Read Online The Templar Cross by Paul Christopher - Free Book Online
Authors: Paul Christopher
Tags: Fiction, Historical
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anatomy,” commented Holliday.
Japrisot lifted his shoulders and sighed.
“I spent three years in medical school. My father, God rest his soul, was an otologist.” The policeman shook his head sadly. “Unfortunately it was not to be. I could not face a lifetime of oozing pus and wax. Japrisot Pere was very disappointed, I am afraid.”
He stood up, grunting with the effort. He turned and gently laid the ruby- ended stick-pin down on a convenient stack of Blue Willow polychrome dinner plates. The dinnerware was stacked up on a dusty chunk of architectural marble that had once been part of a fluted column on an old building.
“C’est ca,” said Japrisot. “Now we shall see what this is all about.” He went down the crowded aisle to the pile of fish boxes. Holliday and Rafi followed. The cop looked at the boxes for a moment, made a little grunting sound in the back of his throat and used one of his meaty hands to pry the close-fitting lid off the top of the box.
“Viens m’enculer!” Japrisot whispered, his eyes widening.
“What is it?” Holliday said, stepping closer and looking over the policeman’s shoulder. He stared, gaping.
Carefully fitted into custom-made Styrofoam slots was a row of five gold bars, each one approximately five inches long and two inches wide. Japrisot reached into the box and pried one of the bars out of its nest. It looked about half an inch thick. Holliday reached into the box and took another one out. It was heavy in his hands, almost unnaturally so, and it had an odd, greasy feel to it that was unaccountably repellant.
The bar was rudely made, the edges rounded and the surface slightly pitted. “1 KILO” was stamped into the upper quadrant, the letters E.T. in the middle and an instantly recognizable impression in the lower end of the bar: the palm tree and swastika insignia of the German Afrika Korps of the Third Reich. There was no serial number or any other coding on the bar.
“Fifty kilos a box, ten boxes, five hundred kilos,” said Japrisot quietly.
“One thousand one hundred and three pounds,” murmured Rafi. “A little more than half a ton.”
“Dear God,” whispered Holliday, “what have we stumbled onto?”
“Clearly our Czech friends Pesek and his wife didn’t know, either,” said Japrisot. He put the bar back in its niche. “If they’d known what was in the boxes they wouldn’t have been so quick to leave.”
“At eight hundred an ounce that’s about thirteen million dollars,” calculated Rafi.
“Motive for any number of murders,” said Japrisot.
“It’s got the Afrika Korps Palmenstempel ,” said Holliday. “I doubt that the E.T. means extraterrestrial.”
“Walter Rauff again,” said Japrisot. “E.T. would be the Einsatzkommando Tunis, his unit.”
Holliday stared at the buttery slab of bullion, horribly aware of its origins. He put it back into the fish box, a chill running down his spine. Suddenly he felt as though he was going to be sick. Rafi stepped forward and took a close-up shot of the gold with his cell phone. Japrisot did not look pleased.
“I am about to call in my people from Marseille. By helicopter it will take them no more than thirty-five minutes from the time I call. I have done the service required by my relationship with my friend M. Ducos. That obligation has been attended to. Unless you wish to become involved with a great deal of French police bureaucracy I suggest that you leave here immediately. Comprenez?”
“Of course,” Holliday said and nodded. “One question.”
“One only.”
“Was Valador’s boat capable of making the North African coast?”
“Certainement . Tunis is five hundred miles from Marseille. A boat such as his could make the trip in thirty hours or perhaps less in good weather. The ferry gets you there overnight.”
“Thank you,” said Holliday. “You’ve helped us a lot. Please extend my thanks to Monsieur Ducos as well.”
“C’est rien,” said Japrisot. It’s
Japrisot lifted his shoulders and sighed.
“I spent three years in medical school. My father, God rest his soul, was an otologist.” The policeman shook his head sadly. “Unfortunately it was not to be. I could not face a lifetime of oozing pus and wax. Japrisot Pere was very disappointed, I am afraid.”
He stood up, grunting with the effort. He turned and gently laid the ruby- ended stick-pin down on a convenient stack of Blue Willow polychrome dinner plates. The dinnerware was stacked up on a dusty chunk of architectural marble that had once been part of a fluted column on an old building.
“C’est ca,” said Japrisot. “Now we shall see what this is all about.” He went down the crowded aisle to the pile of fish boxes. Holliday and Rafi followed. The cop looked at the boxes for a moment, made a little grunting sound in the back of his throat and used one of his meaty hands to pry the close-fitting lid off the top of the box.
“Viens m’enculer!” Japrisot whispered, his eyes widening.
“What is it?” Holliday said, stepping closer and looking over the policeman’s shoulder. He stared, gaping.
Carefully fitted into custom-made Styrofoam slots was a row of five gold bars, each one approximately five inches long and two inches wide. Japrisot reached into the box and pried one of the bars out of its nest. It looked about half an inch thick. Holliday reached into the box and took another one out. It was heavy in his hands, almost unnaturally so, and it had an odd, greasy feel to it that was unaccountably repellant.
The bar was rudely made, the edges rounded and the surface slightly pitted. “1 KILO” was stamped into the upper quadrant, the letters E.T. in the middle and an instantly recognizable impression in the lower end of the bar: the palm tree and swastika insignia of the German Afrika Korps of the Third Reich. There was no serial number or any other coding on the bar.
“Fifty kilos a box, ten boxes, five hundred kilos,” said Japrisot quietly.
“One thousand one hundred and three pounds,” murmured Rafi. “A little more than half a ton.”
“Dear God,” whispered Holliday, “what have we stumbled onto?”
“Clearly our Czech friends Pesek and his wife didn’t know, either,” said Japrisot. He put the bar back in its niche. “If they’d known what was in the boxes they wouldn’t have been so quick to leave.”
“At eight hundred an ounce that’s about thirteen million dollars,” calculated Rafi.
“Motive for any number of murders,” said Japrisot.
“It’s got the Afrika Korps Palmenstempel ,” said Holliday. “I doubt that the E.T. means extraterrestrial.”
“Walter Rauff again,” said Japrisot. “E.T. would be the Einsatzkommando Tunis, his unit.”
Holliday stared at the buttery slab of bullion, horribly aware of its origins. He put it back into the fish box, a chill running down his spine. Suddenly he felt as though he was going to be sick. Rafi stepped forward and took a close-up shot of the gold with his cell phone. Japrisot did not look pleased.
“I am about to call in my people from Marseille. By helicopter it will take them no more than thirty-five minutes from the time I call. I have done the service required by my relationship with my friend M. Ducos. That obligation has been attended to. Unless you wish to become involved with a great deal of French police bureaucracy I suggest that you leave here immediately. Comprenez?”
“Of course,” Holliday said and nodded. “One question.”
“One only.”
“Was Valador’s boat capable of making the North African coast?”
“Certainement . Tunis is five hundred miles from Marseille. A boat such as his could make the trip in thirty hours or perhaps less in good weather. The ferry gets you there overnight.”
“Thank you,” said Holliday. “You’ve helped us a lot. Please extend my thanks to Monsieur Ducos as well.”
“C’est rien,” said Japrisot. It’s
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