Soul Intent Read online

  Flora looked through the viewfinder and tried not to smile at the thought of how un-monster-like the mighty Hermann Goering looked now. “I need you a little bit lower, Mr. Goering,” she said.

  The Nazi grimaced as he sank into the bowl. “My trousers are getting wet,” he grumbled.

  Flora adjusted the camera’s f-stop and shutter speed to compensate for the extra light. She took the five remaining pictures.

  “We are done,” she told the guard.

  Goering glared at them. “I am stuck,” he said. “Help me stand up.”

  The guard snickered. “Pull yourself out, prisoner.”

  The Nazi placed his hands on the rim of the toilet bowl and pushed down. After a minute, he said, “I cannot do it. I need your help.”

  Flora bit her lip, folded the camera, and tucked it into her handbag.

  The guard seemed to be enjoying himself. “Keep trying, prisoner. You’ll get there.” He turned toward the cell door.

  “You cannot leave me,” Goering screamed. “I will have your head for this.”

  The guard stopped. His eyes narrowed, and he reached into his holster and pulled out his night stick. “Did you just threaten me?” he asked.

  Goering froze, and with what seemed a huge effort, put a thin smile on his face. “I am sorry, sir.” He looked down at the floor. “I will pull myself out once you are gone.”

  “Damn right you will.” The guard slapped the night stick into his palm, then re-holstered it.

  Later that afternoon, as she and Mr. Morgan sat in one of Nuremberg’s rebuilt cafés and waited for the laboratory to develop the film, Flora decided it was time the overseer shared more information with her. She had done everything he had asked her to do, and now she deserved some answers.

  “Was this the first time you met Hermann Goering?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Until today I have only communicated through intermediaries.”

  “Why are you letting him join?” she blurted out.

  He cringed and put his finger to his lips. He looked around the café, then back at Flora. “We must use discretion when talking in public places. Please keep your voice down.”

  “Sorry,” she whispered.

  He nodded and spoke in a soft voice. “Soul Identity has always allowed anybody membership. And so we must let even unsavory people like Hermann Goering join. We are a business and not a club.”

  She banged her cup onto its saucer, and some coffee splashed onto the table. “But you know he stole that gold—how can you possibly let him deposit it?”

  The overseer shook his head. “We do not know it is stolen.” He used his handkerchief to dab at the spill.

  “You know that gold is just as dirty as the jewels and paintings.” She stuck out her chin. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

  Morgan sighed and put the handkerchief in his pocket. “We have gone over this many times. The gold will go to the depositary.”

  “Not if I can help it,” she muttered.

  He glanced around the café, and then he leaned forward and whispered fiercely, “If you want to stop the gold, you must find proof of its theft. Talk to me about facts, and not feelings.” He sat back. “Otherwise my hands are tied.”

  “We both know those bars can’t be traced.” She blinked to stop it, but a single tear escaped from her eye and rolled down her cheek.

  He handed her his handkerchief. “Look, Flora, I know this is personal for you. But I must honor Goering’s wishes and get that gold deposited.”

  Flora wiped her eyes. “I will keep searching for proof, Mr. Morgan. I’m not giving up.”

  He nodded. “I understand.”

  eleven

  Present Day

  Sterling, Massachusetts

  I sighed. “That’s your big story about breaking into Nuremberg? You took a picture of Goering’s eyes while he sat on the can?”

  Madame Flora nodded. “That’s it. We rescued the artwork, returned the gems, but allowed that monster to deposit his looted gold. We got pictures of his eyes by pretending we were the press. End of story. You can go home now.”

  “Not so fast,” Archie said. “Did James really refer to my mission as ‘Goering’s Last Shot’?”

  “I thought you knew,” she said. Then she faced me. “I think it’s good that Goering’s money and memories are missing, Scott. I hope you never find them.”

  “Thanks for the support,” I said.

  She smiled.

  I turned to Archie. “Madame Flora does have a point—why not let these sleeping dogs lie?” I was thinking that I didn’t want to help any Nazi, not even a dead one.

  Archie glared at me. “Somebody broke into our depositary, and it is our duty to rectify the situation.” He pointed at Ann. “Our members trust us to guard their most valuable possessions, and we must honor that trust.”

  “Archibald, nobody broke in,” Ann said. “The records are in order, and your claim of a theft is unfair and unrealistic. If anybody stole anything, they did it before the deposit.”

  Archie balled his hands into fists. “Ann, I personally deposited twelve barrels of gold and three boxes of Mr. Goering’s memories.”

  “My depositary has no record of that deposit.” Ann reached into her briefcase and pulled out a folder. “I went through the books myself last night. No gold, and no papers. Just one journal, deposited on October 14, 1946.”

  Archie froze, then cocked his head to one side. “Do you happen to have that receipt?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do.” Ann opened the folder and extracted a yellow carbon copy the size of an index card. “And if you look right here”—she tapped it with her index finger—“you’ll find it is signed by none other than Archibald Morgan, overseer.”

  Archie took the paper and laid it on the coffee table. He leaned forward as he examined it. “It does look like my signature,” he said.

  I looked at the paper. It was a numbered deposit receipt. I could read Archibald Morgan’s signature. The items section read “One journal, handwritten.”

  Had Archie confused two different events? It had been a long time since the deposit, and he was no spring chicken.

  I was thinking of a tactful way to ask him this, but then he stood up, pulled his wallet out of his front pocket, and took out a small zip-top plastic bag. He opened it and withdrew a folded slip of white paper. He carefully pulled on the edges to open it, then laid it next to Ann’s paper. “Mr. Goering asked me to destroy this receipt, but I have carried it with me for over six decades,” he said. “Here are the items: twelve barrels containing seventy-two pure bars of gold, each bar weighing four hundred ounces, and three boxes of personal papers.” He looked up. “Mine does not mention a journal.”

  Other than a different list of items, the papers shared the same embossed receipt number, and the signatures lined up perfectly.

  “Is the journal still in the collection?” I asked Ann.

  She shook her head. “Archibald used his overseer ring to remove it yesterday morning.”

  I thought Madame Flora was about to say something, but she must have thought better of it. After a minute of silence, I asked Archie, “May I see the journal?”

  Archie walked over to his desk and pulled a hand-sewn brown leather binding encasing only a handful of small sheets of thick paper out of his drawer. He handed it to me.

  Madame Flora couldn’t take her eyes off the journal. I looked up, and she turned away, but her eyes darted back to the small book as I opened it.

  T

  he writing inside used alien-looking characters. The first page had what looked like three words:

  I flipped through the journal and saw that the same writing filled half of the twenty or so bound pages. The other half were blank.

  “It looks like a secret code,” Ann said. She stood peeking over my shoulder.

  “Have you seen this before?” I asked Madame Flora.

  She shrugged. “As I said, I wasn’t there on the night of the deposit.”
/>   Not quite a direct answer, but I nodded and handed the journal back to Archie. I’d have to catch her alone if I wanted to know more.

  twelve

  Present Day

  Sterling, Massachusetts

  “Have you solved the great depositary robbery?” Val asked me over our picnic lunch.

  I nibbled on our shared “everything” grinder. Val introduced these to me last year, and I had become as hooked as she was to anticipating the flavor of the next bite.

  I got a mouthful of grilled eggplant and hummus. Not bad. “I still don’t know if there even was a robbery,” I said.

  We sat on top of a rock on the same hill Val had taken me to the previous summer on our very first date. This time, though, it was in daylight, and the golden autumn sun lit up some amazing fall foliage in the valley below. In front of us we could see a reservoir with an old stone church standing on its shore.

  Val pointed. “I’ve wondered many times why that church is standing all alone, with no houses around.”

  “Would you like to hear the story?” an Indian-accented voice asked from below us.

  Val and I looked down, and we saw an elderly Indian man standing at the base of the rock. He had a small pot belly, and the sun gleamed off his thinning white hair. He smiled up at us.

  “Hello,” I said. Where did he come from?

  The man placed his palms together and made a small head bow. “Namaste,” he said. “Do you two come here often?”

  “Not lately,” I said. “Do you live around here?”

  “I stay with my son and his wife, just like back in my village when my parents once lived with me,” he said. “My son lives nearby, and during the day they work and I go trekking.” He climbed up our rock with surprising agility and sat down between us. “This is one of my favorite spots.”

  “Mine too,” Val said. She scooted over to give him a bit more room. She held out a water bottle. “Would you like a drink?”

  The man took it and unscrewed the top. He tilted his head back and held the bottle a couple of inches above his lips. He poured the water into his mouth and swallowed without spilling a drop and without stopping the flow.

  The man drained the bottle and gave it back to Val. Then he stuck out his hand to me. “Myself Mukesh Rana Malhotra. Please call me Mukesh.”

  I shook his hand. “I’m Scott, and this is Val.”

  He gestured below. “You wish to hear more about that stone temple?”

  “You know the story?” I asked.

  Mukesh nodded. “Last week I met a chap standing outside its door, like he had just finished his puja. His family has lived in these villages for almost four hundred years.” He swept his arm across the scene below us. “He told me that last century this area was a valley filled with apple orchards and cider mills lining three rivers.”

  The man frowned. “But the city of Boston needed more water, and the state built this reservoir,” he said. “The villagers left the temple standing as a memorial to the one thousand displaced people who lost their homes and jobs.”

  The three of us sat silently for a moment.

  “I am somewhat displaced myself,” the old man said. “I chose to spend my life caring for my parents instead of pursuing my career. Now that they both are gone, I have come to live with my son.”

  “That is very honorable,” Val said.

  “It was dharma, my duty,” he said. “We all must do our duties.” Mukesh stood up. “I must finish my trek before my grandson comes home from school.” He turned to Val. “Thank you for the water. Please carry on with your meal.”

  “It was nice meeting you,” Val said.

  “The pleasure was mine,” he said. The old man climbed down the rock and headed off. We listened to the fading sounds of his humming as we finished our grinders.

  I put our bottles and wrappers back into the bag. “I’ve been learning about displaced people all morning,” I said. I told Val about Madame Flora’s Croatian origins, her father’s fate, and what drove her and her grandmother to Nuremberg.

  “Flora’s grandmother had to read Hermann Goering’s soul identity?” she asked. “I wouldn’t wish that on anybody.”

  “It was the price of their tickets to America,” I said. “Besides, she did it from a photograph. It was Archie and young Flora who had to face the Reichsmarschall and take his picture.”

  “Are Flora and Mr. Morgan getting along now?” she asked.

  I explained how the bickering had continued all morning. “But I’ve got her telling the story now, and it seems she knows a lot more than Archie.”

  “Can you trust what she says?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t really think I can trust either of them.”

  She nodded. “So what was lost from Goering’s collection?”

  I did some calculations in my head. “Archie claims there was over twenty-five million dollars’ worth of gold and three boxes of the Nazi’s memoirs. And in its place, a handwritten journal.”

  “Where did that come from?”

  I shrugged. “It was written in some weird alphabet.” I told her how Madame Flora acted when she saw it. “I wonder if she remembered it from Goering’s cell.”

  “I feel for her.” Val shuddered. “Imagine standing face to face with the monster responsible for the concentration camps that killed your family, knowing your grandmother will die if you don’t help him.”

  And as we climbed down the hill and drove back to headquarters, I couldn’t shake that image.

  thirteen

  Present Day

  Sterling, Massachusetts

  Val and I met everybody back in the executive overseer’s office after lunch, and I spent an hour asking Archie and Madame Flora more questions about the stories they had told me. I re-examined the conflicting depositary receipts, and finally I grilled Ann on depositary procedures.

  Other than the different items listed on the two receipts, nothing else looked suspicious.

  It was now three o’clock. I turned to Archie. “Do you really think I can catch your thief with only this information?” I asked.

  He leaned forward. “You must, Scott,” he said. “We need to know how they robbed our depositary.”

  Ann sighed. “They didn’t—”

  I raised my hand to cut her off. “Let’s not go there,” I said.

  What I needed was something fresh. “Let me see that journal,” I said to Archie. “Maybe it’ll have a clue.”

  “No,” Madame Flora said.

  We all looked at her.

  She sat with her arms crossed. “It belongs back in its soul line collection,” she said. “It is private property.” She shook her finger at Archie. “You know better than to have removed it.”

  “Flora, Scott needs it to track down the perpetrator,” Archie said.

  “You used your ring to pry open an account in which you have no right to stick your nose.” Madame Flora turned to Ann. “We don’t even know if a crime was committed.”

  Ann looked at her for a moment, and then nodded. “She’s got a point, Archibald. The journal belongs in the depositary. Your ring lets you look at it, but not Scott.”

  Archie turned to Berry.

  Berry’s eyes went from Archie to Madame Flora to me. “I’m siding with the ladies on this one,” he finally said. “Theft or not, the journal belongs in its collection, and not in Scott’s hands.” He paused. “As distasteful as it sounds, we must safeguard that book, along with whatever secrets it contains, for Goering’s future carriers.”

  Archie banged his fists on the arms of his chair. But after a minute he nodded and said, “I will return it this evening.”

  “We can do it now,” Ann said. “It’ll only take a minute.”

  Archie shook his head. “I wish to examine it again,” he said.

  Ann looked at Madame Flora, who nodded. “Take as long as you need, Archibald,” the old Gypsy said. “Just don’t share it with Scott.”

  “You have my word that I will return it d
irectly this evening.” He stood up. “You will have to excuse Mr. Berringer, Ann, and me. We must attend a staff meeting.”

  After the three headed out the door, I looked at Archie’s desk and wondered if I could take a peek at the journal.

  “Don’t even think about it, Scott,” Madame Flora said.

  I stared at her for a minute. Then I turned to Val. “So where does that leave my investigation?” I asked her.

  “On a wild goose chase.” Madame Flora’s voice was sharp. “Go home, Scott. Archibald is wasting your time.” She stood up and walked to the window, then whirled around and faced Val and me. “If you don’t, then mark my words—we’ll all be sorry that Goering’s soul line collection was opened.”

  fourteen

  Present Day

  Sterling, Massachusetts

  After Madame Flora made her unhappy prediction, the three of us walked out of the overseer’s office and rode the elevator down. Madame Flora didn’t say a word, but she did give us a tight smile as she exited on the first floor.

  Val and I continued down to the dungeon, but when the doors opened, I held up my hand. “I’m going back up to get that journal,” I said.

  Val just looked at me.

  “We can copy it before Archie gets back from his staff meeting.”

  She scrunched up her forehead. “Flora was pretty adamant about you not getting it.”

  “All the more reason,” I said. I pressed the button for the third floor. “We’ve got no other clues, and I can’t solve a sixty-four year old robbery based on those two receipts.”

  She closed her eyes and didn’t open them until the doors opened back at the third floor. “Okay,” she said as we stepped into the foyer. “Though I still don’t think it’s right.”

  When we reached Archie’s office, I took a quick peek down the hallway. Nobody was around, so we hustled inside, then shut and locked the door.

  We walked over to the overseer’s large desk. “Did you see which drawer?” Val asked.