Frame Change: A Nina Bannister Mystery (The Nina Bannister Mysteries Book 5) (28 page)

She shook her head, as she stood up:

“I’ll never be alone, Jackson. Whatever happens to me—and I’ll be honest with you, I’m not sure what that will be—I’m a part of Bay St. Lucy, and Bay St. Lucy is a part of me. Just––just take good care of Furl, and say good bye to everybody for a while. Tell them I’ll write.”

“Nina, don’t…”

“And by the way, be sure to tell Moon’s deputy I’m sorry for calling the young man Dobie Gillis.”

Jackson stood up:

“I wouldn’t worry about that.”

“Why not?”

“I overheard him talking to Moon just after you’d left.”

“Was he upset?”

“No. He didn’t know who Dobie Gillis was.”

“Good bye, Jackson. And thanks for everything. Always.”

And so saying, she turned and went down the stairs.

END OF PART THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY: GOING TRAVELLING!

The Hotel Erzherzog Johann—or Archduke John—is the oldest in Graz. Named for the city’s favorite Habsburg (because he was born in, and loved the Styrian state in which the city was located), it sits just on the eastern side of Hauptplatz, or main square. During summer months, the windows of its café open out onto the sidewalk, so that one can reach out, tap passers by on the arm, and sing out a morning’s greeting.

Winters are more somber, of course, but the hotel is still not without its charm.

There’s an inner atrium, the table and sofas flower-bedecked, around which, a wrought-iron grillwork bannister corkscrews its way up seven stories, at the top of which, a guests finds it possible to lean over and peer down sixty feet upon the bald heads or cleavages of card players or conversationalists in the lobby below.

It was in this lobby that Michael Gellert was seated, a ‘kleiner Swarzen’ (little black one) swirling and steaming in its demitasse before him, when the dwarf arrived.

There was nothing else to call him. He was no more than four feet tall, walked in a crooked way, and smiled upward with eyes that twinkled black like coal particles.

“Not the best place,” said Gellert, “to meet.”

The figure pulled out a chair and sat down, gesturing for the waitress to come.

“It does not matter now,” he said. “There are no secrets anymore.”

The waitress appeared.

“I shall have what my friend here is having.”

“Kleiner Scwarzen?”

“Ja.”

She disappeared.

The two sat in silence for a time, as people came and went around them, and an occasional maid appeared going in or coming out of the rooms above.

It was one in the afternoon.

The hotel was only half full.

The rooms needed to be ready by two, though, and this caused a bit of last minute bustle.

“So. What is the situation?”

A shrug:

“The situation is lost.”

“How can that be? Beckmeier had at least twenty good men. Paramilitary. Well trained. How many more could Red Claw have had?”

“He had no more. He had precisely twenty. The same twenty Beckmeier thought that he himself had.”

Gellert thought for a time, then nodded, and said, quietly:

“Red Claw bought them off.”

“Jawohl, mein Herr. That he did.”

“How much did he…”

“Twenty thousand dollars apiece. With more, probably to come. My sources tell me much more.”

“How is this man, this ‘claw,’ getting his financing?”

“Keine Ahnung.”

No idea.

The second cup of coffee came.

“Danke.”

“Bitte schon.”

The small man, who was dressed in a Styrian gray-green hunting suit that seemed to have been tailored for a child, sipped, winced at the burn, then sipped again.

“Where,” asked Gellert, “are my smuggling operatives?”

“Again, I have only a few sources still reporting to me. Many have left Styria. Or Austria.”

“I understand.”

“But one of them I do trust. The man tells me that these people you employed have been kept, let us say ‘under wraps’ in various estates, all of whose owners are loyal to Red Claw. They are now being brought to Eggenburg, even as we speak.”

“And when they arrive, Red Claw will burn the palace down. For them all to see. And for Beckmeier to see.”

“You are well informed.”

“I have my sources, too. Before the great conflagration, I assume all of the paintings in Eggenburg will be loaded in trucks and taken away.”

“Almost certainly.”

“How many paintings?”

“Fifty three.”

“My God. Beckmeier was quite a collector.”

“Or quite a thief.”

“Many would say they are one in the same,” said Gellert, quietly.

“Possibly.”

“So, all right. Red Claw wants his paintings back. What does he plan to do with my people?”

“No one knows. But the story seems to be that he’s recreating what the Holocaust must have been like. The Jews were forced by the Nazis to watch their ghettos burn—then they were herded like animals into trains or vans, and then…”

“Yes. I know what ‘then’ means. Beckmeier was no Nazi, though. Nor were my people.”

The small man shook his head:

“Beckmeier was no Nazi. But his father was.”

“Beckmeier’s father fought with the Nazis?”

“Beckmeier’s father owned factories that supplied weapons to the Nazis. No Hapbsburg actually goes to war in this century, or the last. Once the cavalry was eliminated, so was all military honor and glory, at least in the eyes of old aristocrats. Crawling around in the mud, machine gun fire—no, better simply to get rich and let the poor people die.”

“And Beckmeier’s father did get rich?”

“The family fortune quadrupled.”

“And now is payback time. But this still does not explain why this monster wants to send my operatives to gas ovens.”

“I did not say he did. I have no idea what he plans to do with them. But I do know that
your
plans, if I have understood them correctly, are completely insane.”

Gellert merely shrugged and said:

“That is my business. The question remains: can you get me to Eggenburg tonight?”

“If you go to Eggenburg, you will be taken like all of the others. Whatever happens to them will happen to you.”

“Perhaps.”

“Not ‘perhaps.’ Certainly.”

“Then it will be a kind of adventure.”

“Your last adventure, Gellert. Certainly your last one. How can you possibly think of surviving, of getting out of there, even if you do get in?”

“Paintings.”

“Which paintings?”

“I have several still in my possession. I’m certain that Red Claw wants them. Perhaps we can bargain.”

“Or perhaps Red Claw will prove to be a man of medieval spirit. And he will simply put you on the rack. Then you will divulge the location of these masterpieces. And that will be the end of you.”

“That might also happen.”

“But Gellert—all right, you have the paintings! Disappear, for God’s sakes!”

Michael Gellert shook his head:

“The man is too smart. I don’t know how he derives his intelligence—but derive it, he does. I’d never feel safe. He’d find me somehow. And the paintings. No. I want there to be an end of it, one way or another. And besides, there’s someone who should not be at Eggenburg now, someone…”

He paused, then shook his head:

“Does not matter. The bottom line is, I shall go there tonight and beg. Now. Can you get me out there?”

“It’s a difficult thing. Besides the twenty armed men, there are others to deal with. You must know that Eggenburg Palace lies some kilometers to the south of Lake Moorbach, above which sits the small village of Altdorf.”

“All right. Go on.”

“For tonight, all ways into Eggenburg are closed off. Red Claw wants no chance witnesses to what he’s going to do. There are several places along the lake where boats can land. But they’re all being watched. Watched carefully. If you’re found attempting to cross Moorbach, by any of the villagers who’ve been paid off by Red Claw—why, then you will not be escorted into Eggenburg to plead with Reklaw. You’ll be shot, and your body will be thrown into the lake. Punkt. Schluss. Fertig.”

“So how can I…”

“As I say, I’m not without a few contacts. One of them—one of the paramilitary—still remains loyal to me. At least, I believe he does. Now. You have money?”

“Yes.”

“Let me see it.”

Gellert opened a portfolio which sat on the floor beside him.

He shoved it across the table.

The man sitting opposite him opened it, examined the contents, then said quietly:

“That is satisfactory. All right. Here’s how it will work. If it will work at all.”

“Go on.”

“There’s only one village tavern in Altdorf. Drive down into the village; you’ll see it. Go there. Try to arrive in the early evening.”

“All right.”

“Wait for a call. If no call comes, then go home, the thing has failed.”

“But if it does come…”

“Then you go up the hill to the cathedral which overlooks both Altdorf and Lake Moorbach. The cathedral houses an ossuary, a charnel house.”

“A boneyard.”

“If one wishes to be crass about the thing.”

“Bones are bones.”

“At any rate, the cathedral is never locked. Most village sanctuaries such as this remain open, for villagers who want to go in at midnight or later to pray. If one is old, and one is in Altdorf, there’s nothing more to be done.”

“I understand.”

“From the cathedral, you can enter the charnel house. In the charnel house, you enter a tunnel. This tunnel leads down to the lake.”

“Why in God’s name would anyone have built such a tunnel?”

“It goes back hundreds of years, as does the cathedral itself. It was meant as an escape tunnel, to be used by the villagers when the place was besieged by whatever local warlord thought he’d achieved enough power to thumb his nose at the Hapsburgs.”

“We take the tunnel down…”

“It leads to a landing which cannot be seen. It was built that way. You will at least be able to get on the boat. Maybe snow clouds will cover the moon. The boat will be small. You may remain unseen.”

“And one on the other side?”

“My man will pick you up and drive you the three kilometers to Eggenburg. Where you will almost certainly be killed.”

“That is my problem.”

“It most certainly is. At any rate, you should stay here in the hotel for the afternoon. You have a room?”

“Yes.”

“Stay in it until five. There will be a rental car waiting for you, parked on the sidewalk outside on the Sackstrasse. You know the way to Altdorf?”

“I’ll find out. I can read a map.”

“Then do so. The car will be locked, but the key will have been left at the front desk.”

So saying, the man sitting across from Gellert rose, turned, turned back, said:

“You are insane.”