The Secret Crown (2010) by Chris Kuzneski Page B

before he had the chance to retrieve them.’
    Kaiser pointed towards the open crate. ‘What do you know about the other van Goghs? Did you find their paperwork, too?’
    ‘To be honest, I didn’t have time to look. The paperwork from Japan stood out to me because it was so different from all the others. Once I get back to the Archives, I’m sure I’ll find documentation for all of the other artefacts - now that I know what to search for.’
    ‘And what if you don’t?’ Payne asked.
    A look of determination filled Ulster’s face. ‘If I don’t, I’ll use every source I have to track down the names of the rightful owners. Thanks to my grandfather, these artefacts have survived the war. The least I can do is honour his memory and finish what he started.’
    Driving a black SUV with German plates, the man pulled onto the grass near the side of the road and rolled down his tinted window. For the fourth day in a row, a helicopter had landed in the open field near the base of Zugspitze, the peak that towered above Garmisch-Partenkirchen. But unlike the previous trips, this chopper had arrived from the south.
    More curious than alarmed, he grabbed the binoculars from his passenger seat and studied the strange scene at the foot of the mountain. No people. No trucks. No movement of any kind. Just a luxury helicopter sitting in the middle of a pasture, less than twenty feet from an unmarked trail. During the ski season, he was used to the uber-wealthy flying into town to enjoy the Olympic-quality ski slopes, but he had never seen this much activity in September. Obviously, something unusual was going on. But he didn’t know what.
    Zooming in on the tail number, he hoped to determine the helicopter’s country of origin. From his time in the military, he knew every rotorcraft registered in Germany started with the letter D, followed by a hyphen and four additional letters. Yet this designation was different. Not only did two letters ( HB ) precede the hyphen, but three letters followed it. Although the 2-3 structure was fairly common around the world, he didn’t recognize the first two letters.
    ‘ HB ,’ he mumbled to himself. ‘Where in the hell is HB ?’
    After jotting the five-letter code into his notebook, he pulled out his phone and called an associate who worked in customs at Berlin Tegel Airport, the largest international airport in Germany. His friend had access to the aircraft registration database and was willing to look up tail numbers for the promise of a free beer. All things considered, it was money well spent. For the price of the first round, he would learn the name and address of the helicopter’s owner. From there, he would be able to determine if this situation was worth pursuing.
    That is, if this was even a
situation
.
    Because right now it was just a helicopter in a field.

15

    Halogen lights, powered by a portable generator that purred in the outer chamber, lit the back room like the afternoon sun. Within seconds, the temperature started to rise in the confined space. Not wanting to sweat like Ulster on their hike up the mountain, Payne removed his long-sleeved shirt and threw it into the corner, anxious to begin the next phase of their journey.
    Using its rope handles, Jones and Kaiser carried a three-foot-square crate to the centre of the room where Payne waited with a crowbar. Muscles bulging against his undershirt, Payne slid the bar under the lid and popped it open with a mere flick of his wrists.
    The feel of iron in his hands and the rumble of a distant motor reminded him of his teenage years in Pittsburgh. While most of his friends earned money by cutting grass or working the roller coasters at Kennywood Park, he had spent his summers slaving away in the brutal heat of his family’s factories. According to his grandfather, what better way to learn the business than from the bottom up? Picked on by all the union workers, his shifts were so long and gruelling it made his Plebe year at