Nazi Gold

Chapter 29 — Full Circle

When Greta’s jet landed in Cluj, she had prepared her journey into the Baciu forest already. Half an hour before reaching their destination, the crew had served a small meal too her and her adopted son. The boy looked better than the day before but the cabin crew had their reservations about the boy’s continuing health, especially after they learned that his mother did not intend to get him to the doctor, but instead asked for a rental car to drive directly towards the Baciu communes to meet her other son there.

However grave their concerns, they were paid to shut up and serve. The boy was not as pale as the day before and he had even grown some appetite today. Greta woke him as they crossed the border and told him to dress warmly. She had a splitting headache from the slivovitz and cognac she drowned herself in during the more quiet part of the flight and it only worsened her medical condition. The exhilaration of finally reaching the last stretch of her long drawing plan urged her onward regardless of the devastating pain she was in constantly.

“Come, sweetheart,” she told Radu as he tied his shoes clumsily, “we can have some breakfast in town and then we are going to explore the pretty places around your city.”

Radu smiled, although he still looked awfully weak to her.

“I told you I would bring you to come and visit your country,” she smiled, but he could see the hysterical rush behind her barren look.

Radu was smart enough to play along. After all, he had a plan of his own and he was not nearly as timid as he pretended to be. He did not survive on the streets by himself for this long by being gullible and naïve. Greta always allowed him to dress himself, which was fortunate for the cunning child. Radu took care of what he clothed himself in. Instead of his more formal new clothing, he chose to wear his more sturdy track shoes and loose jeans. A windbreaker and scarf finished off his ensemble nicely, and although his German stepmother thought he was dressed a tad too warm, she blamed it to his sickly condition he had been in and his familiarity with the cold weather in Romania this time of year.

When they stepped off the aircraft, Radu felt as if a new life swept over him. In his own childlike way, he knew that his time with the Hellers was not more than an adventure. The time he spent there, the things he picked up and the friends he made were all components of what his real mama used to tell him about. She would always give him sermons about seeing the signs that fate sent him, but he never understood all that stuff until two minutes ago when he stepped off that jet. His mother had said it time and time again, even when he overheard her speaking to other adults.

‘If you keep your eyes closed, you will never stay on the path of your destiny. A blind man does not see beacons.’

Just like that, she always said it. At the time he thought it was just some fancy quote she was impressed by and hoped to sound more than wise by throwing it around in conversation, but now it became clear to him. Standing on the threshold of the steps, he looked about the airport and breathed in the sight of his motherland. His lungs filled with his heritage and his purpose. It was a blade that instantly severed the strings of his enslavement and once more he felt his freedom calling. His mother’s quote lingered in his excited little heart and he knew then that he could see the beacons.

He had had to endure all these incidents, claim victory over all these trials. Only by this chain of events that initially derailed his daily existence could he learn what he was meant to do, meant to be, in his own country of birth. It was all relevant and served to educate him in just the right matters and subjects he needed to arm him for what was to come.

Of course the boy did not know why Greta was so adamant that he learned to tell stories with picture cards, but something about the practice felt wrong. Everything about it left a bad taste in his mouth. It was not the wrong of stealing food. It was not the transgression of taking clothes from unattended washing lines when the cold had him desperate for an overcoat or a sweater. This was even past sin, he thought. Nothing had ever made him feel this close to the devil than when he was making stories with the cards, when the hand of dread gripped his brain and twisted his feelings into wickedness.

His late mother would never have permitted such dark things to upset him or make him sick, no. She would have blatantly shunned them and chased them off. He knew for sure his real mother would have protected him against things that were wrong, and therefore he could surmise that what Greta allowed was a sign that she was not a good mother.

In fact, not only did she not protect him against the black bile that made him ill in his soul when he drew each card, but she polluted him with it, deliberately. That was not the love of a mother and he wanted none of it — she would kill him before he was a teenager. No, Radu knew this woman was using him for some sinister cause to benefit herself and that it was too dangerous to be involved in, not even for all the perks the Hellers offered.

Avram Ianko Airport was noisy under the grey sky of the morning and Radu breathed in the familiar air as he walked hand-in-hand with his German stepmother. It was wonderful to be back in the place he knew so well, where he knew far more than Greta and could easily escape her if need be. She was particularly quiet this morning, but he decided not to throw her off her train of thought and draw unnecessary attention to the fact that he was not as ill as he wanted her to believe. His frailty bought him more time and by her reaction every time he coughed or looked like he was going to throw up, he could tell that she needed him healthy for whatever she had planned. In one instance Radu wondered if Greta was perhaps planning to sell him, but then he could not figure out where it would fit in with making card stories.

Her leather gloved fingers seemed to clutch tighter at his hand than usual, as if she was agitated or nervous at something. Why was she in such a hurry?

“Hurry up darling,” she said in a light tone that relieved him somewhat, as they entered the baggage delivery section in a rush.

“Frau Heller,” he said mildly, “why are you in such a hurry? I am not feeling well and it hurts when I have to walk so fast.”

Radu was well versed in psychological manipulation utilizing his age for optimal success. From the streets he learned early on that playing on pain or injury often got him far more than begging or pity ever would.

“Oh, sweetheart, I just want to get to the guest house as soon as possible so that we can leave our luggage there to go and explore the woods! I heard they are very beautiful,” she smiled, trying to sound as enthusiastic as she could. “I know you feel a bit sick, but hey, as soon as we have had breakfast you will feel so much better, I promise.”

The child smiled under the guise of his sorry façade. The stage was set that she would think he was still frail and that would give him more time to figure out how to get away from her. Greta got a rental car at the airport and they drove along the E576 to Cluj in dead silence. He looked at her. She was miles away in thought and did not even notice his stare with her eyes fixed straight ahead of her. Greta kept her eye on the speedometer every now and then to make sure she did not exceed the speed limit, running the risk of being noticed. Nobody could know that she and Radu were here. Nobody at all!

When they entered the old town of Cluj, she winked at Radu, “Time for some good breakfast!”

“And desert?” he smiled.

“Absolutely,” she said, but he noticed how tightly her black leather gloves strained over her knuckles as she choked the steering wheel.

Radu had mixed feelings when he looked out the car window at the familiar buildings, even though he hardly ever visited the old town before. It was still the same city, the same buildings and people than when he left. Now he was sitting safely in a car, no less, with everything he desired at his fingertips. But just before he wished he could gloat in their faces, the indifferent vermin who treated him like pond scum, he realized that for all the privileges he had, the most important privilege of all was wanting — freedom. At once he was shoved back to his plan to run away and a feeling of excited panic coursed through the boy. He was about to abandon so much for good, but he would be out of harm’s way from a very callous lady who presented a lot more ill will than she thought she could conceal.

He wondered where Herr Heller was and what he must be thinking. Just when he and Heinz finally got along they were separated, and he had grown so fond of the grumpy old German with the well hidden sense of humor. For a moment Radu felt a twinge of the ache he remembered feeling after his mother had died, a homesick feeling, but for a person instead of a place. Now he felt that for Heinz-Karl Heller, the closest thing to a father he had ever known.

Above the steeples and spires of the old buildings and cathedrals the clouds descended ever lower, unraveling at their base to release odd ends of white fleece fogginess. It dropped just enough to obscure the tips of the towering tile and iron points and Radu imagined the clouds crying for the painful penetration of the sharp roofs.

“Here we are,” Greta said suddenly as they found a parking space. When they walked to the small eatery with the sidewalk tables and Romanian flags whipping in the cold wind, some people stared from across the road, others driving by passed a glance and slowed down and even some were peeking through the windows of their businesses. They recognized the young boy they used to chase off in some other parts of the city where he lived in the park and slept under the stairs of one of the churches.

Radu smiled to himself, but took care to look somber when Greta looked at him. She had her hand on his shoulder, ushering him to a table to order him whatever he wanted. Radu realized it would be wise to make sure people saw him with Greta Heller, even if just to make sure that the townspeople would remember her face should he go missing or turn up dead. This was the extent to which young Radu’s intuition warned him about Greta’s intentions.

“You are very far away, Frau Heller. So far away I almost miss you,” the boy charmed her.

Greta smiled sweetly at his adorable words and placed her hand on his.

“There is a lot on my mind, sweetheart,” she replied, and Radu could feel her hand shiver on his.

“Are you alright?” he asked. “You look sad.”

Greta did not expect the child’s question to hit her so hard and she choked on her sudden emotion. His innocence was disturbing to her, like the crystal clear disruption of a raindrop to wet ink, dispersing the darkness but only to reshape it.

“Liebchen,” her voice cracked under the uncontrollable mounting contrition she felt in advance. Her past deeds carried no guilt in her, because they were all in the name of glory, of legacy, of power. But what she was about to embark on, and the methods she would have to employ, was the first blot of blackness that she ever had to swallow back in with effort.

“Whatever it is, I will help you,” Radu smiled sincerely and it rocked Greta to a stunned silence where her tears burned through her composure.

“Ach, Liebchen, you are helping me more than you know,” she sniffed as the waitress served them their breakfast. Radu wolfed his food down but Greta was just rearranging her plate, deep in thought.

The boy knew what he was doing, contrary to the genuine implication of his offer. He watched her tremble, her control crumbling as she fervently sought another way out of putting the young child, her new son, at peril. Even if she could not avert danger, by the laws of the Black Tarot, or replace him with another Dealer, she had to find a way now that he had proved to her that she was never beyond redemption.

On the other hand, the rules were ironclad. Only one in a generation had The Hand to be the Dealer of the Deck. After Greta was betrayed by Petr Costita she made up her mind to pursue him to the end. And she did.

She swore it, that day when he defied her by denying her the Nazi treasure most coveted, The Black Tarot, that she would hunt down his offspring and show no mercy, grant no reprieve from her wrath. She would make Petr’s child, the next generation Dealer, suffer the perdition coming to the one who laid out the Great Spread that would topple the thrones of the entire world.

It had not taken much to persuade Petr to steal the deck from the excavations in Zbiroh for her and her organization. He did not even know who the Order of the Black Sun was after all, so she had offered him an exuberant amount of money to procure the deck for her society and bring it from the Czech Republic to Germany inconspicuously. Only, he elected to keep it for himself and fled to Cluj-Napoca where her agents tracked him down.

While others were hunting the Spear of Destiny and other more well-known relics to obtain its powers, she trumped them all by focusing on the mightiest relic of them all, forged by the blackest of magic — physics.

Transcending the mere supernatural components of holy relics and icons, superseding the arcane science of the Nephilim, this treasure could bring about the utter un-creation of events and dictators. Laid out correctly by the right man — a priest of malice and conjurer of avarice as Petr had been — the deck could shuffle the chronological fate of the world to bow to the dealer's will and thus reinvent history and its consequences. This was not magic. It was the application of human will, factored by the manipulation of super science dormant in certain places of the earth’s magnetic grids. One of these places existed but a few kilometers away from Greta — the haunted forest of Hoia Baciu.

When the curator of the Brno-, and later Plzeň museums would not reveal the location of the rest of the deck, she had him executed with his expedition colleagues in Nohra.

Dr. Miroslav Kulich had come under scrutiny by the Black Sun when an interview conducted by an Anthropology student exposed his knowledge of the deck and other Nazi treasures unearthed at the chateau his family used to own. It was after the death of Petr Costita that someone from Baciu contacted the curator to return the remaining cards of the infamous relic to its rightful owner, the Kulich Family, who had it in their possession since before the occupation of Prague Castle by the SS.

From there the deck had been moved and hidden by a soldier sent to aid the SS in establishing a headquarters at Zbiroh, an explosives expert, who wrote a letter begging the reader to rid the world of the iniquitous relic.

Now she was back where she had failed to procure the deck from her thief many years before, with his son in her charge. And apparently she was also within close proximity of Sam Cleave, the only man who could bury her and her name under tons of filthy totalitarian excrement. She would be exposed as a common murderer and traitor, leaving her squeaky clean reputation obliterated in history. That could never happen. The only problem was not knowing who contacted Dr. Miroslav Kulich in the first place. It was someone who knew what the deck was capable of, someone who knew that the Kulich line used to guard the Black Tarot. Greta was aware that the very same person had to have the rest of the cards Petr tossed through the portal before he died.

But to find the culprit she would have to use the cards she had, hopefully prompting a revelation of who her target was. Igor would be assigned to kill Cleave and retrieve the evidence while she would track down the keeper of the cards, revealed in the tarot reading.

It was odd, Greta pondered, that Igor had not contacted her lately.