The Schliemann Legacy (8 page)

Gently, he removed the gag and closed her staring eyes. He kissed her slack mouth. For some time, he stared down at her full, youthful body. Unable to feel remorse, he stood and began to search the pockets of his clothes.

He carefully burned all Charles Davoust's identity cards and flushed them down the toilet. He had discarded the beard and mustache earlier. After dressing, he looked again at the body on the bed. He could see the dark marks on Chanda's neck. Having exacted his revenge, he found he could almost forgive her. She had paid her penance. He pulled up the sheet to cover the bruises. With something resembling love, he arranged her dark hair on the pillow. Her slack face looked innocent and peaceful now. Duman thought she looked like a sleeping angel. He stepped back to observe the results. This was how he wanted to remember her, not as the deceitful whore slut he knew she was.

* * * * *

After retrieving another set of identification papers, Duman took half an hour to get to the Nova Park Elysees hotel where he registered as Richard Wakefield, British businessman. He enjoyed a leisurely dinner at the Paris Match restaurant and then had two drinks in the bar. Several young ladies presented themselves, but he decided none could surpass the night's earlier encounter. He returned to his room alone and used the telephone.

"This is Mr. Wakefield in suite 6009. Could you tell me when the first plane leaves for Munich at a civilized hour?"

"Please hold, Monsieur." Duman heard the quiet tap of the computer terminal keys. Seconds later, the voice was back. "Would ten forty five in the morning be satisfactory, Monsieur?"

"Yes, that would be excellent. Could you book me on the flight - one way, first class? And wake me at seven thirty for breakfast in my room at eight."

"Oui, Monsieur. Good evening."

After a long, hot shower, Duman slid between the soft sheets. He was asleep in seconds.

PART TWO

MUNICH

TELL ME NOW, MUSES...

AS YOU ARE HEAVENLY, AND ARE EVERYWHERE,

AND EVERYTHING IS KNOWN TO YOU -

THE ILIAD-BOOK II

Chapter 8 - LEBERKÄSE AT THE MARIENPLATZ

The sun approached its zenith and Katrina Kontoravdis' anger rose with it. Since seven o'clock that morning, she had been going from place to place throughout Munich. Her journey had begun at a locker in the central train station. The supplied key unlocked the door to reveal a typed note. Following the scant instructions, she worked her way out to the Olympic Village. At the Pool Building, a small man folding towels sent her to the zoo.

Amid beautiful, multicolored creatures at the tropical bird exhibit, she received another note from the handler. This message directed her to a small shop specializing in Pre-Columbian art. After convincing the persistent owner she did not want to purchase anything, he delivered a cryptic message. Mystified, Katrina left to discover a man selling small dolls under a wide umbrella. During his sales pitch, he pressed a slip of paper into her hand. This note clarified the previous message from the art dealer. She proceeded north toward a bakery where she received a
roscon
, a sugar sprinkled bun with guava jelly, and another piece of paper. Finally, she found herself walking through the Marienplatz.

She had followed the obtuse instructions for over three and a half hours but was no closer to Henri Mardinaud. The fat information broker was playing his childish games, she thought. Warnings about the man fell short of the truth. Her feet ached and she was tired. The late flight from Athens had been a horror. She had been unable to sleep on the plane because of the turbulence. Then the call to her hotel room woke her at five thirty this morning. The entire episode seemed designed to keep her off balance and the effort was succeeding. She was in no mood for this nonsense.

One of the most popular spots in Munich, the Marienplatz was thick with tourists. As Katrina passed the many outdoor restaurants, the smells of the warm German delicacies made her empty stomach growl. She realized she had eaten nothing but the
roscon
for the past several hours and considered stopping for a light snack before continuing. Eyeing one particularly crowded restaurant, she recognized the unmistakable bulk of one of the patrons sitting behind a steaming platter of Leberkäse. Henri Mardinaud smiled at her and motioned with his fork to an empty chair across from him.

"Katrina Kontoravdis," he said as she walked toward him. "It is so good to meet you. You will excuse me if I don't get up. The effort is hardly worth the result." Mardinaud smothered a sausage in mustard and forked the tube of meat into his mouth. A chunk of black bread followed. The display of gluttony fascinated Katrina.

"Where is the information I paid for?" she asked.

Mardinaud ignored her question and continued talking between mouthfuls of food. "Would you like something to eat? A small salad to start, perhaps? You must be hungry after your travels."

"No, nothing. I just want the information. Your game bores me. Just tell me what you know."

Mardinaud laughed. "To tell you all I know could take quite some time. And you don't seem to have the patience. I don't understand you women nowadays. Always in such a hurry. You should learn to relax. Learn to take your time and enjoy the sights around you. Smell the roses, as it were. I think this 'biological clock' one hears so much about is responsible for your inability to slow down. Possibly, you women are taking on more than you are capable of handling."

Katrina's brown eyes seared Mardinaud with a devastating look. He coughed self consciously before continuing.

"Yes, well, possibly not. Regardless, Munich is an elegant city and I researched your tour with care. I endeavored to show you the major points of interest, while giving you a clue about where you are going. And what thanks do I receive? After this morning,
you
should be able to tell
me
where the treasure is located. I thought you were smart enough to solve the puzzle. You disappoint me. Possibly, I overestimated you?"

Katrina stared at the man in front of her as she remembered her vague and seemingly unconnected wanderings. A pattern began to emerge from the twisted route. She'd been so frustrated with the delay that she had paid no attention to what she was doing. Mardinaud could see the dawning realization in her eyes.

"You did not understand, did you?" the Frenchman asked. "Extremely dangerous for one in your profession. Did you learn no lesson from the death of your partner?" Mardinaud's smile widened as Katrina exhaled a small sound of surprise. "Did you think I would not know of that? Give me more credit."

Pudgy fingers opened a manila file folder and thumbed through the sheets. "Yes, here it is. New York. A little over three years ago."

"Don't bother. I know the details," Katrina said coldly.

"Yes, I imagine you know them all too well. I also see you haven't been active since the…incident." Mardinaud shut the folder and looked up at her. "I should think you're a bit rusty. Nikolas Stefandis doesn't give a damn about this mission, does he? He might even find it preferable if you failed." The information broker shrugged. "Stefandis never did believe women should be in his organization. Personally, I can't understand his attitude. But to each his own."

"Could we get on with this? Just give me the information."

Mardinaud finished chewing a mouthful before he answered. "Don't you want to display your superior intelligence and feminine intuition by guessing where you are going? It shouldn't be too hard."

Katrina watched him fork more food into his mouth. His habit of chewing with his mouth open was beginning to nauseate her. "If it will hurry you up, I'll go along with your…"

Katrina broke off suddenly as she realized Mardinaud was staring past her. She tensed and laid her hand on the closest weapon - a serrated table knife. She turned and scanned the crowd behind her, but could see nothing amiss. Most people were staring in the same direction as Mardinaud. She followed their gaze to the Glockenspiel above the town hall across the street. The dancing figures had begun to move.

Mardinaud watched as one of the figures moved slowly around the circle. The jester's bright outfit shone in the summer sun while the tune played flawlessly. Necks craned throughout the square as young and old watched with rapt attention. Except Katrina. Mardinaud glanced at the bright brown eyes glowing with impatience.

"Is it not magnificent?" asked Mardinaud. "I never tire of hearing its clear tones or watching the regal promenade. I find it difficult to believe the object is not French. Do you know its history?"

"No, I don't. Does it involve my mission?"

"No, I suppose it doesn't," he admitted. "You have come to hear of Ulrich Kadner and his ill got possessions."

Katrina waited while the fat man continued. "I'll start you out, shall I? I sent you to the train station first. Obviously, you must travel. Not by train, though. You have to go over water, as you did at the Olympic pool. I wanted to be sure you saw that building. A true treasure demonstrating nature's mix of strength and beauty. Such an architectural vision. But I digress. Just be glad I didn't send you to your departure point, the airport in Frankfurt."

Katrina glared at him. "I assume from the trip to the zoo, I'll be going to a tropical zone."

"Yes, yes. Very good. You see? You can enjoy the game. All you have to do is try. Can you narrow it down even further?"

"You sent me to the shop specializing in Pre-Columbian art. The bakery. Clumsy reference with the art but everything leads to Colombia, so I assume that is my destination. However, nothing tells me who has the treasure."

"My dear, you continue to disappoint me," he said. "You have stopped short of the answer. Where did you go before you came here?"

Katrina was again growing impatient with the Frenchman. "The cemetery," she said.

"And the inscription above the gates to the cemetery?"

"I never noticed."

"Exactly!" Mardinaud's voice was suddenly serious. "And that is why you may not live to see the end of this game. The clues abound if you can find them. Clues to both the treasure and to the dangers. You must sharpen your powers of observation. You have, once again, entered the real world. You are no longer hidden among your files and forms. You must prepare for the consequences of your chosen life. I had hoped for a better player."

Katrina bristled at the admonishment. "The inscription?" she asked.

"Yes. Well, in short, it is a prayer dedicated to the dead of the Second World War. More specifically, to those slaughtered by the Nazis. That leads us to the current owner of the artifacts - a member of Hitler's elite SS. One Ulrich Kadner, known as Friedrich Heiden during the war. This file contains all his personal data and where to find him. It also details where he keeps the treasure. You should have no trouble, once you get into his compound."

"What about security?"

"Surprisingly good - considering where he is. The stress is on human, rather than electronic, surveillance. The tropical weather plays havoc with the equipment. Apparently, the plants grow quickly and can block the sensors in a matter of days. Also, the weather...I'm sorry," Mardinaud held up his hands. "I digress again. Regardless, I have included full details of the precautions Kadner has taken, including the number and placement of personnel. You should have no trouble getting in - with the proper equipment. Of course," he added with a smile, "getting out with the treasure is another issue."

Katrina stood and picked up the file. The information broker reached out and grasped her arm with surprising speed and strength. "Remember. You are in the real world now."

Katrina shook the plump, greasy hand from her arm and turned away.

* * * * *

Katrina replaced the telephone and reclined on the thick comforter. A late night flight or a flight the next morning, those were her choices. She closed her eyes and massaged her temples. If Mardinaud had not played his foolish game, she could have caught a flight this morning and already be on her way to Colombia.

Her hand shook as she reached for a glass of water and she felt a wave of dizziness. My blood sugar is low, she thought. That's the problem. She knew she should have picked up something to eat. Once she ate, she would recover.

Her best course of action was to get into her rental car and drive to Frankfurt. The sooner she arrived in Colombia, the better off she would be. Sitting in this cramped hotel room would do nothing to build her confidence.

She glanced at the open file beside her on the bed. One look at the sheet of security specifications and she flopped back against the headboard.

Kadner's compound was a fortress. A small army of experienced, well armed men guarded him constantly. Getting in was impossible, getting out was slightly more difficult. Why rush to Colombia with no plan in mind?

She would spend another night in Munich. Spend the time sleeping and studying the file. With food and rest, she could overcome her nervousness at being in the field again. All she needed was some time to build herself up, to acclimate herself. Once she could think without the distraction of nerves, she could analyze the defenses of the compound. The weakness was there and she would find it.

Chapter 9 - BEER GARDENS AND BRIEFINGS

Duman walked slowly along the pathway beside the Isar River. The night was warm and fragrant, almost as sweet smelling as the large breasted
Fraülein
walking beside him. He slipped his arm around her thick waist, letting his hand ride up to her breast. She smiled wickedly at him as she tossed back her flaming red hair. Duman had been sitting in the bar at the Munich Hilton when she walked up to him. At first glance, she looked like a professional. Instead, she was just horny. In ten minutes, they were lying naked in his hotel suite. She had been...inventive. They had coupled there until just before his scheduled meeting with Mardinaud.

As they approached the entrance of the Gastatte zum Flaucher, Duman allowed the woman to walk ahead. Her ample figure would absorb any initial gunfire from the front leaving him free to concentrate on any attack mounted from the rear. Though he doubted the Frenchman would risk selling him out, Duman lived with precaution - especially after the trap in Paris yesterday.