Shrouded in Silence (14 page)

"How'd you find out?" Michelle asked.

"You aren't going to believe this," Dov said. "I was making my inquiries when I noticed that a peculiar old priest seemed particularly agitated about my requests for information. He got out of his chair and went hobbling back into the stacks. Because my questions bothered him, I followed the priest, staying on the other side of the rack of materials. Near the end of a long row of documents, another elderly priest was waiting for this guy. No one else was around so I simply eavesdropped. That's when I got the larger story."

"Fascinating," Jack said. "Any road signs we can follow?"

"Yes," Dov said. "Once Rosh Hashana is passed, I will give you a guided tour of that end of the library. By now, I imagine the old priest has my tag number and will be leery when I show up."

"Well!" Jack rubbed his hands together. "For a morning that has started out so badly, we are making important progress."

Dr. Albert Stein pulled the earphones from his head and readjusted his thick glasses. The transmitters that Burchel had installed the night before had worked even better than he had hoped. Equipped for reception, the van remained parked near to Santa Maria Church. Their conversation came through as clearly as if the three people had been sitting in the next room. While it had not answered many of his questions, it had been more than worth the trouble and expense. He now knew the name of the Laterani family. In fact, Laterani property had been part of building the first church in Rome, and in some way that he couldn't quite remember, a portion of the land had ended up in the estate of Constantine. It was exactly the sort of information he had hoped for.

Stein looked at his watch. Klaus Burchel still hadn't show up. Where was he? Burchel should have been here long before now. The young man had done well in installing the second MicroPower WM-1 transmitter, but not getting back to him in proper time signaled trouble. Could he be snorting cocaine again? Definitely. Whatever he was up to, Burchel would be in big trouble for his tardiness.

Stein looked around the van. His intention had been that Burchel would spend the day running a recorder to pick up the conversations. Since Klaus wasn't there, Stein had no choice but to stay in the stuffy van and listen. It was the kind of research that he never wanted to do.

With their early morning conference concluded, Dov Sharon gathered his papers and pushed them into a briefcase. "I'm going back to the Vatican Library to see what else I can find." He turned toward the door. "I hope to be back late this afternoon." Not looking at Michelle, Dov hurried out the door but said nothing else.

"I suppose you've got a good reason for offending our colleague?" Jack said in a flat unemotional voice that barely concealed his anger.

"I know you don't agree with me," Michelle said. "But I find it interesting that the person who found poor Father Raffello was Dov Sharon. I've told you before that I have suspicions about him."

"I think you're pushing the envelope, Michelle. There's not one shred of evidence that Dov has ever done anything wrong. He's simply a quiet studious type. OK?"

Michelle pushed back from the table, said nothing, and silently walked back to her desk.

Part Two

Night Darkens

15

T
he consistent clatter of the train's wheels against the tracks irritated the young German. The beat of steel against steel resounded like the echo of a judge's gavel pounding out judgment, condemning Klaus to torture and perdition.

It came again and again. No escape. No escape. No escape. No escape.

The clamor wouldn't stop.

Killing a Roman Catholic priest in Italy had to be the worst crime of the century, but even worse, the death had never been his intention. How in God's name could he have done such a thing? The mess started in that diabolical church crypt where they propped up horrid skeletons with bones sticking out like party favors to entice ghouls showing up in the middle of the night. The Capuchin monks surely had draconian intentions when they started placing those skulls around like Halloween decorations to terrify children.

Sure he was superstitious, but Klaus Burchel hadn't dreamed the ghostly sights could scramble his brains. Skeletal fingers dangling from a rotting brown robe like dirty icicles made his blood run cold. The black, empty eyes of those yellowing skulls had peered into his soul and found it as empty as were those ancient craniums. Every inch of that basement had been a horror show that left him terror-crazed.

And when that priest showed up in front of the house with a hood over his head, the padre had looked like death creeping after Klaus. The shock of a ghastly, shrouded apparition shot the knife forward more by reflex than by design. He had stabbed the Holy Joe basically because the bum shocked him. Good God! Who wouldn't? Having a ghost confront you in the middle of the night would send anyone running for a meat cleaver! The killing had been purely an accident brought on by that old fool appearing out of the darkness. But, it was done. Finished. Over.

The constant rumble of the train felt like a runaway drill pounding in his head. It made him want to jump up and leap off the coach at the next terminal, but he couldn't. Once Stein found out about the killing, he'd probably turn him in just to save Stein's own hide. The worthless man had the money to cover his problems, but certainly not Klaus's. The only alternative that he could see was to flee the country, even if the police in Germany might still be after him.

At the German border they would check his passport, and then again, they might not. Smearing some makeup over the scar on his cheek should cover that aspect of his identity. They'd gotten somewhat lax last time he went through, but one could never tell. Changing to the Euro hadn't affected many aspects of crossing borders. Being able to have his passport changed in Italy from Klaus Baer to the name Klaus Burchel had taken the pressure off, but one could never tell about how these matters would turn out. The German government didn't take any crime lightly, and when it had political ramifications, the police turned into fierce watchdogs.

Klaus could almost hear the voice of neo-Nazi–leader Heinrich Bruno telling him that an attack on the municipal offices in Munich would make him a hero of the people. His family had the background that would resonate with the grumbling masses. Too many people were struggling financially not to listen to a new voice calling for a redress of their grievances. After all, Hitler had begun this way. Why couldn't he? Bruno had been convinced it was the right moment for the neo-Nazis to rise up again. It had all seemed so right.

Break in. Destroy files. Leave their mark behind. Attack. Be fearless!

It sounded promising, until a police car pulled up in the front windows in the middle of the night and sent Heinrich Bruno running. All hell broke loose when one of the other men had foolishly shot at a policeman and hit him in the shoulder. Only by a quirk of fate had Klaus found a side door and escaped down a narrow alley before the police came around the building.

Far from thinking him a hero, Klaus's parents had hustled him onto a train and out of the country. Only after he arrived in Rome had he been able to work out a new passport with a different name, but it had cost a bundle. How had Stein figured out enough of this problem to discover his true identity? The scum bag obviously had connections up to the very top of the German government. It was even more staggering that Stein had discovered the name of his grandfather.

The train slowed to a stop for crossing the border into Switzerland. The Swiss always took the border entries more seriously than the Germans, and Klaus knew they would make a check of his passport, so he pulled it out and stood up to get in line for the control. Out the window, he could see the snow-covered mountains and the towering peaks. The sight impressed him and momentarily took his mind off what the passport control might say about him. With makeup over the scar on his cheek, he pulled his hat low, hoping to further cover the area. Stepping out into the cold mountain air on the station platform, he hurried inside the small building where it was warm. Only three people were ahead of him in line and he quickly passed to the front. Even at this hour, the passport officer looked bored and didn't hesitate to stamp his passport. Klaus quickly got back to this seat on the train. The coach started moving again, and they were on their way.

The train began winding its way down the mountain tracks that would eventually carry him through Switzerland and into Germany. At Bern, he would change to a train that would take him to Zurich and then on toward Munich. Of course, his parents would be surprised and pleased to see him, but he had given them no hint of returning. Possibly the confrontation at the Munich City Hall had blown over; possibly not. He couldn't chance a mistake.

If there was an explosion, it would be because his family name would ignite the fuse. The name Baer could blow holes in walls. Many people in Germany were named Baer, but none had the connection that he did to Richard Baer. After the war, his grandfather had gone into hiding and worked as a woodsman in the Hamburg area for a number of years. Then someone who didn't like the Nazis turned him in, and the new government captured him in December l960. Three years later, Grandfather Baer died in prison. By that time, the Baer name had become onerous in Germany history.

Klaus both admired what his grandfather had done and felt apprehension about what could follow from those actions. After all, killing Jews no longer had the popularity it once did. It wasn't easy being the grandson of the last
SS-Sturmbannfuhrer,
the commandant, of Auschwitz Concentration Camp.

16

F
rom the doorway, Jack Townsend watched Dov Sharon walk through the back door into the kitchen and stumble around the boxes and furniture cluttering the room. Pushing a box aside, Dov trudged into the living room where the desks stood.

"You feel OK today?" Jack asked.

"Yesterday's excitement threw my system out of whack," Dov said. "Having a priest murdered in your front yard tends to leave you stuck in low gear." He plopped down in his desk chair. "A little on the macabre side, wouldn't you say?"

Michelle looked up from her desk. "That's putting it mildly. The police haven't been back inside so I guess they've settled on the idea that the killer caught Father Raffello in front of our building."

Dov said nothing.

"Well, the police certainly got right on it," Jack said. "I thought it strange they let us back in the building so quickly."

"Yes," Dov said. "I noticed that they're not out there working this morning."