"Maybe we were wrong," Graham said. "Maybe those markings were serial numbers."
"If we're wrong, Beverly is too." After realizing the true nature of the markings, I'd investigated recent flights to Antarctica. It didn't take long to discover Beverly Ginger had flown to Fitzgerald Station a few days earlier under the guise of a geomorphologist from New York University. We needed a cover story to follow her. So, Graham had hit up his contacts at the institution and managed to get us listed as part of her fake expedition.
"It's possible," he said.
"No way." I shook my head. "They were geographical coordinates. Seventy-one and a half degrees south. Six and a half degrees east. You just needed a microscope to see the decimal points."
Doubt creased his face.
"Forget the gold bars. Think about all the evidence we recovered back in New York. We've got inventories, shipping logs, correspondence. Everything points to ODESSA wanting to spread its eggs across multiple baskets. Most of those New York resources were supposed to be forwarded to other places, including Werwolfsschanze."
"That's true," he said begrudgingly.
"Some of those resources were marked as delivered. Bernsteinzimmer, or the Amber Room, was one of those resources."
"But why deliver it here? It doesn't make sense."
"I don't know. But this is a perfectly good place to build a secret vault. It's remote. Hell, it's almost inaccessible."
"We can't prove the Amber Room ever got here. Maybe some soldier took it. Or maybe it got lost."
"There's one way to prove it. We find Werwolfsschanze."
"I know you're right. I'm just … I don't know. This day has been one mind fuck after another."
"So, we're good?"
He nodded. "We're good."
Chapter 19
I felt a hollow feeling in my chest as I climbed into the top bunk. I'd grown familiar with it over the past few weeks, ever since she'd vanished. It was odd really. I'd only known her for a short while. Then again Beverly Ginger wasn't your typical girl.
I thought back to the message she'd left me. The second half of it flashed before my eyes again.
I know you have feelings for her. When you sort them out, come find me if you want. All you need is this bar. It and the others are not what they appear to be. Until we meet again … B.G.
The her referred to Diane Blair. I'd reunited with Diane after Beverly had disappeared. But the relationship, at best, had been rocky.
Diane was an archaeologist. And like most archaeologists, she viewed herself as a historical humanitarian. To her, treasure hunting wasn't just a waste of time. It was morally repugnant, best left to greedy lowlifes who cared nothing for history. She'd made it her mission to cajole me back into archaeology. She'd seen herself as a missionary saving my soul.
I'd seen her as an annoyance.
I yawned. My eyelids felt heavy. But my brain refused to stop working.
Supposedly, archaeologists eschewed greed and worked for the common good. They recovered artifacts and painstakingly analyzed them. Then they handed their discoveries over to museums so the whole world could enjoy them. It was a popular image, buttressed by books and movies.
It was also a heaping pile of crap.
Museums were literally stuffed with artifacts. Countless pieces were taken into storage vaults, never to return. And the concept of the impartial archaeologist was laughable. Archaeologists were as greedy as everyone else. They desired fame and funding. But most of all, they craved relevance. They wanted to do more than chronicle the past. They wanted their work to mean something to modern civilization. They wanted to be prophets of a sort, using the past to inform others how to live.
At the same time, excavation funding was far from neutral. Bureaucratic types controlled the purse strings. They had axes to grind and causes to push. So, they funneled money toward archaeologists who promoted specific views and ideas.
Diane and I had failed to overcome our philosophical chasm. But that wasn't the whole story. She was beautiful, graceful, and driven. She was brilliant and fiercely loyal. She was, in short, the perfect match for the archaeologist within me. But I hadn't been fully committed to her. As much as I hated to admit it, there was someone else.
Beverly Ginger.
I wasn't sure what to think of Beverly. She'd stolen the gold bars out from under my nose. Sure, she'd left a trail so I could follow her. However, theft was an unforgivable offense in my world.
Still, I couldn't get her out of my head. She was devilish and sexy as hell. A cloak of mystery and excitement surrounded her at all times. She drove the treasure hunter side of me wild.
Question: How do you choose between two sides of yourself?
Answer: You let one side go.
My brain slowed. My eyelids closed.
Two weeks ago, Diane had lined up a dig to locate and excavate the famous Colossus of Rhodes. She'd invited me to go with her. I'd been sorely tempted. The Colossus of Rhodes was widely considered one of the seven wonders of the ancient world. Unearthing it would be a fantastic achievement. But it would be her achievement, not mine. I'd just be one of her many nameless diggers.
So, we'd parted ways. I wouldn't be surprised if we got back together someday. We hadn't always seen eye to eye but our relationship had never lacked passion. In the meantime, I needed to do something for myself.
I didn't know why Beverly had taken the other gold bars. And I didn't understand her interest in Werwolfsschanze. But I knew why she'd left behind the message along with the inventories and shipping logs. She wanted me to know about the Amber Room. She was trying to make up for her theft of the gold bars by offering me a crack at excavating another treasure.
I was happy to accept the challenge. The Amber Room was something I could pass onto future generations. It would be my greatest discovery.
It would be my legacy.
Chapter 20
"Here we are." Jim Peterson pulled the Sno-Cat to a stop. "Thanks for riding. That'll be fifty bucks per person. Tips are welcome too."
Ted Ayers didn't even look in Peterson's direction. Instead, the man just climbed out of the vehicle. He strode to the rear and opened the cargo area. After grabbing a couple of suitcases, he exited the shed.
A twinkle formed in Aaron Jenner's eye. "I'll have to owe you."
Jenner was young, in his mid-thirties. He was tall and thin with wavy black hair. His weathered face showed all the signs of a lifelong outdoorsman. His most prominent feature was a series of jagged scars running across the entirety of his neck. It looked like someone had tried to behead him from multiple angles.
Peterson chuckled. "I hear that a lot."
Peterson opened his door. Shivering, he lowered himself to the ground. He liked living at Kirby. As its only maintenance worker, he felt like he made a real difference. Without him, the other residents wouldn't last more than a week.
Peterson walked out of the shed with Jenner and Trotter at his sides. Ahead, he saw Ayers vanish into Kirby. Antarctica had its fair share of loners, but Ayers took the cake. Somehow the man had managed to remain completely quiet during the entire ride.