David Gibbins - The Mask of Troy

‘Exceptional people,’ Saumerre repeated, smiling. ‘ Exceptional people.’ He pulled on a pair of leather gloves. ‘I believe your present predicament, your change of career, was caused by a girl? The black-market art tycoon becomes a police informant, and then a pavement artist? Yes?’

‘You mean Rebecca Howard?’ The man was hesitant. ‘She came to see me in Amsterdam. About returning a stolen Durer from the Howard Gallery. Raitz will know about that. She met him too. Actually, she didn’t like him much. She said he was a nasty piece of goods. She thought he was weak, too. Pretty shrewd, if you ask me. That’s kids for you.’ He jerked his head at Raitz again, then looked conspiratorially at Saumerre. ‘I’d ditch this guy if I were you. Don’t trust him an inch. Never did buy that spin on his Nazi family past. He’s still one of them. Look at him. You can see the weakness in his eyes.’

Saumerre said nothing, but did up his coat. Brandeis looked suddenly frightened again. ‘I only turned informer because I was being threatened. A new Mafia boss, from Kazakhstan. Kazakhs don’t know the etiquette. Not like you people. Your boss. Which one is he? Please tell me. They all owe me favours. With Russians, real Russians, I can do good business. Just tell me. But the girl helped me to disappear for a while. Got me where I am now, which is better than a prison cell or the bottom of a canal. Daughter of Jack Howard, the famous marine archaeologist.’ Brandeis stopped, and stared. He went deathly pale. His voice was a whisper. ‘Good God. You can’t. Do what you like with me, but you can’t. Leave her out of this.’

Saumerre nodded at the Russian, who had been in a barely restrained rage, his fists balled. His English was evidently good enough to understand what Brandeis had said about him. He came up silently behind the chair, pulling a small automatic pistol from under his jacket and holding it close to his leg, the long black silencer pointing down. He raised it, hesitated for a moment, then in one lightning movement reached his arm round Brandeis’ neck and jerked it up and to the right, holding it there. Brandeis made a choking noise, and the Russian jerked again. There was a sickening crack, and he let go of the head. It lolled down, eyes open, blood and mucus dripping from the mouth. The Russian stood back, grunted, and held up the pistol, jerking his other thumb at the corpse. ‘Less blood my way.’

‘Take him away.’ Saumerre waved his hand dismissively. The Russian shoved the pistol into his jacket and the other two came up to help him. They lifted the chair and carried it with the body out of the door. Raitz leaned one hand against the wall, feeling faint. It had all happened so quickly. He had never seen anyone killed before. He was sweating, shaking. He turned to Saumerre. ‘He had more to tell us. More gold to find. He could have led us on a treasure trail. Isn’t that what you want? You and your people? What is it with this single lead, this code?’

Saumerre looked at him pityingly. ‘What, you don’t have the stomach for this? For killing? You disappoint me, Raitz. Remember what your revered Fuhrer said. This man was subhuman. He was a Jew. Now, to business. The Howard girl.’

Raitz had a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. If they could do this, what was in store for her? He grasped Saumerre by the shoulder. ‘She will not be harmed, right? Nothing like this. That was not part of the deal. This was not what I wanted.’

Saumerre pushed the hand away, and looked at him with contempt. ‘What on earth are you thinking? You naive academic. A kidnapping works this way: you threaten to kill your victim, right? You make them feel pain. You make their loved ones know they feel pain. And hey presto, you have a result.’

‘And then what?’

‘Then? Then? What then?’ Saumerre spat the word out with scorn. ‘You are a sentimentalist, Professor. Not a good Nazi.’

Raitz straightened up, wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers. ‘You are wrong. I serve the memory of the Fuhrer. The thousand-year Reich.’

Saumerre looked at him appraisingly. ‘And everything else is dispensable?’

‘Nothing is more important than the cause.’

‘That is exactly how we think too. Maybe we can still do business, Professor. Maybe we can.’ He flipped open his phone. ‘You know this girl, correct? She will recognize you?’

‘As I told you. She came to see me at the institute to talk about the return of that Durer to Germany. We had lunch. A good Aryan girl, on her father’s side.’

‘Forget that Aryan nonsense. Just remember this. A date, a time, a place. Tomorrow evening, seven p.m., the County Hall Marriott. Her school group is assembling there. You will greet her like an old friend. Pure coincidence that you are there, some academic meeting in the hotel just finished. It concerns Nazi art, your speciality. And you happen to have something extraordinary, something you think her father would be fascinated to know about. She’ll always want to please him. Use that. Tell her you have pictures of a Nazi bunker, full of ancient antiquities.’

‘She’ll have security. That was an issue when she came to see me before. She should have involved IMU security, but she didn’t.’

‘She has no reason to be suspicious of you. And you just said it. She doesn’t like security. There are two entrances to the hotel. One is from Westminster Bridge Road, the main entrance. The other is Belvedere Road. You’ll tell her your car is there. The pictures are locked inside. She only needs to step out on to the pavement. My men will take it from there.’

‘Where will you take her?’

‘Where will you take her. You wish to keep my Russian friends from doing her harm? It will be your part of the bargain. I remain anonymous. You will take her out of the country. I will give you instructions. Somewhere close to Dr Howard’s heart. Meanwhile, he and his Greek friend will do a little job for us. A job from which they will not return. And I need to be ready to take what they find.’

‘And we will both have what we want.’

‘If it leads us to where I think it will lead us, then you will have your art, for your secret Fuhrermuseum. And I will have my treasure.’

‘And if not?’

‘You doubt me?’

‘I didn’t trust Brandeis. I was trying to tell you. That story from the old Jew. Brandeis wasn’t telling us everything. When you asked whether the German officer had taken anything else with him from Poland. I could see it in his eyes.’

‘Are you weak, Raitz? Was the girl right? You’ve let Brandeis get to you. This is what he wanted you to think. Sow the seeds of doubt. Take your eyes off the prize. Divert you from the cause.’

‘Saumerre.’ Raitz eyed him. ‘You may think me naive, but I have a first-class mind. I insist that you tell me the full story. You told me enough to convince me to join you. But now we’re playing a different game. There’s been a murder, and I’m involved in it. I insist you tell me. If you want me to remain on course.’

Saumerre stood for a moment, then went over and peered through the door. He shut and locked it, then came back to Raitz and spoke quietly. ‘When we met in the British Museum, I mentioned the story my grandfather told me. The reason I believe Brandeis’ story is that the account he had from the old Jew chimed so closely with my grandfather’s account. The Dutchman just couldn’t have made it up. The camp is one and the same, the labour camp where my grandfather survived by working as a cook. That document I gave you with the swastika, with the Agamemnon Code stamp, came from the same Luftwaffe officer. My grandfather must have stumbled across his body just before the other man. He remembered other documents in the man’s pockets, but this one looked important and he just took it and ran. He was a profiteer, and desperate, grabbing anything he might sell, or use as a bargaining chip. But this is what I haven’t told you yet. Do you swear