Klaus had no idea what they were talking about, nor did he want to know. As he started to back away from the door, Herr Heinrich looked up and saw him staring. “What’s this? You! Come here.”
He froze.
Ludwig turned, saw him, then gave a sharp nod. “Klaus!”
He entered, worried what his uncle would do, when his glance strayed to the egg, even more beautiful up close. “I didn’t mean to see. I just—”
The woman laughed. “You want to hold it?”
Klaus shook his head, afraid he’d drop it.
Herr Heinrich handed the egg to Ludwig, who wrapped it in a square of gray wool cloth.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” the woman said.
Klaus nodded, unable to look away, as Uncle Ludwig carefully returned the egg to its case. He saw two more egg-shaped forms beneath their wool wrapping.
“Fabergé,” she said, though the name meant nothing to Klaus. “Do you know what they’re for? Why you’re taking them to Chile?”
He shook his head. He only knew he was to dress warm because they were flying over the Andes Mountains. And that the money he would make would keep his mother alive. “No, fräulein.”
“To bring in the Fourth Reich—”
“Greta!” Herr Heinrich started to rise.
Ludwig, clearly upset over the interruptions, or perhaps Greta’s revelation, snapped the case shut. “We should go. The hour grows late, and our plane awaits. You have the papers?”
“Of course,” Herr Heinrich said, sliding them from the folder. Ludwig was reading the pages when Heinrich’s phone rang. He answered, listened, then said, “Yes. He’s right here.” Heinrich held the phone toward Uncle Ludwig. “For you.”
Ludwig set the papers on top of the suitcase. As he took the phone, his coat brushed the topmost page onto the floor.
It landed at Klaus’s feet and he reached down to pick it up, seeing the words Unternehmen Werwolf at the top. Before he got past the first lines, trying to figure out what Operation Werewolf was about, Greta took the paper from him, setting it facedown on the stack.
“Hold on,” Ludwig said into the phone. He covered the mouthpiece. “Greta, I’ll meet you at the car. Take the boy and close the door.”
The woman put her hand on Klaus’s shoulder, guiding him into the hallway. “Come with me, Klaus.”
He followed Greta outside, where Ludwig’s sleek black Mercedes sedan gleamed beneath the bright moon. As she led him to the car, he glanced back toward the office, thinking of the papers that Herr Heinrich had given to his uncle. His father might be willing to overlook Uncle Ludwig’s past, but Klaus didn’t think he’d turn a blind eye to reviving the Nazi Party and starting the Fourth Reich. His mother, he knew, would be horrified.
She’d want him to tell his uncle that he couldn’t go with him. Especially after what he’d read on that document.
“. . . blame the Americans for a bomb strike on Russia . . .”
Surely his father would understand why he couldn’t go?
Someone shouted as the office door burst open. Ludwig raced out, suitcase in one hand, gun in the other. “Get in the car!”
A shot split the air, and Ludwig turned, firing into the doorway.
Crack! Crack!
Klaus froze. Uncle Ludwig ran to the driver’s side, shot twice more, then threw the suitcase in. “Hurry!”
Greta pushed Klaus toward the car. “Get in.”
He jumped into the back, Greta the front, as Uncle Ludwig started the car, cursing as the engine sputtered, then kicked in.
The vehicle sped off, making a sharp turn, throwing Klaus against the door.