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Rated: 13+ · Novel · Action/Adventure · #1636467
Action/Adventure - A genre mix like National Treasure and Indiana Jones
April 25, 2012 – Berchtesgaden



Mueller pulled into the driveway of a small cottage set well back off the main road. He was still furious because of his failure. The damn sniper had come within a few inches of blowing his head clean off. If it hadn’t been for a good-sized branch in front of him, he probably wouldn’t be walking around right now.

He spotted a late model Mercedes parked on the grass in front of the house. Obviously his employers either owned the house or owned the person who owned it. The directions on how to find it were difficult to follow and he had almost given up in anger. He parked his old BMW next to the expensive Mercedes and opened the door. As he got out, he pulled the PPK/S from his pocket along with the silencer. He checked the magazine then locked it back into place.

Muller pushed the front door open and walked into the farmhouse. He wasn’t worried about being attacked because Schäfer and he had done lots of productive business in the past, and the attorney was a coward. As he entered the room, Schäfer and the attorney were standing next to each other looking at him with anticipation and fear. Mueller took his time to screw the silencer onto his pistol, took one step towards them and fired point blank into the lawyer’s forehead.

The man was dead before the fear in his eyes could even register. It took almost five seconds for the body to slowly topple over like a felled tree. He turned and pointed the pistol at Schäfer.

“You didn’t tell me!” he yelled, the anger in his voice building. “You didn’t tell me that the girl was the Führer’s granddaughter!”

“I didn’t know,” Schäfer cried. “What do you mean she’s Hitler’s granddaughter? Her grandmother was Frau Wolff, Hitler’s sister.”

“And I guess you didn’t know about this second note just as you didn’t say anything about the gold!” Mueller threw the papers into Schafer’s face. “You didn’t tell me the American had a team of professionals with him either.” He raised the pistol and placed the end of the barrel against Schafer’s forehead. Schafer shook as if he was entering hypothermia.

Mueller saw a small puddle of urine spreading beneath his shoes. He was enjoying taunting the weasel of a man. Laughing, he quickly removed the pistol and put it into his coat pocket.

Slowly Schafer bent over and picked up the papers, which were spotted with his own urine. He quickly scanned the information and let out a sigh of amazement. His fear was suddenly gone. He knew that Mueller needed him.

“Do you know what this means?” he asked, waving the paper around.



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