The Schliemann Legacy (23 page)

Duman glanced back at the garden and saw Kadner and Viktor running toward the helicopter. At this range, their small handguns were harmless. However, the rifle in the guard tower was not. Duman knew he could wait no longer. He gave the machine maximum power, lifted straight up, and banked right over the destroyed tower.

A bullet burst through the back window and buried itself in the metal above Helene's head. The chopper lurched and lost altitude as several more rounds hit. Then they were out of the range. Duman breathed deeply and cursed as he wrestled with the controls.

Though he had not seen either of them, he knew the Jew and the Greek were responsible for the attack on the compound. They'd destroyed his carefully laid plan. Vowing to deal with the two interfering bastards, Duman pushed the stick forward and urged the unresponsive machine on. Because of their interference, he had not had time to disable the other helicopter. Worse, his own craft had sustained damage. He knew it was only a matter of time before Viktor gave chase. Beside him, Helene stared at the bullet hole inches from her head and shook violently.

* * * * *

Viktor sped through the garden and emptied his gun at the fleeing helicopter. When it disappeared over the trees, he ran to the other machine.

"They're gone," he said, when Kadner came up beside him. Viktor opened the door of the Hynes 2. "It was Helene and Wakefield."

Kadner nodded, looking up at the dark sky. Betrayal had struck again, he thought. Betrayal surrounded him and sought to destroy him. He had dedicated his life to raising Helene. Now, she treated him no better than the rest of the world had. She was no better than the Jews. And all Jew whores had to die.

"Sir?" Viktor looked down from the cockpit.

The huge man reminded Kadner of a hopeful puppy. He remembered the young girl he had found with Viktor several months ago. More precisely, he remembered what had been left of her. Even Kadner had shied from the sight of that mutilated body. Did Helene deserve that, he wondered? "Go after them," he said absently.

"And?"

Kadner saw the expression on his companion's face. "Do what you want with Wakefield, but bring Helene back to me."

Viktor hid his disappointment. "You'll be all right?"

Kadner surveyed the compound. A single guard had survived the direct hit on the barracks. Only two towers remained standing. Still, there had not been an explosion in several minutes.

"Yes, this destruction was obviously a diversion. Go ahead. Bring back what belongs to me."

Viktor saluted smartly before slamming the door and starting the engine.

Kadner stood back and watched the blades turn ever faster.

* * * * *

Katrina ran to the fence as soon as the two men in the garden had started toward the helicopters. David waited. He immediately recognized the larger man when the German straightened to full height. Horst Dausel, alias Viktor Bitkowski. He knew the other man must be Heiden.

A part of David, long hidden, came awake. Only the desire to see Heiden's face stayed his finger on the trigger. Finally, his legs responded and he followed Katrina.

They quickly cut through the fence. "What about the helicopter?" Katrina hissed.

David looked at her face. The camouflage paint was dark and streaked with sweat, but her eyes still shone brightly through the mask. He knew what she was thinking. Somehow, Duman had infiltrated the compound. Under the cover of their attack, the Turk had made his escape. "We may be too late for the treasure," he said.

They watched as Viktor Bitkowski climbed into the remaining helicopter and lifted off, following the route of the first chopper. The other German stood and watched as Viktor disappeared over the tops of the trees. Suddenly, the old man slapped his thigh with a flat hand and strode toward the house.

David knew that gesture, remembered that walk. He had seen those actions countless times across a rock quarry.

He had found Friedrich Heiden, rapist and murderer of his mother.

"What's going on?" Katrina asked.

Unable to speak, David concentrated on pulling the wire out of the way. They squeezed through the fence and slipped between the plants and low shrubs, reaching the back of the house in seconds. David slid open the French doors leading to the dining area, stopping when he heard the sound of hollow metal scraping on cement.

"Duck," David warned.

They threw themselves to the ground behind a small planter as a guard came running around the house from the pool area. He sprinted past them and disappeared around the corner nearest the helicopter pad. They heard his footsteps slap across the cement and stop. A door opened and slammed shut. Now, at least one guard was inside the house.

When they were sure no one else was in the area, they edged around the planter. David opened the door another two feet and moved the curtains aside.

He and Katrina entered and listened to the rhythm of the house.

Chapter 28 - EMPTY

Ulrich Kadner ran straight through the house and bounded down the stairs to the piano room, tripping over the guard's body by the door. The shiny black piano was still swung aside. The exposed stairway confused and frightened him. He could see the light streaming through the open door at the bottom. His rage grew. He kicked at the corpse until his heart raced from the exertion.

He yelled for Juan, the head of the security detail. Unaware that the man lay under the charred rubble of the guard barracks, the old German screamed Juan's name until his voice cracked.

Finally, another guard appeared at the top of the stairs. Pietro, the youngest and most inexperienced of the men on loan from the Cartel, was in mild shock after seeing so many of his friends killed. He'd worked with smugglers all his life and had seen much killing, but never so many of his own. Staring down at the body of his comrade, he could barely navigate the stairs to stand in front of the old German. Kadner stalked up to him until their noses almost touched.

"Where the hell is Juan?" Kadner asked in German. When he saw the guard's puzzled look, he repeated himself in Spanish.

"Dead, I think, sir," Pietro stammered. "Juan was in the barracks."

Kadner stared at the young man, then nodded slowly. " What is our strength?"

"There are five of us left, sir. The mortars destroyed two towers, the barracks, and the kennels. The power for the fence is out, but Paulo is repairing it now. One man is in each remaining tower. One man patrols the fence. That only leaves me."

"Only five men left?" Kadner said. "I had no idea." He regretted having sent Viktor off so quickly. If there were more attackers outside the fence, more killers waiting for him... "Stand guard at the top of those stairs," he ordered. "No one is to come down to this level. Kill anyone you see. Is that clear?"

The young man nodded and ran up the stairs, relieved to be away from the corpse - and the German.

Kadner descended to the vault room with sure, determined steps. He knew what to expect - and knew he would have his revenge.

The Jews, he thought to himself. Always, the Jews.

The treasure was gone.

Kadner stared at the pikes lining the wall. The spears looked naked without the rest of the treasure. He reached out and caressed the sharp points. "I should have hung banners on these," Kadner said aloud. His voice echoed in the empty room.

A small golden ring sparkled on the floor. The old man picked it up and clasped it in his palm.

"What would Anton have said?" he asked. "His own granddaughter was a betraying Jew. What shame. What disgrace on the family. A blight which must be removed."

The old man turned to the clothing dummy. In his mind, he stood in front of a mirror. He could see his own young face above the uniform.

"I will avenge this crime, my brother!" he screamed, his voice already hoarse. "I have failed you. You entrusted the artifacts to me and I allowed them to be stolen. I will have the treasure back and the thieving Jew whore will die."

The treasure was gone.

He had allowed the Jews - the
Jews
of all people - to steal it. The old man knew the Jews were responsible for the destruction of his compound. It could be no others. Somehow, they had discovered him. With that realization, Kadner knew what he must do.

The old Nazi removed the uniform from the figure and tore off his own suit. He slid his legs into the uniform pants and buttoned the fly. His arthritic hands pained while he buttoned the coat, but he barely noticed. His determination to rid the world of Jews helped erase the pain.

The jacket hung on his frame like an ill fitting rag. Loose skin from his jowls covered the neckline, almost hiding the gleaming double SS insignia. Suspenders held the pants at his waist. Kadner grabbed a handful of material and pulled the coat around his stooped torso.

He removed the small automatic from the pocket of the coat. The .22 caliber rounds were small, but deadly at close range. Brandishing the gun, he goose stepped across the room.

When he saw himself in the actual mirror, his delusion became complete. This was no old, defeated man in the reflection. Instead, a tight uniform stretched over the strong, young body of the proud, superior soldier who guided Hitler's extermination of the Jews. Coming to attention, he saluted himself.

After too many years of hiding, Friedrich Heiden was reborn.

* * * * *

Katrina followed Mardinaud's blueprint of the house to the servant's kitchen. She and David had separated, agreeing to meet at the staircase leading down to the music room. She paused and listened. Certain noise belonged to the natural environment of every home - a dripping tap, the whisper of air conditioning, the crack of a settling foundation. But other sounds belonged to the enemy - a click of a shoe, controlled breathing, the cocking of a gun. These sounds would betray a waiting attack. The difficulty, as every frightened child knows, lay in distinguishing between the two types of noises.

Katrina edged around a corner and looked out onto the empty helicopter pad. Small pieces of the destroyed tower charred the pavement. The ignored body of the dead guard smoldered against the fence. As she looked up in the direction the helicopter had taken, she wondered if Duman had the treasure. Or had he feared for his life and escaped without the artifacts. Possibly, they had disrupted his plans. She knew the answer lay down the stairway to her left.

As she crept down the hall toward the stairs, she heard a sound coming from a small alcove opposite. The wrong kind of sound. She froze and listened closely to the quiet nervous tap. Someone was drumming their fingers on a gun.

Then came a loud crash. The living room - David.

The tapping stopped and Katrina heard a quick intake of breath. Whoever was in the alcove also knew David was in the living room. But David wouldn't know about the guard. She'd have to reach whoever was in the alcove before David appeared in the hallway.

Catlike, she hurried down the hallway. When she was three feet from the alcove, David stepped through the living room doorway. The guard sprang out in front of him, his gun at the ready. David let his hands go slack at his sides.

Seeing David surrender, Pietro ignored his orders and did not fire. He wanted this man to pay for his fallen friends. He raised the barrel of the gun to use it as a club.

Katrina stepped forward and brought her own gun down on the back of Pietro's neck while David grabbed the barrel of the Colombian's gun with his left hand and punched with his right. The blow caught the guard's exposed throat and crushed his windpipe.

"I owe you," David whispered to Katrina as he pulled the young Colombian's body back into the alcove.

She motioned down the stairs. David nodded and the two crept down the cement steps. When they reached the dead guard, David pointed to the small chest wound. Katrina recognized it as the work of a stiletto. Duman's weapon of choice for quiet kills.

She could tell by David's grim face that he also recognized the terrorist's work. The piano and the stairway were directly ahead.

* * * * *

Katrina and David burst into the vault room together, their Uzis drawn. David's gun did not waver as the man in the black uniform slowly looked up at them. With immense effort, David eased the pressure off the trigger.

Heiden clasped his hands behind his back and stood rigidly, but at military ease. He would not honor the pair by standing at attention.

David looked closely at the man he knew to be his mother's murderer. The jagged scar seemed even more pronounced in the wrinkled flesh. But where there was once strength and death, there was now insanity in the Nazi's eyes. As he stared at the German, David felt an unexpected wave of pity pass over him.

In the ill fitting uniform, Heiden looked like a child in his father's clothes, a small boy trying to create an illusion of future greatness. Or, David thought, an old man trying to recreate an illusion of
past
greatness. He suddenly lost all desire to kill this man. Assi Levy would not kill this man. The years of boiling anger and desire for revenge seemed wasted on such a worthless figure.

Suddenly, Heiden began to screech at them. "Bastards. Jew bastards. You have stolen the treasure."

Katrina had seen the hatred and anger drain from David's eyes and laid her hand on his arm. "Friedrich Heiden?" she whispered.

The German held his chin high and answered in a clear, strong voice. "Yes, I am Friedrich Heiden."

"You admit you are Friedrich Heiden, formerly in charge of security at Majdanek?" Katrina said.

"And why should I not? I proudly wear the uniform of
mein Fuehrer
." Heiden threw his hand in the air, arm straight in salute. "I serve well. My contribution to the war effort is without equal. I will not deny myself just because the world does not understand our higher purpose. I am proud that I work to rid the world of Jews, the scum of creation. My only criminal act is not having killed more. I serve Hitler and I serve humanity for the greater good. We were unsuccessful before but the purifications must continue."