Page 22 of The Last Kingdom

A waist-high, wrought-iron railing encircled it on all sides, there to keep the curious at bay. It disgusted him that the crypt had turned into nothing more than a tourist attraction. Two euros gained admittance six days a week, photos included. And people paid that fee by the thousands, generating revenue for the church. Disgraceful. But it seemed the ways of the modern world.

He would change that too.

Above, in the nave, he heard voices.

His people. Finally. Arriving.

He was anxious to know what happened at Herrenchiemsee. He’d ordered the intrusion knowing it also to be an irrevocable act. But the time for planning had ended. Time for wishing and hoping over. If he was going to change Bavaria, change his own life, change Germany, then risks would have to be taken.

Big ones.

He’d always been the most ambitious of the current stock of Wittelsbachs. His brother, Albert, was a helpless, dying soul, who’d lived a quiet life among the few remaining estates the family had retained, surviving off ancestral money, wisely invested and prudently spent.

But that austerity came with limits.

Ones he’d long come to resent.

Sure, he could keep enjoying a life of privilege. Traveling from one warm spot to another, enjoying women and his status as supposed royalty. But, thankfully, fate had offered a reprieve. A new option.

All he had to do was take it.

The voices from above drew closer.

Footsteps descended to the crypt.

Chapter 12

LUKE BOUNDED DOWN THE STAIRS INTO THE CRYPT BENEATH THEJESUITChurch of St. Michael. The ride west from the Chiemsee to Munich had been all autobahn and uneventful. The theatrics that occurred onshore had served their purpose. Everyone seemed satisfied that they’d made their points. He doubted either Christophe or Lexi would mention any of the problems that had happened inside the palace.Instead, they’d revel in the success of their mission.

“We got it,” Christophe said, holding up the book.

Prince Stefan looked pleased as he accepted the offering. “Well done. To you all. Any problems?”

“Not a one,” Lexi quickly answered.

And neither he nor Christophe contradicted her, which was fine by him. They’d destroyed the camera and ditched the pieces in a dumpster on the walk over from where they’d parked the car. He needed things calm, not more turmoil. The only problem was the book. He had to get a look at it. Snap some images. And, most vital, learn why it was so important.

“That’s good to hear,” the prince said.

Luke glanced around at the array of sarcophagi resting atop a tile floor. All shapes and sizes. Young and old apparently. Crowns adorned a few, signaling a king or emperor. Plaques on the wall identified occupants. Wilhelm V, Duke of Bavaria. Maximilian I, Elector of Bavaria. Charles II, Duke of Zweibrücken. King Otto, Ludwig’s younger brother.

And, of course, Ludwig II.

That grave seemed the most elaborate, protected by a low iron railing and adorned with fresh flowers and candles. A framed black-and-white photograph of the king as a handsome young man hung on the wall just behind.

He watched as Prince Stefan thumbed through the stolen book and managed to catch a couple of glimpses that showed it was indeed an ordinary printed volume. He caught a few words on the title page.TannhäuserandWartburg. The rest of the lettering on the spine and cover had all faded. He was careful not to show any excess interest, returning his attention to the solemn surroundings. The prince’s instructions had been clear. Retrieve the book, then come to the church.

Luke had assumed the two were related.

All this started three months ago when Prince Stefan von Bayern sprang onto the US radar. How that happened was above his pay grade. But he’d been dispatched to Munich, charged with working his way into the prince’s good graces. That effort had started with the hired help and Christophe, who headed the two men and one woman currently on the payroll. Here he was known as Jonathan Smith, ex-military, dishonorably discharged, mercenary for hire. The CIA had even created an entire personnel jacket and inserted it into the military record system, just in case anyone went looking.

He knew that Stefan wanted both a kingdom and the throne. As best he could determine, the prince was looking for something that related to Ludwig II, lost when the king died in 1886. To this day no one knew what happened that rainy June evening along Lake Starnberg. Two men went for a walk and never returned. In the aftermath Bavaria was governed for thirty years, first by a regency, then for a short time by Ludwig III, until it was absorbed into post–World War I Germany, its monarchy abolished, most of the Wittelsbach assets confiscated. He’d been told that Stefan wanted to reverse all that. Exactly how and why that concerned the United States remained murky. But his orders were clear. Ascertain what the prince was after and report. Not neutralize. Or interfere. Just report.

Stefan stepped close to Ludwig’s sarcophagus.

The prince stood medium in height, narrow-shouldered, his firm cheeks darkened by a beard beginning to show only hints of gray. He had an angled face with sharp corners and a chilling smile. He spoke with the accrued authority that success brought to intelligent people. His coal-black hair was most likely colored and coiffured to perfection, his bronzed skin and crinkly-brown eyes those of someone much younger than the fifty Luke knew him to be.

“I want you to open this tomb,” the prince said.

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