The Secret Crown

ninety-nine per cent of all Germans are embarrassed by their homeland’s role in World War Two. Actually, I take that back. Embarrassed doesn’t even begin to describe it. Humiliated, ashamed, horrified, mortified – you get the idea. I’m talking about Germans who weren’t even alive during that era, yet they carry round the guilt like a stain on their DNA. Sure, I might be an American, but I’ve lived in this country long enough to recognize their pain. And out of respect to my German friends, I refuse to profit from Nazi loot.’

‘Is there a big market for that stuff?’ Payne asked.

‘Sadly, yes,’ Kaiser admitted. ‘Then again, I know people who will sell anything – including their daughters’ virginity.’

‘Damn. That’s harsh,’ Jones interjected.

Kaiser nodded. ‘Obviously, I refuse to deal with such lowlifes, but our paths still cross from time to time. And when they do, it’s rarely pretty. Truth be told, men like that are another reason I didn’t tell you about this bunker until you were here. If word ever leaked to one of those men, this mountain would be a war zone before morning.’

Petr Ulster, a round man with a thick brown beard that covered his multiple chins, was napping in his office at the Ulster Archives. Sprawled on a comfortable leather couch, he snored loudly as he clutched an Italian book called Il Trono di Dio to his chest. A passionate academic, Ulster tried to follow the example of inventor Thomas Edison, who took power naps during the course of the day in order to forego sleep at night. Unfortunately, due to Ulster’s love of gourmet food and his passion for fine wine, it was rarely past midnight when he crawled into bed with a full belly and a slight buzz. His intent was there, but not the conditioning.

The ringing of Ulster’s private line pulled him from his sleep. Few people had his private number, and those who did called infrequently – not because he wasn’t loved and admired, but because everyone assumed he was busy.

Intrigued by the call, Ulster rushed to his desk. ‘Hello, this is Petr.’

‘Hey, Petr, it’s Jonathon Payne.’

Ulster beamed. Even though he was in his mid-forties, he came across as boy-like, due to the twinkle in his eye and his zest for life. ‘Jonathon, my boy, what a pleasant surprise! How are things in the States?’

Sitting on a log near the entrance to the site, Payne grimaced at his unpleasant task. Telling Ulster bad news would be like kicking a puppy. How could he hurt someone so warm and cuddly? ‘The States are great. Then again, I’m not in the States.’

Ulster took the phone from his desk and returned to his couch. It groaned from his bulk as he sank into its cushions. ‘You’re not? Where are you then?’

‘I’m in Germany.’

‘Was machst du in Deutschland?‘ he said fluently.

‘Excuse me?’

Ulster grinned at Payne’s confusion. ‘I said, what are you doing in Germany? Wait! Let me guess. You and David are at Oktoberfest! Am I right? Have you been drinking?’

‘I wish I had been. It would make this conversation a little less painful.’

For the first time, Ulster recognized the tension in Payne’s voice. ‘Tell me, is everything all right? You sound rather glum. Do you need bail money?’

Payne glanced over his shoulder, making sure no guards were around. Obviously they knew about the bunker, but according to Kaiser, they didn’t know anything about the crates. Lowering his voice to a whisper, Payne said, ‘Petr, are you alone?’

‘Am I alone? Why do you care if I’m alone? Wait, just a moment. You aren’t at Oktoberfest, are you?’

‘No, Petr, I’m not.’

Ulster gasped. ‘Good heavens! Are you on a mission?’

‘Something like that.’

Ulster grinned with delight. Over the past few years, Payne and Jones had used his expertise on topics ranging from the crucifixion of Christ to the prophecies of Nostradamus. And Ulster had loved every minute – even the times he had feared for his life. Running from gunmen while carrying scrolls and artefacts made him feel like an overweight Indiana Jones. ‘Tell me, my boy, what do you need? Just make a wish, and I shall grant it.’

Payne exhaled as his blood pressure spiked.

The next few minutes would be brutal.

13

Monday, 20 September

Garmisch-Partenkirchen, Germany

Ulster’s flight from the Archives was a short one, less than 200 miles to the German city with the twenty- one-letter name. Long before they could see it, Payne and Jones heard the roar of the helicopter as it soared over the Alps and swooped into the valley like an angry hawk. Standing near the foot of the hiking trail, they shielded their eyes as the chopper landed fifty feet in front of them, its downdraught kicking up dirt and debris from the surrounding field.

The night before, Ulster had been despondent after hearing the potentially devastating news about his grandfather. He realized if Conrad had conspired with the Third Reich, it would cause irreparable damage to the Archives and the Ulster family name. Three generations of hard work and goodwill burned to a crisp like the Nazis used to burn books. In a flash, Ulster would be persona non grata in the world of academia, an outcast in the only field he ever cared about – even though he had done nothing wrong. Suddenly, every object at the Archives would be questioned. Not only individuals, but entire governments would crawl out of the woodwork, claiming to be the rightful owners of every scroll, painting and artefact in his family’s collection. Lawsuits would fill his days and anxiety would ravage his nights, a life of kindness and generosity torn asunder by sins that had been committed long before he was even born.

Unless, of course, they could prove his grandfather’s innocence.

As the rotors on the chopper slowed, Payne and Jones rushed forward, eager to comfort their friend. The grass, still glistening with dew, stained their shoes and the cuffs on their cargo pants as they hustled across the field. Unsure of what to expect, they were greeted by a smiling Ulster who practically leapt out of the cockpit to give both of them a hug.

‘It’s so wonderful to see you. Simply wonderful!’ Ulster exclaimed.

The duo exchanged worried glances, afraid he’d had a nervous breakdown during the night. Or, at the very least, had finished a few too many cocktails during his flight.

‘You seem, um, chipper … Have you been drinking?’ Jones asked.

Ulster roared with laughter. ‘Nothing stronger than coffee. Although I must admit I was tempted to drown my sorrows after your call.’

‘Not my call. His call. If you’re going to shoot the messenger, shoot Jon.’

Ulster grinned and patted Payne on his shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, my boy, you are safe from repercussions. In fact, my respect for you has never been greater. Only a true friend would have made that call.’

Jones winced at the comment. ‘For the record, I wanted to call you, but he wouldn’t let me. What can I say? He’s selfish that way.’

Ulster smiled. ‘Rest assured, David. I appreciate you equally.’

‘Glad to hear it,’ Jones said, basking in the praise.

Strangely, Payne had remained silent during the entire conversation, struggling to reconcile the cheerful Ulster who stood before him with the depressed one he had been expecting. Obviously something had changed in the last twelve hours, but he didn’t know what.

‘Petr,’ Payne said delicately, ‘please don’t take this the wrong way, because the last thing I want to do is ruin your mood. But why are you so cheerful?’

‘Aren’t I always?’ Ulster asked with a twinkle in his eye.

‘Normally, yes. But you weren’t last night. In fact, you were devastated.’

‘Maybe so, but I’m better now. After we spoke, I had an epiphany.’

‘Really?’ Jones cracked. ‘I smoked one of those things in Amsterdam. Couldn’t feel my teeth for a week.’

Payne ignored the joke, focusing on Ulster. ‘An epiphany about what?’

‘About something you told me.’