The Doomsday Testament

XLI

‘You are free to go.’

Jamie opened his eyes to find the door of the cell open. and a tall, dark-haired woman studying him with the expression of someone who had just found a dead rat in her kitchen. She was in her mid-forties and dressed in a smart business suit that was as much a uniform as anything with badges of rank. ‘Polizeihauptkommissar Lotte Muller.’ Jamie got to his feet rubbing his spine as she introduced herself. ‘And you are Mr Jamie Saintclair. You have spent a comfortable night?’

‘As comfortable as can be expected.’ It had been fully dark by the time they got back to Braunlage and another hour before Jamie located the local police office. The patrolman who had listened to their story had been first annoyed, then perplexed and finally bewildered, before they produced the Raphael. That was when he decided to hedge his bets and arrested Jamie on suspicion of something and told Sarah to go back to the hotel and stay there.

Lotte Muller produced a thin smile. ‘Perhaps you are surprised that you are to be freed?’

He shook his head. ‘No, as I explained to the officer last night, we did nothing wrong. This is just a misunderstanding.’

‘Of course, a misunderstanding.’ She had a policeman’s way with words. Disbelief was her default position. ‘Naturally, there will be certain conditions to your release.’

‘Naturally.’

‘My colleague from the Landespolizei had dismissed you and your… travelling companion as publicity-seeking fantasists, but then there was the question of the painting.’ What might have been a twinkle appeared in Lotte Muller’s hard little eyes and a slight uplift at the corners of her mouth accompanied the word painting. Clearly, the Raphael had made a suitable impression. ‘He did not dare open the package, of course, but the more he studied it the more concerned he became. So concerned that he rather belatedly found the courage to disturb my sleep. Since dawn, I have spent a rather trying morning in the Oder gorge attempting to verify, or otherwise, your unlikely story. Fortunately, I found no terrorists with machine guns. No dead men among the trees, or bodies in the river. No blood trails or spent cartridges.’ The dark eyes held Jamie’s. ‘But then my officers discovered the entrance to the bunker precisely where you and Miss Grant said it would be.’

‘May I ask how Miss Grant is?’

Lotte Muller’s expression softened. ‘As far as I know she is well. She should be here in a few minutes. Perhaps you would like to freshen up a little and we can continue this conversation in the interview room when she arrives?’

Sarah Grant might have spent the previous day at a spa rather than being chased around a forest by machine-gun-toting killers. She had relinquished her usual jeans and leather jacket for a candy-striped summer dress that made her look about eighteen. When Jamie rose to give her a restrained hug her perfume smelled of crushed lilac.

‘I didn’t even know you owned a dress,’ he whispered.

‘A girl has to have some secrets, Saintclair.’

‘May we begin?’ Lotte Muller interrupted.

They took their seats on the other side of the desk. The room was like police interview rooms everywhere: small, sparse and functional.

‘I understand you are comfortable in German, Miss Grant?’

Sarah nodded.

‘You slept well?’

‘Very.’ The accompanying smile hid the fact that she’d spent the night with a chair jammed behind the door of the hotel room wishing Jamie hadn’t persuaded her to dump the pistol she had carried since Wewelsburg. She had passed the time working on a synopsis of the Raphael story that she’d e-mailed to a selection of newspapers and magazines and eventually fallen asleep to wake up to an inbox full of offers that took her breath away.

The policewoman adjusted her reading glasses as she studied a piece of paper on the desk. ‘I have read your statements and I must admit to being somewhat perplexed. You say you were hunted through our forest by men with guns, but, as I have already informed Mr Saintclair, there is no evidence of this. No reports of gunshots. No shell cases. No bodies. No signs of any violence whatsoever.’

‘That doesn’t mean it didn’t happen,’ Sarah interrupted.

‘No, it does not,’ Muller agreed. ‘But I would have preferred some further evidence. However, we also have the painting… and the bunker. You say that you were led to the bunker by indicators provided in this journal left by your grandfather, but only stumbled upon the entrance when you were being pursued.’ She turned a page and Jamie recognized a photocopy of the tightly written text of Matthew Sinclair’s diary. ‘A remarkable document, and even more remarkable that you were able to decipher the clues, if clues they are.’ The long pause that followed was an invitation to provide an explanation, but neither Jamie nor Sarah responded and she was forced to continue. ‘Still, what matters is that the bunker does exist, and that it provides us with a crime scene for which there is substantial evidence.’

‘You mean the dead prisoners?’

‘That is correct, Mr Saintclair. Just because a murder was committed many decades ago does not mean we can ignore the fact that it happened. I visited the site this morning. Quite astonishing. One does not expect to be confronted with such barbarity. Perhaps one should not be surprised that these things emerge from time to time, but still… Even for someone like myself, who has seen many difficult things, it was an emotional moment. To think that this could happen so close to this beautiful place is disturbing. There must be a full investigation, even though the perpetrators are most probably dead themselves. It may be many months before we can even identify the victims.’

Jamie allowed his surprise to show. ‘You think you’ll be able to find out who they were?’

‘Oh, yes, I don’t doubt it. In your very concise report to my colleague last night you mentioned the Uranverein project. If you are correct in that assumption, it narrows the field considerably. Those involved in the Uranverein who survived the war made very detailed statements about their work to the Allied authorities. We have lists of people who were removed — as was thought then — to the concentration camps. By matching physical details and using the latest DNA techniques we should certainly be able to identify most of those in the bunker.’

‘They were Jews.’ Sarah’s voice cut the cosy atmosphere like a chain saw. ‘You seem reluctant to mention that.’

Lotte Muller’s lips tightened. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘There is a probability that most, if not all, are Jewish; that would certainly correspond with the times in which they died and the situation in which they are found. But for me, Miss Grant, they are all victims, whether they are black or white, male or female, Christian, Muslim or Jewish, and I will do everything in my power to apprehend whoever perpetrated this atrocity. Does that satisfy you?’

Jamie glanced at Sarah and she nodded, he thought reluctantly.

‘Good. Now we may turn to the more pleasant part of your discovery. You will be aware that there are other bunkers in the Harz, at Nordhausen, in particular, where the V2 rocket was manufactured. But Nordhausen cannot boast a famous masterpiece. You have placed Braunlage firmly on the international map, Mr Saintclair, you and Miss Grant. Of course, we must carry out a detailed check to confirm its authenticity, but if, as I have no doubts will be the case, this is the lost Raphael painting, there will be huge international interest. The Polish ambassador is already on his way here. You know, of course, that Portrait of a Young Man was removed from the Czartoryski Museum, in Cracow? The trust which now runs the museum is very eager to see its return and is sending a representative to witness the unveiling of the painting, which will be carried out by conservators from the Staatliche Museen in Berlin. I am sure the Princess Czartoryski Foundation will be most grateful for the Raphael’s return, but that is something you must discuss with the trustees personally. Already,’ her face hardened again, ‘we have had calls from the press, many calls, regarding the discovery. You are a journalist, I understand, Miss Grant?’

‘What about these men who tried to kill us? You seem to have forgotten them.’ Jamie interrupted.

Lotte Muller pursed her lips. ‘Naturally we will continue to investigate, but unless there is further evidence…’

He opened his mouth to argue, but Sarah kicked him below the desk.

‘What will happen to the bunker now, I mean in the long run?’ she asked.

‘I think that will depend on the structural condition,’ the kommissar sounded unconvinced. ‘As you no doubt saw, the lower floors were quite badly damaged by an explosion. But if it is structurally sound there is already talk of the Federal government turning the bunker into a museum and, naturally, a memorial to those who died there. In the circumstances we are very fortunate that it is there at all.’

‘I don’t understand?’ Sarah said.

‘Of course, you would not know.’ Kommissar Muller studied their faces. ‘The whole complex was wired to explode thirty minutes after you opened the door behind the falls. The only thing that saved you was the rodent that ate its way through the main cable.’