The Secret Crown (2010) (8 page)

At first glance, they were less than impressed. The crate’s interior was equipped with seven strips of plywood running from left to right, forming eight vertical slots extending to the bottom of the crate. All the slots, which were roughly six inches wide, were filled with a mixture of hardwood panels and unframed canvases. Due to the darkness of the bunker and the depth of the slots, they had no idea what they were looking at until Jones removed one of the objects and held it in the beam of Payne’s flashlight.

‘Holy shit,’ Jones gasped as he stared at the oil painting on panel. The Impressionist masterpiece depicted five sunflowers - three in a green vase and two more lying in front of the vase - painted against a royal-blue background. The colours were so vibrant and the brushwork was so unmistakable that both of them recognized the artist.

‘Is that a van Gogh?’ Payne whispered to Jones.

Kaiser answered for him. ‘It’s called
Still Life: Vase with Five Sunflowers
. Painted by Vincent van Gogh in August 1888, supposedly destroyed by fire in 1945.’

With his heart pounding in his chest, Jones carefully returned it to its slot and pulled out another. This one was oil on canvas, depicting a man and a woman walking through a garden. Though not nearly as colourful as the first painting, the brushwork was just as distinctive.

Kaiser spoke again, his tone similar to an art expert in a museum. ‘
The Lovers: The Poet’s Garden IV
, painted by Vincent van Gogh in October 1888. Last seen in Germany in 1937.’

A few seconds later, Jones pulled out another oil on canvas. The most colourful of the three, it depicted a painter on his way to work, walking down a bright gold path as he carried his art supplies. The background was filled with green and yellow fields and majestic blue mountains.

‘
Painter on the Road to Tarascon
,’ Kaiser announced, ‘painted by Vincent van Gogh in August 1888, destroyed by fire in World War Two.’

Jones nodded and returned the painting to its slot. He was about to pull out another when Payne grabbed his arm and told him to wait.

‘What’s wrong?’ Jones wondered.

Payne turned towards Kaiser. ‘Did you say it was destroyed in World War Two?’

Kaiser nodded, wondering when they would catch on. ‘Yes, I did.’

‘And the first one?’ Payne asked.

‘Burned in 1945.’

‘What about the second?’

‘Vanished from Germany in 1937.’

‘Shit,’ Payne mumbled as the dates fell into place. ‘Shit, shit, shit!’

Jones looked at him, confused. ‘What’s wrong?’

Payne raised his voice, which echoed through the chamber. ‘What’s wrong? I’ll tell you what’s wrong. Kaiser promised us treasure but brought us to a goddamned Nazi bunker.’

Jones’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘He
what
?’

‘Think about the dates and where we are. All this shit was looted in the war.’

Jones glanced at Kaiser. ‘Please tell me he’s wrong.’

Kaiser shrugged. ‘I hope he is, but I honestly don’t know.’

Payne raised his voice even louder. ‘Oh, so that’s how you’re going to play it? You bring us to a Nazi bunker, filled with stolen artwork and who knows what else, and you’re going to pretend you’re not sure? Son of a bitch, Kaiser! What in the hell were you thinking? Did you
really
think we’d want to get involved with this shit?’

Kaiser took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. ‘As a matter of fact, I did.’

Payne laughed sarcastically. ‘Really? You honestly thought we’d want to get involved with Nazi loot? Why in the world would we do that?’

‘To save a good friend of yours.’

‘To save you from what?’ Payne growled.

‘Actually,’ Kaiser said, ‘I’m not the friend who needs to be saved.’

The comment caught Payne completely off guard. For the past thirty seconds, he had been lecturing Kaiser about their involvement with a cache of stolen art in a Nazi bunker - only to discover that something else was going on. Something to do with one of Payne’s friends.

Suddenly, their mission was a lot more urgent.

‘What do you mean?’ Payne said, trying to remain calm. ‘Who needs my help?’

‘A close friend of yours,’ Kaiser assured him.

‘Who?’ he repeated, this time a little louder.

‘Before we get to that—’

‘Now!’ Payne demanded, veins popping in his neck. ‘Tell me now, or I swear to God I’m going to—’

‘Jon!’ Jones shouted as he stepped in front of Payne. ‘You need to calm down.’

‘Excuse me?’ Payne barked, towering over his best friend.

‘You heard what I said. Calm the fuck
down
.’ Jones emphasized the word
down
by drawing it out for an extra beat. ‘We’re on the same side here. There’s no need for threats. Take a deep breath, and let Kaiser explain.’

Payne followed his advice, trying to relax. Although he rarely lost his temper, it occasionally flared up whenever he felt lied to or deceived. Factor in a friend in danger, and his anger was easy to understand. ‘Who needs our help?’

Not wanting to be the messenger, Kaiser swiftly moved towards one of the crates. He raised the lid that Jones had removed a few minutes earlier so they could inspect the underside. ‘See for yourself. Look at the lid.’

In the dim light, it was tough to see the mark inscribed on the lid. It wasn’t until Jones stepped closer that he noticed a coat of arms on its underbelly, a symbol vaguely familiar to him. Branded into the wood several decades earlier, it depicted an eagle with sharp talons holding a sword in one foot and a scroll in the other. On its chest, the bird wore a striped shield emblazoned with a smaller symbol. Upon closer inspection, he realized it was the letter U.

Suddenly, everything made sense to Jones: Kaiser’s deception, the half-truths, the total need for secrecy. In a flash, Jones knew whom they were there to save.

‘Son of a bitch,’ he mumbled under his breath.

Payne heard the comment. ‘What’s wrong?’

Jones tapped on the symbol. ‘Do you recognize that?’

He shook his head. ‘No, should I?’

Jones nodded. ‘It’s the Ulster family crest.’

The name hit Payne like a sucker punch, temporarily leaving him stunned. ‘As in Petr Ulster? Are you sure?’

‘Yeah, Jon, I’m positive. I’ve seen it on one of his rings.’

‘The stolen art belongs to his family?’

Off to the side, Kaiser nodded in confirmation. ‘As soon as I saw the symbol, I sealed the site and called you. I know how close you are to Petr. And I know what would happen if his family was ever linked to the Nazis. The Archives would be tarnished for ever.’

Built in Switzerland by Austrian philanthropist Conrad Ulster, the Ulster Archives was the most extensive private collection of documents and antiquities in the world.

Unlike most private collections, the main goal of the Archives wasn’t to hoard artefacts. Instead, it strived to bridge the ever-growing schism that existed between scholars and connoisseurs. Typical big-city museums displayed 15 per cent of their accumulated artefacts, meaning 85 per cent of the world’s finest relics were currently off-limits to the public. That number climbed even higher, closer to 90 per cent, when personal collections were factored in.

Thankfully, the Ulster Foundation had vowed to correct the problem. Ever since the Archives had opened in the mid-1960s, it had promoted the radical concept of sharing. In order to gain admittance to the facility, a visitor had to bring something of value - such as an ancient object or unpublished research that might be useful to others. Whatever it was, it had to be approved in advance by the Archives’ staff. If for some reason they deemed it unworthy, then admission to the facility was denied until a suitable replacement could be found.

It was their way to encourage sharing.

For the past decade, the Archives had been run by Petr Ulster, Conrad’s grandson. He had befriended Payne and Jones a few years earlier when the duo was at the facility conducting research for one of their missions. During their stay, a group of religious zealots had tried to burn the Archives to the ground. Their goal had been to destroy a collection of ancient documents that threatened the foundation of the Catholic Church, including evidence about the True Cross. Fortunately, Payne and Jones managed to intervene, thwarting the attack and saving the facility from irreparable damage.

Now it appeared they would have to save the Archives again, but this time, from a self-inflicted wound.

Payne grabbed the lid and studied the Ulster family crest. A sword in one talon and a scroll in the other, it represented the family’s role as guardians of history. ‘This has to be a mistake. Petr has done more for the preservation of history than anyone I know.’

‘Maybe so,’ Jones said. ‘Then again, who knows what his ancestors did?’

‘But that’s what doesn’t make sense. Petr has told me countless stories about his family, all of them positive. I can assure you, he reveres his grandfather as much as I revere mine.’

Payne paused for a moment, replaying some of the details in his head.

During the early 1930s, Conrad Ulster had sensed the political instability in Austria and realized there was a good chance the Nazis would seize his prized collection. To protect himself and his artefacts, he smuggled his possessions across the Swiss border in railcars, using thin layers of coal to conceal them. Though he eventually planned to return to Austria after World War Two, he fell in love with his new home in Kusendorf and decided to stay. When he died, he expressed his thanks to the people of Switzerland by donating his estate to his adopted home town - provided they kept his collection intact and his family in charge.

‘I’m telling you, it doesn’t make sense. Do you know why his grandfather built the Archives in Switzerland instead of his homeland? He was afraid Hitler was going to seize his collection. Does that sound like someone who was in bed with the Nazis?’

‘No, it doesn’t,’ admitted Kaiser, who had learned about Payne and Jones’s close relationship with Petr Ulster through media accounts of the Greek treasure. ‘But that doesn’t mean his grandfather was innocent.’

Payne glared at him. ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘I mean, it was a horrible time filled with many regrettable acts. Tell me, what do you know about the end of World War Two?’

‘The good guys won,’ Jones cracked, trying to inject some levity.

‘Yes, that’s correct - if you were rooting for the Allied Forces. But here in Germany, some people might argue your point.’

‘True,’ Jones conceded.

Kaiser continued. ‘That being said, post-war Germany was an interesting place. Due to its unconditional surrender, the country was divided into four militarized zones: American, British, French and Soviet. Most of the cities had been devastated by ground campaigns and Allied bombings, so the first order of business was to fix the infrastructure. One of the top priorities was clearing away all the rubble so supply trucks could get back on the roads. Since millions of German men had died in the war, most of this work was done by women and children who were paid in food, not money.’

Payne and Jones nodded, quite familiar with the realities of war.

‘In 1945 hyperinflation swept through this country like a plague. In the year after the war, prices rose a dramatic eighty-five per cent, leaving most German citizens in desperate straits. During this time many of the so-called good guys - the Americans, the Brits, the French and so on - capitalized on the situation, doing things in this country that even I find despicable.’

‘Such as?’ Payne asked.

‘Buying babies, running sweatshops, trading food for sex. Basically doing whatever they could to take advantage of the Germans - including poverty-stricken Jews who were struggling to put their lives back together. I’m telling you, some of the post-war stories I’ve heard about this place make the Wild West seem tame.’

‘What does that have to do with these crates?’ Payne asked.

Kaiser answered. ‘For a span of about sixteen years - starting in 1933 when Hitler was named chancellor of Germany until 1949 when the American, British and French zones combined to form West Germany - artwork was the most profitable sector of the European black market. And trust me when I tell you, these deals weren’t limited to Nazis and criminals. It was common in all levels of society, including the upper crust. People were so desperate for money they were willing to sell family heirlooms at bargain-basement prices. I’m talking priceless paintings for pennies on the dollar. Technically speaking, the sales weren’t illegal, but …’

Payne nodded in understanding. ‘It was a sleazy way to obtain art.’

Kaiser pointed at the crates. ‘For all we know, Petr’s family did nothing wrong. They might’ve obtained all this for a fair price on the open market.’

‘But you don’t think that’s the case,’ Payne said.

Kaiser shook his head. ‘If I did, I wouldn’t have called you.’

Psychologically speaking, it didn’t take an expert to figure out why Payne was so loyal to his friends. His parents had died in a car accident during his formative years, and since neither of them had siblings, Payne had no aunts, uncles or cousins to comfort him. If not for his paternal grandfather, Payne would have been placed in foster care, because his maternal grandparents had died before the accident. Actually, they had died before he was born.