“Welcome to the Schloss Reichenbach,” Jet said as the doors slid silently open. “One of the most secure and exquisite private residences in the Alps.”
“Cool,” Stoke said.
They rode up in silence. The interior walls of the elevator were lined with highly polished brass. Stoke looked up. There was a strange light fixture in the ceiling, a bronze eagle with spread wings holding an illuminated glass globe in its claws. It took ten minutes to get to the top of the mountain. When the cab stopped the doors slid open he and Jet stepped out into the most awesome space he’d ever seen.
“Glorious, isn’t it?” Jet said, studying his face.
“I can’t talk,” Stoke said.
Stoke simply stood there, taking it all in. They must have been at six or seven thousand feet. One whole wall opposite them was a massive stretch of curving glass. Beyond, a series of moonlit snow-capped mountains marched off into the distance under a black and starry sky. A massive chandelier hung from the peak of the soaring ceiling above them. Jet touched the button that illuminated it.
There was very little furniture in the room. No rugs or carpet on the floors, just vast areas of polished wood in various intricate inlaid designs. A few low leather chairs were arranged around a great open-hearth stone fireplace to Stoke’s left. Above the carved mantel hung a large oil portrait. Two men on horseback in the snow, high up in these mountains. Even from a distance, Stoke recognized one of the two men as von Draxis. He was wearing some kind of funky uniform. Very heroic-type painting.
“Who’s the other guy?” he asked Jet, moving toward the fireplace to get a better look.
“That’s Luca Bonaparte,” she said. “Schatzi’s best friend.”
“Bonaparte, huh? So that’s him. I should have guessed by the way he’s got his hand stuck inside his overcoat. Well, I’ll be darned. Wow. What’s that neat outfit Schatzi’s wearing?”
“Alpenkorps. The uniform of the German Alpine Corps. World War II vintage. He has quite a collection of military uniforms at Tempelhof.”
“There’s that word again. What’s Tempelhof? You mean the airport?”
“The old aerodrome at Berlin. Designed by Albert Speer and built around 1937. A huge crescent building about five kilometers long. After Hitler conquered the world it was going to be the continent of Germania’s main airport. A few years ago, the city of Berlin was going to tear it down but Schatzi bought it out from under their noses. It now houses all of the von Draxis corporate offices and shipbuilding and aircraft design studios.”
“Is that right? Germania. That’s what he planned to call the world, huh? I never knew that.”
A single crescent-shaped table with one chair stood facing the great window. On its highly polished surface stood only a black and white photograph in a large silver frame and the model of an old three-masted sailing ship. The hull was some kind of black stone and the sails were all made of ivory so thin you could see starlight right through them.
“So this is his desk?” Stoke said, approaching a semicircular table of walnut with carved eagles for legs. Behind the desk and the curving glass wall, the top of the world unfolded and rolled out below.
“Yes. Sit in the chair.”
“You don’t think he’d mind?”
“I’m sure he would. Go ahead.”
Stoke did as she said. Sitting here, it was hard not to feel like the man who owned the world. It was a very uncomfortable sensation.
“Who’s that in the silver frame? Daddy?”
“Kaiser Wilhelm.”
“You don’t say. My, my, my. Isn’t that something?” Stoke placed both of his hands palm-down on the desk and spread his fingers, quiet for a few seconds, just thinking about the whole thing. After a few long moments he looked up at her and said, “Tell me, Jet. What exactly does your boyfriend do for a living?”
“He’s a shipbuilder. The most successful and powerful in Germany. His family has been in the business for four centuries. The Krupp family built the guns. The von Draxis dynasty built the ships that carried the guns across the sea. The family shipyard in Wilhelmshaven is where they built the Graf Spee.”
“Right. Germany’s ultimate pocket battleship. The Brits cornered her down in Uruguay, right? It took three Royal Navy ships to sink her.”
“The Brits didn’t sink her, Stokely. Hitler ordered her scuttled in the Montevideo harbor. To prevent the British from learning the secrets of von Draxis’s construction and Krupp’s experimental weapons systems. The Graf Spee was designed and built by Schatzi’s grandfather, Konrad, for the Kriegsmarine. Launched in 1937.”
“Kriegsmarine, huh? Does our little Schatzi still build boats for the German navy?”
“Not so much now.”
“German navy hasn’t got the big-bucks budgets it used to have. So, what kind of boats does he build these days?”
“Come with me and I’ll show you.”
“Where are we going?”
“Schatzi’s residence includes a marine design studio where the modelmakers first create what he creates and then do real-time simulations of sea trials. The boats are flawless before the real hulls ever splash.”
“What’s he building now?”
“The greatest ocean liner ever built.”
“For Germany? Is he planning to put guns on this one?”
“No. He’s building her for France.”
“France. Isn’t that some fascinating shit? France and Germany. I guess they finally decided to kiss and make up. Let’s go take a look.”
“Are you okay? You’re acting funny.”
“I feel good. This is just how I get when I’m impressed.”
They had to pass through a number of interesting rooms to reach the studio. There was a dining room with a table long enough to seat a small town. They came to a door marked Kriegsmarine and entered a model room where Stokely could have spent a week. Beneath the domed ceiling painted to look like a stormy sky was a sea of glass cases. Each one contained exquisitely detailed models of ships the von Draxis family had designed or built for the German navy.
Stoke paused for a moment to admire a few of them. There were the massive battleships Tirpitz and Bismarck. But also Stoke’s personal all-time favorite, the Schnellboote. It was arguably the fastest and best- designed PT boat ever built during World War II. Maybe ever.
A steel-and-bronze door with intricate carving barred the way to the next room. On it were depicted all the epic sea battles the Kriegsmarine had fought in the last few centuries. Stoke felt he was getting to know Schatzi better. And he was beginning to feel like Hawke’s decision to send him to Germany had been a good one. He couldn’t get the portrait over the fireplace out of his mind.
Jet worked her electronic magic with the door and they entered the test model studio. The ceiling was a glassed dome and stars twinkled high above their heads. Jet was reaching for the light switch when Stoke touched her arm and said, “Don’t. Let’s just leave it like this a minute.”
He walked inside ahead of her. There was only one model in this room and it stood in the center of the inlaid marble floor. It was encased in a closed glass structure at least thirty feet in length and fifteen feet high. Inside was the most gorgeous ship Stoke had ever laid eyes on. The name of the giant ocean liner was on her stern in gold leaf.
Leviathan.
“Leviathan?” Stoke said.
“The sea beast,” Jet said. “Biblical. It’s Schatzi and Luca’s idea of a joke.”
“Got it,” Stoke said, although he didn’t. He guessed this new French monster was maybe half again as large as the world’s current largest liner, the Queen Mary 2, built by Cunard. That would make her about fifteen hundred feet in length and about three hundred feet high. If Stoke had to guess her gross tonnage he’d put it at three hundred thousand. Jesus.
“It’s a working model,” Jet said, handing him a remote control pod.
“What do you mean, ‘working’?”
“Everything works. Here, I’ll show you.” She pressed one button and the ship lit up from stem to stern with a
