Martin drove the short distance through Berlin to his home. He pulled the car to the curb and parked, but sat for some time without exiting the vehicle. He reached into his briefcase and withdrew his grandfather"s old journal, thumbing through the pages, glancing occasionally at the descriptions of the stolen art.
Then he flipped back in the book to the final pages that contained notes of a great treasure in southern Italy. Anselm Bernhardt had only rumors to go on, and the contents of the cache were not even well laid out, but the old colonel"s desire poured forth from the words on the page. Martin stared long at the entries, wondering what his grandfather was after.
Finally, he put the journal back in the briefcase and stepped out of the car. Martin had already decided to talk to his w
