The sallow sky held the promise of snow, though no meteorologist had forecast it. The swollen white clouds vied with gray, pressing down like a gloomy canopy to the gnarled treetops.
It was 6:00 a.m. The Master of Sinanju went from truck to truck, inspecting tires and checking equipment. He found Remo leaning against one of the rear trucks.
"I would have thought this sort of thing would be beneath you," Remo commented as Chiun tugged at one of the bungee cords on the supply truck.
Chiun regarded him with flinty eyes. "I do what I must," he said.
"I've noticed that about you," Remo said, nodding. There was no malice in his tone.
At that moment, Heidi walked into view around the truck, nearly plowing into Remo.
"Oh-" she seemed surprised to see him "-good morning, Remo. Are you going with us?"
Remo shook his head. "Naw. I'm sitting this one out."
Heidi nodded her understanding. Her face was flushed as it had been the previous day at her family's castle. This time, however, it was not from embarrassment, but excitement.
She and Chiun began the long trek up to the lead car. It was the one Remo had rented on their return to Germany the previous day. Since he didn't intend to leave the inn until they returned, he would have no use for it.
As Chiun and Heidi walked beside the trucks full of skinheads, Remo trailed distantly behind them. He noted that there were a few of the blond-haired mutes from the IV village mixed in with the rest. Remo couldn't help but think of the vast number of them that had been mowed down by Kluge's machine guns beneath the shadow of the old stone fortress.
There were fifteen trucks lined up behind Remo's rental car. Chiun commented to Heidi that they would likely not be enough.
Kluge was seated behind the wheel of the rental car. Chiun climbed into the back. Heidi debated for a moment whether she should join the Master of Sinanju but finally decided against it. She sat in the front beside Kluge.
The head of IV started the car's engine. Behind him, the other fifteen vehicles rumbled to life. Before the car could drive off, Remo tapped on the rear window. Kluge powered it down from the front.
"Little Father?" Remo called in softly.
Chiun's hazel eyes were focussed on the road ahead.
"Yes."
Remo smiled tightly. "Good luck."
The Master of Sinanju nodded crisply. The window rolled back up with a smooth hum.
Kluge waved his arm out his own window in a circular fashion. With a crunch of gravel, the convoy began moving forward down the long road. The last of the trucks pulled away a minute later.
Standing alone on the desolate country road, Remo could only watch them go.
NEWS OF THE EXPEDITION to find the lost treasure of the Nibelungs reached the hands of the German chancellor by fax at nine o'clock that morning.
It was the sort of crank note that would have been filed and forgotten under ordinary circumstances. The thing that made this fax different from the rest was the signature. At the bottom of the page where there would ordinarily have been a name, a Roman numeral had been sketched in large, careful letters. It was the number IV.
His assistant had brought it to him at once.
The chancellor's pudgy fingers shook as he scanned the few short lines of text. Swirls of sweat had dampened the curled fax paper by the time he placed it on his desk.
This was a crisis far greater than that of a few short months before. The neo-Nazi takeover of Paris had been an embarrassing reminder of Germany's unsavory past.
But this...
This could spell financial ruin for one of the greatest economies in the West. Perhaps, if the legends were true, it could even send the world into a spiraling depression, the likes of which had not been seen since 1929.
And the Great Depression was what had given rise to Adolf Hitler. After the turmoil of the German national elections less than two short months before, anything was possible. The chancellor shuddered at the thought.
The rough details were all there in the letter. Siegfried and Hagan. Something about a long-lost map to the Hoard, alleged to have belonged to the two players in the Nibelungenlied.
All backed up by the mark of IV.
That was what confirmed it to the chancellor.
He had been aware of IV for years as it hovered at the edge of legitimate society. But until now, the actions of the secret organization had always benefitted the economy of Germany.
But this came too close on the heels of the Paris incident. If IV had finally decided to make its move to destabilize the German mark, what better way to do it than by flooding the gold market? That much of the priceless metal dumped at once would surely devalue gold prices to the point of worthlessness.
IV's holdings were already on shaky ground as it was. Vast sums of cash had been exchanged over the past few weeks. Companies thought strong were collapsing before their stockholders' eyes. Others were being sold off for bargain-basement prices. The result was a growing uncertainty in the stock market in Frankfurt.
As those reports had come in, the chancellor had thought that IV was dying. Either internally, or due to some unseen external force. He now realized he had been mistaken.
He now saw that it was most certainly part of some grand strategy by the shadowy neo-Nazi organization to make one last grab at power.
And it would destroy Germany to do it.
The chancellor pressed the button on his desk intercom.
"Yes, Chancellor?" asked his concerned assistant. It was the same nervous man who had brought the fax to the German leader.
"Get me the head of the Federal Border Police," the chancellor intoned. His voice was grave.
Chapter 20
Within the confines of his modest Folcroft office, Smith watched the uncertainty unfolding in the German market with a look of pinched displeasure.
Always an erratic business, it was difficult now to gauge precisely why the market was slipping. But there was no doubt that it was.
It was very slight at the moment. The overall market had lost only five percent of its value since trading had begun that morning. The London market had reacted to the trend, dropping by a few points, as well.
It was a ripple effect that was barely registering. Trading on Wall Street had begun only an hour before, and the European markets had yet to have anything more than a minor influence on the Dow Jones. It appeared that it did not yet matter to anyone of consequence.
Except Harold W. Smith.
Smith had been watching the markets carefully ever since he had begun dumping shares of IV companies onto the German trading floors. There had been a gradual downward trend in Frankfurt about two weeks before. This had brought a minor adjustment all around the world. Wall Street had caught on to the trend. As a result, the Dow had dipped by about thirty points before adjusting to the hit caused by the liquidation of the secret organization's vast holdings. Barely a hiccup. Afterward the markets had rebounded and had pressed bullishly upward. It had been smooth sailing ever since.
Until now.
Something was causing a downswing in European trading. And it was originating in Germany. Utilizing a program he had created during the stock-market upheavals of the late eighties, Smith accessed the private computer lines of one of Germany's largest brokerage firms. Not wasting time with the transactions themselves, Smith went immediately to the top. Typing rapidly, he accessed the company president's morning E-mail.
He found that it was all pretty dry stuff.
There were concise digests of the previous night's activities on Japan's Hang Seng Stock Exchange. A note had been sent from the lawyer of the company president's soon-to-be ex-wife. As Smith watched his screen another electronic letter materializedthis one from the man's mistress.