The Stolen (37 page)

Suddenly a twig snapped under Matthias's shoe as he leaned back against the wall. At the noise the policeman swung round and stared blindly in his direction. Just then the stray cat Matthias had seen earlier jumped out of some nearby bushes and skipped over to the policeman, winding around his legs affectionately. The man leaned down to pat him. In that minute the beam of Latcos's torch inside the church caught the glass of the window. Matthias glanced at the official. He was still stroking the cat. Finally the policeman stood up then walked off round a corner. A minute later there was the sound of a bolt being drawn on the inside of the church door and Latcos pulled it open. Without saying a word Matthias stepped in.

 

They stood staring down the nave towards the main altar, their torches cutting a swathe of light down the flagstones. The church had been built in the shape of a cross and the nave ran the traditional west to east. The main altar was at the east end with a life-size wooden statue of Jesus on the cross. The Saviour himself, his elongated Northern European face carved with a serene expression despite his contorted, tortured and bleeding limbs, seemed to cast a supercilious look down at the two men as they made their way past the empty wooden pews, past the baptistery with its stone font, past the simple stone arches and columns.

The only other light, apart from the torches, was moonlight pouring in from the windows set high in the clerestory.
It's like walking through a de Chirico painting,
Matthias thought,
the muted black-and-white landscape of a dream
; the statues of the saints in the altars seemed to be teetering on the brink of movement or breath. The atmosphere was strangely vibrant, as if there had been a flurry of activity that had mysteriously and abruptly ceased. It was unnerving, even to Matthias, who now found himself somewhat desperately clinging to his atheism.

‘Where do we start looking?' Latcos whispered.

‘We'll begin with the three altars and if I'm right, we should be looking for a symbol.' Using his finger to draw on the dusty surface of a lectern, he outlined the original logo for Zellweger Industries. ‘This is what we're looking for.' The two men fanned out and began searching.

 

Minutes later Latcos joined Matthias at the main altar.

‘Nothing but saints and angels. What about you?'

Matthias shrugged. ‘The crypt is next.'

As they descended the narrow stairwell the temperature dropped. At the bottom, Latcos swept his torch across the stone vaults that criss-crossed the low ceiling. The shadows of tombs and gravestones set into the floor of the crypt ran across the wall like fleeing spirits awoken.

‘I can't stay here, Matthias. This place is full of ghosts and they're watching us,' Latcos whispered, failing to keep the dread out of his voice.

‘For a man who's taken on the Stasi I expected you to be braver.'

‘That's different.'

‘Trust me, Latcos, we're close.' Matthias's beam caught the glint of brass. Standing in the corner were two tall, thick altar candles set in waist-high candlesticks. ‘Give me your lighter.' Reluctantly the gypsy pulled out a gold lighter and Matthias walked over to the candles and lit them. Immediately light flowed into the crypt, illuminating the stone features of the medieval sculptures that lay across the lids of the stone tombs.

At the far end was a thirteenth-century statue of one of the Habsburgs set in an altarpiece at one end; it was sitting on a stone base which had a relief of the resurrection of Christ carved out along it, with inserts of gilded metal over various faces and figures, highlighting halos and armour. The mid-section was a depiction of the fallen Christ being held in his mother's arms, a remarkably young-looking Mary, her angelic face framed by the rays of a golden halo set behind it.

Matthias began walking between the tombs, directing his torch beam into each crevice along the sides of each sarcophagus.

‘It'll take hours to find,' Latcos pointed out.

‘Just keep looking.' Matthias arrived at the tomb of a medieval knight and paused. The face of the knight had an idealised Teutonic beauty and there was a stone lion crouching at his feet, but the marble he was carved from looked oddly contemporary. Curious, Matthias glanced at the name carved onto a plaque at the foot of the tomb.
Wilhelm Gustloff
. There was no date of birth or death. Matthias almost dropped his torch. ‘Latcos, I think I've found it.'

A moment later they were both staring down at the tomb.

‘Wilhelm Gustloff was the assassinated German leader of the Swiss Nazi Party, a real icon for them. What we're looking at is a contemporary homage to Gustloff, disguised as a great Teutonic knight, but this is definitely not his tomb,' Matthias observed, appalled at the audacity and grandeur of the pretence. ‘Here, help me shift the lid.'

Both men began to push with all their strength and to their amazement the stone lid suddenly lifted open on a hinge, revealing a metal safe cemented onto the floor of the tomb. In the centre of the safe's door was a keyhole, a curious design they recognised immediately.

Matthias glanced over at Latcos. The gypsy's face was tense, but his eyes burned. ‘Remember, brother, whatever we find, it is stamped with blood.' Matthias nodded, then placed the assembled key into the lock. The safe door clicked open immediately. Reaching down, he pulled the door up, revealing several compartments stuffed with cloth bags and wrapped objects.

‘Jesus Christ, a real Aladdin's cave,' said Latcos.

‘Probably hundreds of families' heirlooms and wealth, all stolen to finance the Thousand-Year Reich.'

Matthias emptied his canvas bag out onto the floor, then lowered himself into the marble sarcophagus and they started to empty the safe. Matthias carefully handed each bag out to Latcos, who checked the contents before placing it inside the canvas bag.

The first contained gold coins – most of them over two hundred years old – four Russian roubles, ten Empress Marie Josef's coins and a couple of Ottoman lire. The next was a collection of exotic gold necklaces, earrings and rings. Each item had an old yellowing paper label attached to it, marked with a number and a swastika.

Latcos lifted out one of the gold necklaces and examined it under the candlelight.

‘This is Kalderash work, as are the earrings, and the coins would have been Roma. We use this to weave into the girl's hair when she marries. Our wealth is carried in such coins.' Matthias handed him another bag and Latcos pulled out a Russian icon. ‘But this icon, this is not Roma.' Matthias hauled out a larger bag, filled with a collection of gold eight-branched candlesticks, all decorative, some engraved with Hebrew. Latcos held one up. ‘I've seen this before; my cousin married a Jew. They light the candles for eight days.'

Now sweating despite the chilly air, Matthias wiped his forehead and looked at the small candlestick glinting in the light.

‘The statuette
has
to be here, probably buried at the bottom. Latcos, do you know how much all of this is worth? No wonder they went to such trouble to hide it.' He bent down, reaching into the dark recesses of the safe.

‘One more bag and what feels like a few rolled-up scrolls. I think I'm reaching some of the art objects – she has to be among those.' He pulled out the last cloth bag, which rattled in his hands, and handed it over to Latcos, then bent down again to pull out the next.

‘So many…'
Latcos murmured in a shocked voice. Matthias looked over. Lying on the floor beside the young gypsy was the bag, the contents half spilled out on the floor; it was a large pile of human teeth – each one filled with gold.

‘I heard stories from Yojo, terrible stories, but to see the evidence…' Latcos could hardly speak.

‘Exactly. It is evidence and we need it to get justice. We're nearly there, Latcos.'

Matthias returned to searching. Pulling out one of the rolled-up scrolls, he handed it to Latcos. His fingers fastened round the shape of a small-framed miniature. As he turned to hand it to Latcos, he saw the gypsy staring at the unrolled scroll, which was in fact a small canvas.

‘What's it of?'

‘A man in a funny hat.' Latcos turned the canvas towards him. Matthias recognised the style immediately. ‘My God, a Magritte.' Matthias's gut tightened in anticipation. He tried to keep his expression neutral but failed. ‘It's not possible…' he murmured.

‘So it is worth something?'

Matthias picked it up and carefully rolled it back up. ‘Probably a forgery, but we'll find out later.'

‘The Nazis stole from everyone, didn't they? Rich, poor, Jews, gypsies…'

‘A lot of the plundered art was laundered through the art galleries here undetected for years. Far easier to hide than gold. I wonder what private collection that was taken from.'

‘The safe is almost empty, but where is the statuette?'

Matthias didn't answer. Instead, turning his back, he concentrated on searching the rest of the safe, doubts now rattling through him.
What if they didn't have the statuette all along? Was it possible Ulrich had been deliberately setting me on a false path?
He reached blindly into the vault. At the very bottom he found a wrapped bundle about fifteen inches in length. As he lifted it out into the light, the cloth fell open and the head of a figurine was revealed. The dramatic face of a young woman, tongue stretched out lewdly, her eyes elongated in the manner of Hindu gods, her painted gaze staring. Her beautiful face appeared to be made of a dark-coloured metal, the rays of a golden halo set behind it. A strange tingling shot through Matthias's palm as his fingers closed over the head.

‘Latcos,' he whispered, ‘I've found her.'

 

She stood balanced perfectly on the wide edge of the marble sarcophagus, six inches from outstretched arms to outstretched arms, both feet sunk into a base made of the same material. The curious dark metal was unknown to Matthias, but her arms and legs were inlaid with gold and there was a circle of beaten gold like a halo stretching up behind her head that looked as if it might have been a later addition – an attempt to Christianise the Hindu goddess? Her four arms were held out as if in triumph or celebration. In her top-right hand she held a curved sword, while the lower right hand held a golden cross and what appeared to be a large iron nail – another late addition, Matthias guessed. The upper left hand pointed to the heavens and the lower left hand pointed down to the earth in a posture of submission.

‘She is magnificent.' Again Matthias found himself whispering. He bent down and spoke to the statuette itself. ‘How much have you witnessed? What secrets do you hold?'

Latcos reached out and touched the engraved third eye on the statuette's forehead, then muttered in Romane.

‘This is a miracle, my brother. My family's treasure will be restored.' He turned to Matthias, who now stood next to him, and put his hand on his shoulder. ‘You felt her power, didn't you, when you touched her face?'

‘I felt something.'

‘You felt the Spirit. This is why she was stolen from us. This is what the Nazis wanted.'

Just then Latcos's knife, resting on the top edge of the coffin, began to move towards the statuette, as if the figure were magnetic.

‘I told you she was powerful,' Latcos said reverently.

Matthias nodded. ‘Ulrich knew the statuette had power – he just didn't know how to access it or how he could use it. But he also must have been aware how the capture of it would lead to promotion and favouritism from Hitler.'

‘But then he stole it for himself.'

‘Whatever the statuette is made of, it emits some kind of powerful magnetic field. I can't really explain it but that's probably why there's been such a lot of mythology around it. But this is something based on more than just superstition; this is based on science.'

‘What about the other valuables?'

‘They will be traceable. There are records of stolen artworks.'

‘Not of the statuette or any of the Kalderash gold. We do not keep records. It would be our word against theirs and I know who will be believed.'

‘The statuette and the Kalderash coins and jewellery you take back to the community. The rest we will use as evidence to prosecute.'

Latcos turned back to the statuette.

‘I have never seen her before, only heard the stories Yojo used to tell about her. How his father, my grandfather, taught him that it was our family's duty to protect her and if she was to be taken or lost it would lead to great hardship, and then the war came and everyone was scattered.'

‘Now she's almost home.' Matthias was interrupted by the sound of a truck driving past the church. He checked his watch. ‘It's one in the morning. We have to get out of here.'

Half an hour later they had packed all of the objects and the bags into Matthias's canvas holdall and relocked the safe and closed the lid of the coffin. The area looked intact and as serene as it had when they first discovered the tomb. After wiping down any evidence of footprints around the sarcophagus, Matthias stepped back and surveyed the scene.

‘That'll buy us a few days, but that's all we are going to need,' he told Latcos, smiling.

 

Fifteen minutes later, as Matthias drove through the empty streets, Latcos leaned back and closed his eyes and murmured something.

‘What are you doing?' Matthias asked.

‘Talking to my uncle and my grandfather, telling them that finally I have our Madonna,' he explained.

Matthias grinned. ‘Please send them my regards.'

‘Oh, you don't need to do that; you have their blessings already.'

 

Matthias turned into Rämistrasse. A taxi was driving home revellers, the occasional rubbish-collection van, a student on a bicycle cycling furiously against the wind, his face wrapped up in a scarf. Matthias accelerated past the university buildings; every instinct in him wanted to turn towards the laboratory, and yet he knew he should drive Latcos and the statuette back to the camp.