She answered his question before he could ask. "Alfred is not a kind person, although I believe much of his attitude and countenance is derived from being relieved of his father in such a traumatic way. His mother killed herself shortly after, throwing herself into the ocean from the cliffs not far from here." The finger outlining the rim of the glass pointed to a vague spot somewhere beyond the mansion's exterior. "After all that, I'm not surprised that Alfred became bitter. In fact," her voice got quieter, more secretive, "I think deep down Alfred always honored his father's Nazi heritage."
Sean immediately thought of the odd museum in the top of Wolfz's home, a creepy tribute to the Third Reich that he kept hidden from the rest of the world. It wouldn't be hidden for long.
"If Wolfz knew anything," Sean said, setting the book down and stepping back around the corner of the desk, "it won't help us now. He was murdered."
Irena's face contorted into a scowl. "What? When?"
"Less than an hour ago. I went to visit him before I came here. He'd been shot. He was already dead when I arrived. There was nothing I could do. The killer was still in the house." Sean relayed the harrowing story of the rooftop chase, the shootout, and the man's demise as he tried to escape but instead fell to his death.
Her eyes stared vacantly through the wall just behind Sean and to his right. "I thought I heard the sirens, but didn't know what all the fuss was about. This city is usually very peaceful." The room grew silent for a moment. The only sounds were the ticking of a clock that hung behind the desk and the wind howling through the shutters outside. Irena was pensive for a minute before she spoke again. When she did, she peered at Sean with a look she'd not shown before: worry. "Do you think the people who killed Wolfz will come after me?"
Sean forced a comforting grin onto his face. "It's possible. But I'm not going to let them hurt you."
She motioned to the outline of his weapon again. "With that?"
The question reminded him of his lack of ammo. "Actually," he said, forlorn, "this thing is useless without any bullets. But we'll figure something out. You may need to lie low for a while. Is there anywhere you can go and hide out?"
"Yes," she nodded. "I have a cousin in Montevideo up in Uruguay. I can stay with them for as long as I need."
"That might be a good idea."
"What about your Swiss scientist? Are the terrorists going to kill her?"
He crossed his arms and stared at the floor, his mind conjuring up visions of somehow rescuing Dr. Ott. The visions, however, were blurry. He had no idea where she was or how to convince the terrorists to give him more time.
He walked over to the end of the antechamber that protruded off the main building and stopped at the window. He gazed out at the setting. Gray clouds filled the sky, rolling in at a jet's pace. The skiers would be happy. From the looks of it, their slopes would soon be getting another several inches of powder.
"I'm sorry I can't be of more help," Irena said, still sitting in her chair back in the study. Her voice reverberated through the area.
Sean's eyes drifted from one window to the other. The designer of the little sitting space had created an area with a 180-degree view of the bay and ocean beyond. He squinted to focus his vision farther into the distance. On the horizon, he saw the rough outline of three shapes. From his current position, they seemed small, but he was certain they were fairly large land masses.
"Are those islands out there, off to the east, the ones from the paintings?" he asked out of vague curiosity.
"Yes. As I said, I have no idea what my father liked about them. Ugly, worthless plots of land. He bought them when I was young."
Something sparked inside Sean's head. His heart pounded faster, and his breath quickened. "Did you say he bought them?"
She gave a nonchalant nod. "Yes, though I have no idea why. The land is worthless. It would be hard to build anything out there, and the weather is so unpredictable out that far. Living there would be nightmarish."
Sean paced around the room for a second, back and forth in front of the desk. "That room over there with the three windows," he pointed at the antechamber. "That wasn't an original part of the building's structure, was it?"
She shook her head, suddenly seeing how frantic he'd become. "No. He built onto it when I was a young girl. That's why the stone is a different color to the rest of the house." The last fact was one he'd not been able to observe since the viewing room was in the back of the house and he'd come in through the front. Still, the interior was slightly different, and the seam in the floor told him that there had once been an external wall there.
He stopped pacing in front of the desk and turned to face the wall behind it. The three paintings loomed silently, offering more now than they did half an hour before.
"That's it," he said after staring for thirty seconds at all three pictures.
He moved around behind the desk and slid the chair into its place. Standing close to the painting in the middle, he focused all his attention on it. "This beam of light right here." He pointed at the needle of sunlight that cracked through the clouds of the scene and shone onto a point in the rocky coast. "Why is the sun shining in this picture and not the others?"
She rolled her shoulders. "To be honest, I never really thought much about it. What are you getting at?" She got up, leaving her empty glass on the chair's arm and sauntered over to where he was standing. Her eyes probed the painting, searching for answers to questions she didn't know.
"Don't you see?" Sean asked. "There is something about this island, something your father wanted to keep secret but always wanted to keep an eye on. And he left a clue to its importance in this picture. I think that whatever it is the terrorists want might be somewhere here." He tapped the painting on the point where the yellow beam of light touched the rocks.
Irena shook her head. "That can't be right, Sean. There's nothing there. He took me out past those islands many times on our boat when we were young. It's nothing but rocks piled on top of more rocks. This place you're pointing at is a rock wall about fifteen feet high."
He took a deep breath and kept gazing at the image. "No cave? Nothing of note?"
"No," she shook her head again slowly.
The answer was right in front of him, and he knew it. He just couldn't see it. He took another look at the other two paintings, just to make sure he wasn't missing anything, and then came back to the one in the middle. He was about to give up and sit back down when something stuck out to him. It was small, almost unnoticeable. It could have been mistaken for a piece of driftwood, a tree branch sticking out of the water, or maybe a simple scratch in the paint that had occurred from moving the picture around. But to Sean, he knew exactly what it was.
"Is there a magnifying glass in this desk?" he asked.
"I believe so, in the top drawer." She pointed at the writing station.
Sean pulled the chair back and slid the drawer out. There were two pens, a pile of paper clips, some stationery, scissors, a magnifying glass, and a black compact handgun with a spare magazine next to it. It was a .22 caliber, not powerful enough to knock down a threat, but could be lethal if used properly. He pretended not to notice the weapon, and picked up the glass instead.
Holding the circular reading device a couple of inches from the painting, he stared at the object sticking out of the water. It came into clear focus in a matter of seconds.
"See?" he asked. "I think this is our spot. And there's a reason you never noticed anything." He tapped the canvas again. "That's a periscope. The U-boat's hiding place is in an underwater cave."
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