Chapter 31

"Put this on," the driver said, holding a blindfold over his shoulder. It was of the sort people wear when they wish to sleep.

"Seriously?" Wolfgang almost smiled as he took it from the man's fingers.

"Are you carrying a weapon, Herr Brandt?" the other man asked as he started the car.

"Yes," Wolfgang said.

"Very well," the driver nodded, checking traffic before pulling away. "Put the blindfold on."

"Right," Wolfgang sighed. "Wake me up when we get there."

The drive would be a long one, although without looking at his watch Wolfgang could only guess at the passing minutes. He was surprised to find he actually did nap, or at least fall into the murky depths of half-sleep while the car rolled smoothly along. It all seemed rather over-dramatic to him, but Wolfgang took that as a good sign. Why would anyone go through all this trouble if he wanted to kill them? Something else was afoot and Wolfgang had no desire to try and guess what it might be.

"You may remove your blindfold now," the driver said. "We're almost there."

Wolfgang blinked at the late afternoon sunlight as he looked through the tinted glass, seeing only trees on either side of a narrow road. A few seconds later, through a break in the forest he saw a large house, a country estate on the side of a wooded hill. There was an expanse of lawn and hedgerows alongside ancient stone walls. He lost sight of it again until the road turned and emerged from the forest and Wolfgang realized the lane they were traveling had only one destination. It wasn't a road; it was a very long driveway ending at what must have been a carriage house during much of the estate's history.

The car stopped alongside several other vehicles that were parked somewhat haphazardly. Another man had already opened the door before Wolfgang could reach for the handle. The driver turned off the engine and twisted his head and shoulders to look at his passenger.

"You may leave your weapon here," the driver said. "On the seat. No one with bother it."

"Do I have a choice?" Wolfgang wondered rhetorically, eying the Heckler and Koch MP7 hanging by a shoulder strap on the man outside.

"Not if you wish to leave the car," the driver replied without smiling.

"Very well," Wolfgang agreed, removing his pistol slowly and placing it on the seat next to him.

"If you'll follow me, Herr Brandt," the man holding the passenger door said. "Herr Mozart is expecting you."

"Mozart?" Wolfgang breathed. "This just gets better and better."

There were other men providing security around the house and grounds, Wolfgang noted. He saw at least two more men armed with MP7 submachine guns and doubtlessly there were others, concealed from plain sight. Whoever this Mozart was, he certainly seemed to be a cautious man, and a wealthy one, judging from the house.

Wolfgang was certainly no expert, but the mansion must have been at least three hundred years old. It was constructed of stone and wood, with thick ivy growing high along the façade. Inside the mansion, the floor was marble and the walls and ceilings decorated in the Baroque style that had become fashionable in Germany during the 18th century. It was all very impressive to a man who had grown up in post-Stalin East Berlin where style had been quite literally a word without definition.

"Wolfgang," a man said, looking up from the oversized desk at which he was sitting.

He was old, in his sixties perhaps or even older than that, with thinning white hair and a pinched face. Not a big man, but not small either, merely comfortable with the weight of his years. His eyes were clear and coldly gray behind his reading glasses, which the man promptly removed. He didn't smile, but there seemed to be affection in his countenance that offered the suggestion of pleasure.

"Thank you," he waved a liver spotted hand at the man who'd escorted Wolfgang into what appeared to be a study. "Close the door please..." He looked at Wolfgang. "Would you like a drink? Brandy perhaps?"

"Yes. Thank you," Wolfgang said, standing awkwardly near the center of the room.

The study offered comfortable surroundings, with dark wood paneling and thick Persian carpets on the floor, their intricate designs at odds with the bas relief tiles and fixtures decorating the walls and ceiling. A fireplace burned warm and freshly fed with several thick logs. Near it were several chairs, obviously old and very plush with satin cushions. One long wall had been entirely consumed by books, many hundreds of them. On another wall were several paintings, all of them beautiful, but the only one immediately recognizable to Wolfgang was a Picasso that he'd seen once before.

"The Acrobat's Family. The one in Goteborg is a reproduction," the old man said. "While this one is ... on loan, as they say. Do you like art, Wolfgang?"

"Some of it. This is a nice room," Wolfgang replied, walking towards his host and the large cabinet he'd opened to reveal a well stocked bar.

"Hmmm..." He made a noncommittal sound and smiled at Wolfgang. "It's a little overdone for me, but it's the warmest room in the whole damn house."

"Ah." Wolfgang smiled at that and accepted a glass of brandy.

"Do you know who I am? Let's sit by the fire," the man said. "I'd rather hoped Eva would be here as well."

"Herr Mozart, I presume?" Wolfgang said. "Eva is entertaining Herr Glauss."

"Of course. Sit, please."

Wolfgang waited until the old man had gotten comfortable before accepting the offer.

"I used to work with your father," the man said, once they were both seated at angles to each other and the fireplace. "Or I should say, he worked for me once and for many years."

"You're Stasi?" Wolfgang asked and then frowned at himself. "If you'll forgive my bluntness."

"Understandable," Mozart shrugged. "I was the section chief for Department 13 in the old days. Counter-intelligence."

"Alright," Wolfgang said. "You're telling me that's where my father worked as well?"

"Just so," the man agreed. "It was good work. Your father especially had a talent for it. He was very skilled."

"My father is in prison for treason."