Rhineland Inheritance (4 page)

Beecham leaned back and waited for the bartender to set down his drink. “Thanks, Tom.”

“Welcome, Colonel.”

“Morrows' not the only greedy little so-and-so on the base,” the colonel continued. “And that's our problem. There's no harm in telling you the truth. Not now, anyway. As long as I can rely on you both to keep your traps shut about it.”

“I think I'll have that drink after all,” Jake said.

“Tom! Bring over a couple of whatever they were having, will you?”

“Right away, sir.”

“Rumor has it that the Nazis had a big stash of treasure around here somewhere,” the colonel said quietly. “It wouldn't surprise me, since the SS used this city as their personal country club. Nor does it astonish me that we haven't found anything. Have you been into Badenburg yet?”

Jake shook his head. “I've just been in Germany a little over a month, sir. The only town I've seen is Oberkirch.”

“That's not much more than a village,” Beecham replied. “And not too badly hit, if I recall. Son, Badenburg ain't no more.”

“Bad,” Servais confirmed quietly. “Very, very bad.”

“Supposedly there are over thirty thousand people living in the ruins,” Beecham continued. “Personally I just don't see how. There doesn't appear to be three bricks standing together. Not enough shelter to keep a dog dry. But you'll see it for yourself soon enough, I suppose. Karlsruhe's supposed to be as bad, though I haven't seen it for myself.”

“Worse,” Servais said softly. “Same ruins, more people.”

“What I'm trying to say, gentlemen, is we've got more important things to do than go traipsing off into the countryside looking for lost treasure. Now, I'm pretty sure I can count on you two to keep your heads over this. But I
know
the same can't be said for a lot of the others on my staff. Do you follow?”

“Yessir.”

“They had to hear me come down on you two, and come down hard. It was the only hope I had of keeping order.” Beecham grimaced. “The problem isn't restricted to the lower ranks. My aching back, I wish it was. Word has it that the general in charge of the Frieburg area has got three squads doing nothing but scouring the area for Nazi loot. I'm not in the finger-pointing business. But my problem's the opposite. I've been given an impossible duty, and only a quarter of the
men I need to do it with. As long as this situation continues I'm going to come down hard on anybody who doesn't have his nose to the grindstone.”

Beecham took a long swallow. “But that doesn't mean you boys can't continue looking around as long as it's on your own time. And as long as you keep it quiet.”

Jake permitted himself the first smile of the evening. “Quiet as church mice in slippers, sir.”

“Right. Now tell me what happened.”

Interrupting each other in turns, they related the events of the afternoon. When they had finished, Beecham sat lost in thought for a time, then asked, “So you think it was two men?”

“Not at first,” Jake replied. “The shot came from the direction he was running in. But the more I think about it, the more I'm sure he didn't have time to turn and aim.”

“It couldn't have been just a lucky shot?”

“Maybe,” Jake said doubtfully. “But I don't think so.”

“As hard as he was running,” Servais added, “it would be tough to hit anything without taking a couple of breaths to quiet down.”

“So it really was an ambush,” Beecham mused.

“I figure more like a last line of defense,” Jake said. “If he gets in trouble he runs toward somebody stationed at a certain point—”

“Who shoots down my men,” Beecham growled. “I don't like it. Not one bit.”

“Jake's not sure he was actually shooting to hit,” Servais interjected.

“What's this?”

“Just a hunch, sir,” Jake replied. “But it was a high-caliber bullet, I'd know the sound of that shot anywhere.”

“Sniper?”

“That was my guess. Pierre's men didn't find a second set of footprints. It would have been hard to miss them in fresh snow. I figure maybe he was stationed in a blind, and in our haste to follow the running guy, we missed the obvious.”

“Not so obvious at all, Captain,” Beecham said approvingly. “So he bought his man a few seconds of time with a well-aimed miss.”

“Enough time for him to evade us,” Servais said. “And it would have been no more than another escaped black marketeer, except for the cross.”

“The cross, yes,” Beecham agreed. “How do you think he lost it?”

“I saw the sack catch on branches a couple of times,” Jake said. “That's how I got up as close to him as I did.”

“Close enough to see him clearly?”

Jake shook his head. “I only know he had to be a young man to run that fast. Dark hair. Gray sweater and pants, or at least that's how they looked in the light. Never saw his face.”

“So the cross fell from a hole in his sack.”

“Unless someone else dropped it,” Servais offered.

“That's possible,” Beecham replied. “But doubtful. If this is an established routine, they might use the same track. But for a man fleeing to run directly over the same piece of ground as the last man in the snow, at dusk . . .” Beecham shook his head. “It's extremely doubtful.”

Beecham tasted his drink and looked up. “How trustworthy is this sergeant-major of yours, Servais?”

“An excellent man, sir. One of the best.”

“So leave him and his squad on patrol duty in that area for a while. Let's wait and see if they spot anything more.”

“Should I warn him to look out for anything in particular?”

Beecham gave a humorless smile. “Given the circumstances, Captain, I seriously doubt if your men will be caught napping in that area for a long time to come. Just make sure you ask him about footprints.”

“Yessir.”

“Sir,” Jake said. “Could I ask what is going to happen to the cross?”

“Why, soldier, are you getting money hungry all of a sudden?”

“Nossir, well, that is—”

Beecham waved the matter aside. “They've got forms for such things now. And routines.”

“I can imagine,” Servais said. “Bye-bye cross.”

“One of two things will happen,” Beecham went on. “They'll put up notices, and if anybody comes forth and shows a legitimate claim to it, then back it goes.”

“Which is unlikely,” Jake said.

“In the extreme, son. Unlikely in the extreme. If it's Nazi loot, which would be my guess, then for all we know it came off the neck of the bishop of Cairo, or Persia, or the back side of Tibet. Anyway, there'll be a little wait, then the assessors will make an evaluation and give you a reward.”

“Buy us off,” Pierre translated.

“The reward is about a tenth of the estimated value, the last I heard. Which ought to be something. To keep the peace, I'd advise you to take a third of it and split it among your men.”

“That's a good idea, sir,” Jake said, recognizing an order when he heard one.

“The paper work will take six months or thereabouts, maybe longer. By that time your boys'll be scattered to the wind. Be sure and get everybody's home address, Servais.”

“Yessir, I'll see to it tomorrow.”

As the colonel rose to his feet he clapped Jake on the shoulder, leaned over, and said, “A word to the wise, soldiers. Sit with your back to the wall from now on. You're going to be a lightning rod for every jerk suffering from an acute case of greed.”

“But all we found was the cross,” Burnes protested. “And you have that now.”

“You know that and I know that,” Beecham answered. “But the boys slavering over these rumors are going to wonder.”

“About what,” Servais demanded. “Sir.”

“About whether or not you two didn't pull this one out of the ground because it had already been seen by the squad, then neatly kick a pile of snow over the rest.”

“What rest? There wasn't anything—”

Beecham held up a hand. “There doesn't have to be. They only need to think there is. Or might be. Even one chance in a million will be enough to have them gathering like a pack of wolves after a kill.”

Beecham straightened up. “You both should take anything of value you have in your room, give it to Sally, and let her lock it in the company safe. And as I said, guard your backs.”

At the sound of other voices echoing down the hall from the Officers' Club, they rose to their feet with one accord. Servais led Jake out and down the side stairs and over to where his jeep was parked. No word was spoken. None was necessary. They weren't ready to face the prying eyes and probing tongues just yet. The colonel's warning was too fresh.

Pierre barreled along the road back to the main camp at what Jake considered kamikaze speed. So when they rounded the curve and saw a mobile checkpoint right in front of them, it was too late to stop.

Pierre scattered the MPs like so many white-topped bowling pins, and only missed ramming through the barrier by doing a four-wheel spin that carried them within inches of the MPs' jeep.

In the momentary stillness following their icy halt, Jake recognized a few faces among the soldiers picking themselves off the ground. He only had time to whisper, “Trouble.”

“You know them?” Servais murmured back.

“Unfortunately.”

“Well, well, well.” The MP closest to the jeep was a tough-looking sergeant, about as pliant as a tank barrier. “Hey, boys, look who we've got here.”

A voice from the darkness said, “If it ain't our old friend Captain Turncoat Burnes.”

“Out in the dark all by hisself,” said another shadow. “Except for another dang foreigner. Not German, though.
Whassa matter, Captain Turncoat, did the Krauts at the camp get tired of playing your games?”

“You boys been playing much football lately?” Jake asked quietly.

“Here and there, Captain. Here and there. We missed having you around for a rematch, though. Ain't that right, boys? Pity how the camp league was disbanded all of a sudden like that. But I guess you knew all about that, huh, Captain Turncoat.”

“No,” Jake replied quietly. “I hadn't heard.”

“Musta happened the day you left. Yeah, we and the boys were just talking about how tragic it was you had to leave us all of a sudden like that.”

“Compliments of your friend,” Jake said. “Colonel Connors.”

“Yeah, well, he might be our friend, Captain Turncoat, but he sure ain't yours.” The sergeant's gaze shifted. “That your Frenchie driver? Whoever he is, he just about made meat pies outta my men.”

“The name is
Captain
Servais to you, Sergeant.”

“Hey, boys, get a load of how the Frenchie here parlays the lingo.” The gaze remained settled on Servais. “As for trying to pull rank, Frenchie, it's after curfew, nobody's out, and we're miles from the base. Which means there ain't a soul to hear you squeal when my boys take you out back and give you and Captain Turncoat here a little driving lesson. Compliments of the house.” Dark eyes gleamed in the lantern's glow. “That is, unless you boys got something real nice to tell us.”

“What are you talking about,” Servais demanded.

“He means the cross,” Jake explained. “News travels fast around here.”

“That kind of news sure does,” the sergeant replied.

“There isn't any more treasure out there,” Jake replied flatly.

“Now that's a real pity,” the MP said. “ 'Cause my boys
are real eager to get on with the driving lesson, and I can't hardly see any other way to keep them under control.”

The barrel-chested sergeant took a step back and joined the solid phalanx of men surrounding the jeep. “Now are you boys gonna come quietly, or do we start our lesson in safe road habits right here?”

Jake stiffened for the lunge, but before he could do more, Servais was up and moving faster than Jake thought possible.

Instead of rushing the men who were directly beside his door and thus prepared, Pierre leapt up and over the windshield. He raced down the hood, screaming like a banshee, and crashed into the two startled men in front of the jeep. A pair of blows that were little more than a blur, perfectly aimed for the point where jaws joined necks, and the men went down like felled trees.

The small man vanished into the darkness, still screaming.

“After him!” the sergeant yelled.

But as the circle began to break up, before there was a leader or a clear sense of direction, Servais was back, still yelling. He leapt up so high his body rose above the head of the first attacker, so high he kicked
down
on the man's head. Touching earth, he spun like a top and planted a flying boot alongside the second man's face. He met the oncoming fourth with hands like blades. In two strokes he stood over another body.

Jake broke his own stillness with two bounding strides, quickly covering the distance between himself and the sergeant, and put all his speed and weight into flattening the man's nose. The sergeant howled, grabbing his face with both hands.

Then a baton landed on Jake's shoulder, and the ground rushed up to meet him.

He caught sight of Pierre falling beneath a trio of baton-wielding MPs, and was tensing his body in anticipation of the next blow when headlights came up from the other side of the barrier and shone full upon the tableau.

The door to the saloon car opened and shut. A pair of
light-stepping shoes approached. Nobody moved. Everyone was as frozen as the night.

A woman's voice rang out, “What's going on here?”

The voice was answered by silence, save for some heavy breathing and a few soft groans. “You, Sergeant!” Sally Anders' fury rang in the crisp air. “I'm speaking to you! What's the meaning of this?”