.
But he should have known better. The KGB operative had seen even the easiest of assignments blow up unexpectedly, and here was a perfect example. Instead of intimidating Newmann and taking possession of the damned key, he had allowed a gun battle to erupt. Although, to be fair, it was more of an execution than a battle.
Either way, the result was the same: dead Nazi and no key.
It was his own fault. He should have frisked Newmann the second he took the old man’s gun away. He had almost done so, too, but overconfidence had gotten in the way. Overconfidence and the fact that Dobromir’s head was pounding from too much vodka last night. He had just wanted to get this over with.
Who could have predicted the old fool would be carrying a backup weapon? He’d been making this hike every day since the end of the Second World War, more than four decades ago. He should long since have become lazy and careless.
Instead it was Dobromir who had been careless. And it had damned near gotten him killed.
He spat on the ground again and sighed. Recalled Newmann’s words: …you will never find the key if I do not give it to you.
He was so close to completing his mission successfully. He had been in West Germany for weeks, surveilling the old man and verifying the truth of the rumors that had circulated throughout the KGB—and all of Mother Russia—for years, rumors involving Adolph Hitler, and buried treasure, and millions of rubles’ worth of Russian heritage that had been stolen from St. Petersburg during the darkest days of World War Two.
Through his surveillance Dobromir had discovered to his immense surprise that the rumors were all true. And they were all tied to this anonymous elderly factory owner, an old man who had been hiking these woods outside Wuppertal for more than forty years.
But none of it would matter without the key. If he returned to Moscow empty-handed, Dobromir knew he might just as well kiss his job—and probably his life—goodbye. The best he could hope for would be a one-way train ticket to Siberia.
He needed that key.
And he had just killed the only man who knew its location.
All was not lost, however. The key was here. Dobromir knew for a fact that the old man had kept the key in his possession for more than two weeks now. He had never let it out of his sight.
Which meant the key was here.
All Dobromir needed to do was find it.
And he would not leave until he did.
***
He checked all of the obvious places first. Dug through the old man’s pockets. Frisked the body as it lay face down in the decaying autumn leaves. Didn’t find the key, but did discover that not only had the old Nazi been carrying a second gun, he had also strapped a third pistol into an ankle holster above his right foot.
The man had been a walking armory, and while he had been no match for a trained KGB operative and was now lying dead in the spot where he would soon be buried, his stock rose just a bit in Dobromir’s eyes. He had been a worthier opponent than Dobromir realized while he was alive.
But, while interesting in a professional sense, none of this had gotten him any closer to finding the key.
He began removing the old man’s clothing, piece by piece, using his combat knife to cut the material into thin strips, searching for hidden pockets or double seams large enough to hold something as small and thin as a key.
Found nothing.
Now he sat on the forest floor, the damp chill leaching into his body, surrounded by ribbons of material littering the ground and a nearly naked dead old man lying next to him. He had decided to leave the man’s underwear on him for now. Removing it and searching the anal cavity of a cooling corpse could wait until there was no other option, as far as Dobromir was concerned. He would do exactly that if necessary, but only if necessary.
He had expected to be finished by now, had assumed the key would be readily accessible. His head was pounding and his tongue felt scratchy and he didn’t think he had ever wanted anything as much in his life as he wanted to find the damned key and get the hell back to Wuppertal.
Right now.
He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. Stared at the body. The old guy looked ridiculous, all dignity gone, and for just a moment Dobromir felt ashamed of himself. He wondered what his mother would think if she could see him now, digging through a dead man’s clothing as he lay on the ground with his pasty-white skin exposed to the chilly afternoon air, the body clad only in a pair of yellowing boxer shorts and well-worn hiking boots.
Hiking boots.
Of course. The key was in the boots.
All thoughts of Dobromir’s mother vanished as he kicked himself for his stupidity. Of course the old man would store the key in his boots. It was the one way he could be sure he could always access it when he needed it. Who goes for a hike without wearing his boots?
He bent down and unlaced the left boot. Slipped it off the corpse’s foot. Felt around the interior, searching for a telltale bulge or secret compartment.
Found nothing. Poked and prodded the exterior with his fingers, massaging it, willing the key to be under a hidden flap of leather.
It was not.
Dobromir turned the shoe over, examining the sole. This was where the key would be found. He was so certain of it that allowed himself a small smile and forgave himself his sloppy performance thus far. None of it would matter in the end, and all it would have cost him was a little lost time.
His fingers explored the sole, paying close attention to the seam where it had been fastened to the boot. There had to be a release here somewhere, probably in the heel, a spring-loaded mechanism that would open and reveal the key.
It should be easy to find, but he was getting nowhere. Dobromir felt his frustration level rising. He was wasting time, getting cold, and he could feel his muscles tightening and becoming stiff. All he wanted was to locate the key and get the hell out of here, and he still had a body to bury once he found the damned thing.
He was getting nowhere. Maybe the key was in the other boot, but Dobromir didn’t think so. Newmann had held drawn his backup gun with his right hand, meaning that unless he had learned to shoot ambidextrously—highly unlikely; most people hadn’t had KGB training—he must be right-handed.
And if that were the case, Dobromir theorized it would be much easier as a practical matter to access the bottom of his left shoe than his right.
He muttered a curse and reached for his combat knife. Began slicing horizontally through the sole of the boot at the heel. He should have done this from the start, rather than wasting time searching for a release mechanism he might never find, but he had always loved a good puzzle and hadn’t been able to pass up the chance to try solving it.
Now he no longer cared about puzzles. He worked quickly but carefully, and within ninety seconds had removed the heel from the rest of the boot.
And there it was.
***
Dobromir’s excitement mounted as he hiked through the woods to where he had parked his rental car. It had taken longer than he anticipated to bury the old man’s body without a shovel, and he had done a mediocre job at best of concealing the corpse. But it only needed to stay hidden long enough for the Soviets to figure a way to smuggle the treasure out of West Germany and back to its rightful home in Leningrad. Or Moscow, or wherever.
That would be someone else’s problem. Dobromir’s assignment had been to recover the key and deliver it to his superiors, and after a few bumps in the road, he was well on his way to completing the mission successfully.
He examined the prize curiously as he walked. An ornate gold key, glitte
ring in the dim light filtering through the forest canopy. It was big, considerably bigger than an average house or car key. It had the look of a skeleton key, topped with a wide round handle in the shape of the Nazi swastika. And there were boxes with a vaguely electrical look fused to the key’s teeth.
It was a strange-looking key, but still just a key. It was hard to imagine this small piece of molded gold—if that’s what it was—was worth killing a man to retrieve. But that was the way of the world, particularly the espionage world, and Dobromir felt little remorse. Klaus Newmann had demonstrated his readiness to die to protect the key, and more importantly, he had demonstrated his readiness to kill Dobromir to protect it.
Dobromir had been quicker than Newmann, and thus was still alive. It was no more complicated than that.
The rutted cow path that passed for a road leading to Wuppertal loomed in the distance; Dobromir could see the day’s brightness radiating outward from the clearing that had been hacked out of the forest to support it. He felt a surge of excitement. His mission was complete, and now he could relax.
Technically, his next move should be to depart Wuppertal, and as quickly as possible. Return to Moscow immediately and hand the prize over to his superiors. He would be sent off on his next assignment and West Germany would become just a memory.
That was what he should do.
That was not what he was going to do, however.
Dobromir had discovered during his Wuppertal assignment that he rather enjoyed the West German nightlife. The alcohol was of the highest quality, and so were the women. The KGB would have no way of knowing how long it had taken to secure the key, and thus there was no reason to hurry back to Russia.
What the KGB didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. He decided he would return to his hotel. He would stash the key in a safe place and then take a few more days to fully enjoy the Wuppertal experience before returning to Moscow.
It was the least he could do for himself. The KGB certainly wouldn’t allow him any time off, and he hadn’t had a real vacation in years.
Tracie Tanner Thrillers Box Set Page 75
