Free Angels Fallen by Francis Joseph Smith

now, from what our agent tells us, they seem to be operating as a team.”
    Perluci banged his fist on the desk in order to drive home his point. “Do n’t lose the main flow of the story. It’s not him we were after, but something his father has or had.”
    Perluci’s outburst ca ught Father Lester by surprise.
    Perluci smiled at him before continuing, his voice mellowing as he spoke. “Dieter’s father used to be a captain in the German Army, a pretty good one from what I understand, rising up through the enlisted ranks. Many years ago I had the pleasure to track down his unit’s survivors, unfortunately, locating only two—our Captain Hans Dieter and a man called Peter Dems.” Perluci thrusts two dog-eared photos in front of Father Lester, both courtesy of the German War archives in Hamburg before continuing. “The rest were dead, evidently killed in the final days of the war.  Dems, I located in a Russian prisoner of war camp in 1949, where I understand he unfortunately met his demise.  But Dieter, the lucky bastard that he is, had already escaped to America.”
    A look of confusion spread across Father Lester’s face . Perluci realized he had to provide the man with a little more background.
    “Okay. You have seen the records and are already familia r with the theft of our product, but not how the actual events transpired,” Perluci said.  He was restless with the story he had told many times before—the results always the same. He continued. “Captain Dieter and his troops had no way of knowing what was on the truck.  I’ll give them that. They were under the impression the truck contained the enemy as it sped towards their position, not fellow German soldiers and Vatican guards whose cargo were crates laden with gold bars and important Vatican documents.  From all reports I’ve read they say the fog was so thick they had no chance for a positive identification. If confronted with the same situation, my own reaction would have been the same. But I’m providing too many details here,” taking a long draw from another freshly lit cigarette.  He exhaled, looking to Father Lester. “After the ambush, Dieter’s troops received a seven-day pass, routinely awarded after six months of combat. Then, using Dieter’s rank, they were able to commandeer a German military truck. They retraced their steps to the front lines in order to dig up what they had wisely buried only hours before.  With their luck still holding, they escaped hours before a Soviet offensive that would have kept the gold and documents hidden forever.  With a pass in hand, they were able to travel unchallenged back to the town of Weimar where Dieter’s parents lived on a farm, promptly burying our product somewhere under its 300 acres. Where, you ask? We have no idea, but we are positive it’s on the farm. This information has been verified by Dems, the man I interrogated back in 1949.  He possessed no reason to lie.” A sly smile broke out on his face revealing some secret pleasure. “He had too much riding on it.”
    Father Lester sat quietly, wondering what Perluci meant by his last comment.  Looking up, he was about to ask, but Perluci cut him off.
    “In the nineteen fifties , our people scoured that farm top to bottom,” Perluci said, now rambling, shaking his head, his face turning beet red. “Evidently our product had been relocated years before,” turning back to face Father Lester, his hands turned upward to reveal empty palms. “Nothing. We had nothing to show for our work, so we finally chose to back off and await Mr. Dieter’s next move.  It’s been sixty plus years of waiting and one hell of a chess game if you ask me. A game we will eventually win, Father Lester— I personally guarantee it .”
     

New York City, NY  
    Emerging from Pennsylvania station Dan and Jim were greeted by an endless sea of yellow cabs, all jostling for a prime position at its entrance.  Brilliant sun shine bathed the area as