A King's Ransom

“Sorry!” she called. She bent down and retrieved the pieces. Alistair got up to help, as well as Fiske, Phoenix, and Reagan. Only Natalie continued to eat.

Ted casually put his foot on top of the shard.

They dumped the broken pieces in the dumbwaiter, shut the panel, and returned to the table. One by one, they got up and threw away their plates. Phoenix cleared Ted’s, the way he always did.

Ted’s foot remained on the shard.

Things had changed. Now they had a weapon.

Munich, Germany

“Dude,” Hamilton Holt said.

“Dawg,” Jonah Wizard said. They knocked knuckles. “We’re on the case again, bro.”

They had just touched down at Munich Airport in Jonah’s private jet. Jonah had already rented a car; it would be fastest to drive to Neuschwanstein Castle, especially at the speed he could hit on the autobahn. It took only minutes for Jonah and Hamilton to pass through customs, load their luggage, and swing into the red sports car.

“We are officially on celebrity time,” Jonah said, adjusting the side mirror. “No lines for the Wizard.”

Hamilton awkwardly folded himself into the passenger seat. “Couldn’t you get something bigger?” he asked as he banged his knee against the dashboard.

“We’re supposed to be a diversion,” Jonah said. “Got to make an entrance. Can’t do that in a minivan, Giganto Boy. Can’t do much of anything in a minivan except look about as uncool as it gets.”

“Hey! My dad drives a minivan.”

“Snap.”

“I guess I get your point,” Hamilton said as Jonah floored the accelerator. Eisenhower Holt was not known for his hipness. He was known for smashing the family recyclables into neat little piles. With his head.

“I took a racing car driving course from a NASCAR dude for my movie,” Jonah said. “I spent a week learning defensive and offensive driving.” He squealed around a corner.

“That’s great,” Hamilton said. “But can you drive like you’re not trying to kill me?”

They zoomed onto the autobahn. Jonah slipped a CD into the player and the sounds of “Your Love Makes Me So Fly (More Than Money)” came booming out. Hamilton had to restrain himself from reaching for the earplugs he’d worn on the plane. Jonah’s music was loved by millions all over the world, but it was a mystery to him. It sounded like noise with a bass line.

He endured three CDs before they were zipping closer to the foothills of the Alps, through scenery that even Hamilton had to admit was stunning. He appreciated power shakes and great football tackles and the way you feel after a forty-mile bike ride. Scenery wasn’t there to be admired, it was there as a backdrop for climbing, running, rowing, and picking up large objects and throwing them. But these mountains were so beautiful that he didn’t even think about how it would feel to drive a piton in them with a hammer.

Up ahead they saw a yellow BMW pulled to the shoulder and a tall red-haired girl sitting on the bumper. She waved her arms at them.

“We should stop,” Jonah yelled over the music.

“No way,” Hamilton said. “We’re on a Cahill mission.”

“We have time to give her a lift to the next gas station,” Jonah said. “C’mon, Ham – she’s a damsel in distress. Where’s your Samaritan spirit?”

“I don’t think – ” Hamilton started, but Jonah was already crossing a lane of traffic and pulling over.

The girl slid off the bumper as they came closer. Her jeans were tucked into soft leather boots. Her sweater fell alluringly off one shoulder. Hamilton gulped. Her hair, skin, and teeth were perfect. Her eyes were a vivid green.

“Nice ride,” Jonah remarked. He paused, as though waiting for the girl to recognize him.

“Eet would be nicer if it had le gas,” the girl said in a French accent. “I’m on my way to Salzburg for a shoot.” Her gaze flickered past Jonah, and Hamilton saw surprise on his face that she didn’t instantly recognize him.

“Shooting what?” Hamilton asked. “Ducks?”

“A tire catalog.” She shrugged. “Not so exciting. But eet pays the bills when you’re a model.”

“You’re a model? Never would have guessed,” Jonah said in a lazy, teasing voice that caused Hamilton’s head to swivel. He’d never seen Jonah flirt before.

The girl tilted her head. The glossy hair spilled down one bare shoulder. “Un moment … you look familiar.”

Jonah grinned. “Yeah?”

“’Ave we met?” Are you an ’airdresser?”

“A hairdresser?” Jonah choked out.

“Guys, we’d better get going,” Hamilton said.

“The name is Jonah,” Jonah said, pronouncing his name carefully. He waited for a sign of recognition.

“Nicole.”

“Jonah Wizard.”

Nicole squinted at him. “You are a wee-zhard? Like the Harry Potter, non?”

“I’m Hamilton,” Hamilton said, even though nobody asked.

Nicole looked at her watch. “I am so very late now!”

“Let’s bounce,” Jonah said. “We’ll give you a ride to the next gas station. So, where are you from, Nicole? I’ve been all over France.”

“I am from Paris.”

“Score! They love your boy in Paris!”

Jonah trailed after Nicole, who leaned against the bumper to apply lipstick. Hamilton scooped up Nicole’s heavy suitcase from her open trunk. He slammed the trunk shut and trudged back toward the car. Nicole was checking it out, circling around it with little coos of admiration. She ran her hand along the fender. “Eet is so formidable, zees car.”

“Why don’t you get into the backseat, Hamilton?” Jonah suggested. “Nicole, do you like music? Are you a hip- hop fan?”

“I like la musique, oui,” Nicole said. “Le jazz.”

“I can be mad jazzy,” Jonah said.

Hamilton was stuffed into the tiny backseat with Nicole’s suitcase. Even her purse was too big for the front seat. Instead, it sat on his lap.

A bee buzzed into the open window of the car, and, without pausing in her conversation with Jonah, Nicole grabbed it in its midair flight. She crushed it in her fist, then flicked the carcass out the window.

Whoa, Hamilton thought. Even models could have amazing reflexes.

“Tell me the story of your life and I’ll tell you mine,” Jonah said to Nicole. “But first, are you sure you don’t recognize me?”

“Is this place real?” Dan asked, looking up at King Ludwig’s castle. “Or am I in Disneyland?”

Up the winding trail through the pines loomed the castle, a folly built by a mad king, all turrets and windows and gables and peaked roofs and windows wink- ing back in the slowly sliding sun. The castle was situated on a high, rocky cliff, with snow-capped Alpine mountains rising around it. It overlooked a sparkling, deep blue lake. Isolated and yet proud of its grandeur, this castle flaunted the crazy.

The Nazis had crammed millions of dollars of looted treasure in that magnificent castle. Jane Sperling had come in 1945, maybe on a misty day like this one. She’d found her old enemy here. Amy was sure of it.

“Actually, the castle was used as the model for Sleeping Beauty’s Castle in Disneyland,” she said. She checked her cell phone again, but there were no messages. No calls. “Where are they?”

She’d left messages for both Jonah and Hamilton. They hadn’t checked in with Attleboro, either. She was starting to worry.