Soul Intent (18 page)

“I’m afraid our client has had a change of heart," she said. “Only a single item, our client’s journal, will be deposited.” She pulled an open envelope containing her journal out of the drawer and slid it toward Burri.

He removed the journal from the envelope and examined it. “Then there is no need for customs forms. I will write you a receipt.” He removed a paper-bound book from his briefcase and opened it on the desk. He placed a sheet of carbon paper under the first page and a sheet of cardboard under the second.

Burri held his pen above the page and looked up at her. “One journal, handwritten. Yes?”

Flora nodded.

He wrote onto the form, then looked up again. “What is the soul identity of your client?”

She steadied her voice. “Soul identity?”

The older man sighed. “
Fraulein
, in order for the journal to reach your client’s collection, you must provide us with your client’s soul identity. It is a number.”

“Where do I find this number?” she asked.

He stared at her. “Does your client have a membership card?”

She opened the middle drawer and rummaged under the papers. There—a small card with the Soul Identity logo embossed on it lay on the bottom. She handed it to Burri.

He looked at the card and then at her. “Your client is Hermann Goering?”

She nodded.

He took a deep breath, and copied the numbers off the card and onto the receipt. He handed the card back to Flora and wiped his fingers on his pants.

Flora stared at him. “You don’t like the idea of depositing something from a Nazi?”

“No,
fraulein
, I do not.”

She felt her voice go hard as she repeated the overseer’s words. “Soul Identity does not discriminate against anybody. We are a business, and not a club.”

Burri stiffened in his seat. “Precisely,
fraulein
.” He turned the receipt book to her. “You must sign Mr. Morgan’s name here.”

She picked up a fountain pen. “Here?”

He nodded.

She wrote the overseer’s signature, and it looked just like his real one. She gave Burri the book.

He tore out the top copy of the receipt and handed it to her. He put the journal and the receipt book into his briefcase. “That is all?”

“Yes.” She stood up and held out her hand. “Thank you, Herr Burri. I realize this work is distasteful, and I appreciate your professionalism.”

He looked at her hand, then turned away. “I will show myself out.”

After the door banged shut, Flora buried her head in her hands. Did Archibald feel this dirty when he had to defend his actions?

The overseer returned later that night. “The doctors say James will be fine,” he said. “He had quite a bump on his head, but they think no additional damage was done.”

That was a relief. She didn’t want James to suffer any more than what was necessary.

“The depositary team came this afternoon,” she said. “I asked them to return tomorrow.”

He smiled. “Thank you, Flora. I knew I could count on you.”

thirty-three

October 1946

Nuremberg, Occupied Germany

Flora spent all the next morning and half the afternoon rehearsing with Major Callaghan and two German men he had hired.

“Let’s go through this once more,” she said for maybe the twentieth time.

“Crikey, Flora. If we haven’t nailed it yet, we never will,” Callaghan said. “Besides, this green uniform needs to be pressed before its debut. Give the lads a couple hours’ break.”

He was right. Everything was in order: the uniforms pressed, the logos and nametags attached, the receipt scraped clean, and the flatbed truck ready to roll.

“I’ll see you at five then,” she said. She had just enough time to stop at the infirmary and visit James before heading back to the Soul Identity house.

Flora could see Archibald pacing in his office when she came in the front door. She walked down the hallway toward him.

He whirled around when she knocked on his door frame. “Where have you been?” he snapped. “The depositary team will be here any minute.”

“I visited with James,” she said. “Should I have stayed here instead?”

He was silent for a moment. “I am glad you checked on him, Flora,” he said. “And I apologize for my short temper. I just want everything to go smoothly with this most important deposit.”

“I understand, Mr. Morgan,” she said. “Can I get you anything?”

“Just some coffee once they arrive, if you please.”

When Major Callaghan rapped his knuckles on the front door, Flora opened it and saw him and his two helpers standing in their green uniforms. They had parked their green flatbed truck out front, just like the real team did yesterday. “May I help you?” she asked.

“Mr. Callaghan to see Overseer Morgan.”

The overseer stepped into the doorway. “I am Archibald Morgan.”

“Please come inside,” Flora said.

The overseer held up his hand. “We first need to verify them, Flora.” He looked at Callaghan. “Where is Mr. Burri?”

“Puking his guts out, the poor bugger. He sent me instead.”

Archibald narrowed his eyes. “May I see your Soul Identity membership card?”

Flora winced. She should have thought of this.

Callaghan’s eyes flitted to Flora, then back to the overseer. “What use is seeing me bloody card?”

“I need to be sure who you are, Mr. Callaghan.” Archibald held out his hand.

The Major again threw a glance at Flora.

She had to try to help. “Mr. Morgan, this man came with Mr. Burri yesterday. I can vouch for him.”

The overseer didn’t take his eyes off the Major’s. “And did you check his card yesterday, Flora?”

“No,” she finally said.

“Then you may have been fooled. Mr. Callaghan needs to prove that he is part of Soul Identity.”

Callaghan reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He fumbled through the papers and withdrew an etched, gold-plated card. “Me card,” he said, “all the way from White Cliffs, Australia.” He handed it to Archibald.

The overseer examined both sides, then handed it back. “Thank you,” he said. “What is the password, please?”

Callaghan scratched his head. “I believe Herr Burri said it was ‘passion’.”

The overseer nodded. “That is correct.” He remained in the doorway and stared at the Major.

Callaghan cleared his throat. “Overseer Morgan, what is your password?”

“Vision.” Archibald smiled. “Please come inside, Mr. Callaghan.” He turned and walked toward his office.

Flora glared at the Major as he left his helpers and stepped inside. He wiped his forehead, then followed the overseer.

Flora closed the front door and waited. After a minute, she heard Archibald call for her.

She stuck her head into the office. “Yes, Mr. Morgan?”

He sat behind his desk, with Callaghan across from him. “Please bring me a coffee.” He looked at the Major. “Mr. Callaghan, can I offer you anything?”

“I’ll have a cuppa tea, if you please,” he said. He smiled at her. “Half milk, half sugar, and half tea.”

Flora nodded and closed the door behind her. She tried to hear what they were saying, but she couldn’t make out the words.

When she returned with the drinks, she heard peals of laughter coming from the office. She opened the door and saw the two of them sitting back in their chairs, still chuckling.

The overseer looked up. “Mr. Callaghan has just done a grand and a rather accurate impression of Hermann Goering.”

What was the Major doing? She set the cups and saucers on the desk. “Which Hermann Goering did you mimic, Mr. Callaghan?” she asked. “The charming, dashing one that the reporters seem to love? Or the evil, insidious one that ordered the deaths of my father and millions of others?”

Silence in the room. Then Archibald cleared his throat. “Thank you, Flora,” he said flatly. “That will be all.”

She bit her lip. Why couldn’t she control her temper? She cursed at her stupidity as she left the office.

The door opened two minutes later, and the men stepped out. Flora watched the overseer fold the receipt and put it in his pocket. The two walked over to the basement stairs, and Archibald used the key around his neck to unlock the door. They descended, and Flora heard Callaghan’s cane tap on each step. A minute later she followed.

She saw Archibald pointing at the wooden boxes. “And these are his papers. Three boxes of them,” he said to the Major.

Callaghan pulled out his copy of the receipt. “So that’s it then. Twelve barrels, each containing six gold bars, each bar weighing four hundred ounces. And three boxes,” he said. He looked up at the overseer. “I’ll go call the lads, and if you don’t mind, I’ll stay up top this time. Me leg is killing me.”

The overseer nodded, then froze when he saw Flora on the stairs.

“Can I help with anything?” she asked him.

He pursed his lips, then shook his head. “I am afraid not. But stay down here until the men are finished—I don’t need any more trouble from you.”

“Yes, Mr. Morgan.” She pressed herself against the wall to allow Major Callaghan to pass, then came down the remaining steps. “I apologize for my outburst.”

The overseer looked at her for a moment before nodding. “I suppose we both have been jumpy,” he said. “But soon this assignment will be over, and the four of us will be on our way to America.” He cocked his head. “Are you looking forward to that?”

“Baba needs it, but I’m not so sure,” she said. She also wasn’t sure if it was the right time to talk about her change of plans, but she decided to plow on. “Mr. Morgan, while James recovers enough to leave, I’d like to visit my home town.”

His eyebrows went up. “All the way in Istria?”

She nodded. “I want to say goodbye to my remaining friends and family.”

He shook his head. “That is impossible, Flora. We leave here on the twenty-second—just seven days from now. There is no time to reach Istria and back.”

She tilted her head back just a little. “I can make it. And it’s important.”

“Is it important enough to risk your move to America?”

That caused her to pause. Baba would be left fending for herself in a strange land.

She was saved from answering by the arrival of Callaghan’s men.

Archibald pointed them to the boxes of papers first. When they left, he turned to Flora. “I would much rather you stayed with me,” he said.

“Why do you want me with you?” She held her breath. Could he say what he did when he was drugged?

He stared at her. He seemed to struggle with something inside his head.

Finally he said, “I want my mission to be a success, and leaving you behind could spoil that.”

She exhaled. How foolish she was to even hope for his candid answer. “When will you leave Paris for America?” she asked.

“At noon on the twenty-eighth.”

“I can meet you in Paris that morning.”

He shook his head. “I cannot take the risk, Flora. You will stay here with me.”

She was down to her final weapon. She reached into her purse. “Before I forget, I have a gift for you,” she said. She pulled out a slip of paper. “Hermann Goering sent you a note. ‘The overseer has been most efficient and useful, and is to be commended’,” she read. “It’s signed and dated the sixth of October, 1946.”

He took the paper and read it to himself. He seemed to be fighting back a smile. Then he looked at her. “How did you get this?”

“I put it with the release, and he signed them both.” She looked down at the floor. “I thought it was the least I could do for you, after all you’ve done for me and Baba.”

He put the paper in his pocket. “Thank you, Flora.”

Still looking down, she said, “I really would like to meet you in Paris on the twenty-eighth.” She looked up at him.

He shook his head. “That is unacceptable.”

Before she could protest, the men returned for their next load, and as Archibald directed them, she gritted her teeth. She needed time to bury the gold, and she wasn’t going to let Ned Callaghan and his men do it without her. Why couldn’t the overseer let her go?

Callaghan’s men headed up the stairs with their next loads. She crossed her arms. “What do you mean, ‘unacceptable’?” she asked.

He smiled. “We must do paperwork on the afternoon of the twenty-seventh. If you promise me you will reach Paris by then, you may go to Istria.”

She laughed and ran over and gave him a hug. “Thank you, Mr. Morgan!”

He put his arms around her. “Just be careful, Flora,” he said gruffly. He let go when they heard the men start down the stairs.

When the fake depositary team left, the overseer’s mood lightened. He called Flora and her grandmother to his office.