Florian's Gate (23 page)

The interiors of the three-foot-high doors were a pair of solid ivory frames. Within these frames, birds had been designed from thin slices of semiprecious stone and set against a backdrop of onyx. The cabinet itself held ten drawers, five on each side of a larger central chamber. Each drawer was inlaid with a repeated pattern done in ivory and semiprecious stones. The central chamber door was framed by solid ivory pillars and faced with gemstone flowers in a vase of hammered silver.

The lawyer's roughly accented English brought him awake. “You can sell?”

Jeffrey eased himself from his crouch. He nodded. “Without a doubt.”

The lawyer was genuinely relieved. “How much?”

“I can't say anything for certain without further evaluation.”

When Katya had translated, the woman waved it aside impatiently. “Guess. This important for family.”

He rubbed a hand across the side of his face. “This looks to be of what we would call museum quality. Both of them. We would sell it to a serious collector or to a house seeking to build up a selection of Renaissance works.”

This time she did not even allow Katya to finish. “Words, words,” she barked. “Family must know. How much?”

He took a breath. “At least fifty thousand pounds.”

The lawyer made round eyes. She asked through Katya,
“Fifty thousand pounds is one hundred and fifty thousand marks, is that right? Yes. I am not used to this new money yet. You will give us that for the two?”

“No. Fifty thousand pounds each. Mind you, they have to be evaluated. We must be absolutely certain they are genuine.”

She listened to Katya's translation, then said directly, “But you think yes.”

He feasted his eyes on the two works a moment longer, nodded. “I think yes.”

“And if genuine, maybe worth more?”

“If the finishes are original, and if they are dated as I think they will be, then the right buyer could pay a lot more.”

The cellar was very quiet. “How much more?”

Jeffrey shook his head. “I can't begin to say. Possibly . . . well, I wouldn't even want to guess what the possibility might be.”

“Maybe twice, three times?”

He bent back over, traced a gentle hand across the safe's interior. “Possibly.”

The lawyer spoke through Katya, who said, “There are other people who will need to sell family treasures in the days and weeks to come. This is not the only family with problems and things to sell. There are too many dishonest people seeking more than is their fair share. They will be happy to know I have found an honest man. Will you come back and do business here again?”

“Of course,” Jeffrey replied. He allowed himself to be ushered from the room. “But you have to realize that there is a very big difference between the price paid for a good imitation and the value of an original antique. A world of difference. And I won't know for sure what these pieces are until I have completed a full evaluation.”

“This is clear,” she replied through Katya. “But I believe you will tell me the truth. You gave back money when you did not need to. You did not try to first tell me that the antiques were fake. The quality of honesty is very rare when such sums
are involved. You must come back again. There will be other opportunities for business.”

“I'd like that very much,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm. “Thank you.”

She flipped off the cellar lights, started up the stairwell, and continued to talk over her shoulder. Katya translated. “The next time you come the new autobahn to Schwerin will be open, and the power lines will loom like metal giants over the land. And with the coming of all that wealth and ease and comfort, something will be lost. I am not sorry to see communism go. It had to be. But with this blind rush to join to the West, I tell you that something truly will be lost.”

Jeffrey strode back toward Schwerin's old town as though he were walking on air. His first find. His first buy. He filled his lungs to bursting, feeling as though he were breathing champagne.

The family would receive an initial sum sufficient to cover the downpayment on their house—the safe's facades were worth that much alone. Once the pieces arrived in London and authentication was completed, another fifty percent of the minimum estimated value would be sent via the lawyer. Upon sale, the remainder minus commissions.

As they strolled back toward the center of town Katya said softly, “I am very proud of you.”

“For what?”

“For the offer of help.”

He shook his head. “It was Alexander's idea and Alexander's money.”

“I think maybe you had a little to do with it.”

“Well, with the arrangement, yes. A little.”

She pointed to where a red-brick spire rose above the old city's rooftops. “I'd like to go in there and pray for the people before we leave. Do we have time?”

“If we hurry.”

The church was erected around the year eleven hundred, a
vast structure of red brick and stone and floored with colored tile. The forty-meter-high domed ceiling took a tour-guide's voice and bounced it back in rolling echoes; the guide paused with practiced cadence to allow the reverberated tones to silence between his phrases.

Jeffrey sat beside Katya as she knelt and prayed. He was content to spend his time looking about the chamber, happy to have the trip behind him, enormously pleased to be at peace with Katya.

The former Communist masters had stripped the churches of their finery and painted the ornate interiors a blank-faced white. All that was left were two wooden crosses, the altar panels, the empty bishop's chair, and a painting of Christ on the cross. All the stained-glass windows had been blown out during the war, replaced with simple translucent glass panels. Stripped of its multicolored lighting, the vast whitewashed chamber held all the warmth and hope of a tomb.

“I love these old churches,” Katya said as they left. “It's as though I can feel in my heart the centuries of prayer.”

Jeffrey pointed over his shoulder at the church entryway. “Did you see that kid there by the doors?”

“Which one?”

“He was standing at the announcement board when we went out. He was looking at that poster, the big one. It was a Bible verse, wasn't it?”

Katya nodded. “John 3:16. I saw it.”

“He was just
standing
there. I'm pretty sure he was the same one I saw when we went in. I noticed him because of the expression on his face. A kid of fifteen, maybe sixteen years old, standing in front of a church reading and rereading a Bible verse.”

Katya pulled Jeffrey to a stop, gave him a very tender look. “What was his expression?”

“Total confusion,” Jeffrey replied. “Can you imagine? He had no idea what it meant. His face was all furrowed up as if he was trying to figure it out.”

The light in her eyes reached out, caressed him, drew him to look both without and within.

“What does that mean, Katya? That he'd never even
heard
the concept of salvation before? Is that really the truth?”

“All but two of the city's churches have been closed for the past fifty years,” Katya told him. “Two churches in a provincial capital of over one hundred thousand inhabitants.”

He shook his head. “It's one thing to hear about it, another thing to see it.”

“You couldn't belong to both a church and the Party,” Katya went on. “You couldn't be seen in church, not even for a friend's wedding, and hold a government job. You couldn't go to church and apply for a government pension. To be a practicing Christian meant that at retirement age you received no social security, no payments of any kind.

“If you joined a church in spite of all this, your children were ostracized. Your home was threatened—remember, there was a terrible housing shortage. Some church members were simply tossed out on the street with nowhere to go. There was no social safety net for a believer. Your requests for anything—a new home, a passport, sometimes even a driver's license—were automatically turned down. You couldn't teach. You couldn't study at a university. You couldn't hold a management job or be an engineer or work at a sensitive position. You were always suspect. You were liable to be arrested at any time, charged with sedition and sentenced to long terms in prisons too horrible to describe. You were persecuted, Jeffrey. You and your family. You weren't wanted. The Communists did their best to grind the church and all believers into dust.”

“This really happened,” he said quietly.

“Just because it wasn't your family or your backyard doesn't make it any less real, Jeffrey. These are real people with real needs who have never even heard that Jesus Christ is the Son of God.”

CHAPTER 11

Their plane to Poland was delayed, a common occurrence according to Alexander. Jeffrey had ample time to see Katya off. When they arrived at her departure gate, she lifted her face for a kiss. “I've really enjoyed the trip, Jeffrey. It was very difficult at times, but I'm glad I came.”

“Too short, though.”

“Anything that is not for forever is too short,” she replied.

“I wish you really meant that.”

Katya enfolded him in a fierce embrace, mumbling into his chest, “I wish . . .”

“You wish what?”

“Sometimes I wish for too much,” she said, releasing him and turning swiftly away. “Goodbye, Jeffrey. Have a safe trip. I will wait for your return.”

When he returned to the Hamburg airport's first-class lounge, Alexander said, “You must forgive me this morning. I do not feel quite myself.”

“You've had a pretty bad shock,” Jeffrey replied.

“More than you perhaps will ever understand,” he agreed. “It appears that some things one is not ever able to completely leave behind.”

“I don't understand.”

“No matter.” Alexander cleared the air with a weary wave. “Let us change the subject, shall we?”

“Fine with me.” Jeffrey allowed the smile to break loose. “I have some good news.”

“Excellent. I cannot recall a time in recent years when good news would have been more welcome.” Alexander made a visible effort to pull himself together. “I take it that this beaming visage of yours is not due solely to your departing lady friend.”

Jeffrey shook his head. “I made a buy.” He related the story of the two pieces.

Alexander listened in silence, then replied, “And on your first trip. Remarkable.”

“I couldn't say for sure if they were genuine articles.”

“Of course not. There is always the risk that the safe is decorated with stones of paste and tinsel. But you explained this and hinged payment upon authentication.” He gave Jeffrey a respectful look. “I am surprised. There is very little these days that surprises me. And I am most pleased.”

“Thank you.”

“It is I who must offer the thanks. And I believe it is now time for me to divulge some matters of my own.” Alexander sipped at a glass of water. “I am indeed grateful for the patience you have shown. It is most unusual for a man of your years to be willing to wait for an explanation about mystery trips to unknown lands.”

“I figured you would tell me when it was time.”

“Indeed. And that time has now arrived.” Alexander inspected him solemnly. “I do not need to tell you how confidential these matters must remain.”

“No,” Jeffrey replied, his voice rock-steady. “You do not.”

Alexander gave his head a single nod. “Very well.” He looked around the almost-empty room, removed a silver tube from his pocket, unscrewed the cap, drew out a slender Davidoff cigar. “I hope you don't mind.”

“You know I don't.”

The lounge steward bustled over and lit the cigar with a long wooden match. Alexander nodded his thanks, waited for the man to depart, then said, “Approximately one third of our purchases come from the open market—auctions or public sales or through other dealers, usually in this latter instance from other countries. One third come from my own acquaintances and friends, built up over the years. And the final third, the source upon which we rely the most, is the East.”

“The East?”

“Several places, but all channeled through one man. A relative of mine—ours, I should say. He escaped with me to London, then decided to return to Poland.”

“Uncle Gregor?” Jeffrey made round eyes. “The priest?”

“He is not a priest, nor has he ever been. He is what is known as a lay brother, which means that while he does not reside in a monastery, he has made a formal commitment to live a life of service and poverty. Gregor is a most remarkable man, as you will soon discover. He lives according to rules which I have never fathomed. Yet I admire him tremendously, and rely on him completely. You should as well, Jeffrey. You may trust him with anything.”

“Uncle Gregor deals in antiques?” This did not fit with what little the family had told of his long-lost relative. “I don't understand.”

“I don't expect you to. Not yet. I will ask you to wait until we arrive in Cracow, and see for yourself how our arrangement operates. It would take too long to explain here, and even if I did, you would still not understand until you had seen it for yourself.”

Jeffrey nodded. “So these long trips you make are to Poland?”

“Some of them, yes. I choose to cloak all of my trips under the same veil of secrecy, so that none draws more attention than any other. But yes, I do spend a considerable amount of time in Poland and some of the neighboring lands.” Alexander smiled. “You have recently spoken with Gregor, by the way.”

“When—” He made round eyes. “The blessing?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The man I told you about, the one who knew my name and left the message that the shipment was ready.” Jeffrey smiled at the memory. “He blessed me before he hung up.”