The Secret Crown

Chris Kuzneski is the international bestselling author of The Prophecy, The Lost Throne, Sword of God, Sign of the Cross and The Plantation. His thrillers have been published in over twenty languages and are sold in more than forty countries. Chris grew up in Pennsylvania and currently lives on the Gulf Coast of Florida. To learn more about Chris, please visit his website: www.chriskuzneski.com.

Prologue

13 June 1886

Lake Starnberg

Berg, Bavaria

For years he had been paid to protect the king. Now he had orders to kill him.

And it needed to be done today.

Without witnesses. Without wounds. Before he could slip away.

Tracking his target from the nearby trees, he watched Ludwig as he left the castle grounds and strolled along the shoreline. The king wore an overcoat and carried an umbrella, protection from the threatening skies that had blanketed the region for much of the day. Normally the sun wouldn’t set until quarter past nine, but the approaching storm made dusk come early.

A storm that would wash away any signs of foul play.

The assassin checked his watch and noted the time. Ten minutes to seven. Dinner would be served at eight and not a moment before. If his target was late, an alarm would be sounded and a search party formed. That much was certain. This was a turbulent time in Bavaria, and Ludwig was the central figure in the drama, somehow loved and hated at the same time.

Some viewed him as a hero, a brilliant visionary who could do no wrong. Others saw him as a madman, a paranoid schizophrenic who had bankrupted the royal family with his flights of fancy. The assassin realized the truth was probably somewhere in between, though he couldn’t care less about politics. He was there to do a job, and he would do it without mercy.

‘Go to the boathouse,’ he whispered to his partner. ‘Signal me if we’re alone.’

His partner nodded, then crept through the woods without making a sound. They had positioned themselves along the north-eastern shore of Lake Starnberg, the fourth largest lake in the German Empire. Created by Ice Age glaciers, it extended fourteen miles from north to south and two miles from east to west. This time of year, the water was too cold for swimming, effectively trapping Ludwig along the coast with no means of escape.

Without a boat, the lake offered no sanctuary.

Without a miracle, Ludwig would be dead before dark.

The assassin smiled, confident in his ability to finish the job. In recent days Ludwig had been followed by a team of guards whose sole task was to protect him not only from his enemies but also himself. But this night was different. Bribes had been paid and arrangements had been made that would guarantee his isolation. As expected, the lone obstacle would be Ludwig’s psychiatrist, a man of advanced years who watched over his patient. The assassin would strike him first, then he would turn his attention to Ludwig, the fabled Swan King.

The assassin glanced at the boathouse, waiting for his partner’s signal. The instant he saw it, he slipped behind his two targets, effectively cutting them off from the safety of the castle grounds. He did so silently, careful not to give away his position until he was close enough to strike. In a matter of seconds he had cut the distance to twenty feet.

Then fifteen.

Then ten.

As he narrowed the gap to five feet, his focus shifted to the makeshift weapon he held in his hand. Plucked from the nearby shore, the stone was brown and jagged and stained with mud.

A moment later, it was covered in blood.

The doctor fell at once, unconscious before he even hit the ground, his skull shattered by the blow, his ribs fractured from the fall. Yet neither injury proved fatal. Minutes would pass before the doctor took his final breath; his lifeless body dragged into the depths of the cold lake where he would eventually drown – punishment for the role he had played in the charade.

In the meantime, the assassin had more important things to worry about. Before leaving the royal palace in Munich, he had been given an assignment unlike any other. Two tasks that he needed to complete before he returned home. Two tasks that would rescue his kingdom from financial ruin and ensure its future for decades to come. Two tasks that would not be easy.

Get Ludwig to talk, and then silence him for ever.

1

Present Day, Wednesday, 15 September

Bavarian Alps, Germany

(61 miles south-west of Munich)

Klaus Becker stood perfectly still, careful not to attract attention as he eyed his mark from his concealed perch in a nearby tree. Some less experienced gunmen would have used military-grade optics to guarantee a killshot from this range, but where was the challenge in that? To him, if his prey didn’t have a sporting chance, Becker wanted no part of the fight.

That was the code he lived by, the one his father had taught him.

The one he hoped to teach his kids some day.

Unfortunately, that day would never come because he would soon be dead.

Unaware of his impending fate, the forty-year-old cocked his head to the side and squinted as he stared down the barrel of his rifle. Suddenly the world around him blurred and the only thing that mattered was the mammoth target that had roamed into his field of fire. Weighing over 600 pounds, the Russian boar had two deadly tusks that were nearly twelve inches in length. Highly intelligent and often cantankerous, wild boars were common in central Europe, but they rarely reached this size. Only mature males in the harshest of climates ever grew so large, which was the main reason that Becker had travelled here for a few days of hunting.

He wanted his shot at some sizeable game.

The snow-capped peak of Zugspitze, the highest mountain in Germany, could be seen to the west. It was part of the Bavarian Alps, which stretched across the region like a massive wall and formed a natural border with Austria to the south. The rugged peak could be climbed via several different routes from the valley below which cradled the town of Grainau, but none of the trails interested Becker. As an experienced hunter he knew Russian boars would forage for food in the thick groves below the timber line – the highest elevation where trees and vegetation are capable of growing – so he had positioned himself in the middle of the forest, far from the hiking trails and far from any interlopers.

Out here, it was Becker against the boar.

Just like he had hoped for.

After taking a deep breath, Becker made a slight adjustment to his aim and then pulled his trigger. Thunder exploded from the barrel of his Mauser M98 hunting rifle as the stock recoiled against his shoulder. A split-second later, the boar squealed in agony as the 9.3 x 64 mm bullet entered its left flank and burrowed deep into its lung. Remarkably, the boar remained standing. Without delay, its survival instincts kicked into flight mode. Since the gun blast had come from its left, the boar bolted quickly to its right, disappearing into the undergrowth that covered the forest floor.

‘Scheisse!‘ Becker cursed as he jumped out of his tree stand.

To kill his prey, he would have to track it on foot.

Following the blood trail, Becker moved with alacrity. Despite their girth, boars weren’t fat like domestic pigs and could run surprisingly fast – able to reach speeds of more than fifteen miles per hour. Carrying a rifle and dressed in camouflage, Becker couldn’t even travel that fast on a bicycle. Still, given the amount of blood he found on the hillside, he knew this was a race he would eventually win.

With every beat of the boar’s heart, it was a little bit closer to dying.

And Becker hoped to be there when it did.

Five minutes later, he caught up with the wounded boar in a natural cul-de-sac, formed by the steep incline of the mountain and a pile of fallen rocks and trees. Years of experience had taught Becker about the dangers of injured animals, especially when they were trapped. He knew if they felt threatened, they would attack with every bit of strength they had left. And since Becker didn’t want to get run over by a 600-pound bowling bowl with sharp tusks, he stopped a safe distance from his target and raised his rifle to finish the job.

‘Steady,’ he whispered in German. ‘I’m not going to hurt you.’

The boar snorted loudly and focused its beady eyes on Becker while a soft growl steadily grew from deep inside its throat. Sensing what was about to happen, the boar decided to get aggressive. Suddenly, without warning, it lowered its head and charged forward, reaching its top speed in only a few steps. Becker had expected as much and adjusted his aim, compensating for the boar’s pace and the shrinking distance to his quarry. Without flinching or jumping out of the way, Becker calmly pulled the trigger, confident he wouldn’t miss.

Fortunately for him, his aim was true.

The bullet tore through the boar’s skull and ploughed through its brain, killing it instantly. One moment it was charging at Becker, the next it was skidding to a halt on its belly – as if someone had turned off its power via remote control. Just to be safe, Becker fired a second shot into its brain before he approached his prey for a closer look.

Although he had seen plenty of Russian boars in hunting magazines, the pictures didn’t do the animal justice. This beast was huge. Coated in thick brown fur with stiff bristles, it had a large snout, sharp tusks and a muscular torso. Becker walked around it twice, poking it with his rifle, making sure it was truly dead. The last thing he wanted was to be gored by an animal on its deathbed. He quickly realized that wouldn’t be a problem with this boar.

Finally able to relax, Becker laid his weapon to the side and touched the boar with his bare hands. There was something about a fresh kill – when the body was still warm and the blood had not yet dried – that satisfied something deep inside him, a primal urge that had been embedded in his DNA by long-lost ancestors who had hunted for food, not sport. Whether it was the adrenaline rush from the chase or the power he felt when he ended a life, hunting was the only time he truly felt alive.

Ironically, it was the thing that led to his death.

The first time Becker heard the noise, he didn’t know what it was. He paused for a moment, scanning the terrain, making sure another animal hadn’t smelled the blood and come looking for a meal. He knew these mountains were home to wolves and bears and a number of other creatures that would love to sink their teeth into a fresh chunk of meat – whether that meat came from a boar or a hunter. Either way, Becker was ready to defend his turf.

But he wasn’t ready for this.

Before he could run, or jump, or react in any way, the unthinkable happened. A loud crack emerged from the ground beneath his feet and the earth suddenly opened. Becker fell first, plunging deep into the man-made cavern under the forest floor. He was followed by dirt, debris and, finally, the boar. If the order had been reversed, Becker would have lived to tell the tale with nothing more than a few cuts and bruises because the massive boar would have cushioned his fall. But sometimes the universe has a wicked sense of humour, a way of correcting wrongs in the most ironic ways possible, and that’s what happened in this case.

A split second after Becker hit the ground, the boar landed on top of him.

Two tusks followed by 600 pounds of meat.

If Becker had survived the fall, his subsequent discovery would have made him a wealthy man and a hero in his native Germany. But because of his death, several more people would lose their lives as the rest of the world scrambled to discover what had been hidden in the Bavarian Alps and forgotten by time.

2

Saturday, 18 September

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

Thirty feet below the surface of the Ohio River, the man probed the riverbed, hoping to find the object before a lack of oxygen forced him to ascend. He had been scouring the rocks for more than four minutes, which was a remarkable length of time to be submerged without air – especially considering the adverse conditions of the waterway.

Thanks to a mid-week thunderstorm that had caused minor flooding in the region, the current was unusually swift. It tugged on his shoulders like an invisible spectre. To remain in place, he had to swim hard, his arms and legs pumping like pistons. Eventually, his movements stirred up the sediment round him, turning the bottom of the river into a murky mess.

One moment it was as clear as vodka, the next it looked like beer.

Equipped with goggles that barely helped, he probed the silt for anything shiny. He found an empty can and a few coins but not the object he was looking for. Yet he didn’t get frustrated. If anything, his lack of success sharpened his focus and made him more determined. This was a trait he had possessed since childhood, an unwavering spirit that kept him going when lesser men would quit. A quality that had lifted him to the top of his profession.

A trait that made him dangerous.

In the darkness behind him, something large brushed against his feet. He turned quickly and searched for a suspect. Weighing over twenty pounds and nearly three feet in length, the channel catfish had four pairs of barbels near its nostrils that looked like whiskers. Known for their ugliness and indiscriminate appetite, the catfish swam next to him for several seconds before it darted away. All the while he wondered if the fish had swallowed the sunken treasure and was simply there to taunt him. During his years in the Special Forces, he had heard so many fish stories from navy personnel that he didn’t know what to believe. Even if only 1 per cent of them were true, then anything was possible underwater.

No longer distracted by the catfish, he continued his search. From the burning in his lungs, he knew he had less than a minute before he would have to surface – but he refused to do so empty-handed. With a powerful kick, he propelled himself closer to the riverbed, careful not to scrape himself on the rocks that dotted the terrain. Then, using his boat’s anchor as a starting point, he allowed the current to push him downriver for a few seconds so he could gauge its strength. Since it was strong enough to move him, a 240-pound man, there was no telling how far it might have moved the artefact. Ten feet? Twenty feet? Maybe even fifty? Or would its size and shape prevent it from being affected at all?

From experience he knew weapons sank fairly straight, regardless of the force of the river. Drop a gun or knife in a body of water, and it would sink directly to the bottom – even in a strong current. But something this small? He had no idea where it would land or what it would do when it got there.

In the end, all he could do was guess and hope for the best.

Careful not to stir up more sediment as he coasted along, he let the river guide him, hoping it would lead him in the right direction, praying it would take him to the treasure. With every passing second, his lungs burned more and more until it felt he had inhaled a flame.

Time was running out, and he knew it.

If he didn’t give up now, he would soon be dead.

Reluctantly, he tucked his legs underneath him, ready to launch himself from the riverbed, when he felt something metallic under his foot. Without looking, he reached down and grabbed it, then propelled himself towards the world above. Time seemed to stand still as he swam and kicked his way through the murky water, unsure where he was or how far he had to go until he reached the river’s surface. The instant he did, he gasped for air, filling his lungs with breath after breath until the burning subsided. Until he knew he would survive.

Then, and only then, did he notice the world around him.

The city of Pittsburgh to his east. The football stadium to the north.

And the crowded boat that had waited for his return.

‘So?’ someone asked. ‘Did you find it?’

Too tired to speak, Jonathon Payne simply nodded and lifted the lost bottle opener over his head. The instant he did, the partygoers erupted – not only would they be able to open the remaining bottles of beer, but most of them had wagered on the success of his mission.

‘Shit!’ shouted David Jones, who had lost big money on his best friend. Although DJ had served with Payne in the military and knew what he was capable of, he hadn’t thought anyone could find such a small object on his first dive into the murky river. ‘Hold up! Let me see it.’

Payne swam slowly to the boat and handed it to Jones. ‘Please don’t drop it again.’

‘What do you mean again? I didn’t drop it the first time.’

‘Well, someone did, and it happened on your watch.’

‘My watch? Why is it my watch? It’s your boat.’

Payne used the dive ladder on the back of his yacht to climb out of the water. Per tradition, he threw a party on the last weekend of summer to commemorate the end of the boating season. After today, his boat would be dry-docked for the cold months ahead.

‘As captain of this vessel, I’m putting you in charge of the bottle opener.’

Jones handed him a towel. ‘And what if I decline?’

‘Then you’re in charge of clean up.’

‘Screw that! I don’t do garbage. I’ll guard this opener with my life.’

‘Yeah,’ Payne grunted, ‘I had a feeling you’d say that.’

To the outside world, the two of them didn’t appear to have much in common, but that had more to do with their looks than anything else. Payne was a hulking six foot four with muscle stacked upon muscle, his white skin was littered with bullet holes and stab wounds, his brown hair perfectly dishevelled. He had the look of a gridiron legend, an ex-athlete who had lived his life to the fullest but still had more worlds to conquer. Born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he had decided to sharpen the handle and use it as a weapon, serving several years in the military until his grandfather died and left him the controlling interest of his family’s corporation.

Unfortunately, he had been craving adventure ever since.

Jones, too, was an adrenaline junkie, but he looked more like an office clerk than an officer. Known for his brain instead of his brawn, he possessed the wiry build of a track star, someone who could run a marathon without breaking a sweat but wouldn’t stand out in a crowd. Although his mocha skin and soft facial features made him look delicate, Jones was lethal on the battlefield, having completed the same military training as Payne.

In fact, the two of them used to lead the MANIACs, an elite Special Forces unit comprised of the top soldiers from the Marines, Army, Navy, Intelligence, Air Force and Coast Guard. Whether it was personnel recovery, unconventional warfare or counter-guerrilla sabotage, the MANIACs were the best of the best. The bogeymen no one talked about. The government’s secret weapon. And even though they had retired a few years earlier, the duo was still deadly.

‘By the way,’ Jones said, ‘I heard your phone ringing when you were underwater. What a fabulous ringtone. Is that a Menudo song?’

Payne growled and shook his head in frustration. A few weeks earlier, someone had figured out a way to change the ringtone on Payne’s phone through a wireless connection. No matter what Payne did to stop it – including purchasing a new phone and even changing his number – the culprit kept uploading the most embarrassing ringtones possible. Apparently the latest was a song from Menudo, the Puerto Rican boy band that had launched many pop stars.

‘Did you answer it?’ Payne asked, confident that Jones was guilty.

Jones laughed. ‘Of course not. I’d never touch your phone.’

3

The city of Pittsburgh sits at the confluence of three rivers, which helps explain why there are more bridges (446) in Pittsburgh than any other city in the world – including the previous record holder, Venice, Italy. From the deck of Greek Gold, Payne could see the Allegheny River to the north and the Monongahela River to the south. The two waterways converged near the giant fountain at Point State Park. It marked the beginning of the Ohio River and was a popular gathering place for people of all ages, especially in the summer time.

As a teenager, Payne used to visit the park with his grandfather, who had founded Payne Industries and built its headquarters across the river atop scenic Mount Washington. Despite his duties, his grandfather had managed to find the time to raise Jon after Payne’s parents died in a car accident. Back in those days, when the steel industry was still the driving force of the local economy and the rivers were way too filthy to swim in, they used to play catch along the water’s edge, not too far from old Three Rivers Stadium. Now when Payne gazed at the revitalized North Shore, he saw two of the most scenic ballparks in the country, the Carnegie Science Center, a World War Two submarine (the USSRequin), and the newly opened Rivers Casino.

No wonder a national poll had named Pittsburgh the most livable city in America.

Still wet from his swim, Payne slowly made his way through the boisterous crowd, receiving hearty congratulations as he passed. Half the people were from work – mostly lower-level staff from Payne Industries who were being rewarded for their performance. The other half were business contacts and their guests. Payne was a generous host and got along with just about everybody, yet he rarely felt like he belonged. Except for Jones, there was no one on board he thought of as his friend. He was equal parts upper class and blue collar but felt stuck between the two worlds, unable to fully connect with either of them. Not that he was complaining. Payne loved his life and knew how good he had it. Nevertheless, there was a part of him that longed for what he had given up to run his family’s company: the action, the adventure, the threat of danger.

Everything missing from his current life.

Glancing at his cell phone, Payne noticed the missed call had come from an unlisted number. Based on experience, he knew it was probably someone from his former life. Business contacts, especially those calling the chairman of the board of a major corporation, wanted their numbers to be recognized in case he was screening his calls. But that wasn’t the case with military personnel – particularly the operatives Payne had met in the MANIACs.

They were more concerned with protecting information than supplying it.

‘Who was it?’ Jones asked.

Payne shrugged and typed in the passcode that unlocked his phone. ‘I don’t know. It came from a restricted number.’

Jones arched an eyebrow. ‘Maybe it was Ricky Martin.’

Payne ignored the Menudo reference and checked his voicemail.

‘Not even a smile? Come on, man. That was funny.’

Payne plugged his ear and turned away, trying to hear his message. Behind him, the party raged on louder than it should. Music thumping from his speakers. People laughing and dancing and blowing off steam. Tiny waves lapping against the sides of his boat while his best friend yapped in his ear. Despite it all, he heard the message. Years of training had honed his focus.

‘This is Kaiser,’ said the voice. ‘Call me asap.’

No wasted words. No wasted syllables.

Call me as soon as possible.

Payne swore under his breath. This wasn’t good news. It couldn’t be.

If Kaiser was calling, something bad had happened.

Payne and Jones had known Kaiser for a decade, but didn’t really know him.

Not his real name. Or where he lived. Or if he had a family.

But if they needed anything from the black market, he was the man to contact.

According to legend, he was an ex-supply sergeant who had retired from the US Army when he realized he could make a lot more money on his own. He started his operation in Germany near the Kaiserslautern Military Community, the largest US military community outside the continental United States. Known as K-Town, it houses nearly 50,000 people. Originally he catered to these displaced men and women, providing simple things from home that they couldn’t get on their own. Food, clothes, movies, books – all at a fair price.

Then the Internet came along and competed for his business, forcing him to dabble in other things: weapons, smuggling, and phoney IDs. Pretty much everything except drugs.

Over the years, Payne and Jones had done so much business with Kaiser that he eventually invited them to dinner to show his appreciation. In his line of work, face-to-face meetings were a rarity, but Kaiser knew if either man wanted to track him down, they could do it within a week. Not because he was sloppy or failed to take precautions, but because Payne and Jones were that good at their jobs. He figured, if they could find and eliminate terrorist strongholds in the mountains of Afghanistan, then they certainly could locate him in Germany.

With that in mind, he did whatever he could to stay on their good side.

But up until now, he had never called them in America.

Jones noticed the concern on Payne’s face. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing’s wrong.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Not really.’

Jones lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘Who was it?’

Payne subconsciously glanced over his shoulder. ‘Kaiser.’

‘Kaiser? Was he returning a call of yours?’

‘Nope.’

‘Then something’s wrong. Kaiser wouldn’t call unless something’s wrong.’

‘Not necessarily. Maybe he’s in the States and wants to grab dinner.’

Jones grimaced. ‘Did he say he wants to grab dinner?’

‘Not in so many words.’

‘Then what did he say?’

Payne cleared his throat. ‘This is Kaiser. Call me asap.’

‘Good Lord! Someone’s dead.’

Payne couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Relax, princess. We don’t know that.’

‘Speak for yourself. I can tell. Someone’s dead.’

‘Here’s a thought. Why don’t I call him before you panic?’

‘I’m not panicking. I’m predicting.’

‘Well, it sounds like you’re panicking.’

‘Come on, Jon. You know me better than that. If anything, I’m excited about the possibilities. Watching you swim for kitchenware isn’t exactly rousing.’

‘That’s funny. I don’t remember you volunteering for the job.’

‘That’s because I don’t drink and dive.’

Payne smiled at the pun. ‘Touche.’

‘And even if I did, there’s no way I was going to jump in that water. Let’s face it: you’re gonna smell like fish for the rest of the weekend.’

Payne smelled the towel draped around his neck. ‘Please tell me you’re joking.’

Jones shook his head. ‘Let’s put it this way. You’re a good-looking billionaire and no women have flirted with you since your return. What does that tell you?’

‘It tells me that you think I’m good looking.’

‘What? That’s not what I meant.’

‘So what are you saying? It was a Freudian slip?’

‘No, Jon. My point is that you smell.’

‘Compared to normal?’

‘Exactly.’

Payne pressed the issue. ‘In other words, you usually like the way I smell.’

‘What?’

‘You think I’m a good-looking, good-smelling guy.’

‘Stop it! Quit putting words in my mouth.’

‘Dude, I’m not putting anything in your mouth.’

Jones blushed, worried some of the other guests might have overheard the comment. At first he was going to speak up and defend himself, then he thought better of it. No matter what he said, it was going to be taken out of context and used against him. So he stood silently waiting for Payne to let him off the ropes. But Payne wasn’t done throwing verbal jabs.

‘What’s wrong, DJ? Did I embarrass you? Or are you jealous?’

‘Jealous? Of what?’

‘That another guy phoned me. I swear we’re just friends.’

Jones laughed to himself, surprised that Payne was still busting his balls. Normally Jones was the childish one in their friendship, always joking at inappropriate times, and Payne was the adult. The sudden role reversal made Jones wonder if his friend had stayed underwater a little too long.

‘On that note,’ Jones said, ‘I’m going to get a drink.’

Payne smiled in victory but couldn’t resist a knockout blow. ‘I think we’re out of daiquiris. But if you’d like, we can probably get a pink umbrella for your beer.’

4

Despite groans of protest from his guests, Payne lowered the volume on his stereo – low enough to return Kaiser’s call, yet loud enough to prevent eavesdroppers – then strolled to the far end of his boat. Some people might have viewed him as paranoid, but not Jones. Years of experience had taught them the value of secrecy. One of their superiors at the Pentagon used to say, ‘the smallest of leaks can sink the biggest of ships’, and they knew this to be true.

In their world, small leaks were often plugged with bullets.

Using his encrypted cell phone, Payne dialled 0-1-1, followed by the country code for Germany, and then Kaiser’s number. A few seconds later, he was chatting with the man who ran the largest black market network in Europe.

‘Thanks for getting back to me so quickly,’ Kaiser said. ‘I wasn’t sure if a man of your stature would return a call from someone like me.’

Payne smiled. ‘Why wouldn’t I? I talk to assholes all the time. Including DJ.’

Kaiser laughed loudly. Very few people had the guts to tease him, and even fewer had permission to do so. Payne was one of the chosen few. ‘How long has it been? Two, maybe three years?’

‘Gosh, I hope not. Otherwise we’re both getting old.’

‘In my line of work, there is no old. Only alive and dead.’

‘Damn, Kaiser, how depressing! And you wonder why I never call?’

Kaiser grinned, glad their rapport hadn’t diminished over time. If it had, he wouldn’t have revealed the real reason for his call. ‘So tell me, how’s the corporate world?’

‘Boring as hell. How about you? How’s the … um … concierge business?’

‘Lucrative.’

‘Even in a recession?’

‘Especially in a recession.’

‘Good to know,’ Payne said, although he wasn’t the least bit surprised.

‘What about DJ? How’s he doing?’

Payne glanced at Jones, who was sipping a beer while sitting nearby. ‘Right now he’s working on his tan. I can put him on if you’d like.’

‘Actually,’ Kaiser said, ‘can I speak to both of you at once? That might be easier.’

‘Not a problem. Let me put you on hold and call his cell. We can do one of those menage a call things.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘You know, a three-way call.’

Kaiser laughed at the term. ‘Now that’s funny. I’ll have to remember that.’

‘Trust me, they’re hard to forget,’ Payne joked as he put Kaiser on hold.

Jones looked at him, confused. ‘So, what did he want?’

Payne shrugged. ‘I don’t know yet. He wants to talk to both of us.’

‘About what?’

‘No idea. But he seems in good spirits. I doubt it’s anything major.’

‘Bet you a buck that someone died.’

Payne smiled. ‘A whole dollar? Are you sure you can afford that?’

‘Fine! Let’s make it a hundred. That way I can use your money to pay off all the bets I lost on your swim. I think there’s some justice in that.’

‘Let’s see if I got this straight: You’re using gambling to settle your gambling debts? Sounds foolproof to me.’

Jones feigned indignation. ‘Give me a break, Jon. It’s not like I need an intervention. In fact, I’ll bet you twenty bucks I don’t have a gambling problem.’

Payne laughed as he dialled Jones’s number. ‘Just answer your phone so we can talk to Kaiser. I’m curious about his call.’

A moment later, the three of them were catching up on old times.

Kaiser said, ‘If I remember correctly, the last time we met was before your trip to Greece. It seems your journey paid off handsomely.’

‘Yeah,’ Jones said from a boat named after that adventure, ‘you could say that.’

While helping an American student stranded in Russia, Payne and Jones had found themselves tangled in a global conspiracy that involved assassins, Spartans and several dead monks. At the heart of their adventure were a lost relic from Ancient Greece and more treasure than anyone could spend in a lifetime. Although they discovered the treasure, Payne and Jones weren’t allowed to claim it as their own due to government intervention and international law. However, the countries involved gave them a finder’s fee with more digits than a sheik had wives.

Needless to say, it had made headlines around the world.

‘Looking back on it,’ Kaiser asked, ‘which was more thrilling: hunting for the treasure or getting the reward?’

‘The hunt,’ Payne blurted. ‘Definitely the hunt. No question about it.’

Jones argued from his chair. ‘Easy for you to say. You were rich already.’

Payne smiled. ‘That’s a very good point.’

‘Does that mean you disagree?’ Kaiser wondered.

‘Not really,’ Jones admitted. ‘I simply like mocking Jon.’

‘In other words, you loved the hunt, too?’

Jones nodded. ‘You could say that.’

‘Great! I’m glad to hear it.’

Payne paused in thought, wondering where this was headed. ‘Okay, Kaiser. Enough with the foreplay. What’s going on?’

‘Yeah,’ Jones said, ‘did someone die?’

‘Did someone die?’ Kaiser echoed. ‘Why would you ask that?’

‘No real reason. Just a hunch.’

‘Well,’ he said, searching for an appropriate response, ‘someone did die, but his death was fortuitous.’

‘Not for him,’ Payne observed.

‘True, but it was for us.’

Jones grinned in victory. ‘I couldn’t agree more.’

Kaiser sensed he was missing something – perhaps an inside joke – but didn’t take the time to ask. He knew a fortune might be on the line, and the clock was already ticking. ‘Out of curiosity, have either of you been to Munich?’

‘Munich?’ they asked in unison.

‘Yes. The capital of Bavaria.’

Payne shook his head. ‘Can’t say that I have.’

‘Me, neither.’

Kaiser continued. ‘It’s a wonderful city, perhaps my favourite in Germany. There’s an interesting mix of old and new, and the Weisswurst is simply delicious.’

‘The what worst?’ Jones said.

‘The Weisswurst,’ he repeated. ‘It’s white sausage. A Bavarian specialty.’

Payne and Jones tried not to laugh, which took a lot of effort. The last time they had dined with Kaiser, he had spent half the meal professing his love of sausage. The man had dozens of rivals in central Europe, yet the odds were pretty good that a heart attack would kill him before one of his adversaries. And in between bites of meat, he had admitted as much.

‘Before you start listing ingredients and cooking times, I’d like to back up a little bit. Tell us more about the guy who died,’ Payne demanded.

Kaiser answered cryptically. ‘I’d prefer not to mention any details over the phone. However, let me assure you that I wasn’t involved in his death – if that’s what you’re wondering.’

‘And yet his death benefits us. I believe that’s how you phrased it.’

‘Yes, I did. And yes, it does.’

‘Care to explain?’ Payne asked.

‘I’d love to, but not over the phone. For additional details, you need to come here.’

‘Where’s here?’ Jones wondered.

‘Munich. I thought that was pretty clear.’

Payne laughed. ‘Nothing about this conversation has been clear.’

Kaiser considered the remark, then nodded. ‘Perhaps not. But I assure you there’s a reason for my caution. The fewer people who know about this, the better.’

‘Well, you’re doing a great job. Because we’ve been chatting for five minutes, and neither of us have any idea what you’re talking about.’

Kaiser paused, searching for a different angle. ‘Jon, do you trust me? If so, come to Munich. I promise it will be worth your time.’

Payne shook his head. ‘Actually, Kaiser, it’s you who needs to trust us. If you’re not willing to give us some basics, there’s no way we’re getting involved. So far, all we know is someone died and you love Weisswurst. And that’s not a lot to go on.’

Sensing some tension, Jones re-entered the conversation. ‘Speaking of Weisswurst, leave it to Germans to invent a white sausage. What kind of racist bullshit is that?’

Kaiser laughed. Softly at first, and then much louder. After a while, it became apparent that he wasn’t laughing at Jones. He was laughing at himself. ‘You’re right, Jon. Obviously you’re right. I called you out of the blue and asked for too much trust in return. If the roles had been reversed, I would have bucked as well.’ He took a deep breath, hoping to start anew. ‘Tell me, what would you like to know?’

‘Let’s start with the basics. Why did you call us?’

‘Why? Because you’re the only guys I know who have experience in this field.’

‘Really? What field is that?’

Kaiser smiled as he answered. ‘Buried treasure.’

5

Sunday, 19 September

Munich, Germany

Payne and Jones didn’t see themselves as treasure hunters. They really didn’t. But thanks to the fortune they had discovered in Greece and a few recent adventures, the world viewed them in that way – whether they liked it or not. In truth, neither of them had a background in history, archaeology or any related field, but they made up for their deficiencies in other ways. Both men were highly trained operatives, extremely intelligent and always looking for a challenge.

To them, the promise of a new mission was the ultimate bait.

To sweeten the deal, Kaiser had chartered a luxury jet for their nine-hour flight to Germany. Due to the six-hour time difference, the Gulfstream V left a private terminal in Pittsburgh just before midnight and arrived in Munich at 2.50 p.m. All things considered, the trip was a pleasant one. Payne and Jones slept comfortably in reclining leather chairs. They spent the rest of the time playing cards and watching movies on a giant plasma screen. A fully stocked refrigerator, filled with an assortment of snacks and gourmet foods, kept them fed. Sports drinks and bottled water kept them hydrated. Over the years, they had been on enough missions to perfect the art of travelling. They knew when to eat, when to sleep and what they needed to bring. Like expectant mothers, they even kept travel bags by their doors, just in case they were forced to leave in the middle of the night and didn’t have time to pack.

Of course, pregnant women rarely packed ammo.

Despite the luxury jet and the lure of treasure, Payne and Jones had played hard to get until Kaiser brought out his secret weapon – the pageantry of the world’s largest fair. As luck should have it, Oktoberfest had started the day before and would continue until 3 October. Held annually in Munich, the sixteen-day festival would attract more than six million people, many of whom would eat too much and drink even more. The duo had always wanted to attend, but had never made the arrangements. With Kaiser’s connections in Germany and his generous offer to foot their bill, Payne and Jones realized this was the perfect time to go.

The meeting came first, then two days of celebrating.

What could possibly go wrong?

Kaiser greeted them inside a private hangar near Munich airport. He was wearing a T-shirt, blue jeans and a brown leather jacket – the same clothes he always wore. Nothing about his appearance really stood out, and nothing about him seemed menacing. In his mid-fifties, he had slicked-back grey hair and bushy eyebrows that dangled above his dark eyes. When he talked, he smiled a lot, like a friendly neighbour or a local merchant who cared about his customers.

And the truth was he actually did.

A decade earlier, when Payne and Jones had met Kaiser for the first time, they figured his kindness was just an act, that he was being nice to them in order to get their business. But over time, they realized that wasn’t the case. Kaiser was a good guy, a gracious guy, who was very good at his job. He didn’t lie, or steal, or sell drugs. He didn’t rip people off. He made his money by acquiring hard-to-find items and selling them at a fair price. To military personnel stationed in Germany, Kaiser wasn’t a criminal, he was a businessman. Nothing more, nothing less.

Then again, every once in a while, Payne and Jones would hear stories about Kaiser that were less than flattering. Mostly they involved suppliers who tried to con him, or buyers who went against their word. In those situations, Kaiser abandoned his cordial persona and handled the offenders in an appropriate fashion. He liked to refer to it as ‘street justice’. Once Payne and Jones had asked him about a violent rumour, but Kaiser wouldn’t confirm or deny anything, obviously enjoying his reputation. Then he told them something they would never forget.

Never mistake kindness for weakness.

To this day, it was still one of their favourite sayings.

‘How was the flight?’ Kaiser asked as he shook Payne’s hand.

‘Wonderful. Thanks for the royal treatment.’

‘Nothing but the best for you two.’

Jones gave Kaiser a friendly hug. ‘Not to be rude, but are you sure you can afford it?’

Kaiser looked at him, confused. ‘Why would you ask that?’

‘Because you’ve been wearing the same clothes for the past ten years. Don’t they have malls over here?’ Jones glanced at Payne. ‘We need to take him shopping.’

Kaiser laughed, enjoying the good-natured teasing. ‘I’ll have you know I bought a new T-shirt just last year. I’m good to go for the rest of the decade.’

Jones argued. ‘Come on, man. A guy in your business should have some style. We need to get you a shiny suit and some fancy jewellery, like a gangster. Maybe even a fedora.’

Payne shook his head, embarrassed. ‘Please ignore him. It was a long flight, and he’s over caffeinated. Just let him run round the airfield for twenty minutes, and he’ll be fine.’

Kaiser smiled. ‘I wish we had the time, but we’re on a tight schedule. If we don’t leave now, we won’t get to the site before dark.’

‘The site? What site?’ Payne asked, still unsure what Kaiser had found and what was expected of them. ‘Now that we’re here, I was hoping you’d fill in some blanks.’

‘I’d be happy to,’ Kaiser said as he picked up Payne’s bag, ‘once we’re airborne.’

‘Airborne?’

Kaiser started to walk across the hangar. ‘Didn’t I mention that on the phone?’

Payne hustled after him. ‘You didn’t mention anything on the phone.’

‘Really? I could’ve sworn I did.’

Payne caught up to him and grabbed his arm. ‘Hold up, Kaiser. We need to talk.’

Kaiser turned, smiling. ‘About what?’

‘Listen, I appreciate your enthusiasm and understand the time constraints, but we’re not getting on another plane until you tell us where we’re going.’

‘Not a plane,’ he countered, ‘a helicopter.’

‘Cool,’ Jones blurted as he caught up to them. ‘I love choppers. Can I drive?’

Kaiser shook his head. ‘Sorry, we have a pilot.’

‘Then I call shotgun. You can’t see shit from the back seat.’

Payne gave him a dirty look. ‘Hold up. You’re not bothered by this?’

‘Actually, now that you mention it, I am bothered by this.’ Jones handed his bag to Kaiser, who gladly accepted it. ‘I figure if he’s carrying your bag, he should carry mine, too.’

Payne growled. ‘That’s not what I was talking about.’

‘Really? Then what’s bugging you?’

‘We don’t know where we’re going or what we’re involved in.’

Jones sighed, trying to get under Payne’s skin. ‘Fine! Be that way! Kaiser’s trying to surprise us, and you’re determined to ruin everything.’

Jones spun towards Kaiser, who was trying not to laugh. ‘Is the site in Germany?’

‘Yes,’ he answered.

‘Is the site secure?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can we bring weapons?’

‘If you like.’

‘Will we need them?’

‘Probably not.’

‘Are we dressed appropriately?’

Kaiser inspected their clothes. Both men were wearing cargo pants, long-sleeved shirts, and comfortable shoes. Perfect for where they were going. ‘Yes.’

‘What about snacks?’

‘Yes, there’s food at the site.’

Jones threw his arm around Payne’s shoulder and squeezed. ‘Come on, Jon. The man has snacks. How bad can it be?’

6

Garmisch-Partenkirchen, Germany

(59 miles south-west of Munich)

Garmisch and Partenkirchen were separate towns for over a thousand years, until Adolf Hitler forced them to combine prior to hosting the 1936 Winter Olympics. Located near the Austrian border, the picturesque town of nearly 30,000 people sits near two of the largest mountains in Germany: the Zugspitze and the Leutasch Dreitorspitze.

The helicopter circled above the valley for a few minutes, giving Payne and Jones an aerial view of the landscape before it touched down in a green pasture south-west of the town. A lush forest, filled with tall pines and rugged trails, started at the edge of the meadow, as if God had run out of grass and been forced to change the terrain at that very spot. In a span of less than ten feet, the topography went from flat and grassy to steep and rocky.

Although the sun was shining and the weather was pleasant, Payne and Jones had spent enough time in the mountains of Afghanistan to understand how drastically altitude could affect the weather. It was sixty-eight degrees where the chopper had landed, yet the peak above them was covered in snow. Depending on the length of their hike, they knew the temperature could drop significantly – especially after dark.

Jones swore under his breath, not thrilled with the possibilities. Despite years of training and hundreds of missions, there were few things he hated more than cold. And Payne knew it.

‘Looks frigid up there. I hope you packed your mittens,’ Payne taunted him.

Jones swore again, this time a little louder.

‘What was it that you said earlier? “The man has snacks. How bad can it be?” ‘ Payne asked in a mocking tone. ‘Well, I guess you’re about to find out.’

Unhappy with the turn of events, Jones was ready to unleash a string of four-letter words, but Kaiser cut him off before he had a chance. ‘The sun goes down around seven – even sooner where we’re headed. The trees choke out the light.’

Payne nodded in understanding. ‘Then we better get moving.’

Kaiser pulled a cargo bag from the belly of the chopper. ‘I’ve got flashlights and basic supplies. Everything else is at the site.’

‘How far away?’

‘Maybe thirty minutes.’

‘Not a problem,’ Payne said as he studied the forest. Starting at the edge of the meadow, a narrow path snaked its way up the hillside until it disappeared in the trees. ‘Out of curiosity, who owns this field?’

Kaiser walked towards him. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Why? Because we just landed a helicopter on it. Plus, if we need to haul something off the mountain, we’ll need to bring in a truck.’

‘Don’t worry. It’s taken care of.’

‘Meaning?’

Kaiser smiled. ‘Meaning, it’s taken care of. Seriously, Jon, you should relax. All I need you to do is figure out what we’re dealing with.’

Even though Kaiser had kept his word and filled in some details during their trip from Munich, Payne wasn’t comfortable with his role as consultant. Normally he was the man in charge of the mission, not the one with all the questions.

‘Sorry,’ Payne said, ‘force of habit.’

‘No need to apologize. Or worry. I’m telling you, Jon, this will be easy. You’ll be drinking beer at Oktoberfest before you know it.’

Payne forced a smile, hoping he was right. ‘Sounds good to me.’

‘It’s about freaking time,’ snapped Jones as he brushed past them and headed towards the trail. ‘The longer we wait, the colder it gets.’

Confused, Kaiser looked to Payne for an explanation. ‘What’s his problem?’

‘Unfortunately, there are too many to name.’

All things considered, the hike was a simple one. The weather was mild, the ground was dry and the path was well defined. Someone had marked the way with chalk, placing an X on trees in order to highlight the route. Every once in a while, there would be a circle or a square or an arrow pointing to the left or right, but Kaiser explained they were ‘dummy signs’ meant to confuse intruders. Payne and Jones weren’t sure who would follow symbols in the middle of the woods – unless Robert Langdon was in town – but they took it in their stride. Until they knew what had been discovered, they weren’t sure how much caution was necessary.

‘We’re almost there,’ Kaiser assured them. He reached into his bag and pulled out a two-way radio equipped with GPS. ‘I have to let them know we’re approaching.’

‘And if you don’t?’ Payne asked.

‘They’ll shoot us,’ he explained.

Jones, who was leading the way, stopped instantly. ‘Good to know.’

Kaiser turned on the unit, then mumbled several words in German. A few seconds later, a short response crackled through the speaker.

Kaiser nodded in understanding. ‘Okay, we’re clear. It’s just up ahead.’

But Jones refused to move. ‘That’s okay. I’ll wait.’

‘For what?’ Kaiser wondered.

‘For a white guy to take the lead.’

‘You’re such a racist,’ Payne said as he walked past Jones. For as long as they had been friends, race had never been an issue, so they felt comfortable teasing each other about the subject. In their friendship, very few things were off limits.

‘Maybe so,’ Jones mumbled, ‘but my black ass is still alive.’

‘Because you’re a coward. A racist coward.’

‘A coward?’ Jones hustled to catch up with his best friend. ‘Did you just call me a coward? I swear, if I wasn’t so damn scared of you, I’d punch you in the face.’

Payne was going to tease him some more when he spotted something in the trees. Instinctively he froze and threw a clenched fist into the air. In the military this meant stop and shut up because a threat had been detected. Jones saw the sign and instantly obeyed. No questions, no debate, no sound of any kind. During his career, the signal had saved his life many times. He wasn’t about to challenge it now.

‘What’s wrong?’ Kaiser asked.

Jones turned and signalled for him to be quiet. A moment later, Payne pointed to the right, letting them know where danger was lurking. Jones nodded and calmly pulled a gun from his belt. The Sig Sauer had been tucked underneath his shirt at the small of his back. From the front of the group, Payne did the same, drawing his weapon with a steady hand.

One moment they were joking around. The next, they were ready to kill.

As if someone had flipped a switch.

‘Where are your men?’ Payne asked as he dropped into a crouch.

‘Up ahead, guarding the site.’

‘All of them?’

‘I don’t know,’ Kaiser admitted.

‘Get on your radio and find out.’

‘But I just talked to-’

Payne cut him off. ‘Do you like your men? If so, get a head count.’

‘But-’

‘Listen,’ Payne explained. ‘If I send DJ into the woods, he’s going to take out anyone he sees. And trust me when I say this, he’s very good at what he does.’

‘I’m like a ninja,’ Jones assured him.

‘Therefore, for the sake of your men, please ask them where they are. Otherwise, this is going to get messy.’

Kaiser nodded, concerned and exhilarated at the exact same time. He had heard stories about the duo, but had never seen them in action until this moment. Needless to say, he was impressed by their performance. ‘No problem. I’ll call them right now.’

Kaiser turned on the radio and started whispering in German. His message was longer than before, and a lot more urgent. So was the response from the guards. About halfway through, a smile surfaced on Kaiser’s lips.

‘It’s okay,’ he said, breathing a sigh of relief. ‘Richter was just taking a piss.’

‘A piss?’ Jones lowered his weapon. ‘That piss almost cost him his dick.’

‘I’ll be sure to tell him.’

Despite the explanation, Payne remained on high alert – unable to fully relax until he got more details from Kaiser. ‘Who are these guys?’

Kaiser frowned. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Why? Because they’re armed, and I know nothing about them.’

‘Fair enough,’ he said. ‘They’re men I’ve used before. Men I trust.’

‘And their backgrounds?’

‘German.’

‘Yeah, I figured that out on my own.’

‘What’s wrong?’ Jones asked.

‘Nothing’s wrong,’ Payne said, forcing a smile. ‘I just wanted to know who we’re dealing with. Better safe, than sorry. Right?’

Jones stared at him, trying to read his expression. ‘And you’re cool?’

Payne nodded, ever so slowly. ‘Yeah, I’m cool.’

‘Great!’ Kaiser exclaimed. ‘Then what are we waiting for? We’re almost there.’

7

While approaching the site, Payne and Jones kept their heads on a swivel. Not only because armed guards were watching their every move, but because the duo still didn’t know what Kaiser had discovered in this desolate stretch of woods. Or exactly why they had been summoned.

For the past twenty-four hours, Kaiser had been less than generous with the details, keeping information to himself for security reasons. Or so he claimed. At first, they were willing to let it slide because of their history with Kaiser. They trusted him and knew he wouldn’t have flown them to Germany for something trivial or illegal. But the longer the mystery lingered, the longer he kept them in the dark about their role, the more suspicious they became.

‘Ten o’clock,’ Payne whispered to Jones. ‘Behind the fallen rocks.’

Jones glanced in that direction and nodded. Although Kaiser’s men were dressed in woodland camouflage – a mixture of greens, browns and black that was perfect for this terrain – Payne and Jones had spotted four guards in less than a minute. An amazing feat in dim light.

‘Unbelievable,’ Kaiser gushed. ‘You found them all.’

‘Not yet,’ Payne said. He pointed to the hillside that overlooked the site. ‘Twelve o’clock, on the ledge. There’s a bird’s nest up there.’

Bird’s nest was military slang for an elevated sniper position.

‘Nice spot,’ Jones said. ‘Good protection, wide field of fire. And high enough to take a nap without the other guards knowing. That’s where I’d set up with a camouflage blanket.’

Kaiser studied the rock face. ‘Sorry. I forgot about him.’

‘Somehow I doubt that. But if you did, it makes me wonder,’ Payne said.

‘About what?’

‘What else you’ve forgotten to tell us.’

Kaiser grimaced when he heard the tone of Payne’s voice. Usually playful, it was now tinged with distrust. ‘Forgotten? Nothing about the site. Omitted? Plenty. But I promise, there’s a method to my madness. Once you see what we’ve discovered, you’ll understand why I brought you here. Not only that, you’re going to thank me for my discretion.’

Payne stared at him. ‘Who’s we?’

Kaiser blinked a few times. ‘Excuse me?’

‘You said we discovered the site. Whom were you talking about?’

‘Come on, Jon. Did you really think I found this place on my own? Look at my stomach. See the way the fat hangs over my belt? Do I look like I climb mountains in my free time?’

‘Not unless they’re made of sausage,’ Jones teased.

Payne rolled his eyes. ‘In that case, who found it?’

‘A friend of the deceased.’

‘And when did you get involved?’

Kaiser explained. ‘As luck should have it, I was notified right after the site was discovered. Due to the embarrassing nature of the hunter’s death – getting crushed by a flying pig – a colleague of mine was paid good money to move the corpse to a secondary location, one that would be more dignified. He made it look as though the hunter died in a fall.’

‘This colleague of yours. Is he your partner?’

Kaiser shook his head. ‘Thankfully, my colleague owed me several favours, so I traded them for the rights to the site. Personally, I think it was a bargain.’

‘Do you trust this guy?’ Payne asked.

‘Not completely, but I have enough dirt on him to guarantee his silence.’

Payne agreed. ‘Sometimes that’s better than trust.’

Kaiser read between the lines, trying to remain calm. ‘Listen, I understand your frustration. I truly do. You’ve come all this way, and I’ve been stonewalling you the entire time. But I promise, that’s about to change. Give me five minutes – just five more minutes. That’s all I need. After that, everything will make sense. My secrecy, your involvement, everything!’

‘It’d better, or we’re leaving,’ Payne warned him.

Kaiser smiled, hoping to lighten the mood. ‘Trust me, Jon. What you’re about to see will convince you to stay. I guarantee it.’

Payne glanced at his watch and noted the time. More than twenty-four hours had passed since Kaiser’s initial call. Since then, he and Jones had travelled nearly 4,500 miles from Pittsburgh to Munich to Garmisch-Partenkirchen. And now, under the vigilant watch of five armed guards, the duo had followed a smuggler up the side of Zugspitze, yet they didn’t know why. In many ways, it was exhilarating.

‘You’ve got five minutes. Lead the way.’

Kaiser did as he was told, leading them into the natural cul-de-sac where the boar had been killed. The area didn’t seem special in any way, except for the large hole in the forest floor. For safety’s sake, the perimeter had been marked with several wooden posts and a bright yellow rope. With a buffer zone of ten feet, the rope formed a semi-circle with the rock face on the far side of the hole.

‘What do you think?’ Kaiser asked.

Jones crouched and examined the boundary. ‘I like the rope. Is this nylon?’

‘I meant about the site.’

Payne scrunched his face. ‘This is the site?’

‘Technically, it’s the entrance to the site, but what do you think?’

Payne paused, searching for words. ‘It looks like a hole.’

‘Well, it is a hole. But a hole in what?’

Payne guessed. ‘The ground.’

Kaiser shook his head. ‘Actually, it’s a hole in the roof.’

Jones stood, confused. ‘The roof of what?’

‘A secret bunker,’ Kaiser replied. ‘As far as I can tell, the ground collapsed from the weight of the pig. I’m telling you, it’s a massive sucker. At least six hundred pounds.’

Jones whistled. ‘That’s a big pig.’

‘Unfortunately you’ll get to see it – and smell it. It’s way too big to lift by hand. We’ll need a winch to move all that meat.’

Jones grinned. ‘I dated a girl who said the same thing about me.’

Kaiser ignored the comment. ‘Obviously I can get you anything you need. But extra equipment means extra workers and at this stage of the game, I felt privacy was more important.’

Payne smiled. ‘Same old Kaiser. Still loving your privacy.’

Kaiser corrected him. ‘Not my privacy, your privacy. I’m doing this for you.’

‘For me?’ Payne asked.

‘For all of you.’

Although he wanted Kaiser to explain himself, Payne figured it would be a waste of time. Why settle for an ambiguous response when they were this close to learning the truth? On multiple occasions, Kaiser had said everything would make sense once they saw the contents of the site so it seemed foolish to ask any more questions.

They were standing ten feet from the entrance to the site.

It was time to climb inside.

8

Due to the instability of the terrain, the fifteen-foot extension ladder did not lean against the sides of the hole. Instead, the ladder was attached to scaffolding on the floor of the bunker. The last thing they wanted was for the ground to open any wider and swallow another victim.

‘Coming down,’ Kaiser yelled as his feet clanked on the aluminium steps. At the bottom, he was greeted by a sixth guard, who was positioned underground just in case intruders slipped past everyone else and tried to raid the site.

‘You’re next,’ Payne said to Jones. ‘I’m fifty pounds heavier and the ground is unstable.’

Jones nodded and carefully approached the opening. As he did, his heart pounded in his chest. Not from fear of the unknown but for the promising possibilities. The last time he had felt this way was in Greece, right before they had found the treasure that had changed his life for ever. Until then he had been making a decent living, running a detective agency out of free office space at the Payne Industries Building. A solid life, for sure, but not nearly as exciting as he had hoped it would be. Then again, compared to his time with the MANIACs, what could possibly compete? In many ways, he felt like a star athlete who had been forced to retire at the height of his career. No matter what he did to stay near the game – coaching, scouting or broadcasting – the thrill just wasn’t the same as it was in his former life.

But moments like this came close.

Grabbing the ladder with his right hand, Jones stretched his left leg over the opening and placed his foot on the metal step. A moment later, his second foot followed. As it did, the top of the ladder rattled and swayed. Not enough to be dangerous, but more than enough to get his attention. While waiting for the ladder to settle, Jones peered into the dark void below. A single beam of light danced underneath him, revealing nothing but a glimpse of the bunker’s floor. It looked old and dusty, like a pharaoh’s tomb.

‘Hurry up,’ Payne urged. ‘It’s getting darker by the minute.’

‘Trust me, Jon, it doesn’t matter. It’s like a black hole down there.’

‘Speaking of black a-holes, what are you waiting for?’

Jones smiled. ‘I’m waiting for the ladder to settle.’

Payne rolled his eyes. ‘And you wonder why I normally go first.’

‘You know, if I were you, I’d want to stay on my good side.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘I’ll be invisible in the dark.’

‘Great! We can play Marco Polo without closing our eyes,’ Payne teased, referring to the children’s game. ‘Now hurry the fuck up and climb down the ladder.’

Jones laughed as he started his descent. When he reached the bottom, he pulled out his flashlight and flicked it on. Thirty seconds later, Payne was standing next to him, doing the same thing. Suddenly the room around them came into view.

At first glance, nothing about it seemed remarkable. Eleven feet long and twenty feet wide, the chamber’s walls and floor were made of white concrete. Over the years, cracks had formed in two of the walls, allowing moisture to seep in. The tiny fissures were surrounded by patches of lime-green mildew that appeared to move in the light like something from science fiction or something from outer space. On closer examination, Jones realized it was simply an optical illusion – light refracting off different surfaces – yet the effect was still creepy.

‘Take a look at this,’ Payne said from the other side of the room.

Jones whirled and spotted him behind the scaffolding. He was crouched down, examining a large object wrapped in a plastic sheet. ‘What is it?’

‘The murder weapon.’

‘The what?’ Jones asked, confused. A few steps later, he saw the face of the dead boar pressed against the plastic, its bloodstained tusks poking through. ‘Holy balls! Look at that thing. It’s huge!’

‘It’s the biggest boar I’ve ever seen.’

Jones knelt next to it and patted its side. Even though it was wrapped in plastic, the scent of death lingered in the air. Grabbing one of its tusks, he said, ‘This little piggy had roast beef.’

Payne smiled. ‘No wonder the other piggy had none. This one ate the whole cow.’

Jones laughed. ‘Hey Kaiser, is this why we’re here? To see the nursery rhyme pig? If so, we’re a little late. No way Hogzilla is going to market. He’s a little too ripe.’

‘Actually,’ Kaiser said from the far corner, ‘I brought you down here for this.’

Payne stood. ‘For what?’

‘For the other room.’

Jones stood, too. ‘There’s another room?’

Kaiser nodded, and then twisted a small handle in the wall. Made of metal, the recessed lever had been painted white to conceal its existence. Intrigued, Payne and Jones shone their lights in the corner and watched in amazement as a door suddenly appeared in the concrete.

One moment, it looked solid. The next, there was a slight opening.

‘How’d we miss that?’ Jones whispered.

Payne shrugged and walked forward to examine it.

In a brightly lit space, the doorway would have been easy to spot. But years of dirt and mildew, coupled with the gloom of the underground lair, had obscured its presence. Not only to Payne and Jones, but to Kaiser, too. On his first visit, it had taken him an hour to notice it.

Kaiser said, ‘I’m pretty sure this back room was a bomb shelter.’

‘Why do you say that?’ Payne asked.

‘Feel this sucker. It’s solid concrete. Doors like this are built for two reasons: safes and shelters. And since there isn’t a lock, I’m guessing it’s not a safe.’

Payne knocked on the door, impressed. ‘What’s back there?’

‘A tunnel, then a room.’

Payne glanced at the ladder to get his bearings. ‘Unless I’m mistaken, the tunnel goes underneath the rock face. That’s the best place to build a bunker. Use the mountain instead of concrete. Much cheaper that way.’

Kaiser leaned against the door, but it barely budged. ‘If you don’t mind, can you give me a hand? This thing weighs a ton.’

‘No problem. I like helping the elderly.’

Payne smiled and pushed the door with all his strength. Slowly but surely, it swung open from left to right until it crashed into the tunnel wall behind it. Made of concrete and painted the same colour as the first chamber, the arched corridor was nearly six feet wide and seven feet high, and it stretched twenty-two feet into the mountain. At the far end of the passageway, there was another thick door. In between, there was nothing but concrete and empty space.

No lights. No signs. No markings of any kind.

‘Thanks,’ Jones said as he slipped past Payne. ‘I knew we brought you for a reason.’

‘Please, after you,’ he mumbled sarcastically. ‘Really, I insist.’

Jones grinned in the dark as he took the lead. Guided by his flashlight, he studied the tunnel’s construction as he moved towards the back room. ‘Notice anything about the walls?’

‘Not really,’ Payne said. ‘Then again, you’re blocking my view.’

Jones answered his own query. ‘They’re spotless. No mildew or cracks of any kind. Whoever built this section did a much better job. Then again, that makes sense if the next room is a bomb shelter – although I’m beginning to have some doubts.’

‘Why’s that?’ Kaiser asked from the rear.

‘As far as I can tell, there’s no ventilation.’

Kaiser nodded. ‘Actually, you’re right. Not a single vent anywhere. I checked.’

Payne stopped and shone his flashlight at Kaiser. ‘No vents? There has to be vents. No vents mean no air. No air means no people. Why build a bunker that can’t hold people?’

Kaiser smiled cryptically. ‘You’re about to find out.’

9

Mitte District

Berlin, Germany

Hans Mueller grabbed the sharpest knife he could find and plunged it into the sausage. It hissed when its skin was pierced, grease oozing like lava onto the hot grill.

Watching closely, the man across the kitchen winced.

He knew this was a message, not a meal.

Born in India but a recent resident of Berlin, Asif Kapur had been invited to dinner through unconventional means. Two thugs had kicked in his front door and dragged him out of his shower. At first, he had screamed and tried to fight back, but a swift kick to his groin and several layers of duct tape round his hands and mouth had put an end to that. Dripping wet and completely naked, Kapur had been thrown into the trunk of a Mercedes and driven round the city for more than an hour. By the time they were done, he was shivering with fear.

That’s when he was delivered to the restaurant.

Recently purchased by Mueller as a way to launder money, the complex was still being renovated. Over the past few decades, the entire neighbourhood had received an extensive facelift. Formerly a part of East Berlin, the borough of Mitte had been surrounded by the Berlin Wall on three sides. Although there had been some crossing points between East and West Berlin during the Cold War – the most famous being Checkpoint Charlie – Mitte hadn’t been a popular tourist destination until the wall came tumbling down in 1989. Since then, the area had experienced a renaissance. Galleries had been built, cafes opened, derelict houses destroyed. After so many years of being an embarrassment, Mitte has re-established itself as the heart of Berlin.

And Mueller hoped to take advantage of the influx of visitors.

‘Tell me,’ he said without turning away from the grill, ‘do you know who I am?’

Kapur, still naked but no longer gagged, nodded in fear. ‘Yes, sir.’

Mueller stabbed another sausage with the tip of the knife. ‘Do you know why you’re here?’

Kapur gulped, his heart pounding in his throat. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘One more question,’ Mueller said as he turned off the flame and faced his guest for the very first time. ‘Do you enjoy curry?’

The topic caught Kapur off guard. ‘Excuse me?’

Wearing a white apron over his dress shirt and tie, Mueller carried the platter of sausages across the kitchen and set it on a large butcher’s block. Made of maple, it sat in the centre of the workspace and was partially covered with kitchen equipment. ‘It’s a simple question, really. One I thought you could answer without much difficulty – especially considering your heritage. You are Indian, correct?’

Kapur nodded from the opposite side of the wood.

Mueller, a fit German in his forties with a military haircut and eyes as black as coal, glared at his guest. ‘I believe I asked you a question. If you’re unwilling to answer me verbally, my men will gag you once again. Is that what you’d prefer?’

Kapur shook his head. ‘No, sir.’

A smile returned to Mueller’s face. ‘Good. You are Indian, correct?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Mueller stared at him, sizing him up. ‘Do you enjoy curry?’

Kapur nodded. ‘Yes, sir. Very much, sir.’

Mueller leaned closer. ‘Do you like it … spicy?’

‘Yes, sir. Very spicy.’

Mueller considered Kapur’s answer, then nodded his approval. ‘This restaurant, once the renovations are finished, will serve the finest currywurst in all of Germany. Are you familiar with the dish?’

‘No, sir.’

Mueller gasped in surprise. ‘You are an Indian living in Berlin, and you are not familiar with currywurst? How can this be?’

Kapur swallowed hard. ‘I haven’t been here long. Only a month.’

‘A month,’ Mueller echoed, letting the words hang in the air like smoke from the grill. ‘You are correct. You have been here a month. One month exactly. One month to this very day.’

Kapur nodded. He was very aware of the date. ‘Yes, sir.’

Mueller took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, trying to control his rage. ‘Even so, you cannot go anywhere in this city without passing a currywurst stand every fifty feet. I am surprised that an Indian, such as yourself, did not smell the spice and stop for a taste of your homeland. To me, that’s inconceivable. Tell me, are you a vegetarian?’

Kapur shook his head. ‘No, sir.’

‘Wonderful!’ Mueller exclaimed as he jabbed one of the sausages with his knife. ‘Then allow me to make you a plate. Please don’t take this the wrong way, but you are the only Indian I know. Personally, I feel it would be a wasted opportunity if I didn’t get your opinion.’

‘Of course, sir. Whatever you want, sir.’

Mueller reached to his right and grabbed a metal contraption that Kapur had never seen. It had a wide opening on top, a handle on the side, and several blades in the middle. ‘A woman named Herta Heuwer invented this dish way back in 1949. As you probably know, Berlin was in horrible shape after the war, and supplies were at a minimum. Herta had a street stand in the Charlottenburg district where she grilled pork wurst for construction workers rebuilding the city. One day she was given some ketchup, Worcestershire sauce, and curry powder by British soldiers and decided to make a sauce to pour over her wurst.’

After sliding the sausage into the top of the machine, Mueller placed a dish underneath the contraption, and then pulled the handle with a loud thwack! A second later, several bite-size pieces of sausage tumbled into the dish.

Mueller grinned with delight. ‘Currywurst was so popular with the workers that word spread round the city. Within two years, she was selling over ten thousand servings a week. Her recipe was so beloved she had it patented. To this day, there is still a plaque in Charlottenburg that marks the spot where her stand once stood.’

Mueller momentarily turned his back in order to get his sauce from the stove. Kapur, who was still completely naked, eyed the knife on the butcher’s block but thought better of it. Even if he managed to stab Mueller, there was no way he’d get past the guards, who were watching him from the far side of the kitchen.

‘Obviously,’ Mueller said as he grabbed the saucepan from the stove, ‘many chefs have tweaked Herta’s recipe over the years. Nowadays there are all kinds of variations. Some are made with paprika. Some are made with onions. Some are made with tomato paste. As hard as this is to believe, over eight hundred million servings of currywurst are sold in Germany every year. Can you believe that number? Eight hundred million!’

‘That’s hard to believe, sir.’

Mueller laughed. ‘But it’s true! I read that fact at the Currywurst Museum that opened last year. Can you believe that? Currywurst is so popular in Berlin it has its own museum. As soon as I heard about it, I knew I had to open a restaurant, using my grandmother’s secret recipe. Everyone who has eaten it swears it’s the best they’ve ever had.’

Kapur watched as Mueller drizzled some curry onto the sausage. Steam rose off the pieces as he did. ‘It smells delicious, sir.’

Mueller set the plate in front of him. ‘Wait until you taste it! I’m telling you, your taste buds will dance and your sinuses will clear – if they haven’t already.’

Kapur eyed the meal sceptically. Even if it was the worst thing he had ever tasted, he planned on gushing over it as if it had been the best. But much to his surprise, the currywurst was wonderful. Somehow the sausage and the curry, which seemed to have nothing in common, actually complimented each other. ‘Sir, it’s excellent! Truly excellent!’

Mueller beamed with pride. ‘See, I knew you would like it. Some people are hesitant to try new things, but not me. I’m always looking for something new.’

Mueller walked around the butcher’s block and patted Kapur on his shoulder. The flesh-on-flesh contact sent a tremor through Kapur’s body. ‘Take you, for example. A lot of people told me not to get involved with you. They said you couldn’t be trusted to hold up your end of the bargain. But I disagreed with them. I said if wurst and curry could mesh together into something so delicious, then so could a German and an Indian. Don’t you agree?’

Beads of perspiration formed on Kapur’s forehead. Whether it was from the spices or his nerves, he wasn’t sure. ‘Yes, sir. I wholeheartedly agree.’

Mueller grimaced as he grabbed the contraption. Its base squeaked softly as he pulled it across the wood. ‘Unfortunately, my Indian friend, your first payment was due one month after your arrival in Berlin, but according to my assistant, you have failed to hold up your end of the bargain. You have not paid a single Euro.’

‘Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir. But there’s a- ‘

‘Don’t!’ Mueller growled, all the compassion gone from his face. ‘Do not make excuses. In my business, there are no excuses. You promised your first payment on this day, and you failed to deliver. That leaves me with no choice. I must punish your betrayal, or others will follow your lead.’

‘But, sir! If you-’

Before he could utter another word, Kapur felt one of the guard’s arms wrap round his throat. Instinctively, Kapur raised his bound hands and tried to fight him off – tried to gouge out his eyes or do anything he could do to loosen his grip – but it was the biggest mistake of his life. While Kapur was flailing and fighting for air, the other guard grabbed Kapur’s penis and shoved it into the contraption.

Kapur’s eyes doubled in size when he realized what was about to happen.

Meanwhile, Mueller smiled as he clutched the handle.

Thwack!

10

The second door was identical to the first. Same weight. Same concrete. Same recessed handle. It was as if the bunker’s architect had shopped at a buy-one-get-one-free sale before he had started the project – whenever that might have been. Without a trained historian, Payne and Jones had no idea how old the bunker was. Twenty years? Fifty years? More than a hundred?

They weren’t sure but hoped the back room would provide some answers.

To prove his worth, Jones opened the heavy door without any help, a process that took twice as long as Payne’s effort on the first door. Afterward, despite being out of breath, he stared at Payne and said, ‘Maybe we don’t need your muscles after all.’

‘Sure you do,’ he replied. ‘I’ll be the one who carries you out when you collapse.’

‘Thanks,’ Jones wheezed. ‘That’ll be pretty soon.’

Payne smiled and turned towards Kaiser, who was standing behind him in the tunnel. ‘If you don’t mind, why don’t you take the lead? Show us why we’re here.’

‘I’d be happy to,’ Kaiser said as he squeezed past the duo. ‘Just so you know, none of my men have been back this far. What you’re about to see is between us.’

‘How do you know?’ Payne wondered.

‘How? Because I trust my men,’ he said harshly. Then, as if he suddenly remembered whom he was talking to, Kaiser caught himself and grinned. ‘Plus I told them there’s going to be a lie detector test once we leave Bavaria, and if any of them fail, they’ll lose a limb.’

Jones glanced at him, unsure if he was kidding. ‘How does that work? Do they pick a limb ahead of time, or do you spin a giant wheel of body parts if they fail?’

‘Cross me someday and find out,’ Kaiser said with a wink.

Payne laughed, but Jones didn’t – still not sure if he was joking.

‘Anyway,’ Kaiser said, ‘let me show you what I found.’

Following the beam of his flashlight, Kaiser led the duo into the back room. Roughly twenty feet long and thirty feet wide, its walls were made of the same concrete as the outer chamber. Besides the width and length, the main difference in the construction was the height of the ceiling, which was a mere seven feet tall. Standing six-foot-six in hiking shoes, Payne instinctively crouched until he was certain he could walk upright without banging his head. After that, his focus shifted to the room’s contents instead of the room itself.

Payne stared in fascination at the dozens of wooden crates of varying sizes that lined the back wall. They were stacked in neat rows, one on top of the other, like Lego blocks from another time. Until recently, the crates had been covered with long canvas tarps, which Kaiser had folded and stored along the left wall. Other than that, the rest of the room appeared empty.

Excited by the possibilities, Jones hustled towards the stacks with childlike enthusiasm. He shone his light on the first crate he came across, expecting it to be open and overflowing with valuables, but its lid was nailed shut. Undaunted, he hustled to the next crate, which was slightly larger than the first one, and discovered it was sealed, too. The same with the next one, and the one after that. All of them appeared to be sealed.

Jones glanced over his shoulder, confused. ‘What’s in the crates?’

Kaiser looked at him and shrugged. ‘I honestly don’t know.’

‘You don’t know?’ Jones blurted.

Kaiser shook his head. ‘Nope.’

‘Hold up,’ Payne said, trying to understand. ‘You flew us four thousand miles on a private jet, but you don’t know what’s in any of these crates? Sorry, but I don’t buy that for a second.’

‘Actually,’ Kaiser admitted, ‘I know what’s in one. That’s all it took.’

‘Which one?’ Jones demanded.

Kaiser pointed towards a crate in the far right corner. It had been moved a few inches from those nearby, like a book pulled from a crowded shelf and then hastily returned. From where Jones was standing, the crate looked sealed like the others. Upon closer inspection, he realized the lid had been replaced but hadn’t been reattached.

Jones turned and faced Kaiser. ‘Let me see if I got this straight. The contents of this box compelled you to fly us here overnight, but worried you so much you didn’t open any of the others … Please tell me it’s not cursed.’

Kaiser grimaced. ‘Define cursed.’

Payne furrowed his brow. He had known Kaiser for more than a decade, and in all those years, he had never seen him act so strangely. Cautious, yes. But never bizarre.

‘Listen,’ Payne said to him, ‘it’s obvious there’s something going on that we don’t understand. Do you want to fill us in, or should we open the box and find out for ourselves?’

‘Just open the box. We can talk when you’re done.’

Jones grinned. ‘Can one of you hold my light?’

Payne nodded and stepped forward, hoping to get a closer look.

Measuring nearly four feet in height, width and depth, the crate was made of old wood and free of exterior labels. Rope handles, common on boxes from yesteryear, dangled from its sides like elephant’s ears. Overall, the crate was in remarkable shape – completely free of cracks or scuffmarks of any kind. Whoever had placed it there had done so with respect.

Using both hands, Jones removed the lid and placed it on a neighbouring crate, careful not to damage either. With questions dancing in his head and adrenaline surging through his veins, he rushed back to Payne’s side, and they gazed into the box together.

At first glance, they were less than impressed. The crate’s interior was equipped with seven strips of plywood running from left to right, forming eight vertical slots extending to the bottom of the crate. All the slots, which were roughly six inches wide, were filled with a mixture of hardwood panels and unframed canvases. Due to the darkness of the bunker and the depth of the slots, they had no idea what they were looking at until Jones removed one of the objects and held it in the beam of Payne’s flashlight.

‘Holy shit,’ Jones gasped as he stared at the oil painting on panel. The Impressionist masterpiece depicted five sunflowers – three in a green vase and two more lying in front of the vase – painted against a royal-blue background. The colours were so vibrant and the brushwork was so unmistakable that both of them recognized the artist.

‘Is that a van Gogh?’ Payne whispered to Jones.

Kaiser answered for him. ‘It’s called Still Life: Vase with Five Sunflowers. Painted by Vincent van Gogh in August 1888, supposedly destroyed by fire in 1945.’

With his heart pounding in his chest, Jones carefully returned it to its slot and pulled out another. This one was oil on canvas, depicting a man and a woman walking through a garden. Though not nearly as colourful as the first painting, the brushwork was just as distinctive.

Kaiser spoke again, his tone similar to an art expert in a museum. ‘The Lovers: The Poet’s Garden IV, painted by Vincent van Gogh in October 1888. Last seen in Germany in 1937.’

A few seconds later, Jones pulled out another oil on canvas. The most colourful of the three, it depicted a painter on his way to work, walking down a bright gold path as he carried his art supplies. The background was filled with green and yellow fields and majestic blue mountains.

‘Painter on the Road to Tarascon,’ Kaiser announced, ‘painted by Vincent van Gogh in August 1888, destroyed by fire in World War Two.’

Jones nodded and returned the painting to its slot. He was about to pull out another when Payne grabbed his arm and told him to wait.

‘What’s wrong?’ Jones wondered.

Payne turned towards Kaiser. ‘Did you say it was destroyed in World War Two?’

Kaiser nodded, wondering when they would catch on. ‘Yes, I did.’

‘And the first one?’ Payne asked.

‘Burned in 1945.’

‘What about the second?’

‘Vanished from Germany in 1937.’

‘Shit,’ Payne mumbled as the dates fell into place. ‘Shit, shit, shit!’

Jones looked at him, confused. ‘What’s wrong?’

Payne raised his voice, which echoed through the chamber. ‘What’s wrong? I’ll tell you what’s wrong. Kaiser promised us treasure but brought us to a goddamned Nazi bunker.’

Jones’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘He what?’

‘Think about the dates and where we are. All this shit was looted in the war.’

Jones glanced at Kaiser. ‘Please tell me he’s wrong.’

Kaiser shrugged. ‘I hope he is, but I honestly don’t know.’

Payne raised his voice even louder. ‘Oh, so that’s how you’re going to play it? You bring us to a Nazi bunker, filled with stolen artwork and who knows what else, and you’re going to pretend you’re not sure? Son of a bitch, Kaiser! What in the hell were you thinking? Did you really think we’d want to get involved with this shit?’

Kaiser took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. ‘As a matter of fact, I did.’

Payne laughed sarcastically. ‘Really? You honestly thought we’d want to get involved with Nazi loot? Why in the world would we do that?’

‘To save a good friend of yours.’

‘To save you from what?’ Payne growled.

‘Actually,’ Kaiser said, ‘I’m not the friend who needs to be saved.’

11

The comment caught Payne completely off guard. For the past thirty seconds, he had been lecturing Kaiser about their involvement with a cache of stolen art in a Nazi bunker – only to discover that something else was going on. Something to do with one of Payne’s friends.

Suddenly, their mission was a lot more urgent.

‘What do you mean?’ Payne said, trying to remain calm. ‘Who needs my help?’

‘A close friend of yours,’ Kaiser assured him.

‘Who?’ he repeated, this time a little louder.

‘Before we get to that-’

‘Now!’ Payne demanded, veins popping in his neck. ‘Tell me now, or I swear to God I’m going to-’

‘Jon!’ Jones shouted as he stepped in front of Payne. ‘You need to calm down.’

‘Excuse me?’ Payne barked, towering over his best friend.

‘You heard what I said. Calm the fuck down.’ Jones emphasized the word down by drawing it out for an extra beat. ‘We’re on the same side here. There’s no need for threats. Take a deep breath, and let Kaiser explain.’

Payne followed his advice, trying to relax. Although he rarely lost his temper, it occasionally flared up whenever he felt lied to or deceived. Factor in a friend in danger, and his anger was easy to understand. ‘Who needs our help?’

Not wanting to be the messenger, Kaiser swiftly moved towards one of the crates. He raised the lid that Jones had removed a few minutes earlier so they could inspect the underside. ‘See for yourself. Look at the lid.’

In the dim light, it was tough to see the mark inscribed on the lid. It wasn’t until Jones stepped closer that he noticed a coat of arms on its underbelly, a symbol vaguely familiar to him. Branded into the wood several decades earlier, it depicted an eagle with sharp talons holding a sword in one foot and a scroll in the other. On its chest, the bird wore a striped shield emblazoned with a smaller symbol. Upon closer inspection, he realized it was the letter U.

Suddenly, everything made sense to Jones: Kaiser’s deception, the half-truths, the total need for secrecy. In a flash, Jones knew whom they were there to save.

‘Son of a bitch,’ he mumbled under his breath.

Payne heard the comment. ‘What’s wrong?’

Jones tapped on the symbol. ‘Do you recognize that?’

He shook his head. ‘No, should I?’

Jones nodded. ‘It’s the Ulster family crest.’

The name hit Payne like a sucker punch, temporarily leaving him stunned. ‘As in Petr Ulster? Are you sure?’

‘Yeah, Jon, I’m positive. I’ve seen it on one of his rings.’

‘The stolen art belongs to his family?’

Off to the side, Kaiser nodded in confirmation. ‘As soon as I saw the symbol, I sealed the site and called you. I know how close you are to Petr. And I know what would happen if his family was ever linked to the Nazis. The Archives would be tarnished for ever.’

*

Built in Switzerland by Austrian philanthropist Conrad Ulster, the Ulster Archives was the most extensive private collection of documents and antiquities in the world.

Unlike most private collections, the main goal of the Archives wasn’t to hoard artefacts. Instead, it strived to bridge the ever-growing schism that existed between scholars and connoisseurs. Typical big-city museums displayed 15 per cent of their accumulated artefacts, meaning 85 per cent of the world’s finest relics were currently off-limits to the public. That number climbed even higher, closer to 90 per cent, when personal collections were factored in.

Thankfully, the Ulster Foundation had vowed to correct the problem. Ever since the Archives had opened in the mid-1960s, it had promoted the radical concept of sharing. In order to gain admittance to the facility, a visitor had to bring something of value – such as an ancient object or unpublished research that might be useful to others. Whatever it was, it had to be approved in advance by the Archives’ staff. If for some reason they deemed it unworthy, then admission to the facility was denied until a suitable replacement could be found.

It was their way to encourage sharing.

For the past decade, the Archives had been run by Petr Ulster, Conrad’s grandson. He had befriended Payne and Jones a few years earlier when the duo was at the facility conducting research for one of their missions. During their stay, a group of religious zealots had tried to burn the Archives to the ground. Their goal had been to destroy a collection of ancient documents that threatened the foundation of the Catholic Church, including evidence about the True Cross. Fortunately, Payne and Jones managed to intervene, thwarting the attack and saving the facility from irreparable damage.

Now it appeared they would have to save the Archives again, but this time, from a self-inflicted wound.

Payne grabbed the lid and studied the Ulster family crest. A sword in one talon and a scroll in the other, it represented the family’s role as guardians of history. ‘This has to be a mistake. Petr has done more for the preservation of history than anyone I know.’

‘Maybe so,’ Jones said. ‘Then again, who knows what his ancestors did?’

‘But that’s what doesn’t make sense. Petr has told me countless stories about his family, all of them positive. I can assure you, he reveres his grandfather as much as I revere mine.’

Payne paused for a moment, replaying some of the details in his head.

During the early 1930s, Conrad Ulster had sensed the political instability in Austria and realized there was a good chance the Nazis would seize his prized collection. To protect himself and his artefacts, he smuggled his possessions across the Swiss border in railcars, using thin layers of coal to conceal them. Though he eventually planned to return to Austria after World War Two, he fell in love with his new home in Kusendorf and decided to stay. When he died, he expressed his thanks to the people of Switzerland by donating his estate to his adopted home town – provided they kept his collection intact and his family in charge.

‘I’m telling you, it doesn’t make sense. Do you know why his grandfather built the Archives in Switzerland instead of his homeland? He was afraid Hitler was going to seize his collection. Does that sound like someone who was in bed with the Nazis?’

‘No, it doesn’t,’ admitted Kaiser, who had learned about Payne and Jones’s close relationship with Petr Ulster through media accounts of the Greek treasure. ‘But that doesn’t mean his grandfather was innocent.’

Payne glared at him. ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘I mean, it was a horrible time filled with many regrettable acts. Tell me, what do you know about the end of World War Two?’

‘The good guys won,’ Jones cracked, trying to inject some levity.

‘Yes, that’s correct – if you were rooting for the Allied Forces. But here in Germany, some people might argue your point.’

‘True,’ Jones conceded.

Kaiser continued. ‘That being said, post-war Germany was an interesting place. Due to its unconditional surrender, the country was divided into four militarized zones: American, British, French and Soviet. Most of the cities had been devastated by ground campaigns and Allied bombings, so the first order of business was to fix the infrastructure. One of the top priorities was clearing away all the rubble so supply trucks could get back on the roads. Since millions of German men had died in the war, most of this work was done by women and children who were paid in food, not money.’

Payne and Jones nodded, quite familiar with the realities of war.

‘In 1945 hyperinflation swept through this country like a plague. In the year after the war, prices rose a dramatic eighty-five per cent, leaving most German citizens in desperate straits. During this time many of the so-called good guys – the Americans, the Brits, the French and so on – capitalized on the situation, doing things in this country that even I find despicable.’

‘Such as?’ Payne asked.

‘Buying babies, running sweatshops, trading food for sex. Basically doing whatever they could to take advantage of the Germans – including poverty-stricken Jews who were struggling to put their lives back together. I’m telling you, some of the post-war stories I’ve heard about this place make the Wild West seem tame.’

‘What does that have to do with these crates?’ Payne asked.

Kaiser answered. ‘For a span of about sixteen years – starting in 1933 when Hitler was named chancellor of Germany until 1949 when the American, British and French zones combined to form West Germany – artwork was the most profitable sector of the European black market. And trust me when I tell you, these deals weren’t limited to Nazis and criminals. It was common in all levels of society, including the upper crust. People were so desperate for money they were willing to sell family heirlooms at bargain-basement prices. I’m talking priceless paintings for pennies on the dollar. Technically speaking, the sales weren’t illegal, but …’

Payne nodded in understanding. ‘It was a sleazy way to obtain art.’

Kaiser pointed at the crates. ‘For all we know, Petr’s family did nothing wrong. They might’ve obtained all this for a fair price on the open market.’

‘But you don’t think that’s the case,’ Payne said.

Kaiser shook his head. ‘If I did, I wouldn’t have called you.’

12

Psychologically speaking, it didn’t take an expert to figure out why Payne was so loyal to his friends. His parents had died in a car accident during his formative years, and since neither of them had siblings, Payne had no aunts, uncles or cousins to comfort him. If not for his paternal grandfather, Payne would have been placed in foster care, because his maternal grandparents had died before the accident. Actually, they had died before he was born.

During his entire lifetime, Payne had met three relatives.

Now all of them were dead.

Payne was more than an orphan. His entire family was gone.

One of the main reasons Payne had joined the military was to be a part of something. To know that others had his back and he had theirs. It had given him a sense of purpose, a sense of belonging. And when he had been forced to give that up to take over Payne Industries after his grandfather’s death, he found himself clinging to the only ‘family’ he had left. He would go to any length to protect his friends, like a mother guarding her young. Occasionally, he took it a bit too far. It was an issue he was aware of, one that had plagued him for years and had led to his earlier outburst.

‘Just so you know,’ he told Kaiser, ‘I’m sorry.’

‘For what?’ Kaiser asked.

‘For everything. My yelling, my suspicions, my threats. I shouldn’t have acted that way. I hope you can forgive me.’

‘Of course I forgive you. I gave you every right to be paranoid. I realize I kept you in the dark for a very long time, but like I said earlier, there was a method to my madness. If word got out about this bunker, it would destroy Petr. And me, too.’

Payne furrowed his brow. ‘You? How could it destroy you?’

‘You know what I do for a living. In my line of work, I’m forced to bend laws all the time. The last thing I need is for the German government to be snooping around my life. Seriously, if word ever got out that I had anything to do with a Nazi cache – if that’s what this is – then I’d be fucked for ever.’

‘And if it isn’t?’ Jones asked.

‘That depends.’

‘On what?’ Payne wondered.

‘On what’s in the crates,’ Kaiser said, smiling. ‘If we crack them open and they’re filled with items that can’t be traced to a rightful owner, then in my opinion, the stuff belongs to me. Finders keepers, you know?’

Payne didn’t have a problem with that. ‘And the items that can be traced?’

Kaiser shrugged. ‘Whatever you and Petr decide is fine. All I ask is that you keep my name out of it. Seriously, I don’t want to be linked to Nazi loot in any way. Agreed?’

‘Agreed,’ Payne said, as he shook Kaiser’s hand. ‘Not to pry, but I’m sensing this is a sore subject for you. Did you lose a loved one to the Nazis, or …’

Kaiser winced. ‘Damn, Jon, how old do you think I am?’

‘Don’t take it personally. Jon sucks at math,’ Jones teased.

Payne nodded. ‘I even need my fingers to count to one. Here, let me show you.’

Then he flipped off Jones for making the comment.

Kaiser smiled but didn’t laugh, the gravity of the topic still weighing on his mind. ‘What can I say? Everyone has their boundaries, even men like me. Over the years, I’ve had plenty of chances to sell Nazi plunder – for serious money – but my conscience wouldn’t let me. Who knows? Maybe I’ve been in Germany a little too long. I must be turning native.’

The comment confused Payne. ‘Meaning?’

Kaiser stared at him. ‘Were you ever stationed here?’

Payne shook his head. ‘Passed through, but never stayed.’

Kaiser nodded, as if Payne’s confusion should have tipped him off. ‘Outsiders find this hard to believe, but ninety-nine per cent of all Germans are embarrassed by their homeland’s role in World War Two. Actually, I take that back. Embarrassed doesn’t even begin to describe it. Humiliated, ashamed, horrified, mortified – you get the idea. I’m talking about Germans who weren’t even alive during that era, yet they carry round the guilt like a stain on their DNA. Sure, I might be an American, but I’ve lived in this country long enough to recognize their pain. And out of respect to my German friends, I refuse to profit from Nazi loot.’

‘Is there a big market for that stuff?’ Payne asked.

‘Sadly, yes,’ Kaiser admitted. ‘Then again, I know people who will sell anything – including their daughters’ virginity.’

‘Damn. That’s harsh,’ Jones interjected.

Kaiser nodded. ‘Obviously, I refuse to deal with such lowlifes, but our paths still cross from time to time. And when they do, it’s rarely pretty. Truth be told, men like that are another reason I didn’t tell you about this bunker until you were here. If word ever leaked to one of those men, this mountain would be a war zone before morning.’

Petr Ulster, a round man with a thick brown beard that covered his multiple chins, was napping in his office at the Ulster Archives. Sprawled on a comfortable leather couch, he snored loudly as he clutched an Italian book called Il Trono di Dio to his chest. A passionate academic, Ulster tried to follow the example of inventor Thomas Edison, who took power naps during the course of the day in order to forego sleep at night. Unfortunately, due to Ulster’s love of gourmet food and his passion for fine wine, it was rarely past midnight when he crawled into bed with a full belly and a slight buzz. His intent was there, but not the conditioning.

The ringing of Ulster’s private line pulled him from his sleep. Few people had his private number, and those who did called infrequently – not because he wasn’t loved and admired, but because everyone assumed he was busy.

Intrigued by the call, Ulster rushed to his desk. ‘Hello, this is Petr.’

‘Hey, Petr, it’s Jonathon Payne.’

Ulster beamed. Even though he was in his mid-forties, he came across as boy-like, due to the twinkle in his eye and his zest for life. ‘Jonathon, my boy, what a pleasant surprise! How are things in the States?’

Sitting on a log near the entrance to the site, Payne grimaced at his unpleasant task. Telling Ulster bad news would be like kicking a puppy. How could he hurt someone so warm and cuddly? ‘The States are great. Then again, I’m not in the States.’

Ulster took the phone from his desk and returned to his couch. It groaned from his bulk as he sank into its cushions. ‘You’re not? Where are you then?’

‘I’m in Germany.’

‘Was machst du in Deutschland?‘ he said fluently.

‘Excuse me?’

Ulster grinned at Payne’s confusion. ‘I said, what are you doing in Germany? Wait! Let me guess. You and David are at Oktoberfest! Am I right? Have you been drinking?’

‘I wish I had been. It would make this conversation a little less painful.’

For the first time, Ulster recognized the tension in Payne’s voice. ‘Tell me, is everything all right? You sound rather glum. Do you need bail money?’

Payne glanced over his shoulder, making sure no guards were around. Obviously they knew about the bunker, but according to Kaiser, they didn’t know anything about the crates. Lowering his voice to a whisper, Payne said, ‘Petr, are you alone?’

‘Am I alone? Why do you care if I’m alone? Wait, just a moment. You aren’t at Oktoberfest, are you?’

‘No, Petr, I’m not.’

Ulster gasped. ‘Good heavens! Are you on a mission?’

‘Something like that.’

Ulster grinned with delight. Over the past few years, Payne and Jones had used his expertise on topics ranging from the crucifixion of Christ to the prophecies of Nostradamus. And Ulster had loved every minute – even the times he had feared for his life. Running from gunmen while carrying scrolls and artefacts made him feel like an overweight Indiana Jones. ‘Tell me, my boy, what do you need? Just make a wish, and I shall grant it.’

Payne exhaled as his blood pressure spiked.

The next few minutes would be brutal.

13

Monday, 20 September

Garmisch-Partenkirchen, Germany

Ulster’s flight from the Archives was a short one, less than 200 miles to the German city with the twenty-one-letter name. Long before they could see it, Payne and Jones heard the roar of the helicopter as it soared over the Alps and swooped into the valley like an angry hawk. Standing near the foot of the hiking trail, they shielded their eyes as the chopper landed fifty feet in front of them, its downdraught kicking up dirt and debris from the surrounding field.

The night before, Ulster had been despondent after hearing the potentially devastating news about his grandfather. He realized if Conrad had conspired with the Third Reich, it would cause irreparable damage to the Archives and the Ulster family name. Three generations of hard work and goodwill burned to a crisp like the Nazis used to burn books. In a flash, Ulster would be persona non grata in the world of academia, an outcast in the only field he ever cared about – even though he had done nothing wrong. Suddenly, every object at the Archives would be questioned. Not only individuals, but entire governments would crawl out of the woodwork, claiming to be the rightful owners of every scroll, painting and artefact in his family’s collection. Lawsuits would fill his days and anxiety would ravage his nights, a life of kindness and generosity torn asunder by sins that had been committed long before he was even born.

Unless, of course, they could prove his grandfather’s innocence.

As the rotors on the chopper slowed, Payne and Jones rushed forward, eager to comfort their friend. The grass, still glistening with dew, stained their shoes and the cuffs on their cargo pants as they hustled across the field. Unsure of what to expect, they were greeted by a smiling Ulster who practically leapt out of the cockpit to give both of them a hug.

‘It’s so wonderful to see you. Simply wonderful!’ Ulster exclaimed.

The duo exchanged worried glances, afraid he’d had a nervous breakdown during the night. Or, at the very least, had finished a few too many cocktails during his flight.

‘You seem, um, chipper … Have you been drinking?’ Jones asked.

Ulster roared with laughter. ‘Nothing stronger than coffee. Although I must admit I was tempted to drown my sorrows after your call.’

‘Not my call. His call. If you’re going to shoot the messenger, shoot Jon.’

Ulster grinned and patted Payne on his shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, my boy, you are safe from repercussions. In fact, my respect for you has never been greater. Only a true friend would have made that call.’

Jones winced at the comment. ‘For the record, I wanted to call you, but he wouldn’t let me. What can I say? He’s selfish that way.’

Ulster smiled. ‘Rest assured, David. I appreciate you equally.’

‘Glad to hear it,’ Jones said, basking in the praise.

Strangely, Payne had remained silent during the entire conversation, struggling to reconcile the cheerful Ulster who stood before him with the depressed one he had been expecting. Obviously something had changed in the last twelve hours, but he didn’t know what.

‘Petr,’ Payne said delicately, ‘please don’t take this the wrong way, because the last thing I want to do is ruin your mood. But why are you so cheerful?’

‘Aren’t I always?’ Ulster asked with a twinkle in his eye.

‘Normally, yes. But you weren’t last night. In fact, you were devastated.’

‘Maybe so, but I’m better now. After we spoke, I had an epiphany.’

‘Really?’ Jones cracked. ‘I smoked one of those things in Amsterdam. Couldn’t feel my teeth for a week.’

Payne ignored the joke, focusing on Ulster. ‘An epiphany about what?’

‘About something you told me.’

‘Care to be more specific?’

Ulster smiled. ‘If it’s okay with you, can I explain once we’re there? In case you haven’t noticed, my body wasn’t built for hiking. And I’d like to get there before Christmas.’

Moving at Ulster’s sloth-like pace, it took them twice as long to reach the bunker as it had the day before. Despite the cool morning air and the shade from the trees, Ulster was oozing so much sweat when they reached the site that he had to wring out his shirt. Thankfully, he had packed some extra clothes with the rest of his supplies – which included a laptop, a digital camera and a toolkit filled with archaeological equipment – and was able to change his shirt before he thanked Kaiser, whom he had never met before, with a massive bear hug.

After helping Ulster down the ladder, Payne led him to the back chamber where the crates had been stored for several decades. As a historian, Ulster viewed the site differently than Payne and Jones. Growing up near Germany, Ulster had toured dozens of Nazi bunkers over the years, so he knew what to expect and what didn’t belong.

At first glance he realized one important element was missing.

‘Where are the swastikas? There should be swastikas.’

‘Sorry,’ Jones joked. ‘We didn’t have time to decorate.’

Ulster moved about the room, studying the walls. ‘The Nazis were big proponents of symbolism. They marked everything they got their hands on. Obviously the swastika was their main symbol, but they had many others. The Reichsadler was a black eagle. The Wolfsangel, or wolf’s hook, came from the Black Forest. And the SS insignia looked like two side-by-side lightning bolts. If this place was built by the Nazis, they would have branded it in some way.’

Kaiser shook his head. ‘I found nothing like that.’

‘I’m glad. We don’t want to find any Nazi symbols.’

‘What about the crates? Wouldn’t they be marked?’

‘Without a doubt. As I said, they branded everything – including people.’

The comment hung in the air like a black cloud, nearly as palpable as the stench from the outer chamber. Even though Payne, Jones and Kaiser had served in the military, none of them could fully comprehend the death and destruction of World War Two. It had swept across Europe like a deadly wave, leaving absolute destruction in its wake.

‘So,’ Payne said, trying to lighten the mood, ‘tell us about your epiphany.’

Ulster smiled. ‘I was wondering when you’d bring that up. Fortunately, this is the perfect time to discuss it. Please, if you don’t mind, can you show me the open crate?’

Payne walked into the right-hand corner and held his flashlight above the van Gogh crate. During the night, the lid had been closed to protect the paintings inside. ‘It’s this one here.’

Ulster reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of XXL latex gloves that he had to stretch and pull over his chubby fingers. When he was done, he looked like a surgeon ready to operate. ‘When you told me about this crate, I initially panicked. Not only was I familiar with the paintings, but I knew all of them had been lost during World War Two.’

Ulster paused for a moment while he opened the crate. Just as Payne had promised, the underbelly of the lid had been marked with the Ulster coat of arms. Even though he had been expecting to see it, its presence still took his breath away.

Jones cleared his throat. ‘Go on.’

Ulster blinked a few times. ‘Wait, where was I?’

‘You were talking about the paintings.’

Ulster handed the lid to Jones, and then thumbed through the canvases in the crate. ‘Late last night, once I had a chance to ruminate a bit, I realized something crucial about one painting in particular.’

‘Which one?’ Kaiser wondered.

Ulster pulled out the masterpiece and held it in the air. As he did, he admired its beauty. ‘Still Life: Vase with Five Sunflowers, painted by Vincent van Gogh in August 1888.’

Kaiser nodded. That matched the information he had learned from one of his sources. ‘Supposedly it was destroyed by fire in an air raid, way back in 1945.’

‘That is true,’ Ulster admitted. ‘But you’ve omitted the most important part of the story – at least as it pertains to my family. Where did this bombing occur?’

Kaiser shrugged. ‘I have absolutely no idea.’

Ulster grinned. ‘Ashiya, Japan.’

Payne furrowed his brow. ‘Did you say Japan?’

Ulster nodded. ‘It was owned by a Japanese industrialist.’

‘If that’s the case, how did the Nazis get their hands on it?’

Ulster grinned even wider. ‘Who said they did?’

14

Silence filled the back chamber as they waited for Ulster’s explanation, each of them wondering how a painting from Japan, believed to be destroyed in World War Two, had ended up in a secret bunker in Bavaria. Anxious to clear his grandfather’s name, Ulster explained: ‘Even though Germany and Japan were Axis powers, their relationship was based on a common enemy and little else. Other than a few diplomats stationed near Tokyo, there weren’t many Nazis in the Far East. Ground troops were far more valuable in Europe.’

Payne, who had a great understanding of the war from his Naval Academy education, nodded in agreement. ‘Japan wanted to control the Pacific. Germany wanted to conquer everything else. Their alliance was one of convenience, nothing more.’

‘If that’s the case, how did the painting end up here?’ Kaiser asked.

Ulster returned the masterpiece to the crate before he answered. ‘Towards the end of the war, Japan was repeatedly warned about an Allied super-weapon, capable of wiping out an entire city in a single blast. Fearing the destruction of their most important treasures, members of the Japanese upper class scrambled to protect their assets. Those who doubted the rumours hid their heirlooms in basements and bank vaults, more concerned about invading troops than atomic bombs. But those who believed the stories about the bomb made arrangements with men like my grandfather who were willing to protect their treasures until after the war.’

Payne grimaced. ‘Why didn’t you mention that last night?’

‘Why? Because I didn’t have any proof. Over the years, I’ve heard dozens of stories about my grandfather’s escape to Switzerland in the early 1930s. I know he returned to northern Austria and southern Germany a few years later and helped many of his friends get to safety, leading them through the Alps to evade Nazi patrols. According to my father, the people who made the journey weren’t allowed to bring anything with them except the most basic supplies. Everything else – heirlooms, artwork, jewellery – was stashed before they left.’ Ulster glanced around the bunker, wondering how something so large had been built without detection. ‘That’s what this place was for. To protect the treasures that were left behind.’

Payne rubbed his eyes, still not understanding Ulster’s happiness. As far as he could tell, they still faced a major uphill battle to clear his family’s name. ‘Please forgive my scepticism, but where’s your proof? Right now all we have is a crate filled with artwork that may or may not have been looted by your grandfather and fifty other crates filled with God knows what. Obviously I’m on your side and willing to give your family the benefit of the doubt, but the rest of the world is going to require a lot more evidence than a few anecdotes from the war.’

Ulster smiled, hoping to ease his concerns. ‘I couldn’t agree more.’

‘Really? Then why are you so damn happy?’

‘As I mentioned earlier, I lacked tangible evidence at the time of your call, but things have since changed. Fearing the worst, I spent the entire night going through my grandfather’s papers, searching for anything that had to do with Japan. Early this morning, about an hour before my departure, I stumbled across a folder filled with correspondence from the rightful owner of the van Gogh. Suffice it to say, my grandfather was named legal guardian of the painting way back in 1945, and he figured out a way to smuggle it overseas. Once my lawyers sort through the paperwork, we will formally return the painting to Japan.’

‘Hold up,’ Payne growled. ‘That doesn’t make any sense. Why would someone smuggle a work of art into Nazi Germany? That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.’

Ulster laughed. ‘I thought the same thing until I read through the correspondence. Towards the end of the war, most Japanese shipping lanes were blocked by Allied troops, so there was very little getting in or out of the country. That is, except for a distribution channel from Tokyo to Munich controlled by the Nazis. Apparently, this was how German diplomats and their supplies were ferried back and forth between Europe and the Far East. I’m not sure who thought of it – whether it was my grandfather or the man who owned the van Gogh – but they forged Nazi paperwork and used their route to get the painting out of Japan.’

‘That’s awesome,’ said Jones, who loved hearing stories about the war, especially when the Nazis were made to look like fools. ‘What happened then?’

‘If you look at a map, this bunker is between Munich and the Austrian border. If I had to guess, my grandfather didn’t want to subject the artefacts to an arduous trip across the Alps, so he stored them here. Sadly, he must’ve passed away before he had the chance to retrieve them.’

Kaiser pointed towards the open crate. ‘What do you know about the other van Goghs? Did you find their paperwork, too?’

‘To be honest, I didn’t have time to look. The paperwork from Japan stood out to me because it was so different from all the others. Once I get back to the Archives, I’m sure I’ll find documentation for all of the other artefacts – now that I know what to search for.’

‘And what if you don’t?’ Payne asked.

A look of determination filled Ulster’s face. ‘If I don’t, I’ll use every source I have to track down the names of the rightful owners. Thanks to my grandfather, these artefacts have survived the war. The least I can do is honour his memory and finish what he started.’

Driving a black SUV with German plates, the man pulled onto the grass near the side of the road and rolled down his tinted window. For the fourth day in a row, a helicopter had landed in the open field near the base of Zugspitze, the peak that towered above Garmisch-Partenkirchen. But unlike the previous trips, this chopper had arrived from the south.

More curious than alarmed, he grabbed the binoculars from his passenger seat and studied the strange scene at the foot of the mountain. No people. No trucks. No movement of any kind. Just a luxury helicopter sitting in the middle of a pasture, less than twenty feet from an unmarked trail. During the ski season, he was used to the uber-wealthy flying into town to enjoy the Olympic-quality ski slopes, but he had never seen this much activity in September. Obviously, something unusual was going on. But he didn’t know what.

Zooming in on the tail number, he hoped to determine the helicopter’s country of origin. From his time in the military, he knew every rotorcraft registered in Germany started with the letter D, followed by a hyphen and four additional letters. Yet this designation was different. Not only did two letters (HB) precede the hyphen, but three letters followed it. Although the 2-3 structure was fairly common around the world, he didn’t recognize the first two letters.

‘HB,’ he mumbled to himself. ‘Where in the hell is HB?’

After jotting the five-letter code into his notebook, he pulled out his phone and called an associate who worked in customs at Berlin Tegel Airport, the largest international airport in Germany. His friend had access to the aircraft registration database and was willing to look up tail numbers for the promise of a free beer. All things considered, it was money well spent. For the price of the first round, he would learn the name and address of the helicopter’s owner. From there, he would be able to determine if this situation was worth pursuing.

That is, if this was even a situation.

Because right now it was just a helicopter in a field.

15

Halogen lights, powered by a portable generator that purred in the outer chamber, lit the back room like the afternoon sun. Within seconds, the temperature started to rise in the confined space. Not wanting to sweat like Ulster on their hike up the mountain, Payne removed his long-sleeved shirt and threw it into the corner, anxious to begin the next phase of their journey.

Using its rope handles, Jones and Kaiser carried a three-foot-square crate to the centre of the room where Payne waited with a crowbar. Muscles bulging against his undershirt, Payne slid the bar under the lid and popped it open with a mere flick of his wrists.

The feel of iron in his hands and the rumble of a distant motor reminded him of his teenage years in Pittsburgh. While most of his friends earned money by cutting grass or working the roller coasters at Kennywood Park, he had spent his summers slaving away in the brutal heat of his family’s factories. According to his grandfather, what better way to learn the business than from the bottom up? Picked on by all the union workers, his shifts were so long and gruelling it made his Plebe year at the academy seem easy by comparison.

Yet looking back on it, he wouldn’t have changed a thing.

Those summers had hardened him like steel.

Tossing the crowbar aside, Payne eased his fingers under the lid and carefully removed it. Like the van Gogh crate, the underbelly of the lid had been branded with the Ulster family crest. The guardian eagle looked particularly fierce in the glow of the halogen lights, as if the bird was furious about being sealed inside a box for more than sixty years. But none of the men – not even Ulster himself – cared about the coat of arms. Instead, their attention was focused solely on the contents of the crate. Eager to glimpse what was inside, the four of them crowded round the box like hungry orphans opening their only present on Christmas morning. Expecting to find famous paintings or fancy jewellery, they were crushed to discover a crate filled with nothing but old books and a stack of documents all written in German.

To Jones, it was the equivalent of receiving an ugly reindeer sweater instead of the video game he had been hoping for. ‘What the fuck? We flew all the way from America, and this box is filled with homework.’

Payne and Kaiser said nothing, but they were thinking the same thing.

Meanwhile, Ulster bent over the crate, hoping to determine why these items had been stored in a protective bunker since World War Two. Still wearing his latex gloves, he picked up the first object that caught his eye – a decorative, leather-bound journal embossed with Conrad Ulster’s initials – and flipped through its weathered pages. Having spent most of the night going through his grandfather’s papers, Ulster instantly recognized the handwriting.

‘What is it?’ Payne wondered.

Ulster shrugged as he scanned the text for clues. ‘Obviously I’ve never seen it before, but it definitely belonged to my grandfather. I think it’s some kind of daily log.’

Payne stared at Ulster. ‘Like a diary?’

‘Somewhat, but not really.’

‘Well, that narrows it down,’ Jones cracked.

Ulster glanced up at them to explain. ‘It has the structure of a diary – dozens of dated entries over a period of two or three years – yet it’s lacking personal reflection of any kind. Instead, it’s filled with a series of clinical observations, as if he was systematically searching for something in the surrounding hills. Unfortunately, I don’t know what he was looking for because most of his entries appear to be written in code.’

Jones took a guess. ‘Maybe he was looking for Hogzilla. I bet that fucker was alive back then. Probably got that big by eating Nazis.’

Payne rolled his eyes. ‘Why do you say stuff like that?’

Jones shrugged. ‘I get bored easily. Plus, I like pissing you off.’

‘Well, it’s working.’

He grinned. ‘I can tell.’

Payne took a deep breath, trying to remember why Jones was his best friend. At that particular moment, nothing came to mind. ‘If you’re that bored, why don’t you go and open the next crate? The sooner we know what we’re dealing with, the better.’

‘But do so carefully. There’s no telling what’s in here,’ Ulster pleaded.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle,’ Jones assured him as he walked towards the back corner. ‘And unlike some people I know, I won’t have to take off my shirt to use a crowbar.’

Payne glanced at Kaiser. ‘Please do me a favour and help him out. The only physical labour he’s performed all year involved Internet porn and a box of tissues.’

‘I heard that,’ Jones yelled from the back of the room.

Fighting a smile, Payne apologized to Ulster. ‘Anyway, what were you saying?’

‘If you give me a while, I might be able to put the code into some kind of context based on the other documents in this crate. But for all I know, it might be a total waste of time. He could have been charting Nazi patrols or planning a future escape.’

‘It’s not a waste of time.’

‘I meant in terms of finding additional treasure.’

‘Listen,’ Payne said as he crouched next to Ulster, ‘as far as I’m concerned, protecting your family name is the number-one priority here. Do whatever you need to do. If that means digging through this crate and looking for information, you have my blessing.’

Ulster stared at the journal in his hands. For as long as he could remember, he had hoped to discover a detailed account of his grandfather’s exploits during World War Two. Over the years, he had heard many rumours from secondary sources, but nothing had been supported by fact. Now, after all this time, he might have found the mother lode. As far as his family was concerned, the book in his hand was far more valuable than a crate filled with van Goghs.

‘Maybe for a little while,’ Ulster said sheepishly. ‘But please let me know if you need my assistance. I’ll be happy to answer any questions, particularly involving my grandfather.’

‘Jon,’ Jones called from the back of the room.

Payne signalled for him to wait. He would be there shortly. ‘The same goes for you. If you need anything, just let me know. Remember, we’re here for you, not for the treasure.’

‘Jon,’ Jones called a little bit louder, ‘you should see this.’

Payne growled in frustration. ‘In a minute. I’m talking to Petr.’

Ulster shooed him away. ‘Go! Tend to David. He needs you more than I. For the time being, I have everything I need: a box of books and my grandfather’s journal. I couldn’t be happier.’

Payne smiled, glad that everything had worked out for Ulster. He knew how much time and energy Ulster had put into the Archives and realized how quickly it would have fallen apart if his grandfather had conspired with the Nazis. Thankfully, that did not seem to be the case. Now Payne could shift his focus to the rest of the crates. If, as they expected, the crates were filled with heirlooms that had been hidden from the Nazis, Payne would love nothing more than to return them to the rightful owners. That simple act would make his entire year.

‘Jon!’ Jones yelled. ‘You need to see this now.’

Still annoyed by Jones’s earlier behaviour, Payne was tempted to make him wait another few minutes out of spite, but the urgency in his friend’s voice told him it was important.

‘What’s wrong?’ Payne grumbled.

Jones said nothing. He simply handed the lid that had been pried off the third crate to Payne, who immediately recognized that it was different. Unlike the first two, the underbelly of this lid did not have the Ulster family crest. Instead, the ancient wood had been branded with an elaborate black swan. Its wings spread wide, its neck twisted to the side as if it was looking for a predator that might be gaining on it.

Kaiser whispered. ‘Remember what Petr said. The Nazis marked everything. Admittedly, I’ve never seen this symbol before, but what if this was one of theirs?’

Payne glanced over his shoulder, paranoid. The last thing he wanted to do was ruin Ulster’s mood, unless it was completely necessary. ‘What if it was? For all we know, Conrad found one of their crates and used it to store his belongings. Remember, a war was going on. Supplies were in high demand. People used everything they could get their hands on.’

‘Trust me, it’s not that simple,’ Jones assured him.

‘It’s not? How can you be so sure?’

Jones grimaced and pointed towards the crate. ‘Go see for yourself.’

16

Although his journey was a short one, every step that Payne took was filled with dread, as if he were a convicted felon heading towards the gallows. Time seemed to slow as he approached the crate, giving him a chance to envision all the horrendous possibilities that might be inside. He realized the contents had spooked Jones and Kaiser, two men who didn’t spook easily.

Still, he hadn’t been expecting anything like this.

The crate was packed with several rows of gold bars that glowed like the legendary city of El Dorado, thanks to the bright light of the halogen lamps. Each bar weighed 5,000 grams (approximately 11 pounds) and had been carefully stamped with the elaborate swan symbol that had been branded onto the lid. Payne had no idea what or whom the swan represented, but it was pretty obvious that money hadn’t been a problem – at least until the gold had disappeared.

‘Shit,’ Payne mumbled under his breath. ‘This isn’t good.’

‘No, it’s not,’ Jones whispered. ‘Not good at all.’

During their time in the MANIACs, they had discovered thirty crates of gold bars in a bunker outside Baghdad. The treasure, plundered from a royal palace, had been hidden by an Iraqi diplomat who had tried, in vain, to smuggle it across the border. Realizing the roads were patrolled by American troops, he had buried the cache in the desert, planning to return a few years later after tensions had calmed. But much to the diplomat’s chagrin, Payne and Jones had uncovered the bunker before the Iraqi had a chance to claim his plunder.

In retrospect, it was the first treasure the duo had ever found.

Payne grabbed one of the bars from the crate. It felt like a brick in his hand. Using his body to shield it from Ulster, he flipped it over and searched for additional markings but saw none. ‘What do you know about Nazi gold?’

Jones whispered, ‘Do you want facts or myths?’

‘Both.’

‘In simple terms, Nazi Germany financed its war effort by looting its victims. Most of the assets were stored in regional depositories that were heavily guarded. When the Nazis needed a large influx of currency, they cashed in the gold at dozens of financial institutions in Europe – including the Vatican Bank and the Franciscan Order. That is, if you believe the civil suits filed by Holocaust survivors.’ Jones made sure Ulster wasn’t listening before he continued. ‘Now this is where things get complicated. After the war, most of these accounts miraculously disappeared. I’m talking here today, gone tomorrow. Some people believe the gold was stolen by the upper class and hidden in vaults, much like the gold we found in Iraq. Others speculate that only the paperwork was destroyed, that the depositories themselves are still waiting to be found. Personally, I’m not sure what to believe. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s a combination of the two. Some gold was stolen, and the rest got lost in the shuffle.’

Payne held up the bar. ‘What about this gold?’

Jones struggled for words, not wanting to condemn a man he had never met – especially the grandfather of one of his friends. ‘For the time being, the best thing we can do is figure out the meaning of the swan. For all we know, it might be something innocuous, like the crest of one of the families that Conrad smuggled out of the country. Maybe he was storing this gold for them.’

‘And if he wasn’t?’ Kaiser asked, worried about the repercussions.

‘If he wasn’t, we’ll have some tough choices to make,’ Jones said.

Payne glanced at Ulster, who was so focused on his grandfather’s journal he was oblivious to everything going on in the back of the room. ‘As much as I hate to do this, I have to ask Petr about the swan. He knows more about history than the three of us combined. It would be foolish to leave him out of the loop just to spare his feelings.’

Jones grimaced at the task. ‘Do you want me to join you?’

Payne shook his head. Things would go smoother if he did it alone. ‘While I talk to Petr, open some more crates. Hopefully, you’ll find something that explains the gold.’

‘Such as?’

‘A receipt would be nice. Preferably one without a swastika.’

Jones leaned closer. ‘I know people who could forge one.’

‘So do I,’ Kaiser admitted.

Payne winced at the suggestion. ‘Guys, I was kidding. We’re not forging a receipt.’

‘Of course not,’ Jones said in a less than convincing tone. ‘Wouldn’t even think of it.’

Kaiser didn’t blink or smile. ‘I was serious.’

Back when Kaiser was starting his operation, one of the first people he hired was a world-class forger who specialized in visas and passports. Not only was he an expert on ink, paper, and handwriting, but he also had a unique perspective since he used to be a border guard at the Berlin Wall so he knew what would be looked for. In recent years, the forger’s son had entered the family business, but unlike his father, he specialized in artwork and older documents.

Payne smirked. He was quite familiar with Kaiser’s services. ‘Although I appreciate the offer, both of us know that’s not the best way to go.’

‘I never said it was. I’m just letting you know it’s an option.’

‘Thanks, but no thanks,’ Payne said, trying to distance himself from the topic. ‘But if you think of something legal, be sure to let us know.’

Mueller’s assistant answered the encrypted satellite phone in the front seat of the Mercedes Benz limousine. The custom-built car had more safety features than the Popemobile. Armour-plated doors, bulletproofed, non-splinter, multi-layered windows, a fuel-tank safety system, run-flat tyres, and a remote starting system that could be activated from a distance of 300 metres – just in case an explosive device had been wired to the ignition. To some people, equipment like this would be overkill. But in Mueller’s line of work, it was essential.

He made enemies every day, and most of them were criminals.

Gazing at the Binnenalster, one of two artificial lakes in Hamburg, Mueller sipped his morning coffee in the back of the limo while pondering his hectic schedule. Rarely awake before noon since most of his business was done at night, he wasn’t in the mood to speak to anyone except the arms dealer he was about to meet in the park. If all went well, Mueller would make seven figures before lunch.

‘Sir,’ said his assistant over the intercom system, ‘there’s a call for you.’

Annoyed by the interruption, Mueller jabbed the button. ‘Who is it?’

‘It’s Krueger. He has news from Bavaria.’

Mueller nodded his approval. Krueger was a trusted worker who wouldn’t call unless it was important. ‘Fine. Give him to me.’

With a flip of a switch, the soundproof partition behind the front seat was lowered. After handing the phone to his boss, the assistant raised the partition to its original position.

Mueller spoke to Krueger in German. ‘Yes?’

‘My apologies, sir. Sorry to disturb you so early.’

‘What is it?’

‘Over the past few days, I’ve noticed some unusual activity in Garmisch-Partenkirchen. The type of activity that might interest you.’

‘Define unusual.’

‘Helicopters, sir. Both coming and going to the foot of Zugspitze.’

Mueller stroked his chin in thought. ‘Probably just a lost hiker. Nothing to be alarmed about.’

Krueger demurely disagreed. ‘I thought the same thing at first, but this morning’s chopper was more luxurious than the others. Just to be safe, I ran its tail number.’

‘And?’

‘It’s definitely not a rescue craft. This helicopter arrived from Switzerland.’

‘Switzerland?’ Mueller’s interest was piqued. ‘Did you learn the name of the owner?’

Krueger nodded. ‘The chopper belongs to Petr Ulster.’

‘Ulster?’ he said, trying to place the name. ‘Why is that so familiar?’

Krueger smiled. ‘Because he owns the Ulster Archives.’

17

Wanting to learn as much about the swan symbol as possible, Payne showed Ulster the back of the lid instead of one of the gold bars. He figured it would be less shocking that way. But as soon as Ulster saw the symbol, he snapped to attention.

‘Where did you find this?’ Ulster demanded.

‘Why? Do you recognize it?’

‘Of course I recognize it. It’s the black swan!’

Payne furrowed his brow. ‘Which is?’

‘Which is this!’ Ulster said as he repeatedly tapped the lid.

‘Yeah, I kind of figured that out. I meant, what does it represent?’

‘Please, help me to my feet.’

Payne grabbed his hand and easily yanked him up.

‘Now, where did you find this? Show me at once!’

‘About that,’ Payne said, reluctant to break the potentially bad news. ‘I should prepare you for what you’re about to see. You’re not going to like it.’

‘I’m not?’

Payne shook his head. ‘Nope.’

Ulster lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘Is the crate filled with treasure?’

Payne nodded. ‘Dozens of gold bars.’

Ulster whooped with glee. ‘Brilliant! Just brilliant! I knew the rumours were true!’

Payne blinked a few times. ‘Rumours? What rumours? About your grandfather?’

‘My grandfather?’ he asked, confused. ‘Of course not! I’m talking about Ludwig.’

‘Ludwig? Who in the hell is Ludwig? I thought your grandfather’s name was Conrad.’

‘My grandfather’s name was Conrad. But I’m talking about Ludwig!’

Payne shook his head, completely baffled. Not only about Ulster’s excitement, but also about Ludwig – whoever that was. ‘Hold up! Tell me what you’re talking about.’

‘In a moment. First, show me where you found this.’

Payne led Ulster to the crate of gold, where they were greeted by Jones and Kaiser. Having heard the commotion on the other side of the chamber, Jones was ready to console Ulster, but one look at his face told him it wasn’t necessary. Ulster was far from distraught.

‘It’s beautiful!’ Ulster grabbed one of the bars and held it up to the light. His smile gleamed as he ran his fingers over the stamp. ‘And look! It has the mark of the swan!’

Payne met his gaze and shrugged. The term meant nothing to him.

Undeterred, Ulster glanced at Jones and Kaiser, expecting to see a glint of recognition in their eyes. But they stared at him as though he was speaking a foreign language.

Ulster continued. ‘Don’t you know what this is? It’s an explanation!’

‘An explanation?’ Payne asked.

Ulster nodded. ‘An explanation of my grandfather’s journal.’

Payne grimaced, getting more and more confused. ‘Speaking of explanations …’

‘Yes, of course, how silly of me! Here I am rambling on and on about the black swan, yet it’s painfully obvious that none of you know what I’m talking about.’ Ulster pointed at Jones. ‘Although I must admit, I thought you might get the reference.’

Jones winced. ‘Why? Because I’m black?’

Ulster blushed at the insinuation. ‘Good heavens, no! I meant because you’re a history buff, not because you’re, um …’

‘Relax, Petr! I was just teasing.’

Ulster breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Thank goodness! I thought perhaps I had offended you.’

‘Of course not,’ said Jones, who had a history of teasing everyone. ‘To answer your question, I’m not familiar with the black swan.’

Ulster turned towards Kaiser. ‘What about you? You’ve lived in Germany for a while now. In all that time, you’ve never heard of the black swan?’

‘Nope.’

‘What about the Swan King?’

Kaiser shook his head. ‘Sorry. I’ve been busy.’

Ulster sighed in frustration. ‘Perhaps it’s an American thing. Because children in Europe are taught about the Swan King in primary school.’

Jones raised his voice. ‘Wait! Now you’re making fun of America?’

Payne rolled his eyes. This was going nowhere. ‘DJ, please shut the hell up and let Petr talk. You know damn well he wasn’t insulting you. Or America.’

Jones grinned a devious grin. ‘Sorry, Petr. What were you saying?’

Ulster gathered his thoughts, trying to figure out where to begin. Known for his attention to detail and his tendency to digress, he started at the beginning, hoping to give them enough background information for them to understand. ‘When Napoleon abolished the Holy Roman Empire in 1806, Bavaria officially became a kingdom, and Maximilian I was named its king. For the next eighty years, the crown passed from father to son until it was placed on the eighteen-year-old head of Ludwig the Second, a handsome lad who was ill-prepared for the title.’

Payne recognized the name. ‘You mentioned Ludwig earlier.’

Ulster nodded. ‘Known as the Swan King, Ludwig is best remembered for the elaborate stone castles that he built throughout Bavaria – including the legendary Neuschwanstein. The castle is so scenic and grand, it inspired Walt Disney’s design of Sleeping Beauty’s castle at Disneyland. If you haven’t seen Neuschwanstein, you should arrange a tour before you return to the States. It truly is remarkable.’

Familiar with Ulster’s habit of getting off track, Payne steered the conversation back to Ludwig. ‘How did he get the nickname?’

‘Due to his obsession with Lohengrin, a famous character from German folklore who was known as the Swan Knight. If you are familiar with Arthurian legend, you might recognize the name. Lohengrin was the son of Percival, one of the Knights of the Round Table who pursued the Holy Grail. Over the centuries, Lohengrin’s tale has taken many forms and has been translated into many languages. Still, the basic details remain the same. Lohengrin is sent to rescue a maiden in a far-off land, a journey he makes in a cockleshell boat pulled by a magical swan.’

Jones frowned. ‘Did you say a cockleshell boat pulled by a magic swan? Pardon me for saying so, but that’s the gayest thing I’ve ever heard. And that includes Jon’s ringtone.’

Payne rolled his eyes, but didn’t dignify the comment with a response.

Meanwhile, Ulster used the off-colour remark as a teaching moment. ‘I realize you meant it as a joke, but history tells us that Ludwig was one of the most flamboyant rulers of all time. In fact, Ludwig often dressed up in a Swan Knight costume and pranced around the halls of his castle while listening to opera.’

Jones, who was a smartass, not anti-gay, tried to bite his tongue but simply couldn’t. ‘Sorry, fellas, I just changed my mind. That’s the gayest thing I’ve ever heard.’

‘Regardless,’ Ulster said, ‘the costume helps explain why he was called the Swan King. Strangely, the majestic creatures had fascinated him even before he had heard of the Swan Knight. As a small child, he used to draw pictures of swans in his notebooks and on his schoolwork. Later in life, when he ruled Bavaria, he sealed his correspondence with a swan and a cross, a reference to Lohengrin and the Holy Grail. Even his personal crest had a swan on it. I’m telling you, it was an obsession.’

Payne pointed to the symbol on the lid. ‘Is this his personal crest?’

Ulster shook his head and lowered his voice. ‘No, the symbol that you’re holding is known as the black swan, and its history is far more mysterious. Unlike his personal crest, which is celebrated in history books and museums across Germany, the black swan is kept in the shadows, a dark reminder of Ludwig’s final days as king. If you believe the rumours – and most historians do – the symbol in your hands is the reason for Ludwig’s murder.’

18

Born in 1845, Ludwig the Second was the eldest son of King Maximilian the Second of Bavaria and Princess Marie of Prussia. His parents had wanted to name him Otto, but Ludwig I, the deposed king of Bavaria, who was known for his eccentric behaviour, insisted his grandson be named after him since they shared a birthday. In time, Ludwig the Second would be renowned for his own eccentricities.

As a small child, Ludwig despised ugliness. If approached by an unattractive servant, he would cry and refuse to look at the employee. His father tried to change his ways, assigning several ugly servants to wait on the petulant boy, but when his behaviour became a phobia, Ludwig’s staff was made up of the most attractive servants they could find.

Embarrassed by his son’s unusual ways, King Maximilian had little interest in him, except in regards to his training and schooling. For that, he hired private tutors. Realizing that Ludwig would someday be king, Maximilian subjected the crown prince to a demanding regimen of education and exercise, which some experts believe amplified the odd behaviour that had already taken root. Still, as bad as his relationship was with his father, Ludwig was even further detached from his mother, who he coldly referred to as ‘my predecessor’s consort’.

Not surprisingly, it is a term rarely seen on Mother’s Day cards.

Despite his abhorrent behaviour behind the scenes, the Bavarian public fell in love with Ludwig at his father’s funeral which was his first public appearance as king. As a handsome, well-spoken eighteen-year-old, he performed so admirably at the memorial service that word of his composure spread across Europe. Before long, Ludwig was more than a monarch; he was an icon whose public appearances and passion for the arts were even more celebrated than his politics.

One of his first acts as king was to summon composer Richard Wagner to the Royal Palace. Three years earlier, Ludwig had been deeply moved while watching Lohengrin – Wagner’s opera about the Swan Knight, the Holy Grail and a mysterious castle – and had become obsessed with the production. Now that Ludwig was finally in charge of the kingdom, he had the opportunity to reward the composer for all the joy he had brought into his life. Wagner, who was on the run from various creditors, happily accepted the invitation to Munich. The two of them got along so well that Ludwig offered to settle Wagner’s considerable debts and agreed to finance several of his operas with money from the royal coffers.

For a young king barely into his reign, it was a careless mistake.

A mistake he would repeat again and again until he was marked for death.

Payne stared at the black swan symbol on the back of the lid and wondered how it had led to the king’s death. ‘Ludwig was murdered?’

Ulster answered. ‘Officially, no. But logically, yes.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means there was a cover-up of the grandest proportion.’

Payne glanced at his watch. He sensed a long story coming on. ‘Explain.’

Ulster beamed. He loved sharing his knowledge. ‘Ludwig was killed in Berg, less than a hundred miles from here. Though I don’t remember an exact date, I’m fairly certain the year was 1886. Obviously, back then, forensic science was far from sophisticated. Still, the conclusions that the police reached on that night were downright laughable.’

‘In what way?’ Jones asked.

‘Allow me to paint the scene. Ludwig, who wasn’t officially the king at the time of his death since he had been deposed a few days before, decided to take a stroll with his psychiatrist along the shore of Lake Starnberg. When they didn’t return for supper, palace guards conducted a search and found them dead, floating in the nearby shallows. Now, as far as I’m concerned, it doesn’t take a trained criminologist to examine these facts and presume the possibility of foul play. Nevertheless, the authorities ruled otherwise. With nothing but a cursory investigation, conducted under a cloak of darkness, Ludwig’s death was officially ruled as suicide. Furthermore, the doctor’s death was labelled an accidental drowning. They claimed the doctor went into the lake to save Ludwig and lost his life in the process.’

‘How deep was the water?’ Payne asked.

‘Roughly knee high.’

Jones laughed. ‘Were they hobbits? If not, how do you drown in two feet of water?’

‘Good question. Which is why the coroner decided to perform an autopsy – even though the new regime had no intention of changing their official ruling.’

‘And what did he find?’ Jones asked.

‘There was no water in Ludwig’s lungs, so the odds are pretty good he didn’t drown. Meanwhile, the doctor – I believe his name was Gudden – wasn’t so lucky. He had a fractured skull and several scratches on his face, possibly the result of a struggle. But unlike Ludwig, the doctor’s lungs were filled with water. That means he probably did drown.’

Payne scratched his head. ‘If Ludwig didn’t drown, how did he die?’

Ulster shrugged. ‘Poison is a possibility since no injuries were found, but no one knows for sure because the proper tests weren’t allowed. The new regime wanted to distance itself from Ludwig, and the quickest way to accomplish that would be a convenient suicide.’

‘So they killed the king?’ Jones asked.

‘As I mentioned, Ludwig wasn’t officially the king at the time of his death. A few days prior, the Bavarian government had organized a medical commission to declare Ludwig insane. This gave them the authority to remove him from power. Amazingly, the doctor who had the final say in the matter had never met Ludwig before his ruling. Instead, he based his decision on conjecture and hearsay, not a personal examination.’

‘I’m not positive,’ Jones cracked, ‘but I think that goes against the Hippocratic oath.’

‘Don’t worry, David. The doctor ultimately got punished for his sins.’

‘How? Did they revoke his license?’

‘Actually, they revoked his life. He was murdered next to Ludwig.’

Jones smirked. ‘Really? It was the same doctor?’

Kaiser laughed at the irony. ‘Karma’s a bitch, ain’t it?’

‘More importantly,’ Ulster concluded, ‘it was the perfect way for the new regime to tie up loose ends. What’s that expression: killing two birds with one stone. Not only did they kill the rightful king, but they murdered the man who had effectively ended his reign.’

Payne rubbed his neck in thought, trying to remember how they had got onto this topic to begin with. That was the trouble with Petr Ulster. He knew so much and his stories were filled with so many details that it was tough to separate the wheat from the chaff. Thankfully, on this occasion, Ulster’s ‘bird’ metaphor helped to jumpstart Payne’s memory.

‘Speaking of birds, what does the black swan have to do with this?’

Ulster grinned, as if he suddenly remembered the point he had been trying to make. ‘During the course of his twenty-two-year reign, Ludwig quickly went through his family’s fortune. Whether donating large sums of money to the arts or giving lavish gifts to peasants he had met during his travels, Ludwig lived an extravagant life, one filled with luxury and indulgence. After a while, his spending was so out of control – particularly in the realm of architecture – that his advisors begged him to stop. They feared personal bankruptcy. But the eccentric king lived in a dream world, one in which his wishes were granted. As I mentioned earlier, Neuschwanstein is Ludwig’s most famous castle, a Romanesque fortress that looks like it was pulled off the pages of a fairytale, yet it was far from his most ambitious project. During a ten-year span, Ludwig built or planned over a dozen castles, including a few that would have made Neuschwanstein look like a cottage.’

‘Go on,’ Payne said, still waiting for his answer.

‘Towards the end of his reign, Ludwig started borrowing money from royal families across Europe. Not to pay back the fourteen million marks that he already owed, but to continue moving forward with his personal projects. Dreading the reaction of his finance ministers, Ludwig considered firing his entire cabinet and replacing them with yes-men. Ultimately he decided a mass firing would be attacked by the media, and the last thing he wanted to do was to lose the adulation of his citizens. So he opted to go in a different direction. Desperately broke but unwilling to stop his spending, he hatched a plan to find money from other sources. And let me assure you, it was crazier than Ludwig himself.’

Payne arched an eyebrow. ‘What was the plan?’

Ulster grinned. ‘He created the black swan.’

19

To this day, Ludwig is beloved throughout Bavaria. They still refer to him as unser kini, which means ‘our king’ in the Bavarian dialect. Ironically, Ludwig wasn’t a people person. He was a borderline recluse who spent most of his time in seclusion, whether at his home in the Alps or at one of his many palaces.

By most accounts, Ludwig was a strange man whose odd behaviour slowly worsened over time. Whether he was insane or eccentric at the time of his death depended on who was asked. Early in his reign, his conduct was considered peculiar but relatively harmless. For instance, his hair had to be curled every morning, or he wouldn’t eat his food – even if his favourite meal was served. A lover of animals, Ludwig once invited his favourite grey mare to dinner and insisted her food be served in the dining hall on the palace’s finest crockery. Not surprisingly, the horse ate the meal, then proceeded to smash everything to bits.

As early as 1868 – less than five years into his reign – Ludwig had become nocturnal. This wouldn’t have been an issue if he had worked the late shift at a factory, but it was problematic as king. On most days, he woke up at 7 p.m., had lunch at midnight, and enjoyed dinner around daybreak. When he was in Munich – a city he despised because he hated politics and felt as though he was under a microscope at all time – he spent many nights riding in circles at the court riding school. He picked a random city where he would rather be (for example, Berlin), then he calculated how many laps he had to ride in order to cover the equivalent distance. While imagining the journey, he would often stop at the halfway point to enjoy a picnic. Then he would pack everything up and continue riding until he reached his imaginary destination.

As a well-known pacifist, Ludwig was considered one of the worst military leaders in history. He referred to his officers as ‘clipped hedgehog heads’, and when he saw a tired-looking sentry outside his residence, he would order a sofa brought out to him. Despite his aversion to war, Ludwig thought he looked exceptionally handsome in his military uniform, so he wore it often. When he did, he liked having imaginary conversations with famous generals.

Unfortunately, this type of behaviour became more common towards the end. A strong believer in reincarnation, Ludwig once signed a letter ‘Louis’ and added ‘of our fifth reign’, possibly believing he used to be the king of France. Sometimes his servants would enter the dining hall and hear him having imaginary conversations with members of the French court. His admiration of Marie Antoinette was so extreme he had a statue of her placed on one of his terraces. Anytime he passed it, he would take off his hat and gently stroke her cheek. On occasion, he also liked to dress up as Louis XIV, who was known for his exaggerated walking style. In an attempt to imitate him, Ludwig would throw his leg out as far as he could reach, and then he would slam his foot down as if squashing a bug. He would repeat this process again and again, his footsteps echoing in the palace as he moved across the floor like a spastic giraffe.

Nevertheless, in spite of his antics, his enemies wouldn’t have acted so decisively if Ludwig’s biggest sin had been his eccentricities. As peculiar as he was, his behaviour probably would have been overlooked since it had never threatened the future of Bavaria.

But everything changed when he created the black swan.

Ulster explained. ‘One of the reasons Ludwig was such a popular ruler was because he never used government funds to build any of his castles. Instead, he drained his family fortune, spending hundreds of millions of marks on his projects. Ironically, even though it wasn’t his intent, Ludwig’s indulgence actually stimulated the Bavarian economy. Not only did he create thousands of jobs for labourers, but his money slowly trickled throughout the region, one peasant at a time. For many years, the only group that had a valid complaint about Ludwig’s spending habits was his family. After all, he was wasting their inheritance. But as luck would have it, he had only one sibling – his younger brother, Otto – and he was even crazier than Ludwig.’

‘Yeah,’ Jones joked, ‘how lucky can one guy get?’

Ulster instantly regretted his choice of words. ‘Obviously I didn’t mean he was blessed to have a crazy sibling. I meant lucky in terms of the hereditary monarchy. If Otto, his next of kin and potential successor, had been the least bit ambitious, he would have fought for Ludwig’s crown much earlier. And if he had won it, he would have controlled the purse strings. However, since Otto had been declared insane in 1875 – well before Ludwig had gone into debt and started borrowing large piles of money from outside sources – there was no one willing to challenge his authority. Not until he went too far.’

‘Let me guess,’ Payne said. ‘You’re talking about the black swan.’

Ulster nodded. ‘When the royal coffers began to run dry, Ludwig tried to raise funds for his projects through legal means. He asked the Bavarian finance minister to arrange a loan of seven and a half million marks from a consortium of German banks, which temporarily kept him afloat. But Ludwig realized the money wouldn’t last long, especially at the rate he was spending it. With that in mind, he went to the drawing board – literally went to the drawing board with a quill and ink – and designed the black swan. As you can see, Ludwig was a talented artist. He figured if he was going to start an organization, he might as well have some fun with it.’

Payne glanced at the symbol on the lid. Admittedly, it did have a certain flair. ‘What type of organization are you talking about?’

‘The secret kind.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning he didn’t want people to know about it.’

Payne growled softly. ‘Believe it or not, I know what secret means. I meant, what was the function of the organization?’

‘Sorry,’ Ulster said, blushing. He was so excited about the discovery, he was rambling more than usual. ‘Ludwig’s goal was to acquire funds through illicit means.’

Kaiser laughed. ‘He became a thief? That’s awesome!’

Jones was tempted to tease Kaiser, then thought better of it.

Ulster shook his head. ‘Not a thief, per se. More like the head of a new syndicate. Ludwig hatched a series of crazy schemes, then recruited his most loyal followers to carry them out. Unfortunately, most of his men realized that Ludwig was bonkers, so they only pretended to follow his orders – often with comic results.’

‘Such as?’ Jones asked.

Ulster thought of a good example. ‘After being turned down for a loan by a Rothschild bank, Ludwig decided to steal the money instead. Realizing his men might be recognized in Munich, he sent a group of his servants to Frankfurt to rob a bank there. Not soldiers, mind you, but servants – cooks, butlers, stable boys and the like. Obviously these men had no intention of robbing a bank, but all of them wanted a free vacation. With that in mind, the group went to Frankfurt for a few days where they spent plenty of the king’s money. Eventually they returned home empty-handed. When asked about their lack of success, they claimed they had been this close to finishing the job but a last-minute glitch had prevented it.’

Payne, Jones, and Kaiser laughed. It sounded like the plot of a bad movie.

‘So,’ Payne guessed, ‘the government caught wind of these crazy schemes and decided to remove Ludwig before he did irreparable damage to the crown.’

‘Actually, no. The servants didn’t want to be punished – or ruin a good thing – so most of these stories didn’t surface until long after Ludwig had been murdered.’

‘Really? Then what got him in trouble?’ Payne asked.

Ulster pointed at the gold. ‘Rumours about the black swan.’

20

Unlike some historians who refused to offer an opinion about anything until every fact had been collected and studied ad nauseam, Ulster tended to develop theories on the wing. Sometimes that resulted in a rambling monologue that went on for ever, but Payne and Jones had been around him enough to understand his process. For Ulster, talking about the subject matter was the key. As he painted the scene for others, pieces of the puzzle fell into place in his own mind.

‘Nine months before his murder,’ Ulster explained, ‘Ludwig summoned the best horsemen in his kingdom to Linderhof – one of his castles – and asked them to deliver a series of letters across Europe. To escape detection, the riders were sent on their journeys in the dead of night. According to a witness who worked in the stables, each of the documents had been sealed in advance, and each had been stamped with an elaborate black swan. Other than that, not much is known about their mysterious quest. No one knows what the letters said, where they were sent, or if they were actually delivered.’

‘Why didn’t someone ask the riders?’ Payne asked.

‘Why? Because the riders never returned.’

‘None of them?’

Ulster shook his head. ‘No one knows if they were shot, captured, or ordered to stay away.’

‘That’s bizarre,’ Jones said. He was familiar with Ludwig and his castles, but he had never heard about the black swan.

‘Trust me,’ Ulster assured them, ‘it gets even stranger. The very next night, Ludwig disappeared – simply vanished without a trace for roughly thirty-six hours. No one knew if he had been kidnapped, killed or lost in the nearby woods. Obviously, it was a scary time for his advisors. Not wanting to start a panic and not wanting to give his opposition any ammunition, they decided to keep things quiet until they figured out where he was. Slowly but surely, they began to understand what had happened. In the middle of the night, Ludwig had snuck out of Linderhof – past a team of armed guards – and departed for Schachen, a small palace less than five miles from here. For some reason, he wanted to be left alone for a week.’

Ulster paused to gather his thoughts. ‘Once he was found, his advisors were relieved. With Ludwig on vacation, they could spin his departure any way they wanted. At least until rumours started to spread about the midnight horsemen and the mysterious letters. Worried that Ludwig had hatched another crazy scheme, they decided to pay him a surprise visit to see what he was plotting. When they got there, he was covered in dirt – as though he had been working in the fields all day. They asked him what he had been doing, but he refused to say.’

‘Any theories?’ Payne asked.

‘Not until you showed me the crate of gold with the black swan symbol. Now, if I had to guess, I’d say Ludwig got dirty while visiting this bunker.’

Payne furrowed his brow. ‘How is that possible? I thought you said your grandfather built this bunker in the 1930s?’

Ulster shook his head. ‘Actually, Jonathon, I said my grandfather used this bunker. I never said he built it. Considering all the Nazi activity in these parts, there’s no way he could have built something like this without detection. No, if I had to speculate, I’d say Ludwig commissioned its construction in 1886, and my grandfather found it fifty years later.’

To make his point, Ulster held up his grandfather’s journal. ‘Remember earlier when I said the black swan was an explanation? At the time, I meant it in terms of this book, but …’ He paused, still coming to grips with a theory. ‘On further reflection, the black swan explains a lot more than that. Actually, it explains just about everything.’

‘Everything?’ Payne asked.

Ulster nodded. ‘Imagine a set of directions with no starting point. No matter how many turns you make, you can never reach your destination because you don’t know where to begin. In many ways, that’s how I felt before you showed me that symbol. Similar to the Rosetta Stone, which helped linguists decipher the hieroglyphics, the black swan gave me the context I was lacking when I first entered this bunker. Suddenly, I see things in a different light.’

‘Wonderful,’ Payne said dryly. ‘Hopefully that means you’ll be able to address some of the questions you still haven’t answered.’

‘Such as?’

‘Why did Ludwig build this bunker?’

Ulster pointed at the crates. ‘To hide his treasure.’

Kaiser interrupted. ‘What treasure? I thought he was broke.’

‘So did his creditors,’ Ulster said, laughing. ‘At the time of his death, Ludwig was more than fourteen million marks in debt. Creditors were lining up at his door, demanding to be paid. In fact, the company that supplied water and fuel to his castles actually took him to court over non-payment. According to several sources, it was the biggest embarrassment of Ludwig’s life.’

‘What’s your point?’ Payne asked.

Ulster grabbed one of the gold bars for emphasis. ‘If Ludwig had this much gold lying around, why didn’t he spend it and avoid all that humiliation?’

Jones took a guess. ‘Because he was nuts.’

‘Or,’ Ulster countered, ‘the rumours about the black swan were true.’

‘What rumours?’ Payne demanded. ‘You keep mentioning rumours.’

Ulster smiled, relishing the opportunity to explain. ‘According to legend, Ludwig sent the mysterious letters – known as the black swan letters – to aristocrats throughout Europe, asking for their support in a secret project he was working on. At the time of his death, Ludwig’s reputation was far better in foreign countries than in Bavaria, so there is a good chance that his letters would have carried a lot of weight. From the look of this gold and all these crates, a lot of people took the bait.’

Kaiser laughed. ‘Let me see if I got this straight. The King of Bavaria was running a Ponzi scheme on the richest people in Europe? That’s hilarious!’

Ulster shrugged. ‘Actually, no one knows if he was scamming people out of their money, or looking for investors in a legitimate project. The truth is he was killed before his plot was revealed. In theory, the Bavarian government wouldn’t have been pleased with either result – whether he was swindling the rich or hoarding money while refusing to pay his bills. Either way, Bavaria was going to be embarrassed by Ludwig’s actions. That’s why he was eliminated.’

‘Allegedly,’ Payne stressed. ‘Or was there proof?’

Ulster shook his head. ‘As I mentioned earlier, all this – his murder, his secret plan, his disappearance – is pure speculation. The only tangible evidence ever discovered regarding the black swan was a series of Ludwig’s sketches and a few snippets in his diary about a secret organization. Everything else is a mixture of rumours, hearsay and conjecture.’

‘Until today,’ Payne said.

Ulster beamed as he stared at his grandfather’s journal. ‘Yes. Until today.’

‘So,’ Kaiser said, anxious to open the other crates, ‘what’s the next step? Can we dive right in, or do you have to do some kind of archaeology shit?’

‘About that,’ Ulster said, ‘I’m afraid I might have some bad news for you. From the looks of these crates, I’m not sure you’re going to find anything of value.’

Kaiser laughed and snatched the gold bar from Ulster. ‘I don’t know about you, but gold has plenty of value to me. What does this thing weigh? Ten, twelve pounds? This crate alone will buy me an island.’

Jones looked offended. ‘Just a second! I pried off the damn lid. What’s my cut?’

‘Don’t worry, man. You can use my beach.’

Ulster cleared his throat, suddenly nervous. He wasn’t used to dealing with men like Kaiser and wasn’t sure how he would react to bad news. ‘Actually, that’s not what I meant. If my theory is correct, there’s a very good chance that most of these crates are worthless.’

‘Worthless?’ Kaiser blurted. ‘Why would they be worthless?’

Ulster ignored the question. Instead, he searched through the stacks – kicking a few crates, shaking another – until he found three that met his needs. ‘If you don’t mind, can you open these for me? They will illustrate my point.’

‘Sure,’ Kaiser said as he grabbed the crowbar.

‘Actually,’ Ulster told him, ‘tools won’t be necessary. The crates aren’t sealed.’

‘Why not?’ he asked.

‘Remove the lid and find out.’

Intrigued, Payne and Jones moved closer as Kaiser pulled off the first lid. Much to their surprise, the crate was completely empty.

Ulster tapped on another. ‘Now this one.’

Kaiser did what he was told, but it was empty as well.

‘And this one.’

Same thing. The crate was empty.

Ulster motioned towards the stacks. ‘Unfortunately, I have a feeling most of them will be empty. Otherwise, my grandfather wouldn’t have stacked them like this.’

Payne grimaced. ‘Your grandfather? How do you know they were his crates?’

‘Simple. Look at the wood.’

‘What’s wrong with the wood?’ Kaiser demanded.

‘Nothing. And that’s the problem.’ Ulster ran his hand over one of the empty crates. ‘No nicks, no cracks, no scuffs of any kind. Much different to Ludwig’s crate, which was weathered and worn, but quite similar to the crate with my family’s crest. I noticed that earlier, but it didn’t make sense until now. If I had to guess, most of these crates were assembled here in anticipation of my grandfather’s next discovery.’

Jones glanced at the crates. ‘Which was?’

Ulster shrugged. ‘I honestly don’t know what he was searching for. Perhaps his journal will give us a clue, perhaps not. However, based on the size of this bunker and the dozens of crates that fill this chamber, he was preparing for something huge.’

21

Over the next hour, Payne, Jones and Kaiser opened every crate in the bunker while Ulster studied his grandfather’s notes on the other side of the room. To everyone’s disappointment, Ulster’s theory about the crates was proven correct: most of them were empty. The few that had something to offer were filled with family heirlooms – personal items that could be returned to the rightful owners – but nothing came close to the van Gogh crate or Ludwig’s gold.

‘I’m sorry,’ Kaiser said after they opened the final one.

‘For what?’ Payne asked.

‘For wasting your time.’

Payne wiped the sweat off his brow. ‘What are you talking about? You didn’t waste our time. This was kind of fun – in a chain gang kind of way.’

Jones took a gulp of water. ‘Speak for yourself. My back is killing me, and I’ve got a blister on my thumb the size of a dumpling. I hope our host has insurance.’

Kaiser smiled. ‘Just grab some gold, and we’ll call it even.’

Jones considered the offer. ‘It’s a pleasure doing business with you.’

‘In all seriousness,’ Payne said to Kaiser, ‘we appreciated the heads up. Obviously things didn’t work out the way we had hoped – ‘

‘That’s an understatement,’ Jones mumbled.

‘ – but we managed to protect Petr’s reputation. And that’s good enough for us.’

Jones cleared his throat loudly, the sound echoing through the room.

Payne stared at him. ‘What?’

‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’

‘I don’t think so … Am I?’

Jones sighed in disappointment. He had always been better with details than Payne. ‘Please forgive my former captain. The mind starts to go at his age.’

‘What are you talking about? You’re older than I am!’ Payne grumbled.

Jones ignored the comment. ‘What Jon meant to say was this: although we were thrilled to protect the Ulster family name, we’ll still gladly accept the free trip to Oktoberfest.’

Payne paused in thought. ‘Actually, he’s right. That is what I meant to say.’

Kaiser laughed at their antics. ‘Don’t worry, fellas. I’ll keep my word. You’ll still get two days at Oktoberfest. If all goes well, you’ll be in the beer gardens before dinner.’

‘Unless …’ Ulster called from the far side of the room.

All three of them turned towards him. He was sitting on an empty crate with his back against the bunker wall. In his hands, he held his grandfather’s journal.

‘Unless what?’ Payne asked.

‘Unless you want to retrieve the treasure that was destined for these crates.’

Jones stepped forward. ‘What are you talking about?’

Ulster rocked back and forth a few times in order to generate enough momentum to stand up. ‘While you gentlemen have been searching through the crates, I’ve been conducting a search of my own – one that has been a tad more fruitful than yours. According to my grandfather’s notes, his biggest problem wasn’t finding Ludwig’s treasure, it was retrieving it.’

Silence filled the room as they considered Ulster’s words.

A few seconds passed before Kaiser spoke. ‘What do you mean?’

Ulster grinned. ‘I had a feeling that would get your attention.’

‘Well, you have it. Now explain.’

‘As I mentioned earlier, Bavaria was swarming with Nazis during the 1930s. This area in particular was under high alert because of the 1936 Winter Olympics, which were held in the valley below. As a matter of fact, this mountain was actually used for some of the skiing events. Because of all the extra security, my grandfather was forced to abandon his pursuit of Ludwig’s treasure shortly after finding this bunker. From the looks of things, he had a pretty good idea where the treasure was hidden, but he wasn’t able to retrieve it thanks to World War Two.’

‘Fucking Hitler! Always screwing things up,’ Jones joked.

‘What are you saying? You know where the treasure is?’ Kaiser demanded.

Ulster lowered his voice. ‘According to my grandfather, Ludwig hid a secret document in his gartenhaus that would reveal the location of the treasure.’

Jones winced. ‘One time, when Jon and I were crossing the Afghan border, I had to hide a document in my gartenhaus, and-’

Kaiser cut him off. ‘Gartenhaus means “garden house” in German, not what you were about to describe.’

‘Thank goodness,’ Jones cracked, ‘because I got a paper cut when I pulled it out.’

Payne rolled his eyes. Sometimes his best friend didn’t know when to stop joking around. ‘Petr, are you familiar with any place that would fit your grandfather’s description?’

Ulster replied. ‘Off the top of my head, I can think of three possible locations. One would be good news. One would be tolerable news. The third would be truly dreadful.’

‘Let’s start with the good,’ Kaiser suggested. ‘That is, if you guys are interested.’

Payne answered before Jones had a chance to make another joke. ‘We’ve come this far. What’s another few hours? Besides, Oktoberfest goes on for two more weeks.’

Ulster grinned. He loved working with Payne and Jones. ‘In my opinion, the King’s House on Schachen would be the best news for us. It’s a small castle on a peak about five miles from here. As I mentioned earlier, it’s where Ludwig went when he disappeared for thirty-six hours – the night after he sent the mysterious letters.’

‘The place where his advisors found him covered in dirt?’ Payne asked, trying to remember the details from Ulster’s long-winded story.

Ulster nodded. ‘Even though it looks more like a hunting lodge than an actual castle, it is adjacent to Alpengarten auf dem Schachen – a small botanical garden open to the public.’

‘A house by a garden. Makes sense to me,’ Payne said.

‘This would be the best news for a variety of reasons. First of all, it’s close by, meaning we could be there in less than an hour. Secondly, it’s on top of a desolate peak. Without a helicopter, the only way to get there is an arduous four-hour hike. Since most people don’t have a helicopter, I tend to think we’d have the run of the place.’

Kaiser nodded in agreement. It sounded ideal to him.

‘If it isn’t there, what’s the tolerable location you mentioned?’ Jones asked.

‘That would be Linderhof Palace, the only one of Ludwig’s castles he saw completed before his death. If you recall, his horsemen departed from there on their mysterious quest. In addition, it’s where he returned after spending time on Schachen.’

Kaiser gave it some thought. ‘What’s troubling about the Linderhof?’

‘The grounds alone are over a hundred and twenty-five acres. That’s a large area to search. In addition, the palace is filled with valuable artwork. Because of that, the crowds are big and security is high.’

‘Crowds can be good in certain scenarios,’ Payne suggested. ‘But you’re probably right. This doesn’t sound like the kind of place where we’ll have much freedom to move around.’

Ulster shook his head. ‘And yet the Linderhof would be much better than the final option, a place called the Winter Garden. Ludwig built it on top of the roof of the north wing of the Munich Residenz, which was the former royal palace of the Bavarian monarchs. It is the largest palace in Germany and gets thousands of visitors every day. The complex contains ten courtyards and more than a hundred and thirty rooms, most of them massive in scale. One of the grandest is the treasury, which holds everything from the jewels of the Wittelsbach dynasty to a collection of royal crowns, including some from the first millennium.’

Kaiser pondered the security. ‘That doesn’t sound good.’

‘Actually,’ Payne said, ‘it doesn’t matter how many guards are in the treasury. This document isn’t in the treasury. If it’s already been discovered, Petr would have heard of it.’

‘That is true,’ Ulster claimed. ‘Unfortunately, the treasury would be a lot easier to explore than the garden itself. Like everything Ludwig built, the Winter Garden was stunning. Inside a massive greenhouse was a man-made lake, a Himalayan mountain scene, Indian huts, a rainbow machine and tropical plants from around the world. The servants who lived in the rooms underneath the lake had to sleep under umbrellas because of all the dripping water. I’ve seen pictures of the garden, and I’m telling you, it was remarkable. Like an indoor jungle.’

Payne focused on one word in particular. ‘Was?‘

Ulster nodded. ‘The Winter Garden was demolished right after the king’s death. Its weight was so great it actually bent the beams in the palace walls.’

Jones sighed at the news. He had been hoping to see the place. ‘You’re right: option three sucks. It’s tough to explore something that’s no longer there.’

‘Let’s be honest,’ Payne said. ‘None of these options are great. I mean, we’re talking about three castles that have been toured by millions of people. Do you really think we’re going to stroll in and spot something that everyone else has missed in the last a hundred and twenty years?’

‘Of course not,’ Ulster said as he held up his grandfather’s journal. ‘Thankfully, we have a lot more to go on than good old-fashioned luck. We actually have a detailed set of instructions. All we have to do is find the starting line, and this journal will do the rest.’

It took a few seconds for the comment to sink in. Once it did, Payne shook his head in disbelief. Leave it to Ulster to wait so long before he revealed something so vital to the group. One of these days, Payne was going to have to teach Ulster how to start off with the most important news before he went off on his tangents – just in case Ulster died of old age before he finished his background information.

Payne laughed to himself. ‘In that case, what are we waiting for? Let’s go and find Ludwig’s treasure.’

22

Mount Schachen

Bavaria, Germany

In Kaiser’s world, there were very few guarantees when it came to money: deals frequently collapsed at the last minute; long-time associates often tried to screw him for table scraps; and rivals always looked for opportunities to steal his clients or get him in trouble with the police. Being in the business for as long as he had, Kaiser had learned many lessons along the way. One of the most important was the danger of greed. Early in his career, he had lost plenty of money because of his recklessness. Like a gambler who refused to pocket his winnings, Kaiser used to take too many risks when the smart play was to walk away. But all that changed a few years ago when he lost millions of dollars worth of merchandise in a warehouse fire. Instead of selling the goods to a trusted customer who had offered a fair price, Kaiser had tried to leverage a better deal for himself by negotiating with an unsavoury character from the Russian mafia. The whole thing fell apart when the two clients found out about each other. To this day, Kaiser still didn’t know which of them had torched his warehouse – although he assumed it was the Russian – but from that point on, he decided to minimize his risks whenever he could.

With that in mind, Kaiser skipped the next leg of the journey to protect his discovery. While Payne, Jones and Ulster flew to the top of Mount Schachen to search for the location of Ludwig’s treasure, Kaiser made travel arrangements for the gold they had already found.

Known as the Konigshaus am Schachen in German, the King’s House on Schachen took three years to build (1869-1872) because all the supplies had to be carted up the mountain. A lover of the outdoors, Ludwig chose this site for the spectacular views of the surrounding peaks and for its isolation. Thousands of feet above civilization, the two-storey alpine cottage was Ludwig’s sanctuary anytime he wanted to escape the politics and prying eyes of Munich. Up here among the clouds, he used to fantasize about starting his own kingdom across the sea, a modern-day Camelot where he would build the most spectacular castle the world had ever seen.

As the pilot circled the ridge line looking for a place to land, Payne and Jones, staring out of the chopper’s windows, were filled with disappointment. After hearing so many stories about Ludwig’s opulence, they had been expecting the cottage to rival the Taj Mahal. Instead, they saw a plain, wooden structure that looked like a hunting lodge.

Jones spoke into his headset. ‘If that’s the outhouse, where’s the King’s House?’

‘I’m afraid you’re looking at it,’ Ulster replied from the front seat. ‘But don’t let the exterior fool you. The interior is far more lavish.’

‘That’s not saying much, because the outside looks like a shed.’

Payne cracked a smile. ‘A shed with a hell of a view.’

‘Good point,’ Jones admitted.

‘If we flew a little higher, you could see Austria. We’re just north of its border,’ Ulster said as he stared at Mount Dreitorspitze of the Wetterstein Mountains.

‘Isn’t that kind of stupid?’ Payne asked out of the blue.

Ulster turned in his seat. ‘What are you referring to?’

Payne answered. ‘The placement of this cabin. I mean, if I’m a Bavarian general, there’s no way in hell I’d let Ludwig build a house this close to a foreign border. Look at the surrounding peaks. This area is indefensible.’

Jones nodded in agreement. ‘Jon makes a valid point. Set a few explosives on the top of that ridge, and the resulting landslide would have wiped out the king.’

‘Not only that,’ Payne said, ‘but if the Austrians had wanted to kidnap Ludwig, they could have done so with ease. What do you think, DJ? Three, maybe four men at most?’

In less than a second, Jones ran through several scenarios in his head. When it came to planning missions, he was a strategic genius – the type of guy who played chess when everyone else was playing checkers. ‘Give me four men and a cloudy night, and I could’ve nabbed more than Ludwig. I could’ve stolen his house, too.’

Payne laughed. ‘Actually, that sounds kind of fun. Let’s do that instead of Oktoberfest.’

‘Petr,’ Jones said with a straight face, ‘can we borrow your helicopter tonight? I promise we’ll pay for the gas.’

The Swiss pilot, who had heard the entire conversation through his headphones, glanced at Ulster. Tension filled the pilot’s face. ‘Sir?’

Ulster patted him on the shoulder. ‘Relax, Baptiste. They’re only kidding.’

Ulster paused, then glanced back at Payne and Jones. ‘You are kidding, aren’t you?’

To minimize attention – which was tough to do in a helicopter – the pilot landed on top of a rocky plateau approximately 200 yards below the King’s House. A grass-covered hill that looked like the backdrop for The Sound of Music separated them from the cottage.

As they strolled up the meadow towards the main entrance, Payne focused on a cluster of buildings in the valley behind the King’s House. Their light grey roofs blended perfectly with the surrounding rock face, minimizing their presence in the alpine scenery.

Payne pointed at the compound. ‘What’s over there?’

‘That’s the Schachenhaus restaurant,’ Ulster answered without even looking. ‘In addition, there are several guest cabins for those inclined to spend the night.’

‘People do that?’ Jones asked as he shivered in his long-sleeved shirt. It was fifteen degrees colder than it had been when he boarded the chopper a few minutes earlier.

Ulster grinned. ‘For most people, it’s a lengthy hike to reach this site. After a four-hour climb, I’d be tempted to stay myself.’

‘But it’s cold up here,’ Jones complained.

‘Hardly!’ Ulster said, laughing. To prove his point, he took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. ‘Smell that mountain air! It reminds me of Kusendorf.’

‘Really?’ Jones mumbled to himself. ‘It reminds me of Siberia.’

Familiar with Jones’s hatred of the cold, Payne decided to change the topic before Jones started to bitch. Because once that started, it was hard to stop.

‘So,’ Payne said to Ulster, ‘tell us more about the gartenhaus. It would probably be helpful if we knew what we were looking for.’

Ulster nodded in agreement. ‘According to my grandfather, Ludwig used a riddle to conceal the location. All we have to do is solve it, and we should be able to find the document.’

Payne smiled. ‘You make it sound so easy.’

‘Well, I don’t know about easy, but I think we have a decent-’