The Romanov Ransom

31

Sam knew what they were after.

They wanted Miron’s map. He hoped that meant they were bypassing Sergei’s room completely. His gun gripped in one hand, he stood at the open window, spying through the slit in the curtains. The men in the street seemed to be watching the front entry of the hotel. They weren’t the ones he was worried about.

He looked over at Remi, pointing toward the bathroom. She nodded, grabbed her gun and phone, while Sam slipped Miron’s map from his pack, circling the other locations in the vicinity of the Project Riese tunnels. Hoping it would buy them some time, he left the map on the table, placing his pack on top, making sure it was visible beneath it. After a quick look around, he joined Remi behind the bathroom door, leaving it open far enough to reveal the toilet and empty shower.

The soft clicks as someone picked the lock gave way to the sound of the knob turning and the door opening. The security chain rattled, then went tight. For several seconds, the only sound Sam heard was Remi breathing beside him and the ticking of the furnace blowing heat into the room.

Whoever was out there wasn’t moving.

No doubt testing the waters, making sure their victims weren’t wakened, before they busted through.

Sam gripped his gun, ready to fire.

He heard the chain move, then the sound of screws ripping from wood as one of the intruders shoved his weight against the door. The men rushed in, flashlights sweeping the room.

“They’re gone,” someone said in English, his German accent thick.

Loud footsteps crossed the room. “They went out the window,” another said, his accent sounding more Russian.

“They knew we were coming.”

“Dump their bags. Find the map.”

Sam heard them ruffling through their things, then someone saying, “I have it.”

“What’s that?” Silence, then, “A siren?”

“Go! Go!”

As quickly as they came in, they left.

Sam didn’t move. He and Remi remained behind the bathroom door for several seconds until the heavy footsteps receded down the hallway. The faint siren grew louder.

Outside, he heard the sound of men running and car doors closing, followed by the rev of engines as the vehicles sped off.

Sam moved to the window, looking out. The street was clear. “Have to say, that was a very convenient siren.”

“Sergei got my text,” Remi said, holding up her cell phone.

He eyed the gun she held at her side. “You can text with one hand?”

“Can’t you?”

He almost laughed. If it weren’t for autocorrect, his texts would probably be unreadable. And that was using two hands. “Nicely done, Mrs. Fargo.” He glanced out the window again. “Cops are here. We should probably stash the guns.”

“And let Sergei know we’re okay.”

The police left sometime after sunrise, with a stern warning that this was the very reason why the government was set against people looking for this Gold Train. Sam, Remi, and Sergei packed up their things, found an open café, and sat down to an early breakfast. They were walking to their car when Remi pulled out her phone.

“Who are you calling?” Sam asked.

“Miron,” she said, putting the phone to her ear. “I tried to reach him last night after dinner to let him know about his friend. He wasn’t home.”

“No voice mail?”

“Unfortunately, no.” She ended the call and put the phone in her pocket. “Still not there. After what happened at Königsberg castle, I’m a little worried.”

“Try again later. Right now, we need to see if we can find Renard’s friend before our map thieves figure out where we’re going.”

Gustaw Czarnecki lived in the very forest that once overlooked one of the prisoner-of-war camps that housed the Project Riese workers. The winding foothills road led through a thick stand of trees, the pavement turning to gravel the higher they drove. A dog barked as they neared the cabin, and Sam saw someone pull back a curtain inside, then drop it. A moment later, the door opened slightly.

The second Sam saw the rifle barrel, he slammed the brakes. A shot hit the dirt about five feet in front of them. He glanced in the rearview mirror. It was a straight line down that hill, making them an easy target. They had nowhere to go, he thought, as the door swept open. A stocky gray-haired man stepped on the porch, a rifle in one hand, the barrel pointed downward. The way he held himself and watched them, there was no doubt in Sam’s mind that he was ex-military. A black German shepherd appeared at his side.

Sergei gripped the back of Sam’s car seat. “Why aren’t you backing up?”

“Because if he wanted to kill us, he would have. Sit tight,” he told Remi and Sergei, putting the car in park. He got out, resting his hand on the butt of his Smith & Wesson. “Mr. Czarnecki? Sam Fargo…”

The man stared at him.

“Sergei,” Sam said. “Come on out, keep both your hands where he can see them.”

He heard Sergei’s door open behind him and, from the corner of his eye, saw the young man stepping out, holding both his hands high. “Now what?” Sergei asked.

“Tell him who we are.”

Sergei did. The man responded, and Sergei translated, saying, “He wants to know how you know who he is.”

“Tell him we were looking for Renard Kowalski. We found out — well, that his name came up as a friend of his.”

Sergei repeated the answer.

Gustaw gave them a thorough appraisal, not moving for several seconds. Finally, he leaned the rifle against the porch railing, told his dog to stay, then walked out to meet them. “My apologies for that greeting,” he said, his heavily accented English perfect. “I don’t tend to have a lot of friendly visitors.”

“Military?” Sam asked.

He nodded. “Wojska Specjalne.”

“Special Forces,” Sergei repeated.

Gustaw nodded, then gave a short whistle. The dog bounded down the steps, sitting at his side. Reaching down, he scratched the dog’s head. “What brings you up here?”

“A tunnel,” Sam said. “We heard you’re a local expert.”

“In other words, you’re looking for the Gold Train. I can tell you it’s supposed to be out on the sixty-fifth kilometer. I’m sure you can find someone to take you out there. Just not me.”

“We’re actually looking for information on Obermann Ludwig Strassmair.”

His brows went up a fraction. “What makes you believe this area has anything to do with him?”

“Someone from Kaliningrad had a map that showed a possible route he took after he fled Königsberg castle, trying to escape the Russian invasion. It led us here.”

“Sorry you came all this way. I only work alone.”

“We’re prepared to pay.”

“It’s not about the money.” He crossed his arms, his expression cold, hard. “It’s too dangerous. Leave.”

Sam realized that this was a man who’d made up his mind and wasn’t about to give in — not in the usual way. Taking a gamble, hoping the man might change his mind, he said, “Based on the number of people who’ve tried to kill us trying to get here, you’re probably right. But thanks for your time.”

And then he opened the car door as though he were about to leave.