“I would be very interested to get an invitation to such auctions.”
“At this time, there are none scheduled. Could you give me your telephone number? I can call you.”
“That won’t be necessary. Thank you for your kindness, and, may I add, for your pleasant company. What did you say your name was?”
“Emily, Emily Muller.”
“And you may please call me Klaus. Good day, Emily.” Hans walked away from the old bag, hoping his flattery would leave the door open for another visit should he not find out what he needed from the pamphlet.
However, after reading it, he learned that all the gems Christie have offered for auctions were usually held at the Bank du Mont Blanc to insure their safety, before the auction, which was always held at the Four Seasons Hotel des Bergues. So that’s where his beloved emerald must be.
Leaving Christies, Hans took the Map of Geneva out of his pocket and standing under the shade of the awning of the small grocery next door found the street Quai des Bergues at the north end of the bridge over the Rhone River. The morning was pleasant, yet not too hot, and he decided instead of hailing a cab, to walk the five or six blocks to the bank. He felt good this morning and had a keen sense that his stone was close at hand. A plan began to form as he walked toward the river bridge. If I can get this Mr. Brunstein to show me the emerald, why not just steal it then and there. If I have to kill him, so be it. Probably would be simple just to walk out of the bank and disappear before anyone would notice. Let’s not be too hasty. We need to check the layout of the bank first.
He pulled his hat down further and turned to look in a jewelry store window as a police man walked toward him and passed without notice. Hans trudged on. As he crossed the Mont-Blanc Bridge he marveled at the towering plume of water in the lake to his right. Stopping to read the bronze plaque on the wall of the bridge he read that it was called the Jet d’ Eau and it was the highest fountain in the world, reaching almost 500 feet into the air.
At the end of the bridge he turned right and walked along a street bordering the river. Facing the river were tall granite buildings, similar in size yet each scratching its own character with different columns, arches, cantilevers and massive windows. Each bank had a quite similar brass name plaque, polished to a dazzling shine. Their windows shaded to block the sun and glare from the water, yet indicating a careful guarding of assets within. The second building indicated Han’s destination and he walked up the granite steps where a uniformed doorman pushed open the massive bronze door and ushered him inside.
He walked across the highly polished marble floor to a desk beside a sign “Informations.” A middle aged, balding man in a dark pin-striped suit, black tie tightly knotted, took off his glasses and asked, “May I help you sir?”
“I would like to speak with Herr Brunstein please.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No, I have been sent here by Christies to talk about one of their auctions.”
“If you would have a seat there, I will ring Herr Brunstein and see if he is free. Who should say is calling?”
Lifting his head slightly Hans replied with a slight accent, “Klaus Dohring.”
While the clerk picked up the telephone on his desk, Hans sat in the stiff-backed chair and took careful note of the interior of the bank and noticed that the doorman constituted the only observable guard, if you could call him that, he could see.
“Sir, Mr. Brunstein will have just a few minutes to see you now. If you would take the elevator over there to the second floor, Mr. Brunstein’s secretary will be waiting for you.”
The heavy-set man looked up from his ornate desk, put his glasses down and said, “Herr Dohring, I presume. Won’t you please to sit down? How may I help you?”
“I am a collector of fine jewels, a hobby and an investment, I might add. I have just been told by fräulein Muller, of Christies, that there is to be an auction soon of a rather well known Emerald that I have had my eye on for some time now. I was wondering if you could tell me when this emerald is to go up for auction, and if I might see this gem in person, just to make sure you understand that it is the stone I am interested in.”
“And which emerald is it you are interested in, Herr Dohring?”
“It has been known as the Wittelsbach Emerald ever since the 17th century when Philip IV of Spain gave it to Margareta Teresa as part of her dowry when she married Leopold I of Austria. I have loved this magnificent gem ever since I first saw it and not that it may be on the auction block — well, I would move heaven and earth to have it in my collection.”
“I understand your desire to purchase this emerald for your collection, but Sir, we have a problem. It has been brought to my attention by the authorities that the owners of this gem have tragedy died, and so the courts must determine if there are any heirs for their estate. Until these legal matters have been decided this Wittelsbach emerald will have to remain in our custody until it is released by the courts. I hope you understand?”
Trying to reign in his anger, Hans said sharply, “This is a severe personal blow to me, however I completely understand. Do you have any information as to the length of this delay?”
“Not really Herr Dohring. It could be a few weeks or a few months, but if you would be so kind as to give me your address, I will certainly inform you of the results.”
Quickly standing, Hans said, “That won’t be necessary. I’ll deal directly with Christies from now on.” Without another word he left the astonished banker.
After speaking to a monsieur Brunstein at the bank where Christie’s auction jewels were kept, what infuriated Hans the most was learning that killing the Klein’s might actually keep him from getting the emerald. How could he have known? It was insane, but true. Brunstein told him that the stone was waiting a disclosure on its disposition while lawyers looked for a will and searched for heirs of the couple. Hans knew, despite his skill, that robbing a major bank vault was out of the question. In addition, he knew of none of his friends in Berlin had such abilities either. All his Nazi friends were into the more bloody pursuits. They did not take on that type of highly thought-out scheme. Now he must wait to avenge his father and reclaim his inheritance. How long, he had no idea. And the bank had no idea either. His fury flared again just thinking about this frustrating development.
CHAPTER 7
“Good work, you two,” Levi said on Wednesday when he met with David and Miriam again, “Thanks for getting this material to me before the weekend. I had time to go over it and it looks like we now have what we need to begin to search for this killer in Geneva. I don’t know how you did it, but this computer-aged photo will scare the crap out of our man, if he’s the one. How did you get it?” Miriam responded, “Malcolm found an old photo of Hans Huber’s son that was taken during the Eichmann capture in the 60’s, and with help of a computer whiz downstairs age-enhanced it, viola — there it is. It’s not perfect, but should greatly help us with our search.”
“I just hope the newspapers don’t get hold of it and print it to scare our man off. It will be a great help. Now go home and pack your bags because you’re flying to Geneva tomorrow.”
Levi handed David two El AL packets of tickets.
“There should be enough Swiss francs there also in there, that is unless you really think you’re on a vacation. The flight leaves at 3:05 p.m. Let’s us see how this works out for all of us.”