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The Phantom of the Fortress (The Thunder and Lightning Series) (Volume 3)

By Aaron M. Zook Jr.

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First Chapter

Chapter One

The Troubling Trail


August 29 didn’t impress me as the day I’d find a dying man. And I wouldn’t have if not for Lightning and Mozart.

My brother, a friend, our dogs, and I stepped into Herr Gerlach’s Print Shop in Salzburg, Austria, the hometown of musical boy-genius Mozart. Cool air washed over me, scented by musty books and the tang of inks and solvents.

Lightning bolted. Tail wagging like a storm flag in a hurricane, my canine buddy darted into a doorway. His tiny body slunk under a chain with a sign that read: “Employees only.”

“Get back here,” I said. My dog’s reddish-orange form disappeared around a corner. I dodged a customer and ducked under the chain.

A yip drew me down a narrow passageway. I found Lightning, ears back, crouched with forelegs down. He barked. He’d found something important, at least to him.

“Can’t you listen?” I bent down and slid a finger through his collar. I began dragging him back to the main store area and glimpsed red on the floor. I stopped.

“What did you find, buddy?” I knelt, double-checking to make sure I wasn’t mistaken. My pulse pounded in my temples. “Stay.” I raced back to my brother Alex and our friend Willie. I spot-ted them by the front window display. “Come here. Quick.”

Willie, a nineteen-year-old Aussie, six years older than me, worked as a Polizei undercover cop. Months ago, he helped Alex, my fifteen-year-old brother, and me shut down a terrorist human-trafficking ring called Machete.

Thunder, Alex’s huge black dog, bounded into my arms. “Hold it, big fellah.” I wrestled him to a halt, arms around his neck. Keeping his ninety-pounds under control, I snagged his collar. “Alex, control him.”

“Heel.” My brother took the collar from me and jerked it once. Thunder lurched to his master’s side while Alex unclipped the green plastic chain into the private area.

“Did you find a filly, mate?” Willie cracked a big smile as he sauntered up. “You look a bit flushed.”

“It’s not a girl,” I said. “Lightning’s found…,” I realized a few customers were within earshot, “something weird.” I widened my eyes and tilted my head towards the back room.

Clipping the chain back in place, we hurried down the hall. I pointed at the floor in front of Lightning’s nose.

“I think somebody’s been stabbed.” Alex dropped to a knee. “Thunder, don’t.” Willie snatched at the dog’s tail. Missed.

The black canine shot off, followed by his wingman. Flying past a couple of long, built-in counters, they darted right.

Willie shoved us forward. “Mates, get those dogs under control. Now. We’ve got a crime scene here.”

“Lightning. Thunder. Don’t move another muscle.” I dashed after them, squeezing past Alex. Around the corner, a leg poked out of the mudroom at the back entrance. Scattered papers and broken drawers covered the prone man. The air reeked of spilled ink. In two giant leaps, I captured Thunder and forced him to lie down.

Alex whisked Lightning away from the still form jammed against the wall. In his signature move, my furball struggled to lick the man’s face.

Beyond the body, the exit door hung open, revealing stairs leading down into the alleyway. A man spun on the last step. Our eyes locked for a second. A horrible birthmark covered the right side of his face, interrupted by twisted scars. His lips curled in a sneer. Then, he vanished.

“Halt.” I released Thunder and jumped over the victim to catch him.

“Gabe, get back in here,” Alex said. “Help me. This guy’s unconscious.”

I killed my speed, catching the door-frame at the top of the stairs. “We’ll lose the attacker.” I slapped the wood hard and reversed direction.

“The victim doesn’t seem to have lost much blood.” Willie, restraining Thunder, sat beside Alex.

“That’s fresh.” I pointed at the red dots speckling the man’s shirt. “Is he breathing?”

“Like a whisper.” Alex crouched near the man’s head, hand hovering above his mouth. “He’s fading.”

“I’m calling the Polizei and the Krankenwagen.” Willie sprang to the phone.

“That ambulance better be quick.” I surveyed the wreckage. Something caught my eye. “A note.” I tapped Alex. “On his vest.” As I reached out to snatch it, Alex caught my wrist. “Let go.” I wrestled out of his grip. “The writing’s covered by a shadow.”

“Don’t pull it off.” Alex waved toward a reading lamp on a shelf opposite the slumped figure. “Use that light to see it better. Don’t touch anything else.”

“Party crasher.” I seized the lamp, angled the shade at the man’s chest, and flicked it on. I snagged one of the scattered pens and a crumpled sheet of paper from the floor to make notes.

“What does it say?” Alex set down the squirming Lightning and made him sit.

“29 August 1990. Most of the words are German.” I held my scribbled copy next to the original. “We’ll have to get it translated. And the last words are in English. He signed it, ‘The Phantom of...’ The rest is smudged.”

“Mates, I reckon we’ve got a real dog’s breakfast here.” Willie hung up the receiver and examined the other counters for clues.

“Yep.” I jabbed Alex. “A total mess.” I decoded Willie’s Australian phrases faster than my brother could blink.

“I got it.” Alex whacked me.

“The Polizei are on the way.” Willie searched the room, yanking drawers open. “The Krankenwagen will be here in two shakes to take this fellah to the hospital.”

“Hey, look at this.” I stepped over the victim’s legs and touched a piece of brown cloth stuck on a nail head, poking out from the wall behind the man. “I bet that’s part of the guy’s jacket.” Alex and Willie came closer. Willie smiled. “He didn’t hang around to say goodbye.”

“Thunder. Lightning.” Alex motioned them over to the cloth. “Track.”

Thunder stuck his nose close to penetrate the store’s inky odors. I lifted Lightning and shoved his muzzle into the cloth.

Sirens sounded outside the store. Willie dashed to the front. I tapped Alex’s arm. “Remember the package we got from “G” warning us of a trap?” G, a mysterious person, had sent packages to us before two dangerous adventures within the past year. “Feeling lucky again?”

“Maybe,” Alex said. “Doesn’t he usually send more details and clues about the real problems? It’s not even a couple of months since our last adventure. After our first mystery in ’89, we had at least six months to get ready.”

“This store is closed,” said a Polizei officer in the main store. In English and German, he told customers to leave the store. Four other cops poured into the back room. The senior policeman and Willie appeared in a heated discussion by the door, yelling. The Aussie shook his head and thrust a hand toward us.

The other policemen scoured the room, collecting the scattered documents. One cop watched as ambulance medics strapped their patient into a stretcher.

Willie trudged across the room, “Mates, we’ll have to go to the Polizei station for questioning and statements.”

“We have to meet Mom at the library in ten minutes.” Alex darted a glance at the cop and back to Willie. “Didn’t you tell him?” “Sure, mate.” Willie patted his shoulder. “Field cops don’t always listen to undercover guys.” Willie shrugged. “And my mission here isn’t for every policeman’s ears. Your Mom will have to wait until we can phone her from the station. We can leave her a message or have her paged.”

“She’s not gonna like this,” I said. “I can see her—”

“She’ll understand, mate. You’re under my supervision for this homeschool project to find Mozart’s missing scores and manuscripts.” He shook his head at the Polizei. “Let’s snoop around like actual investigators and find clues to solve the case.”

I whipped out my notes. Willie ignored me, walking toward the medics who raised the guy to load him into the ambulance.

“Tochter. Meine Tochter.” The words cut through the confusion of noise.

The medics halted. Everyone stared and waited, but no more words came out.

“Did he call for a doctor?” Alex said. “He’s going to the hospital.”

“You need to pay more attention in German class,” I said. “He’s calling for his daughter. He said, ‘Daughter, my daughter.’”

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