“But with all of the priceless masters there, what’s the significance of a mediocre painting by a second-rate Nazi?”

Rebecca’s voice speeded up. “I was just getting to that. Sometimes before the invasion of Poland, Stahl visited Hitler at Berchtesgaden and the two went for a long ride into the hills. Nobody knows exactly where they went. But when they returned, Stahl had the sketches from which he painted this picture.” She tapped the photo with a well-manicured fingernail. “The painting supposedly hung in Hitler’s private quarters at a top secret military installation in Austria. Probably located near the scene depicted in the painting.”

Ridgeway reached over and picked up the snapshot again. He studied it more carefully this time. “What’s that in the corner over here?” He leaned across the table and pointed to the corner of the photo.

“We believe that’s the entrance to an old salt mine,” Weinstock said. “It’s not significant. Austria and Bavaria are riddled with them.”

“What’s the name of the picture?”

“The Home of the Lady Our Redeemer.”

“Strange. I’d expect to see saints and halos and maybe the Virgin Mary—that’s who the name refers to, isn’t it? The Lady Redeemer?’

“Remember a moment ago,” Rebecca began cautiously, “I told you they looted more than just art? That they also took antiques, reliquaries, religious objects? Well, very early in Hitler’s searches for art and valuable objects his agents managed to obtain by bribery and coercion—and murder—a religious object of great value. It was valuable enough for Hitler to actually use it against the Catholic Church to all but silence its leadership—the Pope himself—on the Nazi treatment of the Jews. Before you say nonsense, remember how little comment on the subject came from the Vatican during those years. Some have directly attacked the Vatican for this, calling it a scandal.”

Ridgeway looked at her, shaking his head. “Yes, I know that. But how? I mean, what could have that kind of influence?”

“Something, Mr. Ridgeway, that would undermine one of the church’s strongest foundations. That’s what Hitler and Stahl went to see that day they took their ride.” Rebecca’s voice was rising. “Somewhere in that painting”—she tapped the photograph agitatedly—”is the key to finding it, and I believe your wife knows what the key—”

“But what’s the painting a key to?”

“Knowing that would be very unhealthy for you,” she said. “There are men who have devoted their lives to making sure the world never finds out.”

“But if my wife’s involved… if there’s still a chance to find her, I’ve got to know everything.” He looked at her suspiciously. “What’s your role in all this? Why is it so important for you to get to the painting first?”

She chose her words carefully. “Those men I just mentioned—the ones who will stop at nothing to preserve the secret—my father was once one of them. It took many years before he realized that it was not the church they were trying to protect but themselves. Because of this, he left the priesthood and married. But he couldn’t forget what he had seen, so he made contact with a small but growing group of men in the Vatican who are trying to prune away the politically motivated dogma and lead the church back to its spiritual roots.”