Shadows of Yesterday

Chapter 8

Three German soldiers stood in the vault of Sternberg and Sons, eyeing Major Ziegler as he held his pistol to Jacob Sternberg’s temple. Sternberg’s eyes were wide, his body trembled. Sweat dotted his forehead. He raised his hands, not sure what he was expected to do, and started to sob.

Sergeant Ernst Bayer didn’t want to watch. He had seen many terrified men, begging for their lives. He had no desire to see any more. Already sickened by a war that had just begun, he stepped farther into the vault, his back to the terrified Jacob Sternberg, and focused on the theft of the diamonds, avoiding the scene unfolding behind him.

He hadn’t spent his entire life in the military. A foot soldier during the First World War, he had survived four years in trenches shared with rats, lice, and men more dead than alive, gaunt shadows who barely functioned, their minds damaged, their souls destroyed. After the war, he tried to lead a normal life, hiding the horrors he had witnessed, teaching history in a secondary school—an occupation he truly enjoyed. But he was recalled two years prior, before any fighting began. He had an ability much needed in the military. He had mastered several languages—French, Polish, and Italian. Now in his mid-forties, he was short and stocky, his hair laced with gray. But he had been fortunate, assigned as Major Ziegler’s driver. It kept him from combat. He avoided the hell that most called war. He didn’t have to relive his nightmares, images he wanted to forget but could not.

He examined the pilfered deposit boxes closely, brushing his finger across the drilled-out lock. The mechanism had been smoothly bored, a perfect hole replacing it. The thief had gained access easily. He wondered what type of drill pierces steel like paper. How long did it take to steal the diamonds with such an effective tool? Only minutes, he suspected.

He had listened while Ziegler questioned Jacob Sternberg, and the merchant explained how the vault doors were opened, pointing to a closet where a key had been kept. Not wanting to watch Ziegler threaten the old man, Bayer left the vault, eyeing the hallways to different stairways. He walked the corridors, turning a corner to a rear stairwell behind a closed door. But after finding nothing unusual, he returned to the vault, crossing the hall to the closet Sternberg had referenced.

Ziegler’s demands and Sternberg’s pleas were fainter, which was good. Bayer didn’t want to listen. And he already knew the result—having witnessed the same scene before. He knew that a trembling, sobbing, groveling Jacob Sternberg would do anything to save his life and those of his family—no matter who he had to betray. Bayer didn’t want to see it, hear it, or even know it occurred. Even though it did. Threats were tools the conqueror used, and they were usually effective.

Bayer opened the closet door. Shelves lined the upper third of the back wall, holding cleaning supplies and rags. Mops and brooms hung from holders beneath the shelves. He didn’t see where the key was hung, as Sternberg had described. He stepped inside, examined the closet closely, and saw the hook beside the door jamb in the corner of the closet. He moved back into the hallway and was about to close the door when he saw something on the floor. He picked it up. It was a business card for a shop in Paris: All Things Napoleon, 69 Boulevard St-Germain, Paris, France. Emilie Dufort, Proprietor.

All Things Napoleon, 69 Boulevard St-Germain, Paris, France. Emilie Dufort, Proprietor.He turned the card over. Scribbled on the back was a name, Jacques Dufort, and an Antwerp address, Godefriduskaai 99, Pier #3.