the stain had been there the night before, when he talked to Nicolas. The only reason Dial had approached the door to begin with was because there was a bright light shining under it—not because he had spotted the blood. Without the light, he would have kept on walking.
“Excuse me,” said a stern voice from behind. “What are you doing?”
Dial, who was crouching near the keyhole, turned to face his inquisitor. He was expecting to find another cop. Instead, it was the monk in the black cassock and cap who had ridden across the gorge in the cable car. He was a man in his mid-thirties, with dark brown hair and a thicket of a beard that practically hid his lips. He was holding a box in his hands.
“I was looking for clues,” Dial said.
“Through the keyhole? Have you no dignity?”
Dial stood up. “Not through it. Next to it. I found some blood by the lock.”
The monk stepped forward for a closer look. Once he saw the bloodstain, his tone changed immediately. “I am sorry for my accusation. As you can probably imagine, I am still trying to grasp what happened here. It has been a shock to us all.”
Dial brushed it aside with a wave of his hand. “No apologies needed. I can only imagine what it looked like.”
The monk nodded in gratitude. “My name is Theodore.”
“Nick Dial. I’m with Interpol.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Dial—despite the circumstances. If you have any questions about Metéora, I’d be happy to answer them. I’ll be here for the duration.”
“Glad to hear it. I’m sure Nicolas will enjoy your company.”
“Nicolas? Who is Nicolas?”
Dial smiled. “Old guy, gray beard. I met him here last night.”
“You met him where?”
“Here. Right here.” Dial tapped on the door for emphasis. “He came out of this room.”
Confusion filled Theodore’s face. The type of confusion that couldn’t be faked.
“What? Is something wrong?” Dial asked.
Theodore tried to regain his composure. “I’m sorry, Mr. Dial. I don’t mean to doubt you. If you say you met a man named Nicolas, I believe you. I truly do.” He paused momentarily. “That being said, I can assure you of something else. Whoever you spoke to wasn’t a monk, and he certainly didn’t belong at Holy Trinity.”
19
St. Martin’s Square Kaiserslautern, Germany
The Kaiserslautern Military Community (KMC) is the largest U.S. military community outside the continental United States, bringing in close to a billion dollars annually to the local economy and housing nearly 50,000 members of NATO personnel, mostly from the U.S. This gave the German city, located 80 miles southwest of Frankfurt, a uniquely American flavor.
During their previous trips to Ramstein, Payne and Jones had made several contacts, on and off the base, who could have helped their cause. After discussing it, they came to the conclusion that they should go to their best source for this mission—even though he wouldn’t be cheap.
The man called himself Kaiser because he was the king of K-Town.
At least when it came to getting supplies.
Payne and Jones reached him by phone shortly after their arrival in Germany. He agreed to meet them for breakfast at a small café right down the street from the former Hotel Zum Donnersberg, where Napoleon himself once dined. Neither of them had eaten a full meal since Florida, so they were starving by the time they reached the rendezvous point.
St. Martin’s Square (or the Martinsplatz) was the gateway to the old part of town, the section of the city that survived the Allied bombings in World War II. In the square was the old city hall, which now housed a school of music and several large chestnut trees that shaded the square during the hot summer months. But at this time of year, the weather was perfect for eating outside. There was a light breeze and the temperature was in the upper sixties.
They spotted Kaiser at a sidewalk table, casually sipping coffee and reading a newspaper. He was wearing blue jeans and a brown leather jacket, the same clothes he always wore. Nothing about his appearance really stood out, which was advantageous in his line of work. He was in his mid-fifties with slicked-back gray hair and bushy eyebrows above his dark eyes. They knew he was American—an ex-supply sergeant who retired from the military when he realized he could make a lot more money on his own—but little else about him.
Just the way Kaiser liked it.
“Gentlemen,” he said, getting up from his chair. He greeted them by name and shook their