Ghosts of the Past Page 27

  The two of them, along with Pernod who was crammed into the back seat, drove up the street and into the open parking area of the service station and double-parked on the edge of the lot. Shutt hopped out before the engine died and approached Courtney from behind as she watched the pump’s display of rapidly changing numbers.

  “Fancy meeting you here.”

  Turning around very slowly, Courtney found Shutt leaning on a neighboring pump. “You couldn’t wait for me to call you?”

  “I thought we’d let you know that we’re here, and keeping an eye on your backside.”

  “We?”

  “I think we have the entire Wildhaus police force-all three cars anyway-half the canton police, a few federal officers, and a little help from Interpol. Oh, and me!” Shutt smiled broadly.

  “I’m feeling safe already. But I wish you would stay clear until I tell you.”

  “Well, your track record makes me nervous. I thought I’d let you know that we’re not going anywhere without you, so please nothing bizarre or unusual.”

  Courtney looked over his shoulder at Daniel and Pernod, who maintained their distance just outside the car. “How’s my father?”

  “Checked on him again about an hour ago. Sound asleep, but under careful surveillance. We’ve scoured his home, auto and office, and he appears to be quite safe.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Your welcome.”

  Courtney topped off the tank, replaced the nozzle, and tore off the receipt from her American Express auto payment as it printed out. “We’re not finished, but we will be by this afternoon. I just brought down a load of eight pieces, smaller ones that I could handle myself. Matt is loading the trailer and I’m headed back up now. We should be able to get it all down by this afternoon. I’ll be hearing from the other lowlife’s this afternoon and letting them know where we are. I’m sure they will want to join us at the hotel as soon as possible. We have a meeting room there on the first floor where we’re stashing the art as we bring it down. That is where I will need you to come in and get the sons-a-bitches, but let me get them there first. Agreed?”

  “Agreed. We’ll be watching, from across the street. How are you going to let me know when they’re there?”

  “They’re going to call me around 5:00.” She looked down at her watch. “That should give us enough time to get everything we can recover back down to the hotel. I’ll give them the hotel location, call you, and warn you they’re coming. They will be coming from Unterwasser, so it won’t be more than five or ten minutes before they arrive. Be ready.”

  “We’ll be ready. Make sure you stick to the plan. These people are very dangerous, and I’m still not thrilled with you putting yourselves in a position to get hurt. If you stick to the plan, we can make this thing work.”

  “I’ll make it work.”

  Courtney climbed into the Jeep and pulled away headed east and back up to the crash site.

  Ferguson returned to Daniel and Pernod and they followed in the same direction, but a half mile down they pulled into the parking lot opposite the Hotel Hirschen, eventually settling into the second floor law office that faced Hauptstrasse and the front door to the hotel. Jean-Luc Daniel kindly asked Mr. Thomas Weber, attorney at law, that the local and Federal authorities would be most appreciative if he took the day off. He was more than happy to cooperate with law enforcement.

  They escorted him, and his equally happy secretary, out of the building, accepted a set of keys as they locked the doors to the vacant office, and headed north for two blocks to the Alpstein restaurant.

  Shutt, Daniel and Pernod would be expecting to hear shortly from the air surveillance on the location of Courtney’s Jeep, once she reached her destination. They figured there was time to get a quick bite to eat, before having to travel into the mountains to ascertain the site of Courtney Lewis and Matt Ferguson’s treasure. Besides, the two officers from the police ski patrol, would have been discreetly dropped from the helicopter by that time, and have them under surveillance by the time the chopper returned for the three of them.

  The call to Alden’s cell phone came just as they entered Unterwasser. They were several minutes behind the navy BMW, whose signal was still registering on the receiver in Knabel’s hands, but clearly showed that it had come to a stop just ahead of them. Knabel confirmed their position with Marshall and Alden in the front seat, and Alden gestured to Marshall to pull off the main road. The Mercedes pulled into the vacant lot of a local ski shop and circled around to face the street, 100 meters west of Keitel’s parked car, and out of view of it’s occupants.

  The man on the other end of the line was calling from a pay phone just outside the Federal Office of Justice and Police in Bern. Considering his prominent position in the Federal Police’s Main Division, Service for Analysis and Prevention, the call needed anonymity, privacy, and would certainly be brief.

  After an exclusive, coded introduction confirming his identity, Alden provided a reciprocal cryptic acknowledgement and then listened intently to the disguised voice on the other end. It described an inconspicuous activity between the Federal Police and the local St. Gallen Canton Police, in conjunction with a United States law enforcement representative. The operation seemed to be directed at locating two U. S. citizens, a male and female traveling together, with explicit instructions that when found they were to be observed and not arrested. They were registered in a hotel in Wildhaus, the Hotel Hirschen. The voice was unable to confirm both of the names for fear of arousing too much suspicion, but he had determined that the name of Ferguson was used as the registered name at the hotel.

  Alden thanked the caller, gave a mystic salutation and the connection ended abruptly. He leaned back in the soft leather passenger seat and sighed, a smile of satisfaction emerged as he stared briefly out the window back in the direction from where they just came.

  “Good news?” Marshall asked, inferring the question from the look on Alden’s face.

  “Excellent news. Never underestimate the brotherhood Horst, and how deep and devoted it remains. Our two little fugitives have been found. They are back in Wildhaus in the Hotel Hirschen. They were right under our noses thirty minutes ago.”

  “Should we turn around, and head back?”

  “Absolutely. I don’t know about the idiots we’ve been following, it appears they are close, but they haven’t figured out where just yet. We need to be very careful when we get to the hotel. It’s under surveillance by the police.”

  “Do you know where it is in Wildhaus?”

  “I don’t, but let’s head through town and if we don’t see it, we’ll stop to find out.”

  They pulled out of the lot and headed back west on Staatsstrasse, while Bolivar, Keitel and Sullivan watched in bewilderment from their table at the small alfresco cafe up the street.

  “Where do you think they’re headed?” Sullivan asked.

  Before the stupid question received a stupid answer, Bolivar interceded. “I’m smelling the police. I’ve got my concerns that our lady friend may have gone to the authorities, and they’re just one of many that are keeping an eye on us.”

  “They don’t look like police to me. I wouldn’t jump to that conclusion just yet. However, it’s something we need to be concerned about when we find the girl and her boyfriend,” said Keitel.

  “Agreed. We’ll need to be alert to anyone that looks suspicious, particularly anybody that resembles the police. By for now, let’s relax, have a beer and some lunch,” Bolivar looked at his watch, “and kill the next six hours. By this evening, we should have most of the answers to our questions.” He raised his hand and waved at the apron-clad waitress who was standing at the open air bar making conversation with the young and very handsome bartender.

  The sun was high overhead and the air warming, when Courtney returned to the recovery site. Ferguson had
just sat down on the back of the trailer to take a break, and was busy wiping the sweat from his face with the back of his right hand, as she emerged from the Jeep and walked up to admire the work he had put in since she left.

  “Wow, you’ve been busy!”

  “It’s not as difficult as I thought. I was able to peel away some of the plane’s fuselage and open a pretty good hole on the side.”

  “It looks like you were able to widen the cave entrance as well.”

  “That was by accident.” He stood up and turned around to reveal his entire backside covered with drying mud and dirt.” I had a bit of a tumble through the whole.”

  Courtney chuckled. “It didn’t appear to slow you down any.” She walked up to the trailer that was now holding over a dozen crates.

  “There are seven more left, and another one that’s torn up pretty good. The picture inside was broken also, and it’s pretty well decayed, but I picked up what I could and laid the remnants right there.” Ferguson pointed to the twisted carnage of an ornate gold frame and oil canvas to the side of the hitch, all of it having taken on a blackish, moldy skin. “I’m going to need your help with the others. I could have probably got them out, but I’m afraid if I manhandle them too much, or drop one of them, I’ll damage the contents.”

  “I’m at your service.”

  “It seems I might have heard those same words last night.”

  “I’m multi-talented.” Courtney turned and walked toward the cave entrance.

  “I’ll say,” Ferguson mumbled just loud enough for Courtney to hear the response. He stood and followed behind her. Neither of them paid any attention to the faint sound of helicopter rotors overhead.

  “So we’re going to go in together?” Courtney asked.

  “If you’re okay with that?”

  “Yeah, I’m betting if you stumble footed into it and it didn’t come down on you, it’s safe.

  “Thanks, I appreciate your concern,” Ferguson said sarcastically. “Anyway, I’ve taken some tools, flashlights and water inside already in case we have some problems. I also laid several of the pipes through the hole that might give us some airlines if it caves in. Hell, we’ll be fine. We won’t be in there any longer than a few minutes at a time, and we should be out of here in another hour.”

  “Let’s go. The sooner we get it out, the sooner we can get it back down to town. The banquet room will work out great. There’s a garage door on the backside of the hotel that leads into the garage area. We can park the trailer there. Just inside that door is a set of double doors that leads into a storage closet that’s connected to the banquet room by another set of double doors. It’s perfect, we can unload without being noticed. Once we get it all in, we can lock up and figure out how we let the world know what WE found!” Courtney’s voice gradually escalated into a shout as she ran over, jumped into Ferguson’s arms, and planted a big kiss on his parched lips.

  Fifty minutes later, they placed the last of the crates onto the trailer, and Ferguson began pushing all of them together and as far forward as they could go. He tied rope down on one corner and haphazardly started lashing back and forth across the irregular assortment of crates, until he was satisfied he had enough containment from the nylon spider web he had created. Courtney had gathered up the tools and was busy carefully trying to load the splintered and torn masterpiece into the back of the Jeep.

  Ferguson climbed back into the cave and into the plane’s fuselage one last time. He walked forward and hoisted himself into what was left of the destroyed cockpit, shining a flashlight around to look for anything else worth saving. Everything was covered in dust and mold, or combinations of both. After a few minutes, he gave up and stepped back into the body of the aircraft, which was still lit up from the two lantern flashlights they had hung on opposite walls during their excavation. He gazed around the vacant shell. There was the rotting container of a parachute he had stumbled on earlier, with a torn portion of the canopy hanging out the side. He decided to pick it up and bring it along, just in case it might have some historical value to a museum somewhere. It nearly felt apart when he lifted it up, and discarding it, he determined that in the condition it was in it was of probably no use to anyone.

  He stepped across the decaying remnants of cargo netting that had obviously accomplished its purpose in saving almost the entire load of precious cargo, and saw nothing else. Removing the two hanging lanterns, he descended from the wreck through gaping hole he had managed to produce earlier. He turned and held up the lanterns to face the remains of the old Ju52 one last time, snickered, and shook his head in disbelief at the notion of what had transpired nearly sixty years ago.

  As he exited the cave for the last time, Courtney greeted him with a metal briefcase she had found next to the damaged artwork. “What’s this?”

  “I’m guessing it’s a German officer’s briefcase.” He took the gray metal cast from Courtney and pointed to the Nazi Swastika embossed on the side. “I found it inside the plane, in the back with the crates. It might be my Uncle’s for all I know. We can open it up later tonight. Right now we need to hitch the trailer up and get out of here.” He tossed it into the backseat of the Jeep, climbed in to the driver’s seat, and started the engine. Maneuvering back and forth, with Courtney’s guidance, he positioned the hitch under the trailer’s coupler, hopped out of the car, and lifted the stand away as the trailer fell into place on the hitch ball. He locked it in place and connected the chains. He hadn’t been able to marry up the electrical connections that morning, so he didn’t even bother this time around.

  They both looked at each other and smiled, then silently took a long last look at the face of the cliff and the surrounding lake. Without saying a word, they climbed into the idling vehicle and drove away.

  From their perch over a half kilometer away, one of the two local police officers who had been ferried in by helicopter, lowered his binoculars and spoke to the other officer holding the portable radio.

  “Tell Daniel they’re on the move. Let them know, they appear to be finished here, but we’ll stay in place as long as they need us to. I’ve mapped the coordinates of the suspect site.”

  He raised his binoculars again, as the radio crackled with static. He chuckled to himself, realizing that he had personally climbed ‘The Wall’ on many occasions, and never fathomed the existence of a cave.

  Chapter 20

  May 25, 2001. Wildhaus, Switzerland.

  The garage to the hotel was quiet and occupied by only a handful of cars. The last one to enter was a large, black Mercedes driven by Horst Marshall, and it was parked five spaces away from an inside entrance into the Hotel Hirschen.

  Ten minutes earlier, Alden, Knabel and Marshall had easily found the hotel on a cursory drive through the middle of downtown Wildhaus. Having returned to the garage, Knabel had gone inside and met with the desk clerk, explaining that his sister and boyfriend were staying at the hotel and he would be very appreciative if he could find out which room they were in.

  Since the inquiring gentleman knew them by name, and he had shown his appreciation with fifty Swiss francs, the clerk was remarkably helpful. He went so far as to tell Knabel that in addition to the Churfirsten Suite, they had also rented the Wildhussersaal Nord banquet room, located around the west corner of the lobby at the far end of the hall.

  After thanking the clerk, Knabel headed toward the garage, which was in the same direction as the aforementioned banquet room. The clerk’s final effort in offering the extraordinary service the hotel was noted for, told Knabel that his sister and Mr. Ferguson had been gone for most of the day, but he expected they would be back for dinner, since his sister had requested some suggestions on the finest restaurants in town. Knabel waved and disappeared around the corner.

  He climbed back into the rear seat of the Mercedes. “Good news. They are here all right. The stupid fag at the fro
nt desk was most helpful. They have been out since this morning. They have a suite that they’re staying in, and they’ve rented a banquet room just inside that door.” Knabel pointed at the same door he had entered and returned from.

  “That’s where they’re stashing the artwork,” said Marshall.

  “That would be my guess,” replied Knabel.

  “Any word on when they’re due back?” Alden asked.

  “No, but the clerk thought they would be home at least by dinner, because the girl was asking about restaurants… the finest one’s in town.

  “Good. Is there enough privacy to get into either room without being seen?”

  “I didn’t go upstairs to the suite, but the banquet room is in a secluded hall, and I think we can probably get in there if someone keeps an eye on that door and the lobby entrance.” Knabel again pointed to the garage door entrance to the hotel.

  “Alright. We’re going to go into the banquet room first. Paul, you watch the lobby, I’ll watch this door, and Horst will pick his way in. Once he’s in, we’ll join him. Keep the lights off and keep your voices to a whisper. Once in, we’ll have a look around. Maybe we’ll get lucky and it will be there, but if not we’ll send Horst upstairs to check the suite and we’ll wait here for the two lovebirds to return. Any questions?”

  Knabel and Marshall shook their heads no. Alden lifted a briefcase from the floorboard, opened it, and proceeded to dole out a Beretta compact, AWC silencer and three spare clips to everyone in the car. Marshall patted over the breast pocket of his coat to confirm that his lock pick set was where it was supposed to be.

  “Let’s go.”

  The lunch had been very good, but the Appenzeller bier on tap had been outstanding. Bolivar had paid the check and they were still relaxing in the open-air sunshine, sipping on their third round, when his cell phone rang.

  He answered immediately, and was quiet and listening intently for the next few minutes. He acknowledged the receipt of information, assured Guillermo Rocca they were acting on it immediately, and thanked him profusely as he flipped the phone closed.