Agamemnon, from Homer. But could it just be coincidence? The Nazis loved codes. Agamemnon was a hero for them. It was possible, though, just possible, that it referred to the hidden treasures of Schliemann. I paid the man for it. I asked him over and over to recount the story of how he had found it, every detail, and the story remained the same.’
‘Which was?’ Saumerre said quietly.
Brandeis panted, grimacing in pain. ‘Okay. Near the end of the war, in April 1945, he’d been a prisoner near Belsen, in a nearby labour camp in a forest. He was there when survivors from Auschwitz were marched in. With them was a Luftwaffe officer, who’d come with them all the way from Poland. It was unusual, as the camps were run by the SS, not the air force or the army. At first I thought that maybe the officer had seen the writing on the wall with the Soviet advance, and accompanied the prisoners as an excuse to escape west himself, to give himself up to the British or Canadian troops in that sector. But I soon realized there was more to it than that. To this day I still don’t know what lay at the bottom of it, but I believe he was on a mission.’
Saumerre leaned forward intently. ‘This is important. Was he carrying anything with him? A package, a bag? Anything? ’
‘No. I asked the old man that too. Apparently they left in an enormous hurry from Auschwitz. Even the officers had to forage on the way.’
Saumerre stared at Brandeis. ‘So no treasure was taken from Poland. Good. Good.’
Brandeis winced, and shook his head. ‘No treasure.’
‘And? The officer? What next?”
‘It’s a myth that the Luftwaffe and Wehrmacht officer corps were reluctant Nazis. There were fanatics among them. He may have been one. A British patrol arrived unexpectedly at the camp, SAS I think, a day or so before the actual liberation. The old Jew said it sent the officer into a panic. He shot at the British and tried to escape into the forest, but was gunned down. Maybe there was something secret there he had to get to, something he had to do, something to hide. Maybe he expected to be shown no mercy in that place, even though he was not SS. He was probably right. The Jew said the British officer in charge personally shot all the SS who tried to surrender. After the patrol had left, the Jew went to the German officer’s body and found that document, a single sheet of paper with those words in red at the top. That’s all I know. It’s some kind of map. A map to something hidden, possibly underground. There are no labels, only a series of joined lines, and distances in metres. I have no idea where.’
Saumerre looked hard at him, then sighed and rocked back on his feet. He clicked his fingers. The Russian came up and grabbed Brandeis’ right hand again. ‘No,’ the man begged. ‘You promised. No.’
‘What did you say? No idea where?’ Saumerre repeated, drumming on his knee, then raising his own right hand in front of him, stretching and admiring his fingers. ‘No idea? Really?’
‘All right. All right. Please. Tell him to let go.’ Saumerre nodded, and the Russian backed off again. ‘I can’t take much more of this.’ Brandeis swallowed hard. ‘The old Jew said he’d talked to some of the new arrivals, from Auschwitz. He asked about the Luftwaffe officer because it was so unusual. One of the prisoners was the sole survivor from a specialized labour camp near Auschwitz. An aero engine assembly plant. It turned out that the officer had been in charge there. It makes sense, an air force officer. They used Jewish slave labour. They’d shut it down as the Russians advanced. That was it.’
‘Where?’ Saumerre stretched his fingers again, inspecting them closely.
‘Okay. Okay. This really is it.’
‘I will keep my word. No more fingers broken.’
‘I have a lot more I can give you. A lot more information. Hidden old master paintings. Gold. We can work together.’
‘Let’s finish this one first.’
‘All right.’ Brandeis lifted his broken hand, shaking. ‘You’ll get me a doctor?’ He jerked his head behind him. ‘And these Russians? I’ll never see them again? That one?’
‘Never again. And I’ll see you get the best possible care. But first.’
‘All right. The assembly plant. He said it was near Krakow. About fifty kilometres from Auschwitz. A salt mine. A huge underground salt mine.’
Saumerre looked at the professor, his eyes gleaming. ‘We have it. We have it.’ He turned to the man in the chair. ‘Have you told anyone else about this? Anyone? ’
Brandeis looked defiant again. ‘Of course not. In my line of business, you never tell anyone what you know. Never. Unless you find mutual interests. Those you can trust. Future business partners. Like you. Your boss.’
He looked at Raitz, who instantly sensed something. He had spent all his working life dealing with people like this. He knew their minds better than anyone else in this room. These shady dealers were like the treasure-hunters of old. Some of them would talk, some would leave clues, but some would carry their secrets to the grave. He kept his eyes glued on Brandeis, and put his hand on Saumerre’s arm. ‘Saumerre. We need to talk. A moment.’
‘ Not now, Raitz. We have what we want.’ Saumerre showed a flash of anger. He pushed Raitz away impatiently and leaned forward. ‘The old Jew?’
‘Dead.’
‘His family?’
‘Family? What family? Auschwitz.’
Saumerre straightened up. ‘Thank you.’
Brandeis craned his head up. ‘You’ll never get deep enough into the mine, you know. I went there. It’s the Wieliczka mine. The World Heritage site, full of salt sculptures. I managed to work out the German officer’s map. I got to the deepest accessible part, the end of the tunnel complex open to tourists. Beyond that, the guide said it was totally inaccessible, underwater. It’s flooded since the Nazis were there. Where the map leads, it’s at least a hundred metres under water. There are only a few people in the world who can do that kind of exploration. You’ll never get anyone in there.’
‘Oh, I think we will.’
‘You’d need technical divers. People with cave-diving skills. People who know how to hunt for treasure. Whatever’s down there is probably booby-trapped. You know the Nero Decree? The Nazis even booby-trapped their hidden treasures, to destroy them. The thousand-year Reich, or nothing. And you’d have to involve the Polish authorities. You can’t just sneak into that mine. You’d need exceptional people to search it.’ He managed to jerk his head back. ‘Not like these thugs. Not like that Spetsnaz.’
‘Exceptional people,’ Saumerre repeated, smiling. ‘ Exceptional people.’ He pulled on a pair of leather gloves. ‘I believe your present predicament, your change of career, was caused by a girl? The black-market art tycoon becomes a police informant, and then a pavement artist? Yes?’
‘You mean Rebecca Howard?’ The man was hesitant. ‘She came to see me in Amsterdam. About returning a stolen Durer from the Howard Gallery. Raitz will know about that. She met him too. Actually, she didn’t like him much. She said he was a nasty piece of goods. She thought he was weak, too. Pretty shrewd, if you ask me. That’s kids for you.’ He jerked his head at Raitz again, then looked conspiratorially at Saumerre. ‘I’d ditch this guy if I were you. Don’t trust him an inch. Never did buy that spin on his Nazi family past. He’s still one of them. Look at him. You can see the weakness in his eyes.’
Saumerre said nothing, but did up his coat. Brandeis looked suddenly frightened again. ‘I only turned informer because I was being threatened. A new Mafia boss, from Kazakhstan. Kazakhs don’t know the etiquette. Not like you people. Your boss. Which one is he? Please tell me. They all owe me favours. With Russians, real Russians, I can do good business. Just tell me. But the girl helped me to disappear for a while. Got me where I am now, which is better than a prison cell or the bottom of a canal. Daughter of Jack Howard, the famous marine archaeologist.’ Brandeis stopped, and stared. He went deathly pale. His voice was a whisper. ‘Good God. You can’t. Do what you like with me, but you can’t. Leave her out of this.’
Saumerre nodded at the Russian, who had been in a barely restrained rage, his fists balled. His English was evidently good enough to understand what Brandeis had said about him. He came up silently behind the chair, pulling a small automatic pistol from under his jacket and holding it close to his leg, the long black silencer pointing down. He raised it, hesitated for a moment, then in one lightning movement reached his arm round Brandeis’ neck and jerked it up and to the right, holding it there. Brandeis made a choking noise, and the Russian jerked again. There was a sickening crack, and he let go of the head. It lolled down, eyes open, blood and mucus dripping from the mouth. The Russian stood back, grunted, and held up the pistol, jerking his other thumb at the corpse. ‘Less blood my way.’
