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“I wish I could, Mr. Fargo. But we’re still missing quite a bit of information. The letters we found in the courier bag appear to be just that.”
Lazlo added. “I’m still trying to figure out the reasoning behind carrying the letters in the courier bag if they’re of utterly no importance.”
“Exactly,” Selma said. “But, enough about our end. What do you have on yours?”
“You’re not going to believe it but we have a key and a tin.”
“‘Tin’?”
“Typewriter ribbon tin,” Sam clarified.
“The same as—”
“The same.”
“Interesting.”
“There has to be some significance. There were no typewriters, to speak of, in the tunnel. And someone went to the trouble of putting one of those tins in the courier bag. So why are they there?”
“Send me photos of the one you found. Top, bottom, inside. I’ll see what I can find. In the meantime, you were saying something about a key?”
“Old antique type. Brass. I’ll send a photo of it as well. Other than that, we’ll be heading to Wroclaw, waiting to—” He looked out the open door of the boxcar.
“What’s wrong?” Selma asked.
“The train’s slowing down.” He moved to the door for a better view, but they were on a curve, and he couldn’t see far enough up the tracks to see if anything was going on.
Gustaw joined him. “This isn’t anywhere near the next stop.”
“Selma, I’ll have to call you back. We have a problem.” He shoved the phone into his pocket. “Any idea where we are?”
“I’m familiar with the area,” Gustaw said. “They had to have called for help. They couldn’t have gotten here this quick.”
“The Guard’s that big?” Remi asked, coming up behind Sam.
“They are. Especially around any of the sites rumored to have hidden Nazi treasure. That is, after all, one of their reasons for being.”
Sam eyed the low, grass-covered hill, and the forest beyond, thinking about the length of the train. It’d take a few minutes for this many cars to come to a complete stop. “Why wait? We should get off here.”
He looked over at Remi, who gripped the side, the wind whipping at her auburn hair. He wasn’t worried about her. Sergei and Gustaw, on the other hand . . . “Think you can manage that jump?” he asked the both of them.
Gustaw nodded.
Sergei glanced out, looking a bit unsure. “Yes . . . Maybe . . .”
Sam stood back. Gustaw tossed his long gun out, then leaped. Sergei hesitated, and Sam put his hand on his shoulder. “I’ll tell you when . . . Go!”
Sergei jumped, then rolled down the hill.
“Your turn,” Sam told Remi.
“Tuck and roll, Fargo!” Remi called out as she jumped.
Sam tossed his pack, then followed, landing a few feet away from her. He looked over, saw Sergei start to rise. “Stay down.” He drew his gun, then crawled through the long green grass, up the side of the hill, looking below the passing boxcars.
Gustaw grabbed his long gun, belly-crawling next to Sam.
“What do you think?” Sam asked him, talking loud enough to be heard over the train. “If the Guard is the one who is stopping the train, we’re going to need a better place to hide.”
