be joining us.’
She nodded enthusiastically. ‘Yes, I’ll be joining you.’
‘In that case, you need to promise us something: no more games.’
‘I promise, Jon. No more games.’
Payne stared at her. She seemed sincere. ‘I’m serious, Heidi. If we catch you in a lie or feel you’re manipulating us in any way, you’ll lose our protection. Do you understand what that means?’
She gulped. ‘Yes, I understand.’
Payne smiled. ‘Good. The chopper leaves in five.’
51
Kusendorf, Switzerland
(82 miles south-east of Bern)
The Ulster Archives was nestled against a sturdy outcrop of rock that shielded the wooden fortress from the Alpine winds that roared through the region during winter. Nut-brown timber made up the bulk of the chalet’s framework and blended perfectly with the broad gables and deep overhangs of the roof. Square windows were cut into the front facade at regular intervals and were complemented by a triangular pane that had been carved under the structure’s crown. A large picture window ran vertically through the middle of the chalet, giving people on the main staircase a spectacular view of the Lepontine Alps.
But Petr Ulster ignored the scenery as he trudged down the steps from the document vaults on the upper floors towards his private office. It was a journey he typically made several times a day, moving from room to room, helping researchers from around the world with their pursuit of historical data. Although he didn’t consider himself an expert in any particular field, Ulster had a working knowledge of every significant historical subject from A to Z.
It was a skill set that served him well as curator of the facility.
Expecting to find his freshly showered guests in his office, Ulster was drawn towards the kitchen by the sound of laughter and the smell of newly baked bread. Inside the spacious room, he saw Payne, Jones and Heidi huddled around a plate of meats and cheeses. Standing next to them was Ulster’s private chef, who was slicing a warm loaf while arguing with Jones.
‘That isn’t possible!’ the chef blurted. ‘I don’t believe you for a second.’
Ulster looked at them, confused. ‘What isn’t possible?’
Jones ignored the question. ‘I’m telling you, we jumped out of the helicopter while holding on to salami. We slid over a hundred feet, right into some trees.’
Payne nodded. ‘If you don’t believe us, ask Baptiste. He was flying.’
The chef glanced at Ulster. ‘Sir, is that what happened?’
Ulster shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I wasn’t there. But it wouldn’t surprise me. When the chopper landed to pick us up, Baptiste had to reel in a very long rope that smelled like fried salami. I thought I was imagining things, but perhaps not.’
Jones laughed while patting Ulster on his belly. ‘Your picnic basket saved some lives. Your stomach should be proud of its sacrifice.’
Ulster grabbed a slice of bread. ‘In that case, I’ll reward it.’
Payne pointed at the food. ‘I hope you don’t mind. We were waiting for you in your office, but we smelled the bread and couldn’t resist. It’s tough to think when you’re hungry.’
Ulster smiled. ‘Why do you think my office is so close to the kitchen?’
*
Once they had eaten, they went back to Ulster’s office where a research assistant had dropped off several books about Ludwig’s life. All but one were written in German. The lone exception was a coffee-table book with English captions under photographs of Ludwig’s castles, including some taken during their construction.
Payne studied one of the pictures. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see that.’
‘See what?’ Ulster asked from his desk.
‘Pictures of the building site.’
‘Why not?’ Heidi asked as she peered over his shoulder. She instantly recognized the slim towers of Neuschwanstein underneath the scaffolding.
‘When I think of castles, I think of ancient buildings that were built long before the age of photography. Then again, what do I know? We don’t have many castles in America. We’re too young a country to have ancient ruins.’
‘Have you seen photographs of Abraham Lincoln?’ she asked.
Payne nodded. ‘Several.’
She walked around the couch and sat next to him. ‘They started building Neuschwanstein a few years after Lincoln’s death - if that helps you understand the time period.’
‘Actually, it does.’
Heidi tapped the photograph. ‘Ludwig built Neuschwanstein on the site of two medieval castles that had fallen into disrepair. They used explosives to blow up the old remains before they hauled everything away. The very next year they laid the foundation stone of the new castle. The date was the fifth of September 1869.’
Jones glanced at the book from the far end of the couch and noticed