Unfortunately, should they learn about this journal, I would be executed. Because of that, I will take the secret of the bell's destination to my grave. Its dark science is not fit for this time, but perhaps someday, humanity will be ready for it.
Sean stopped reading and lifted his eyes. He turned the page but found nothing. "He said the name of the colonel in charge of the mission to transport the bell."
"Correct," Steiner said. The old man already knew the dots Sean was connecting. "He also mentioned a submarine called U-1500, but there is no record of that vessel anywhere in the archives. It did not exist, at least on paper."
"So you looked for it?"
Steiner sighed and glanced sideways down at the table for a split second, then returned his gaze to his guest. "I spent quite a bit of time searching for anything that had to do with the U-1500, years even. There was not a trace of it. Eventually, I came to the conclusion that the ship did not exist. If it did, the Nazis covered their tracks well. Obviously, they would not have gone to such trouble for something unimportant."
Sean thought about the passage for a minute and reexamined some of the sentences.
"It says that he took the bell's location to his grave." Sean peered up from the notebook. "I don't suppose your father let you know where that might be." Sean was hesitant to bring it up, but he had to know.
The host shook his head. "Sadly, no. Father believed that the world was not ready for that technology, and that if someone were to find the bell, its power could do immense damage. He died knowing where it was sent, but telling no one. If that submarine made it across the Atlantic Ocean, whoever was aboard it kept quiet, and the secret remains after all these years."
Another dead end, it seemed. "I don't suppose you know where Shpurning lived?"
"No. I wish I did. Though I don't know if that information would be helpful. The colonel may not have made the voyage. I searched for a few years, trying to find the name of the U-boat captain, but could discover nothing. The records on Shpurning are thin at best."
Sean took the conversation in a different direction. "I don't mean to be rude, and if I am overstepping my bounds, I apologize."
This made Steiner laugh. "Americans. So apologetic for everything. Go on, ask your question."
Sean blushed a little but went ahead. "Your father. Is the cemetery where he's buried close to here?"
Steiner didn't seem to be irritated by the query, but his face did change somewhat, to a more puzzled expression. "Yes, of course. Why do you ask?"
"It's just that…" Sean struggled to find a polite way to say it. "I'd like to take a look at his grave if that's okay with you. I won't disturb it or anything. I'm just curious to see if there's anything worth noting."
"I see. You think father may have left a clue at his burial site." Steiner leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head as he contemplated the notion. "Herr Wyatt, I have been to my father's grave hundreds of times since he died. I can tell you that I have never noticed anything peculiar, or anything that would make me think he left a clue to the whereabouts of the bell."
That tidbit was discouraging, but Sean wouldn't be brushed aside that easily. "Even so, if you don't mind, I would like to take a look for myself. I just want to make sure I leave no stone unturned. After all, a woman's life depends upon it."
Steiner contemplated the request for another twenty seconds. He shrugged as he spoke. "It's a public cemetery, Herr Wyatt. Anyone can go have a look."
"Will you take me there? I know you probably just opened the office, but it would be most helpful." Sean's eyes begged. He could probably find the cemetery with a set of simple directions, but then he would have to scour the graveyard in search of the one monument he needed.
Steiner laughed. "You can see we aren't very busy. We only get a few people in here every week. Ever since the mine closed and some of the other factories went out of business, there hasn't been much work in this village, unless you plan on working at one of the nearby farms." He stood up and removed a jacket from the back of the chair he'd been sitting in. "The cemetery isn't far from here. I can take a few minutes to show you."
Sean followed his host back out onto the sidewalk. The older man locked the door and dropped the keys into his pocket then started down the walkway. When they reached an intersection at the next block, the two crossed the street and continued in the same direction.
"The cemetery," Steiner pointed, "is right around that corner over there. It will come into view when we pass the stop sign." He apparently wanted to make small talk because he asked Sean how he'd come into the role he was working.
"It's a long story," he gave the cliché answer.
"Good ones usually are," Steiner quipped and flashed a clever grin.
Sean appreciated the wit. "I worked for the U.S. government for several years. I saw a lot of action in the field. More than I wanted. I needed a change, so I retired and went to work for my friend in the field of archaeology. My job was to secure priceless artifacts for transportation and get them to their destination safely."
"Oh?" Steiner raised his eyebrows and looked over at Sean. "That doesn't sound like a less stressful job to me."
"It wasn't. I found myself being shot at and chased, just like when I worked for the government. But there was a funny thing." He paused as they arrived at the next crosswalk, looked both ways, and then kept walking. "I spent so much time thinking about what my life would look like if I could just get away from those jobs and relax. You know?"
"Mmmhmm," Steiner said.
"I just wanted to run a shop on the beach and have a cabin in the woods. Maybe play some golf every now and then."
"You play golf?" The older man seemed a tad surprised.
"Not well," Sean admitted, half joking. His guide laughed, and he continued. "But no matter how much I tried to get away from that high-stress, dangerous lifestyle, it always seemed to find me."
Steiner stopped walking and seemed pensive for a moment before he turned and spoke. When he did, his tone was serious, but not stern, more matter-of-fact than anything. "We cannot run from our true selves, Herr Wyatt. Deep down inside, the person within us knows what it wants to be. It struggles to free itself of the lies we tell it. For some people, they tell themselves that they need to go to college and get a job in an office somewhere, when really what they want to do is start a business or travel, or become a missionary. No matter how much we lie to that person inside us, they will always find a way to get out. That, or they will make us miserable for our entire life until we set them free."
Steiner stared at Sean for a few seconds and then resumed walking. Sean thought about his words for a moment before catching up.
"I've never really heard it put that way, but I agree. I don't know if that little person inside of me really wants to do what I'm doing right now, but I do know that I feel like the world needs me to, and that's why I'm doing it."
The older man's face beamed. "The person inside knows that."
They reached the next corner, and Steiner pointed across the street. "There's the cemetery. My father's grave is in the middle. I'll show you where, and then I must return to the office."
There was something unsettled in Steiner's voice. The man pushed ahead, turning through the iron archway that rose up from stone pillars on either side. Sean couldn't read the Polish name of the cemetery that was displayed in wrought iron letters on the arch.
The graveyard was decorated with various trees: hemlocks, pines, and a few oaks here and there. Fresh flowers amid boxwoods and nandinas cast a sweet scent into the air. Sean always detested the smell of funerary flowers. It was one of the strongest smells his memory could recall. Normally, people would appreciate the wonderful scent of fresh flowers, but when it came to flowers in a cemetery or at a funeral home, they always nauseated Sean. He'd been to so many funerals growing up, the experiences made a permanent indent on his mind.