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SAM CALLED SELMA the moment he and Remi stepped out the door and started walking back to the car.
“The key led to the third tin?” Selma asked.
“No. The key was a red herring.”
“A red herring that saved Tatianna’s life,” Remi chimed in.
“Right as usual, Remi,” Sam said as he eyed her. “But, even better, the manager at the castle noticed differences in the manufacturer’s stamps on the bottoms of the tins. Take a look. See if you can get Pete or Wendy to clean up the rust on the digital images,” he said, referring to Selma’s assistants. “Maybe if we get a clear view of the characters, we can figure out what the code is.”
“Say no more.”
He pocketed his phone, taking one last look at the castle before getting into the car. “Let’s hope they figure it out.”
Remi looked at the map on the car’s navigation screen. “We’re not too far from the Netherlands. Winterswijk is right across the border.”
“Winterswijk—why does that town sound familiar?”
“The Mondrian House museum is there. Really, Sam, how is it you don’t remember these things?”
“Could be the thousands of museums you’ve dragged me through over the years. Mondrian . . . Which artist is he?”
“Primary colors, cubist painter.”
“Don’t we have a Mondrian cow in our kitchen?” Sam asked. A porcelain figurine sat on a shelf above the stovetop.
“You’re trying to change the point,” Remi replied. “I didn’t hear you complaining when we were at the British Museum.”
“That’s different. We were looking for King John’s Treasure. There was a purpose.”
“We’re not too far. Date night in Winterswijk? We could go to the Strand Lodge for dinner. Remember how wonderful the food was?”
Sam suddenly pulled over to the side of the road. “Not this time.”
“What’s wrong?” Remi asked.
“Get Selma on the phone. I just realized what the tins are for.”
61
Wait,” Sam said as Remi started to make the
call. “Make it a videoconference. This is important.”
“Are you keeping me in suspense on purpose?” she asked as the phone rang twice before it was answered, the video screen showing Selma at her desk.
Selma looked up at the camera over the top of her reading glasses, saying, “Mr. and Mrs. Fargo. I hope you’re not calling about the digital image. We’re not that fast.”
“I take it back about the key being a red herring,” Sam said. “If it weren’t for the key, we would’ve never found out that the tins are the key to a code. And why we need all three.”
“That fits with what Lazlo’s been thinking. The information on this Häussler name that Karl and Brand read about in the pilot’s logbook.”
Selma turned the camera so that it included Lazlo, who was sitting next to her at the desk, his attention focused on the paper he was holding. When he didn’t respond, she nudged him with her elbow. “Oh. Sorry,” he said, eyeing the camera. “I believe the chap we’re looking for is one Eckardt Häussler, a cryptographer working with the Allies during and after the war. If this is who Lambrecht was on his way to see, then, yes, it has something to do with a code. Regrettably, one I’ve not yet been able to decipher.”
“I may have the answer,” Sam said as the first few drops of rain splattered against the windshield. “Is it possible the numbers on the tins are part of an Enigma code? Or, rather, the key to the code that was used?”
Lazlo’s brows went up. “You may very well be right.”
