Rhineland Inheritance (16 page)

“Yes, they do,” Jake said.

“Now just raise up your other arm,” Harry Weaver said, and pressed down on his chest. “Does that hurt?”

“No, ah, there. Yes, there.”

“Okay, can you take a breath for me?” He fitted the stethoscope back into his ears, listened carefully, and said, “Again.”

Dr. Weaver dropped the instrument back down around his neck. “All right, you can lower your arm.” He took a step back. “I'm afraid you have two cracked ribs. But your jaw is not broken as I first thought, and although there are a number of visible contusions, there is no sign of internal injury.”

“Thank you, my dear,” Chaplain Fox said to Sally as she
tucked in the loose end of the bandage. Then to the doctor, “What does all that mean?”

“You should get better fairly quickly,” he replied. “And should require no further treatment, except that I'd like to strap those ribs. And see you again in a few days, just to check your progress.”

“So when can I go back to work?”

“In a few days. A week at the outside. That is, if you promise to take it easy and let these ribs heal properly.”

“I'm not so sure going back there is such a good idea,” Jake said slowly.

“Close the feeding station?” Sally was shocked. “Give in to those animals? What on earth for?”

“That's just it,” Jake complained. “I can't figure out what this is all about. And whatever you think, Sally, this was done for a reason.”

“I agree,” Pierre said, speaking up for the first time since they had left the stockade. “And I don't think it was the chaplain they were after.”

“But the children,” Chaplain Fox protested to Dr. Weaver. “If I can't, who will look after the children?”

Sally kept her gaze on Pierre. “So who was it they wanted?”

“Your friend and mine,” Pierre replied, “Captain Burnes.”

“Me?”

“You.”

“But why?” Sally demanded.

“I've been thinking about that,” Pierre replied. “And I think I might have an answer. Might, you understand. This is just a guess.”

“Sally, my dear,” the chaplain began, but was shushed by her gentle pressure on his shoulder.

Sally said to Pierre, “Go on.”

“Consider their attack the other night,” Pierre said. “We assumed it was revenge for Connors' jeep.”

Harry Weaver produced his first smile of the day. “That was you guys?”

Sally ignored him. “So what else could it have been?”

“The next time you plan something like that,” Harry Weaver persisted, “be sure and count me in.”

“Something else took place at the same time,” Pierre went on. “Something Jake happened to mention in passing, which neither of us thought very important. He talked with a young man of the streets, and also with the widow of a former SS officer. And both promised to help Jake in his quest.”

“The treasure?” Jake looked astonished. “But you and I both know we're looking for a needle in a haystack the size of a city.”

“Not so fast,” Pierre said.

“Even if there was any real chance, that rag-tag bunch don't have a hope of finding it. They've hardly got the strength to tie their own shoelaces, much less hunt for hidden treasure.” Jake shook his head. “We don't even know if it really exists. Maybe it's all a myth.”

“Let him finish, Jake,” Sally ordered.

“Not a myth,” Pierre countered. “Not all of it. We have a cross to prove that.”

“Or at least the army has,” Jake muttered.

“Jake,” Sally snapped.

“What if there
were
a treasure,” Pierre persevered. “What if our charming friend Colonel Connors knew it existed in this area, and thought he was closing in on it?”

“Then all of a sudden up pops Jake, with this crowd of Germans all throwing up dust and covering the same terrain,” Sally added. “People Connors has no control over, people who wouldn't give him the time of day. The man would throw a size-twelve fit.”

“And go after the ringleader with a vengeance,” Pierre agreed.

Jake looked from one to the other, then declared, “You two are out of your tiny minds.”

“Then come up with something better,” Pierre challenged.

“Strike that,” Sally said, rising from the bedside. “It's time to have a chat with Colonel Beecham.”

“You can't bring the colonel in on something like this,” Jake protested.

“You just watch me, soldier.” Sally pointed toward the chaplain. “Take a good look at what those beasts did to Buddy, then tell me what I can and can't do.”

“But we don't know anything for sure.”

“We know enough,” Sally replied. “Now, are you two coming, or do I have to go in there alone?”

“We're coming,” Servais said, standing.

“Pierre,” Jake moaned.

“Get up, Jake.”

“But the colonel, you heard—”

“On your feet, soldier,” Sally ordered.

“Wait,” Chaplain Fox called out.

Sally turned back to the bed and said gently, “I'll go and see to your children, I promise. Each and every day.”

“I know you will, Sally. And I am eternally grateful.” He painfully raised himself up on one arm and said to Jake and Pierre with all the force he could muster, “No violence. If you resort to their tactics, then they have won. No matter what the outcome, they have won.”

When Beecham heard what had happened to the chaplain, his jaw clamped and his eyes flashed. He remained stern throughout Pierre's account of their trouble at the crossroads and his subsequent guesswork. Jake sat squirming, convinced that once Pierre had finished, the colonel would extract the truth about Connors' jeep.

Instead, Beecham said, “Some rumors have been drifting around that back you up.”

Sally sat up straighter. “What have you heard?”

“What I'm about to tell you is strictly off the record, do you understand?”

The three of them nodded.

Beecham focused on Jake. “Do you remember what I once told you about the general-turned-treasure-hound?”

“Yessir. Isn't he posted somewhere around Freiburg?”

“That's the one. Name's Slade. Up for retirement soon. Word has it that he wants to ride out of here in a blaze of glory.”

“And Connors is his man,” Sally finished for him. “Just as we thought.”

“That's not certain,” Beecham warned. “But what I can confirm is that Connors now has some hefty protection. Slade has taken Connors under his wing and given him a free hand to do pretty much as he pleases. I called Slade's office as soon as I heard about this set-to with you folks the other night, and got the brush-off from some snot-nosed Ivy League lieutenant.” Beecham was obviously still burning at the memory of this encounter. “Last night I also heard that Slade is trying to get his authority extended to cover this area.”

“That means the treasure must be located around here!”

“It means that Slade
might
think something
might
be in these parts,” Beecham corrected. “If there really is any, which I'm still not certain about.”

“What about the cross?” Sally countered.

“One cross is one cross, not a mountain of gold. But yes, I'm willing to admit that there is at least a chance you are right.”

“A big chance,” Sally said triumphantly.

“A
dangerous
one,” Beecham amended. “If there really is a hunt going on around here, and Connors and Slade both know they're racing against the clock, you can bet your life they'll deal savagely with any ground-level opposition.” He glanced at his calendar and went on. “The handover to the French is scheduled for early next month. After that, this will be French-controlled territory, and anything they find will be as far out of Slade's reach as the dark side of the moon.”

“So do we tell the kids to hold off the search?” Jake asked.

“You can't do that,” Sally protested. “What if Connors does find something?”

“He might anyway,” Jake pointed out. “He's got a big organization behind him.”

“But you've got contacts closer to the ground,” Sally argued.

“You've seen Connors' tactics,” Jake replied. “How would you feel if somebody was seriously hurt?”

“The kids will just have to be very careful,” Sally said. “And they will. Because you're going to keep an eye on them.”

“I think she's right,” Colonel Beecham said. “As long as they proceed with extreme caution, I think it should be all right to let them see what they can find. I would hate like the dickens for Connors to end up with a lever to elevate himself to general.”

“So would I,” Jake agreed.

“Talk to them, Captain,” Beecham directed. “If they understand the danger and agree to go ahead carefully, good. If not, call it off. It's your shot either way.”

Once they had been dismissed, Jake headed straight for the exit. Sally caught up with him. “Where are you going?”

“I want to see if there's anything around the feeding station that can be salvaged.”

“Wait, I'm coming with you. I need to check on the créche.”

“Not so fast,” Pierre said. “None of us should go anywhere alone. If any one of us needs to go somewhere, we take an escort. Extreme caution starts with us.”

“Agreed,” Sally said.

“That's fine with me,” Jake murmured, his eyes on Sally.

“All right, then. Let's go.”

When they pulled up in front of the créche, a great crowd of youngsters was milling about the street in front of the feeding station. Jake climbed from the jeep and said glumly, “I guess I'd better go break the news.”

“Maybe we can work out something by tomorrow,” Sally said hopefully. “A cold meal or something.”

Pierre stood on the jeep's running board and searched the crowd. “What are those soldiers doing over there?”

“And those trucks,” Sally added, pointing to a pair of green canvas tops beyond the gathering.

Just then a voice bellowed out, “All right, all right! Nobody gets nothing until we see some order around here. Corporal!”

“Yeah, Sarge?”

“You and a coupla men line these jokers up.”

“I thought you told me to keep a lookout for the creeps in white hats.”

“So line 'em up and keep looking. What are you, some kinda moron?”

“No, but I don't speak the lingo.”

“Then, use your hands. They got eyes, don't they?”

Jake looked at a wide-eyed Sally. “What's going on?”

“Isn't that Sergeant Morrows?” she asked him.

“Food,” Pierre announced, sniffing the wind. “Somebody is definitely cooking something.”

They plowed through the mob, crossed the rubble heap, and came upon a sweating Sergeant Morrows with three frantic helpers. When the sergeant saw them he straightened and said, “Say, it's about time—I mean, glad you could get here, sirs. Hey, Miss Anders. Sure could use some help with these kids.”

“What's going on here, Sergeant?”

“We heard what they did to the chaplain, sir. Me and some of the boys, we decided we couldn't let the kids go hungry.”

One of the soldiers helping Morrows asked, “How's the chaplain, sir?”

“Dr. Weaver says he's going to be okay,” Jake replied. He pointed at the gleaming new kettles and stands, the heaps of produce, the shiny steel platters and other equipment and asked, “Where did all this come from?”

“Turned out Stores had some stuff lying around they didn't
need.” Morrows caught the glint in Jake's eye and protested, “It ain't stolen, sir. Honest. Everybody's real hot over what they done to the chaplain.”

“Sarge was turning stuff away,” his assistant offered. “Volunteers too. Everybody wanted to get in on the act.”

“Put a dozen or so guys spread out in front and back, in case the goons show up again,” Morrows said. “I sorta hope they do.”

Pierre put up a warning finger. “No violence, the chaplain said.”

“There ain't gonna be no violence unless they come looking for it,” Morrows replied. “And if they do, it won't last long. Sir.”

“Why do you think they did it?” Sally probed.

“Goons is goons, ma'am,” Morrows replied. “That's all the reason they need.”

Sally nodded her satisfaction to Jake and said, “Looks like everything is under control here, soldier. I'll be in the créche if you need me.”

“I'll help out here,” Pierre said to Jake. “Now would be a good time for you to spread the word.”

Jake nodded, turned to Morrows, and said something he had never imagined he could say to this man. “You're a good friend, Morrows. To me and to the kids.”

“Shoot, sir,” Morrows replied, reddening. “It's a pleasure. Never knew anything so easy could mean so much.”

Chapter Fifteen

By the next day, word had spread through the garrison that the MPs who raided the feeding station had actually been after Jake and Pierre. Reinforcements had poured in. A guard routine had been set up for both the feeding station and the créche. At Sally's insistence, another jeep had been requisitioned from motor pool, and a pair of brawny PFCs followed Jake and Pierre wherever they went.

When they stopped in front of the créche that afternoon on their way to a meeting in Freudenstadt, Pierre told him, “You go ahead, my friend. I'll wait out here.”

“What is this?”

Pierre shrugged. “Only a fool continues fighting after the battle is lost. Sally has chosen the victor.”

“If she has,” Jake declared, “she hasn't told me about it.”

“Give her time,” Pierre said. “If either of us stands a chance, it's you.”

Jake walked down the stairs and pushed through the créche door. Sally was kneeling in a corner of the room, so involved with a trio of young girls that she did not notice his arrival.