Ghosts of the Past (31 page)

“You’re serious,” queried Shutt.

“Very, and apparently there is somebody, or what we believe are somebodies, that have found out about our little lost treasure and are adamant about making sure they get their hands on it first. Which leads me to my father. I received a phone call from some lowlife about a half hour ago; threatening to make sure my father meets an untimely death unless I tell him where we are. You see, Matt had a feeling that we would be followed and he arranged for us to disappear yesterday after leaving enough of a trail to another city here in Switzerland. Obviously, it worked, and it pissed them off, whoever they are.

“Regardless, I need you to arrange for my father’s protection in Chicago. I can tell you how to reach him, but whatever you do, it cannot be obvious. We need to maintain the illusion that everything is going along fine and the police are not involved. I’m stalling the shithead that called, but I am going to have to tell him where we are within the next 24 hours.

Once I do, I’m going to bargain with him to let us finish the discovery… good or bad. I think he will be agreeable to that, since they still have no idea where the plane is. We do all the work, and then he can come in and take it from us… the artwork for my father. He should be agreeable to that. If you can get over here and get the local authorities involved, you can keep an eye on us from a distance, and pick up the bad guys when they decide to take what we find.”

Shutt was chuckling to himself on the other end, but was having a hard time disputing the logic of her plan. “You know they’re likely to kill you when they take the art.”

“I figured that, but I was counting on you being close enough to keep that from even being a remote possibility.”

Daniel had found Shutt outside pacing back and forth with the phone still ensconced to his ear. He remained quiet while Shutt continued his conversation, managing to mouth the words ‘Courtney Lewis’ as he pointed to the phone.

“I’m still not real comfortable with you playing amateur undercover detective. There has to be another way we can approach this without putting you and Ferguson in danger.”

“You gave me your word detective
.
I expect you to honor it!”

“Yes, I did. So are you planning to call me back?”

“You call me when you get to Switzerland. You have my number now.”

“Courtney, I’m in Switzerland. The curveball you threw the bad guys in Lucerne at the
Palace
, struck us out too. We just missed you.”

Courtney laughed. “Matt had pretty good instincts. Where are you now?”

“Zurich, and I have the Federal and local police involved
.
I’ll take care of your father immediately, but I’ll need that information on how to reach him before you hang up. I want you to call me tomorrow… twice. At noon and six o’clock. Keep me updated. Where are you staying in Wildhaus?” He emphasized the city as he looked at Daniel, who acknowledged his familiarity with a nod
.

“We’re staying at the
Hirschen
. It’s right in the middle of town. Please, do not blow it detective. I want Matt to have the opportunity to finish what he came here to do. I want him to have his day. This is a very big deal for him. Hell, it’s a big deal for me. It could conceivably be one of the biggest art discoveries ever. I will personally make your life a living hell if you don’t uphold your end of the bargain.” Courtney recited off her father’s name, home address and phone number, and his office location and phone number. “I’ll call you tomorrow, but it will be at 6. I’ll be treasure hunting in the afternoon and I’m not sure I’ll be able to steal away to call you then.”

The line went dead. “I’ll be damned,” muttered Shutt. “The Hirschen hotel in Wildhaus, did you get that?” He looked at Daniel who nodded and was already speaking into his mobile phone. “You are not going to believe this.”

They walked back into the bar and Shutt proceeded to tell him the whole story.

Gerhard Alden sat on the wooden bench in the dark of the early morning, just outside the
Palace
hotel. He stared at the rolling water of Lake Lucerne. The storm from the previous afternoon and evening had churned up the lake, but the calm had returned with the cessation of the bad weather, and the tranquility of the surface was returning with the absence of any measurable wind.

Unfortunately, the tranquility did not extend to his present state of affairs. He had just hung up from a most unpleasant phone conversation with Erwin Leiter, where the magnitude of his assignment was once again confirmed, and the repercussions of his failure were gravely implied. He was convinced that an unsuccessful resolution of the current situation in front of him, would result in his death. He was of the belief that the circumstances were that critical.

Horst Marshall approached him from behind. “Any news on the car?”

“Nothing,” Alden replied. “I just got off the phone with Leiter. I am a walking dead man if we do not find these two within the next forty-eight hours. I’m not sure we’ll have any luck tracking the vehicle in that time.”

Marshall knew that if Alden felt the way he did, that his and Knabel’s existence may be on feeble ground as well. He decided that Paul did not need to know the fragile nature of their predicament. He wasn’t certain how he might react.

“Did you have any luck with any of the other staff,” Alden continued.

“No. But we did confirm that we definitely have company in our same predicament. The problem is that some of that company is the police.”

“The police? I thought you told me that it was three guys you flushed out yesterday. The ones staying in the hotel.”

“They’re still part of the equation. In fact, Paul is back in the hotel keeping an eye on them as we speak. However, I had a conversation with the concierge just a few minutes ago. He had some visitors yesterday, above and beyond the three stooges we know about. That is part of the reason we could not find him yesterday. A Federal police investigator, and get this, an American police officer, had questions for him that involved Matt Ferguson and Courtney Lewis. They were looking for them as well.”

“Well, well, well. This party is starting to heat up. Do we know where the Fed’s are now?”

“Paul and I haven’t seen them, and according to the concierge, he thought they mentioned that they were headed back to Zurich. Maybe if we tell Mr. Leiter that the police are involved, he’ll give us a little more leeway in terms of time.”

“No. I don’t want to involve Mr. Leiter any more, not until we have some good news. The police involvement, I think, would only complicate matters worse.”

“You’re right, sorry for mentioning it.” Marshall knew he was grasping for help, when there wouldn’t be any. It was their problem. They needed to fix it… fast.

Alden’s cell phone rang again in his hand and he answered it immediately. He hung up after a few seconds.

“That was Paul. Our three other friends are checking out.” He tossed Marshall the car keys. “The car is just down the street on the left. No more that fifty meters. Meet us at the hotel entrance. I’m going up to meet Paul. Keep an eye out for any of our friends that are driving. Here, keep this as well. We’ll call from Paul’s.” Alden handed the cell phone over, turned quickly and jogged up the granite steps to the lake entrance of the hotel.

It was a piece of cake tracking Bolivar, Keitel and Sullivan. They were completely unsuspecting of Alden, Marshall and Knabel. Pretending as if there was a mix up in luggage, Marshall actually had time to paste a tracking bug in the open trunk of Keitel’s BMW, as the bellhop loaded their bags. Alden and Knabel were able to hop in the Mercedes, with Marshall back behind the wheel, less than 15 seconds after Keitel pulled away from the curb.

“Here.” Marshall handed the receiver to Alden, as the blinking red light shone brightly on the small monitor that displayed a street map. “The wonders of GPS.”

Alden and Knabel laughed in unison.

“How did you manage that?” Knabel asked.

“It was easy,” replied Marshall.

“Well, the good news is Paul here is one step ahead of you,” said Alden. “He overheard them at the front desk. They’re headed to St. Moritz.”

Marshall smiled. “Excellent, I’ve skied the mountain several times, I know the area well.”

“Good, but let’s let our friends show us the way, shall we,” Alden said.

They all nestled back in the plush leather seats, and settled in behind the navy blue BMW as it sped away west from the city of Lucerne.

Chapter
18
 

May
25,
2001.
Wildhaus,
Switzerland

Ferguson had awakened before the sun was up, his internal clock still not having adjusted to the transcontinental change. He had checked on Courtney and found she was sound asleep in the bedroom. Again, he could not believe how beautiful she was as he quietly pulled the door to and exited the room for the lobby. On the bathroom sink, he left behind a short note revealing his intentions to eat breakfast downstairs. He would return when he had finished.

He spent the last remaining forty-five minutes of the fading darkness in the
Dorfstube
restaurant with another incredible cup of coffee and fresh baked Danish. He held Uncle Max’s papers in his hand, flipping them over, back and forth, studying the contents. He stared at the map and the drawing, looking again at the paper clipped sheet of notes he had added when he had dissected the global coordinates of longitude and latitude that Uncle Max had included on the scribbled sketch.

They were definitely in the right place. He was convinced the Voralpsee Lake was the spot. The question was, would he recognize the spot? Would it still be the same after nearly sixty years? Would the cliffs be there? Would the cave still be there, and if so, will the plane still intact? Questions buzzed through his head, as the coffee and the adrenaline jump-started his metabolism.

He was starting to ponder how they would lose the Batemann’s once they found the lake, when Rudi Batemann showed up in the lobby. Ferguson, stood up folded the papers away in his flight jacket, and waved at him as the same young, blond waitress from the previous day pointed Batemann in Ferguson’s direction.

“Guten
morgen,
Herr
Ferguson.”

“Good morning to you Herr Batemann.” Ferguson looked at his watch, which he had reset to the local time. “You’re a tad bit early. Where’s your son?”

“He’ll be along shortly. I had him go to the shop before he meets us. I hope you don’t mind, but I’m having him bring some hiking boots, jackets and some other gear that might come in handy on your little excursion. I also wanted him to bring his jeep along, so you could have a vehicle to navigate around the area, when we leave to go fishing.”

“That’s extremely nice of you.”
Very
damn
presumptuous,
but
nice.
“Thank you! We’ll be more than happy pay Rolf some sort of rental, obviously.”

“We figured that. He’s rented it out on numerous occasions to his repeat customers. By the way, the boots and other gear are strictly up to you, but it sounded last night like you traveled light, and as you can probably surmise, I’m a sneaky salesman. Anything to make a buck.”

“No need to apologize. You’re exactly right; we don’t have any of the gear we’re going to need. I appreciate your thinking of us.”

At that moment, the increasingly attractive waitress appeared with another cup of coffee and more Danish, and placed it in front of Batemann.

“
Danke
Greta.
Du
ist
lieblich
wie
gewohnlich.
”

She blushed, winked at him and then walked away.

Batemann laughed. “She hates it when I flirt with her.”

A half hour later, Rolf Batemann arrived at the table at the same time Courtney stepped off the elevator. After renewing acquaintances, and allowing for some breakfast for Courtney and the younger Batemann, they all proceeded to Rolf’s jeep to select from a dozen different sizes and choices of hiking boots for Ferguson and Courtney.

After deciding on their new shoes and accompanying wool socks, Ferguson succumbed to the Batemann’s subtle salesmanship by adding a navy Patagonia shell with fleece lining and Courtney submitted to a similar style woman’s jacket in yellow. The Batemann’s threw in two backpacks, at no charge.

They had arranged at breakfast to rent Rolf’s jeep for the next three days. Hence, they split up in the vehicles, Ferguson joining Rolf Bateman in his future rental, while Courtney combined with his father in the elder Batemann’s Land Rover. They left Wildhaus at 8:15 and headed east on 16.

Just three kilometers down the road, they turned south and worked their way southwest up the steep
Grabserberg
Road.
The fifteen kilometers into the mountain range took almost thirty minutes as they weaved their way up the grade. The landscape was rugged, with sporadic congregations of hardwoods and pines. There were several smaller lanes that exited off the main road, and Batemann’s Land Rover chose the second one on the left about half way up. The narrow route headed due south and gradually dissolved from asphalt into gravel, then gravel to dirt. Eventually it terminated in a dead end composed of a large crescent shaped rocky facade.

Rudi Batemann circled in front of a craggy outcropping, parking the Land Rover so that it faced back to the remnants of the road. His son pulled the jeep up parallel to them and killed the engine.

Ferguson could hardly breath, the adrenaline rush had been simmering ever since they headed into the mountainous terrain, and it was peaking as he exited the vehicle. Courtney was in a similar state of anticipation, but they both managed to suppress it visibly.

“We’ll walk you up from here, but once we reach the lake, you’re on your own,” said Rudi Batemann. “All you have to do is get back on the road down and it will take you right to 16, that’s the main road that runs into town. Are you ready?”