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“That explains the bits of brittle yellowed paper we found in the courier bag,” Sam said. “A shame it didn’t survive.”
“The tin?” Miron asked.
“You know about that?”
“Only because my grandfather wrote about it in his diary.” He nodded to a black and white photo on the bookshelf of a dark-haired man who bore a striking resemblance to Miron. “He, apparently, turned the map, the tracing paper copy, and the tin over to someone named Lambrecht, who was supposed to get everything to the Allies.”
“Any idea as to the tin’s significance?”
“None. My grandfather seemed to think the items had some importance beyond the gold. Of course, some of that was to finance the escape of the Nazi officers who planned to flee the continent. But he always suspected that there was something more going on. Even before Hitler ordered that all of the stolen art be removed from Königsberg castle, my grandfather believed these officers were making plans for the treasure—he just couldn’t figure out what for. It’s why, when he found their map, he copied their route, at great risk to himself. And it’s why he kept this table. I
t was in their office when they made their plans,” he said, running his hand across the smooth glass surface.
“The Romanov Ransom?” Remi asked. “Did it have something to do with that?”
“Indeed it did, Mrs. Fargo. It’s what’s behind all this violence. These people trying to keep Andrei from publishing his book all these years believe his writings will help others find the treasure before they do. And yet what they don’t realize is that they’re all chasing the wrong lead.”
“Why is that?” Sam asked.
“The evidence my grandfather found and turned over to Lambrecht and the Allies. It’s all right here.”
He patted the tabletop.
Sam glanced down at it. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“Mahogany. Very soft, as you probably know.”
Sam examined the dark wood, noting the scratches and other marks. “What, exactly, are we looking at?”
“The route that was traced from the map. The same route on the bits of paper you found in the courier bag. Not that you’d realize it unless you know where to look,” he said, trailing his finger across some unseen mark on the table.
Sam leaned in close, seeing a faint indentation in the dark wood in the shape of a large jagged Z. “That’s the route?”
“I believe so. The only reason it’s never been examined any closer was that the original map was missing. As many times as I’ve tried to re-create the route on a modern map, it’s never worked. I expect it’s because of the size difference. But since you have the original, all we need do is overlay the tracing that I made on top. That will tell us where the treasure is.”
“One problem,” Remi said. “We no longer have it.”
Sam pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “But we do have photos. If you have a computer, we can print it out.”
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Unfortunately, they had to approximate the size of the map since the photos Sam took with his phone had nothing to reference the map’s original size.
“A little bigger,” Sam said.
“Are you sure?” Remi said. “A little smaller, wasn’t it?”
Sergei, standing behind them, said, “Maybe we can find something similar online. There’s plenty of World War Two memorabilia around.”
“No time,” Sam said. “That looks pretty close. Let’s print it out and put it together.”
Remi sighed. “The things you don’t think about when you turn over the original . . .”
“This will have to do.”
Fortunately, Miron had an accurate sketch on acetate paper that he’d traced directly from the route drawn on the tabletop. He brought it out, laying it on top of the newly printed map. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve tried to overlay it on various World War Two maps of Europe. So far, no luck.”
Sam positioned the tracing paper so that one end of the Z mark rested atop Königsberg castle. “The moment of truth.”