The Black Sun (Tom Kirk Series)
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It is a secret that has been hidden for more than a half-century. The clues have been scattered across the globe. Now someone has begun to piece them together. And the future of the world depends on their being stopped in time.
In Maryland, a vicious gang breaks into the National Cryptologic Museum and steals a Nazi Enigma machine. In a London hospital, an Auschwitz survivor is murdered in his bed, his killers making off with a macabre trophy: the old man's severed left arm. In Prague, a seemingly worthless painting is stolen from a synagogue.
Three cities. Three thefts.
Could there possibly be a connection?
Former art thief Tom Kirk certainly sees no reason to link the crimes when he is first asked to investigate. But when the stolen painting turns up alongside the amputated arm, he realizes that he has uncovered an elaborate trail of clues laid down in the dying days of the Third Reich by a secret order of SS knights. Clues leading to a fabled treasure lost in the ashes of war that is the key to a deadly game where the ultimate prize is life itself—Tom's included.
through to Turnbull last night and explained what we’d found out. He agreed to send Weissman’s arm over by medical courier first thing. It should be here any time now.” “You got me out of bed for a courier!” Archie remonstrated. “Don’t tell me you were actually comfortable on that thing.” Tom kicked the sofa and a cloud of dust danced above the seat cushion. “Fair point,” Archie conceded. A bell rang and a few moments later Dhutta appeared, his mustache freshly waxed, his hair still
class-action suit was mounted by survivors. Predictably, the U.S. Department of Justice opposed all attempts at compensation, at first denying the charges, then saying that the events were too long ago for a contemporary court to consider. But the courts ruled in the survivors’ favor, and they received a payout of close to twenty-five million dollars. A tiny fraction of what they were owed.” “Hang on a minute—” Archie had been frowning in concentration for the past few seconds. “You just said
right,” Bailey said gratefully. Cody had been helpful enough, but he was happy to be back with his own people. “So, any sign of my guy yet?” “Look familiar?” Strange handed a photo to Bailey. “That’s him, yeah.” Bailey’s eyes flashed excitedly. “When did he come through?” “An hour or so ago. Took the flight from Bonn, like you said. He’s just checked in at the Labirint.” “That’s where Kirk’s staying too,” Cunningham added. “It’s a dump, but the owners never bother registering guest visas,
keeping them for a reason.” “Well, try the bottom left-hand drawer then,” Tom suggested sheepishly. “I stuffed a bunch of old papers in there.” She slipped off the desk and opened the drawer. “Luckily for you, they’re here,” she said with relief, pulling out a large pile of newspapers and placing them down in front of him. “What do you want with all these anyway?” Tom asked. “Are you collecting coupons or something?” “Do I look like I collect coupons?” She grinned. “No, I wanted to show you
the area around the base of the Bronze Horseman was thronged with tourists and locals taking pictures. Peter the Great and his rearing horse seemed frozen in the glare of the sodium lighting, a gleaming shadow thrown up into the clear night sky. Tom was talking to Archie on the two-way radio, the microphone clipped to his collar, the clear plastic earpiece invisible against his skin. It felt slightly ridiculous, considering that they were only a few hundred feet apart, but Turnbull had insisted.