He found himself inside a mammoth cave carved out of rock. There was that same smell of engine oil and machinery he’d experienced inside the empty escape tunnel. He whistled aloud.
It was nearly the size of a United Airlines hangar at JFK. With his first step forward, four beefy characters in black uniforms materialized out of the gloom, all carrying serious assault weapons trained on him. “Morning gents,” he said, “Thought I’d drop by and say hello to the Sorcerer. He around? If not, no problem. I could just stop by later.”
He heard a deep rumble far back in the cave and looked up. Something was moving forward on the rail tracks in the stone floor.
Seeing a huge black muzzle emerge first, he held his breath. It simply wasn’t possible, but there it was. A massive German 88mm cannon. He’d only seen one like it before, and that was in the movie The Guns of Navarone. The one the Germans had set inside the tunnel on top of a mountain. Seriously?
A woman made her way down some steel stairs toward him. She had come from a glassed-in office that loomed up over his head. “No need to roll out the heavy artillery,” he said. “Hell, I’m not even armed.”
“Hello,” she said sweetly. “You must be Lord Alexander Hawke, correct?”
“Sorry?” he replied.
“We were expecting you, actually. You’re a bit late.”
“Hold on. How on earth did you know I was coming, if I may be so bold?”
“Doesn’t matter. We heard a rumor. We hear them all the time. I’m the administrative secretary here, Gisela Bundt.”
“Rumors about me? From whom?”
“An old friend of ours in Zurich. Look at you, you’re shivering. Let’s get you some clean dry clothes, a nice cup of tea, and a bite to eat. We’re all having goulaschesuppe today. Sound good? Then I’ll escort you to the office.”
“Whose office?”
“Don’t be coy, Lord Hawke. You know very well whose office.”
Twenty minutes later, well-fed and wearing dry clothes the woman had provided, he was sitting alone in a large paneled office with Persian rugs and walls studded with Old Masters. Bookcases everywhere, filled with leather-bound collections of authors from Voltaire to Dickens to Hemingway.
Hawke had been told by a green-jacketed servant who’d ushered him inside that someone would be with him shortly. Won’t be ten minutes, he’d said. Antsy, Hawke got up from his chair and walked around a bit. Intensely curious, he went over to the source of the light that filled the whole room. Soaring floor-to-ceiling windows reached to a twenty-foot ceiling, lead-paned and crystal clear.
He was wondering if that massive window was such a good idea, especially for someone trying to remain invisible to the world. That was until he saw the massive steel doors to either side, their exterior surfaces sheathed in hyperrealistic fake rock. Doors that would instantly seal tight at the press of a button. Trying unsuccessfully not to be nosy, he surveyed the rest of the surreally beautiful office.
He checked the fellow’s desk first, a large partner’s desk in the style of the famous British architect Robert Adam. There were papers casually lying about, but Hawke chose not to look. But brilliant sunlight streaming through the clouds lit up a shiny object that caught his eye. He bent and looked closer. It was a mounted piece of sculpture, about a foot high. He picked it up.
It was a Nazi swastika, carved out of a block of highly polished steel.
He heard a voice behind him and whirled around as if he been caught snooping. “So sorry,” he said, putting the artifact back where it belonged, feeling guilty for no reason.
“Not at all,” the elderly gentleman said. “Sorry I’m tardy, been a busy day, you know. Please, have a seat.”
He strode across the carpet and sat in the leather armchair with its back to the spectacular views. Hawke sized him up very quickly. This was no banker. He was a scholar, perhaps a university professor. He had a natural way and a cheery manner that suggested a facile mind and a quick wit. There was a spark of humor in his blue eyes, fringed with bushy white eyebrows. His head was bald, and he wore a pair of gold eyeglasses that were clearly antique.
He was dressed like a banker, however. A three-piece navy suit from a very good tailor, a crisp white shirt, and a blue-and-white polka-dot bow tie in the manner of Churchill, whom he resembled in an odd way.
He sat back, placed his folded hands on the expanse of green leather, and said, “I must say it’s a great pleasure to see you again, Alex. It’s been an awfully long time.”
Hawke hid his surprise and said, “See me again?”
“Yes. You wouldn’t recall, I was just trying to be clever. I led the Swiss Army team that brought you down after that awful fall. And, later, the one that went up for your grandfather. What a lovely man. We’ve likely never seen his like again.”
“Forgive me, this is a bit startling. You two knew each other?”
“We climbed together for years before you were born. Being in a tent with a man on top of a mountain normally brings out the worst in a man. But your dear grandfather and I always had a hell of a time!”
Hawke laughed at that. “I would like to express my gratitude, but I don’t know your name, sir.”
“Gerhardt, Dr. Gerhardt Steinhauser,” he smiled, “sometimes known, rather foolishly, as ‘the Sorcerer.’ ”
“You’re not quite what I expected, Dr. Steinhauser.”
“Everyone says that, Alex. Few make it to that chair you’re using, but everyone who does says exactly that. What do you think of my office? I’ve grown fond of it.”
“It’s stunning, sir. I can’t help but ask who built all this. A German, I imagine, based on the eighty-eight millimeter that welcomed me.”
“Not to mention this paperweight I saw you admiring. The man who built this left behind many mementos when he died.
“And a German indeed. A former Nazi Kriegsmarine admiral who defected to Switzerland before the war. Someone who dabbled in engineering and architecture. I’m sure you’ve seen Hitler’s Eagle’s Nest. Same fellow built both. He constructed all this after defecting to Switzerland in 1936. That monstrous eighty-eight you just saw was smuggled onto a train out of Berchtesgaden before people were paying too much attention to the border, you see. His idea was to use it in the event of a German invasion that never happened. Now it’s mine, to use as I see fit. Good for nosy neighbors, no?”
“Thank you for all your courtesy, sir, both my rescue and now. I don’t want to interrupt what is certainly a very full agenda, but I would appreciate your patience while I ask a few questions?”
“Fire away, my boy, fire away!”