She reached out, took his hand in hers, her grasp weak, her skin cool. “Promise me . . .”
“Promise what?” he asked, having to lean close to hear.
“Follow your heart . . .” She reached up, touched his chest, then lowered her hand, closing her eyes. “Dietrich . . .” Maybe she was hallucinating, seeing his dead brother instead of him. Thinking she’d fallen asleep once more, he started to rise. But she opened her eyes, her soft smile melting his heart. “Do that, Klaus . . . You’ll be rewarded . . . Promise me?”
“I promise,” he said, wondering if she even had two days to live. What if she died before he returned . . . ?
No. He refused to think such a thing. He had to do this. If he didn’t get the medicine, she would die.
With a heavy heart, he leaned down, kissed her forehead, seeing that she’d fallen asleep again. “I love you,” he whispered, then left with his Uncle Ludwig Strassmair to Buenos Aires.
—
“HERR STRASSMAIR. Good. You’re here. Come in. Come in.”
Klaus, his uncle’s suitcase in hand, was about to follow him into the office when he thought he heard something behind them. He stopped and looked down the darkened hallway. The wind, he decided, then trailed his uncle into the office, where Herr Heinrich, a gray-haired man in a military-style jacket, sat behind a battered wooden desk, his hand lying atop a brown folder. A blond-haired woman about the age of Klaus’s uncle, mid-forties, stood behind him. She eyed Klaus. “This is the boy?”
“Klaus,” Ludwig said. “My sister’s son. Good German stock.” He took the case from Klaus, then guided him to the door. “Wait outside. We’ll be just a few minutes.”
Klaus walked into the hallway, remembering his father’s warning to mind his own business. But Ludwig had left the door open, and he couldn’t help overhearing the conversation.
“Were you foll
owed?” Herr Heinrich asked.
“No,” Ludwig replied. “I was very careful.”
Klaus glanced down the darkened hall, suddenly worried about that noise he’d heard when they’d entered. What if they had been followed? He edged closer to the open door, wondering if he should say something.
“So,” Ludwig said, “we’re proceeding?”
“We are. But first I want to see what you’ve brought before it’s all sold. Open it.”
A moment later, Klaus heard Herr Heinrich give a low whistle, while the woman said, “Amazing. I have only heard tales of their magnificence.”
Unable to resist, Klaus peered through the crack in the door. Herr Heinrich held a bejeweled, egg-shaped object. The green iridescence reminded Klaus of a small jade pendant his mother used to wear. Gold filigree vines wrapped around the egg, and diamonds sparkled along the vines like bright flowers. “Which one do I have?” Heinrich asked, turning the piece back and forth, the light catching on the diamonds.
“This,” his uncle said, “is the Empire Nephrite Egg.”
“How many eggs do you have?”
“Only three. But also several other chests that Maria Feodorovna managed to smuggle out of Russia when she fled to the Crimea. One contains many of the crown jewels belonging to the Dowager Empress, the others are filled with hundreds of loose diamonds, precious stones, and gold. It’s clear that she paid well for the release of her son and his family.”
“And yet the Bolsheviks killed them anyway,” Herr Heinrich said. “Rather fitting that we’re using the Romanov Ransom to fund our strike against Russia.” He turned the egg about in his hands, the diamonds glinting in the overhead light. “A shame your men couldn’t have gotten the Amber Room as well. A sight to behold.”
“Hard to play refugee while smuggling something that size. These were difficult enough to get out of Germany without leaving a trail.”
“And that pilot? I heard he was working with the Allied Forces.”
“Lieutenant Lambrecht?”
“Yes. What if he talks? He could lead them right to us.”
“Unfortunately for him, he’s dead. My men sabotaged his plane. The last word was that it crashed somewhere in Morocco.”
“What if someone finds the plane? Our plans—”
“—are in code. By the time someone does find them—assuming they ever do—we’ll be in Santiago, setting everything in motion. It’ll be too late.”