Clandestine (48 page)

It was now or never, felt Kohler. Louis would expect it of him, but would have to be given the opportunity to tuck things in as needed. ‘Standartenführer Kleiber's plan was excellent, as the Reichssicherheitschef has stated himself, Sturmbannführer. It should have worked and netted not only that Dutch girl and the rest of those
Banditen
, but …'

‘Herr Ludin, Walter. He got Oberfeldwebel Dillmann to intervene.'

‘And when Dillmann dropped that
Mischlinge
off, Kriminalrat Ludin was ready and waiting for her,' went on Hermann.

‘He forced her to tell him where these were, Walter. It's about a kilo, I think, but Herr Frensel and Herr Uhl will be able to advise.'

‘The stones are known, I think, as borderlines,' said Hermann. ‘Of equal value either as gems or industrials. Half-and-halves, if you like.'

And just like that girl. ‘But a kilo?
Ach, mein Gott
, Kohler, that's at least twenty times the value of the boart!'

‘Exactly,' sighed Louis. ‘Twenty or thirty million American dollars.'

And everybody happy. ‘Those are definitely at least some of the “black” diamonds, Sturmbannführer. When we finally located­ Kriminalrat Ludin in his car at the Avon railway station on the other side of Fontainebleau, this first-class ticket to Lausanne was still in his hand.'

‘This tin of Lucky Strikes was on the seat beside him and this all but full bottle of bitters,' offered Louis.

‘And these,' said Kohler.

Two twenty-by-twenty photos of that girl, in the one she having dyed and cut her blonde hair.

‘For the national strike, I believe' said St-Cyr.

‘Dead, you say?'

‘Of a peptic ulcer,' said Louis.

‘But definitely heading for Switzerland and a hospital instead of obeying orders and returning to Berlin with that kilo,' said Hermann.

These two …
Ach
, though not the thousands and thousands of carats as thought, the diamonds would certainly help, felt Boemelburg, for they would prove beyond any shadow of doubt that the Reichssicherheitschef and the others had been absolutely
korrekt
.

Searching among the many papers, he finally found what might do. ‘It's a little place to the northwest of Dijon. An archaeological dig of some sort. Bones and bits of rusty iron. A hillfort probably. That of a Gaul, a Ver … something or other.'

‘Vercingetorix, Walter?' asked Louis.

It was just what was needed to get them immediately out of Paris and far from anyone here who might care, but also in under an umbrella if needed to save himself in Berlin. ‘
Ach
, that's it exactly. One of Himmler's people, a cousin as well. Someone's been taking umbrage with what he's been up to and has not only been stealing his artefacts and spoiling the results, but killing his assistants.'

A dig. ‘Old bones and new ones, Louis.'

‘And time, Hermann. Time to factor in the present with that of the past.'

‘A timeweaver, then,
mon vieux
. A knitter of years.'

^*
The international police commission, the forerunner of Interpol.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental

Copyright © 2015 by J. Robert Janes

Cover design by Neil Alexander Heacox

978-1-5040-0932-4

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