Payne paused for a moment, replaying some of the details in his head.
During the early 1930s, Conrad Ulster had sensed the political instability in Austria and realized there was a good chance the Nazis would seize his prized collection. To protect himself and his artefacts, he smuggled his possessions across the Swiss border in railcars, using thin layers of coal to conceal them. Though he eventually planned to return to Austria after World War Two, he fell in love with his new home in Kusendorf and decided to stay. When he died, he expressed his thanks to the people of Switzerland by donating his estate to his adopted home town – provided they kept his collection intact and his family in charge.
‘I’m telling you, it doesn’t make sense. Do you know why his grandfather built the Archives in Switzerland instead of his homeland? He was afraid Hitler was going to seize his collection. Does that sound like someone who was in bed with the Nazis?’
‘No, it doesn’t,’ admitted Kaiser, who had learned about Payne and Jones’s close relationship with Petr Ulster through media accounts of the Greek treasure. ‘But that doesn’t mean his grandfather was innocent.’
Payne glared at him. ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘I mean, it was a horrible time filled with many regrettable acts. Tell me, what do you know about the end of World War Two?’
‘The good guys won,’ Jones cracked, trying to inject some levity.
‘Yes, that’s correct – if you were rooting for the Allied Forces. But here in Germany, some people might argue your point.’
‘True,’ Jones conceded.
Kaiser continued. ‘That being said, post-war Germany was an interesting place. Due to its unconditional surrender, the country was divided into four militarized zones: American, British, French and Soviet. Most of the cities had been devastated by ground campaigns and Allied bombings, so the first order of business was to fix the infrastructure. One of the top priorities was clearing away all the rubble so supply trucks could get back on the roads. Since millions of German men had died in the war, most of this work was done by women and children who were paid in food, not money.’
Payne and Jones nodded, quite familiar with the realities of war.
‘In 1945 hyperinflation swept through this country like a plague. In the year after the war, prices rose a dramatic eighty-five per cent, leaving most German citizens in desperate straits. During this time many of the so-called good guys – the Americans, the Brits, the French and so on – capitalized on the situation, doing things in this country that even I find despicable.’
‘Such as?’ Payne asked.
‘Buying babies, running sweatshops, trading food for sex. Basically doing whatever they could to take advantage of the Germans – including poverty-stricken Jews who were struggling to put their lives back together. I’m telling you, some of the post-war stories I’ve heard about this place make the Wild West seem tame.’
‘What does that have to do with these crates?’ Payne asked.
Kaiser answered. ‘For a span of about sixteen years – starting in 1933 when Hitler was named chancellor of Germany until 1949 when the American, British and French zones combined to form West Germany – artwork was the most profitable sector of the European black market. And trust me when I tell you, these deals weren’t limited to Nazis and criminals. It was common in all levels of society, including the upper crust. People were so desperate for money they were willing to sell family heirlooms at bargain-basement prices. I’m talking priceless paintings for pennies on the dollar. Technically speaking, the sales weren’t illegal, but …’
Payne nodded in understanding. ‘It was a sleazy way to obtain art.’
Kaiser pointed at the crates. ‘For all we know, Petr’s family did nothing wrong. They might’ve obtained all this for a fair price on the open market.’
‘But you don’t think that’s the case,’ Payne said.
Kaiser shook his head. ‘If I did, I wouldn’t have called you.’
12
Psychologically speaking, it didn’t take an expert to figure out why Payne was so loyal to his friends. His parents had died in a car accident during his formative years, and since neither of them had siblings, Payne had no aunts, uncles or cousins to comfort him. If not for his paternal grandfather, Payne would have been placed in foster care, because his maternal grandparents had died before the accident. Actually, they had died before he was born.
During his entire lifetime, Payne had met three relatives.
Now all of them were dead.
Payne was more than an orphan. His entire family was gone.
One of the main reasons Payne had joined the military was to be a part of something. To know that others had his back and he had theirs. It had given him a sense of purpose, a sense of belonging. And when he had been forced to give that up to take over Payne Industries after his grandfather’s death, he found himself clinging to the only ‘family’ he had left. He would go to any length to protect his friends, like a mother guarding her young. Occasionally, he took it a bit too far. It was an issue he was aware of, one that had plagued him for years and had led to his earlier outburst.
‘Just so you know,’ he told Kaiser, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘For what?’ Kaiser asked.
‘For everything. My yelling, my suspicions, my threats. I shouldn’t have acted that way. I hope you can forgive me.’
‘Of course I forgive you. I gave you every right to be paranoid. I realize I kept you in the dark for a very long time, but like I said earlier, there was a method to my madness. If word got out about this bunker, it would destroy Petr. And me, too.’
Payne furrowed his brow. ‘You? How could it destroy you?’
‘You know what I do for a living. In my line of work, I’m forced to bend laws all the time. The last thing I need is for the German government to be snooping around my life. Seriously, if word ever got out that I had anything to do with a Nazi cache – if that’s what this is – then I’d be fucked for ever.’
‘And if it isn’t?’ Jones asked.
‘That depends.’
‘On what?’ Payne wondered.
‘On what’s in the crates,’ Kaiser said, smiling. ‘If we crack them open and they’re filled with items that can’t be traced to a rightful owner, then in my opinion, the stuff belongs to me. Finders keepers, you know?’
Payne didn’t have a problem with that. ‘And the items that can be traced?’
Kaiser shrugged. ‘Whatever you and Petr decide is fine. All I ask is that you keep my name out of it. Seriously, I don’t want to be linked to Nazi loot in any way. Agreed?’
‘Agreed,’ Payne said, as he shook Kaiser’s hand. ‘Not to pry, but I’m sensing this is a sore subject for you. Did you lose a loved one to the Nazis, or …’
Kaiser winced. ‘Damn, Jon, how old do you think I am?’
‘Don’t take it personally. Jon sucks at math,’ Jones teased.
Payne nodded. ‘I even need my fingers to count to one. Here, let me show you.’
Then he flipped off Jones for making the comment.
Kaiser smiled but didn’t laugh, the gravity of the topic still weighing on his mind. ‘What can I say? Everyone has their boundaries, even men like me. Over the years, I’ve had plenty of chances to sell Nazi plunder – for serious money – but my conscience wouldn’t let me. Who knows? Maybe I’ve been in Germany a little too long. I must be turning native.’
The comment confused Payne. ‘Meaning?’
Kaiser stared at him. ‘Were you ever stationed here?’
Payne shook his head. ‘Passed through, but never stayed.’
Kaiser nodded, as if Payne’s confusion should have tipped him off. ‘Outsiders find this hard to believe, but ninety-nine per cent of all Germans are embarrassed by their homeland’s role in World War Two. Actually, I take that back. Embarrassed doesn’t even begin to describe it. Humiliated, ashamed, horrified, mortified – you get the idea. I’m talking about Germans who weren’t even alive during that era, yet they carry round the guilt like a stain on their DNA. Sure, I might be an American, but I’ve lived in this country long enough to recognize their pain. And out of respect to my German friends, I refuse to profit from Nazi loot.’