The train’s supposed destination was the Owl Mountains near the city of Wałbrzych, now in Poland but then in Germany.

The mountains were honeycombed with tunnels dug by the Germans as part of Project Riese. Heinrich had found little solid information about this top secret Nazi project. The documents seemed to have gotten destroyed during the war and the project had never been completed anyway. It had involved extensive networks of tunnels in seven different locations, all built by forced labor coming from Auschwitz. One network lay under a castle. The others were scattered in remote areas of the mountains. There were rumors of even more tunnels, sophisticated underground cities that had been completed and fully fitted. Even academic historians took these rumors seriously. What nobody knew for sure was what the Nazis planned to use all these tunnels for.

That hadn’t stopped people from coming up with many theories. Some said the tunnels would be a hideout for the Führer and his inner circle. Others said they’d serve as a base for the Werewolf resistance group after the area had been taken over. A few crackpots said they were going to be labs to analyze crashed UFOs.

Legends of the treasure train had circulated around Poland ever since the war. No one had ever found it despite the occasional flare up of interest when some new “clue” was uncovered. These clues turned out to be duds, just like the Oak Island Money Pit and the Lost Dutchman Mine and all those other stories he had loved as a kid.

The most recent media feeding frenzy came in 2015 when two treasure hunters claimed they had used ground-penetrating radar to look through a hill and find a hundred-meter-long train inside a tunnel. The pictures looked convincing, a fuzzy image that kind of looked like a train with tanks or turrets on board. It sure didn’t look natural.

Except that it was. It turned out they had found nothing but some ice formations. No tunnel. No train. No treasure. Once again people had seen what they had wanted to see instead of what was there.

Heinrich knew all about that, so he wasn’t one to judge.

CHAPTER THREE

 

“I might need to go to Poland for this.”

Heinrich had taken the Metro North line up to prosperous Westchester County where the widow lived. From there, public transport ended, and he had to take a cab to the house, set amid two acres of perfect lawn and a fringe of trees.

The widow nodded as she poured tea. “I know. The men who murdered my husband have no more need to stay here. I have already arranged a translator to go with you.”

“I work alone.”

Mrs. Briggs set the teapot down and sat back. “Do you speak Polish, Mr. Müller?”

“No, but I can learn.”

“I hardly think we have the time.”

“A couple of days for the basics. Two weeks on the outside to get a good working knowledge, less if I’m in the country.”

“You have a rather high opinion of yourself, Mr. Müller.”

“Not at all.