Page 146 of The Last Kingdom

Two more men entered from behind, neither of whom carried a weapon. He wondered how many assets Fenn and Ming had on-site. More than enough already.

The two newcomers advanced on Albert, each grabbing an arm and lifting the man off the ground. They then hopped from the stone walkway down into the lake, which was about waist-high, splashing into the water but keeping a hold on the duke. Cotton moved to intercede but was cut off by one of the two remaining armed guards who raised his rifle, ready to fire.

He stopped.

One of the men forced the duke’s head under the water and held it there. The older man’s arms thrashed as he tried to escape, but the assassins kept a firm hold, the head never again finding air.

Thirty seconds and all movement stopped.

Cotton stared over at Fenn, who stood thirty feet away, watching in silence. The two men in the water kept Albert’s head submerged a few more seconds, then brought it up, satisfied the man was dead.

“It had to be done,” Ming said in a flat voice.

“Easy to kill an overweight old man.”

“It is never easy to kill,” Ming noted. “But there are times when it has to be done.”

The killers climbed from the lake and lifted out the Duke of Bavaria’s body.

“He just had his brother, Stefan, killed,” Ming said.

“Another of those times?” Cotton asked.

“Albert so wanted to be king,” Ming said. “But, unfortunately for him, Germany is not interested in an independent Bavaria. They are interested in finding that deed—so as to give it to us. For you see, Mr. Malone, Germany needs China. Badly.”

Albert’s wet corpse lay on the rocky floor.

“The Germans worked with Stefan and Albert,” Ming said. “Separately. Hoping one or both would find the deed. But we were their true benefactors. Once you and the rest of the CIA became overly involved, it was decided to eliminate certain participants.”

“You have an interesting way to describe cold-blooded murder.”

“And you have never killed anyone?”

“I’ve never murdered anyone.”

Ming glared at him. Then looked over at the two wet men. “Take him back to Neuschwanstein and drop him into the Pöllat gorge with his brother. Careful no one sees you. We’ll let the press muse as to how and why they both ended up there. Another Wittelsbach tragedy, perhaps.”

“What do you get out of this?” Cotton asked Fenn.

“Millions of euros.”

“And all that bullshit about Bavaria and Ludwig and independence?”

“It all sounds wonderful, yet impossible to achieve. Money, on the other hand, is easily obtainable. But do get the duke’s body gone before my brothers arrive. I prefer they not see such a sight.”

Albert was slung over the shoulder of one of the men who killed him and, together with his partner, they left the grotto.

“Nobody cares about the Wittelsbachs,” Ming said. “They are nothing but a rare mention in a German history book. They lost their kingdom, never to return. The last thing the Germans want is to lose their largest state. It was foolish of both Stefan and Albert to think otherwise. Ambition clouds judgment.”

“Which is another reason,” Fenn said from the other side of the grotto, “that I chose money over ideals. The Chinese required help, and I provided it. And, by the way, so have several of your ex–CIA agents.”

“For money too?” he asked, curious.

“Surely. But their true motivation was far more primal. Shelley said it best.‘Revenge is the naked idol of the worship of a semi-barbarous age.’ But enough about what has already occurred. Let us focus on what is about to happen. Here is what we seek.”

He focused on the enormous illuminated mural that filled the wall behind a rock-framed stage.

“Isn’t it marvelous,” Fenn said. “Groups of roguish cupids play all around a shell-throne where Venus herself, the goddess of love, full of seductive charm, watches over a slumbering Tannhäuser, resting at her feet. Doves fly all around and about the lovers. Above them, Amourettes bear flowered garlands. The Three Graces stand off to one side.” Fenn gestured with his arms like a showman. “Tannhäuser on the Venus Mount.Painted for Ludwig II by August von Heckel.”

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