The Romanov Ransom

39

Tell us something good, Selma,” Sam said into the phone over the steady rumble of the train as it sped along the tracks.

“I wish I could, Mr. Fargo. But we’re still missing quite a bit of information. The letters we found in the courier bag appear to be just that.”

Lazlo added. “I’m still trying to figure out the reasoning behind carrying the letters in the courier bag if they’re of utterly no importance.”

“Exactly,” Selma said. “But, enough about our end. What do you have on yours?”

“You’re not going to believe it but we have a key and a tin.”

“‘Tin’?”

“Typewriter ribbon tin,” Sam clarified.

“The same as—”

“The same.”

“Interesting.”

“There has to be some significance. There were no typewriters, to speak of, in the tunnel. And someone went to the trouble of putting one of those tins in the courier bag. So why are they there?”

“Send me photos of the one you found. Top, bottom, inside. I’ll see what I can find. In the meantime, you were saying something about a key?”

“Old antique type. Brass. I’ll send a photo of it as well. Other than that, we’ll be heading to Wrocław, waiting to—” He looked out the open door of the boxcar.

“What’s wrong?” Selma asked.

“The train’s slowing down.” He moved to the door for a better view, but they were on a curve, and he couldn’t see far enough up the tracks to see if anything was going on.

Gustaw joined him. “This isn’t anywhere near the next stop.”

“Selma, I’ll have to call you back. We have a problem.” He shoved the phone into his pocket. “Any idea where we are?”

“I’m familiar with the area,” Gustaw said. “They had to have called for help. They couldn’t have gotten here this quick.”

“The Guard’s that big?” Remi asked, coming up behind Sam.

“They are. Especially around any of the sites rumored to have hidden Nazi treasure. That is, after all, one of their reasons for being.”

Sam eyed the low, grass-covered hill, and the forest beyond, thinking about the length of the train. It’d take a few minutes for this many cars to come to a complete stop. “Why wait? We should get off here.”

He looked over at Remi, who gripped the side, the wind whipping at her auburn hair. He wasn’t worried about her. Sergei and Gustaw, on the other hand… “Think you can manage that jump?” he asked the both of them.

Gustaw nodded.

Sergei glanced out, looking a bit unsure. “Yes… Maybe…”

Sam stood back. Gustaw tossed his long gun out, then leaped. Sergei hesitated, and Sam put his hand on his shoulder. “I’ll tell you when… Go!”

Sergei jumped, then rolled down the hill.

“Your turn,” Sam told Remi.

“Tuck and roll, Fargo!” Remi called out as she jumped.

Sam tossed his pack, then followed, landing a few feet away from her. He looked over, saw Sergei start to rise. “Stay down.” He drew his gun, then crawled through the long green grass, up the side of the hill, looking below the passing boxcars.

Gustaw grabbed his long gun, belly-crawling next to Sam.

“What do you think?” Sam asked him, talking loud enough to be heard over the train. “If the Guard is the one who is stopping the train, we’re going to need a better place to hide.”

“If we can get across the tracks to the forest, there’s a back road I know of. We’re not too far from a friend who can help.”

Sam eyed the tree line on the other side. They’d be exposed on the hill leading up to the woods, which was a lot farther from the track than he liked. Not that they had much choice. Behind them was a wide-open field. He waved Remi and Sergei over. “We need to get across before that train clears the curve. Otherwise, if they’re anywhere in the area, they’ll see us.”

After the last car rumbled past, they raced across, up into the trees. Sam found a thick stand of shrubs and directed everyone behind it.

The squealing of the train brakes faded as it finally slowed to a stop. Above them, birds chirped and leaves rustled in the breeze. In the distance, Sam heard a high whistle. Human. And then another.

“The Guard,” Gustaw said. “One of the ways they communicate. No doubt they’re checking the train.”

From the sound of the whistles, Sam estimated that they were at least a quarter of a mile away. He crawled out, catching sight of the last train car on the tracks up ahead, before turning back to the others. “No sign of patrols. Stay low, we’ll have a better chance. They’ve got a lot of cars to search.”

“This way,” Gustaw said, and they followed him up the hill into the woods, breaking every so often to listen. The whistles between the patrols grew fainter the farther they traveled. After a half hour, the trees grew thick enough to provide decent cover. Now all they needed was distance.