might know about the emerald. He had tried the Residenz Museum, the reconstructed Wittelsbach palace where other Wittelsbach jewels were still kept, but no one had a clue about his emerald. It was worth a try to see if any of his grandfather’s servants were still living, and besides it gave him a chance to use that new Motorola digital GSM phone he bought last week in Geneva. It certainly cost him enough. The smart-ass salesman assured him that conversations on the phone could be encrypted using a temporary and randomly generated ciphering key, and for added security, Hans would be identified by a temporary identity, which he could change periodically.
Well let’s see if this expensive phone works
.
After reaching the Klement Kompound in Buenos Aires, he let them know about the message being encrypted and the codes to unscramble it. He told them what he needed and he would call them back in one hour to see what they found out.
The chalet was too big for him, he knew it, yet it had been available to rent and he was able to get it for a year at a very reasonable price. A typical large Swiss chalet nestled in the foothills of the Jura Mountains, with a wide vista of Lake Geneva in the Southern distance. The real estate woman said it was over a hundred years old, but had been remolded only two years ago. It was held in estate after the owner passed away, but the bank was willing to rent it on a long term basis. As the real estate woman drove him in the drive the first time he fell in love with the house, or was it the dozens of red Geraniums cascading from each window box. He liked living by himself and over the months there grew a comfortable feeling as the house began to speak to him. Usually around midnight, he would hear the radiator click off. The wooden walls began to shudder, surrendering its stored heat in groans and cracks and faint, pinging voices that seemed to wail forever. It reminded him of the big house where he had visited his grandfather in Munich as a boy.
He paced the floor waiting for a response from Argentina and when an hour and ten minutes passed and no phone call Hans angrily threw a chair against the fireplace, turning probably an antique into firewood. Just as he was about to give up his cell phone rang. He grabbed it and shouted, “It’s about time. What did you find out for me?” Listening carefully as he walked over to the desk, took out a pen, and began writing. “So that’s it? That’s all you could find out? Well keep hunting for me. There has to be someone who still knows where my emerald is,” And angrily hung up without even a thank you or a good bye, but with this bit of information from his friends in Buenos Aires he learned his grandfather’s chauffer might still be alive somewhere around Munich.
Now traveling on a German passport he called the German Embassy in Berne, but they would not give information to him unless he applied in person. He didn’t think that would be smart since the Swiss newspapers were running stories of the Jewish murders with the Nazi slash marks. He called a man now living in Berne that he had done business with in Buenos Aires. He persuaded him, with the promise of a nice payment, to go to the Embassy and find out any information on any of the servants, especially the old chauffer.
As he left the chalet he turned on the burglar alarm.
Isn’t that ironic
, he laughed to himself as the alarm turned red and he was on his way to Berne.
Hans opened the garage doors and standing the doorway admired the shiny green Mercedes 250 SE that glistened in the shadowed light. He loved the lines of this automobile and he felt special when he drove it. It was one of several cars he owned in Argentina and he was pleased he had also found one for sale in Geneva. As he settled in the soft tan leather seats he got out the small piece of lambs wool from the glove box and wiped any bits of lint or dust from the dash, as he had done so many times before. He drove
Well let’s see if this expensive phone works
.
After reaching the Klement Kompound in Buenos Aires, he let them know about the message being encrypted and the codes to unscramble it. He told them what he needed and he would call them back in one hour to see what they found out.
The chalet was too big for him, he knew it, yet it had been available to rent and he was able to get it for a year at a very reasonable price. A typical large Swiss chalet nestled in the foothills of the Jura Mountains, with a wide vista of Lake Geneva in the Southern distance. The real estate woman said it was over a hundred years old, but had been remolded only two years ago. It was held in estate after the owner passed away, but the bank was willing to rent it on a long term basis. As the real estate woman drove him in the drive the first time he fell in love with the house, or was it the dozens of red Geraniums cascading from each window box. He liked living by himself and over the months there grew a comfortable feeling as the house began to speak to him. Usually around midnight, he would hear the radiator click off. The wooden walls began to shudder, surrendering its stored heat in groans and cracks and faint, pinging voices that seemed to wail forever. It reminded him of the big house where he had visited his grandfather in Munich as a boy.
He paced the floor waiting for a response from Argentina and when an hour and ten minutes passed and no phone call Hans angrily threw a chair against the fireplace, turning probably an antique into firewood. Just as he was about to give up his cell phone rang. He grabbed it and shouted, “It’s about time. What did you find out for me?” Listening carefully as he walked over to the desk, took out a pen, and began writing. “So that’s it? That’s all you could find out? Well keep hunting for me. There has to be someone who still knows where my emerald is,” And angrily hung up without even a thank you or a good bye, but with this bit of information from his friends in Buenos Aires he learned his grandfather’s chauffer might still be alive somewhere around Munich.
Now traveling on a German passport he called the German Embassy in Berne, but they would not give information to him unless he applied in person. He didn’t think that would be smart since the Swiss newspapers were running stories of the Jewish murders with the Nazi slash marks. He called a man now living in Berne that he had done business with in Buenos Aires. He persuaded him, with the promise of a nice payment, to go to the Embassy and find out any information on any of the servants, especially the old chauffer.
As he left the chalet he turned on the burglar alarm.
Isn’t that ironic
, he laughed to himself as the alarm turned red and he was on his way to Berne.
Hans opened the garage doors and standing the doorway admired the shiny green Mercedes 250 SE that glistened in the shadowed light. He loved the lines of this automobile and he felt special when he drove it. It was one of several cars he owned in Argentina and he was pleased he had also found one for sale in Geneva. As he settled in the soft tan leather seats he got out the small piece of lambs wool from the glove box and wiped any bits of lint or dust from the dash, as he had done so many times before. He drove
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