Walt ascended two flights of cement stairs, then used his key on the door of the studio apartment rented by James Kimmel. He knew there could be people still watching this apartment. James Kimmel had many enemies, but also many friends. Maybe in Granada the latter still outweighed the former.
The room was nothing much to look at. Dark, dusty, dank smelling. Yet Walt tossed his suitcase on the sagging bed, hardly noticing the dimness as he strode to the small window and opened it, not appreciating the view outside.
He moved to the mirror, almost not recognizing himself. He looked old and ragged. The gray that had appeared at his temples gave him pause. His eyes reflected his weariness. Had he come this far only to fail?
He'd created a spider's web of people and layers of stories. For a time he'd kept each straight. He'd known who worked for whom and what they offered to him, and to Adolfo. Now Walt's mind was tired. He couldn't explain it other than that. He even questioned whether the treasure would be worth the cost. Maybe it too was as fictional as the personalities he'd created for his cover. Was it no more than a dream, an illusion he'd formed in hopes of gaining the approval of his family? In hopes there was something worth living for?
He thought about Sophie and her trust that God protected them . . . protected him. The change in her hadn't happened overnight, but she had a deep inner peace he envied. And at this point in his journey, it almost seemed what Sophie possessed was greater than any treasure cast by man or forged by human hands.
"I don't even know where to begin," Walt muttered to the reflection in the mirror.
Just accept and believe.
It was Sophie's voice that filled his thoughts. Surrender . . . trust.
He laughed at the words she offered. To others that may seem easy, but for someone who'd spent the last three years controlling not only each move he made but those of the pawns he'd set in place, it seemed beyond his ability. He had created a life of second-guessing everyone, running from one end of Spain to the other to stay ahead.
For years he'd campaigned to find the treasure that would cause this world—and his father—to take notice. When it was clear the Spanish conflict would erupt, he'd justified his work by arranging with Adolfo to make sure that the people of Spain would receive the majority of the stolen wealth. He hoped the funds the treasure promised could help the poorest among them.
But maybe that was simply an excuse too. Because deep down Walt somehow felt he was on the wrong side—not in the fight of the Nationalists against the Republicans, but in the fight between light and darkness.
He ignored his troubled gaze in the mirror and raked his fingers through his hair. Then he sat upon the bed, and his eyes focused on the few rays of light filtering into the room.
* * *
Walt had sent a message to the name Sophie had given him, and he was pleased to see the tall, blond German striding into the quaint café. The German's physical appearance could not be denied. Many women turned his direction when he entered, including a beautiful blonde at the bar. She quickly looked away when she noted Walt's gaze, blushing over the fact she'd been caught with a gaping mouth.
Ritter nodded to Walt, then approached.
"Herr von Bachman." Walt rose and shook his hand.
A twinkle lit Ritter's blue eyes. "Sophie referred to you as James Kimmel, the Fascist reporter." He nodded. "I've been a fan of yours since you wrote that piece about the Reds burning Guernica from the ground. Of course, we both know that is only one of your covers."
Walt shrugged. "What can I say? The truth always comes out."
Ritter sat and ordered a drink, then turned his attention back to Walt. "So, your note said you had a proposal for me?"
"First, I want to know how much you know about Spanish gold."
Ritter pursed his lips. "I know there is word of a hidden treasure in South America . . . or maybe that is just a fairy tale. I have come here to discover more about that very thing."
Walt felt the weight of the five coins in his pocket. "Yes, I've heard that too. But as I've checked into it . . . well, I personally believe it is legend. Nothing more." He leaned forward, steepling his fingers on the table in front of him. "But there is another treasure—closer and more precious. One already discovered. The problem is, I need a way to get it out of the country. I'm looking for someone to help me. How hard would it be for you to secure a transport plane?"
"And what would I receive for my efforts?"
"More wealth than you could imagine."
Ritter cleared his throat. "And you think I can be trusted? How do you know that I wouldn't take it all for myself?"
"I don't. But I do know you're hiding something. You've already turned over your key to the room at Alhambra. It would only take one phone call from me to let Göring’s office know you aren't dead, as they assume."
Ritter chuckled. "You've done your homework. I'm impressed!"
"I wouldn't have made it this far without my research skills. Besides, for some reason Sophie believes there is a good soul beneath that tough exterior."
Ritter ran a hand down his face. "She said that?"
"Yes, she did."
"Sophie is a dear girl, but as we all know, friendships change with the tide of war and the needs of the players."
"Sí, you are right. So how much will it take for you to consider rekindling those embers of friendship?"
"Enough that I will no longer be at the bidding of others. Enough to be in control of my own destiny and support a future wife and children." He lowered his gaze. "And enough to walk away. To start over."
"Fine. That can be arranged." Walt leaned close. "Now . . . here is what I need from you."
* * *
Sophie hurried down the tunnel with eager steps, hoping that Walt waited at the end with good news.
When she rounded the last corner, she saw him standing in the tunnel opening. He held a rifle in his hands as he scoured the area with his eyes.
"Did you talk to Ritter? I didn't see him today around the castle grounds. I was hoping—"
"He's considering it," Walt interrupted. "Actually, more than considering it. He likes the idea. He's going to check out a few of the airfields in the area to see what he can find. It's a heavy load—one larger than most transport planes can handle. But he's hopeful."
She studied Walt closer and noticed dark circles under his eyes. She patted his hand. "Are you okay? You don't look so well."
"Tired, that's all. Ready for this thing to be over."
"Me too. I miss . . . well, that 's not important now." She thought of Philip and considered asking about him, but changed her mind. "Get some sleep. We'll have plenty of time to catch up on the latest news in a few days."
"I hope so." Walt offered a tired smile. "You can't imagine how much I hope so."
Sophie watched him walk away; then she turned to head back up the tunnel. She'd only gone a few steps when she heard footsteps behind her. Someone touched her arm.
Sophie sucked in a breath and turned, then relaxed when she saw who it was. "Philip!" She smiled as he swept her into his arms.
"I'm sorry, Sophie. I know you have work to do. But I had to come. I miss you." He placed a kiss upon her head.
"I miss you, too. I just talked to Walt. . . . I think I've found a way for us to escape—"
The sound of a rifle being cocked interrupted her words. She turned to see a soldier with a rifle pointed at them. Philip released her and reached for his gun.
The soldier lifted his weapon. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, señor!"
Three more men, all wearing Nationalist uniforms, emerged from deeper in the tunnel.
One man looked familiar; in fact, Sophie was sure she'd danced with him on one occasion.
"We have watched you, señorita. When our papers and maps started disappearing, we knew we had a traitor in our midst." He motioned for the men, and they grabbed her arms, pulling them behind her back and snapping handcuffs in place. They did the same with Philip.
"But look here," the soldier exclaimed. "Today is our lucky day! For it seems we caught not one, but two foxes in our trap."