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No doubt testing the waters, making sure their victims weren’t wakened, before they busted through.
Sam gripped his gun, ready to fire.
He heard the chain move, then the sound of screws ripping from wood as one of the intruders shoved his weight against the door. The men rushed in, flashlights sweeping the room.
“They’re gone,” someone said in English, his German accent thick.
Loud footsteps crossed the room. “They went out the window,” another s
aid, his accent sounding more Russian.
“They knew we were coming.”
“Dump their bags. Find the map.”
Sam heard them ruffling through their things, then someone saying, “I have it.”
“What’s that?” Silence, then, “A siren?”
“Go! Go!”
As quickly as they came in, they left.
Sam didn’t move. He and Remi remained behind the bathroom door for several seconds until the heavy footsteps receded down the hallway. The faint siren grew louder.
Outside, he heard the sound of men running and car doors closing, followed by the rev of engines as the vehicles sped off.
Sam moved to the window, looking out. The street was clear. “Have to say, that was a very convenient siren.”
“Sergei got my text,” Remi said, holding up her cell phone.
He eyed the gun she held at her side. “You can text with one hand?”
“Can’t you?”
He almost laughed. If it weren’t for autocorrect, his texts would probably be unreadable. And that was using two hands. “Nicely done, Mrs. Fargo.” He glanced out the window again. “Cops are here. We should probably stash the guns.”
“And let Sergei know we’re okay.”
—
THE POLICE LEFT sometime after sunrise, with a stern warning that this was the very reason why the government was set against people looking for this Gold Train. Sam, Remi, and Sergei packed up their things, found an open café, and sat down to an early breakfast. They were walking to their car when Remi pulled out her phone.
“Who are you calling?” Sam asked.
“Miron,” she said, putting the phone to her ear. “I tried to reach him last night after dinner to let him know about his friend. He wasn’t home.”
“No voice mail?”
“Unfortunately, no.” She ended the call and put the phone in her pocket. “Still not there. After what happened at Königsberg castle, I’m a little worried.”
“Try again later. Right now, we need to see if we can find Renard’s friend before our map thieves figure out where we’re going.”
Gustaw Czarnecki lived in the very forest that once overlooked one of the prisoner-of-war camps that housed the Project Riese workers. The winding foothills road led through a thick stand of trees, the pavement turning to gravel the higher they drove. A dog barked as they neared the cabin, and Sam saw someone pull back a curtain inside, then drop it. A moment later, the door opened slightly.
The second Sam saw the rifle barrel, he slammed the brakes. A shot hit the dirt about five feet in front of them. He glanced in the rearview mirror. It was a straight line down that hill, making them an easy target. They had nowhere to go, he thought, as the door swept open. A stocky gray-haired man stepped on the porch, a rifle in one hand, the barrel pointed downward. The way he held himself and watched them, there was no doubt in Sam’s mind that he was ex-military. A black German shepherd appeared at his side.
Sergei gripped the back of Sam’s car seat. “Why aren’t you backing up?”
