“Sam, that’s almost poetic,” Remi said.

He smiled. “I have my moments.”

The intercom buzzed. Selma answered it, then walked out. She returned a minute later carrying a cardboard box. She opened the box, examined the contents, then removed them. She placed the modeled Theurang disk on the foam tray.

The disk was nearly indistinguishable from its mates.

“I’m impressed,” Sam said. “Good call, Selma.”

“Thank you, Mr. Fargo. Should we call Jack?”

“In a bit. First, though, I think it’s time we touch base with King Charlie. I’d like to get him riled enough to talk.”

“What do you mean?” asked Wendy.

“Depending on how reliable his sources in Mustang are, he may believe his plan to drown us in the Kali Gandaki succeeded. Let’s see if we can rattle his cage. Selma, can you get me a secure line on the speaker here?”

“Yes, Mr. Fargo. One moment.”

Soon the line clicked open and began ringing. Charlie King answered with a gruff, “King here.”

“Good morning, Mr. King,” said Sam. “Sam and Remi Fargo here.”

Hesitation. Then a boisterous, “Morning to you too! Haven’t heard from you for a while. I was gettin’ a bit worried you two were renegin’ on our deal.”

“Which deal is that?”

“I got your friend released. Now you’re gonna turn over to me what you’ve found.”

“You’re experiencing a case of wishful memory, Charlie. The deal was that we’d meet with Russell and Marjorie and reach an understanding.”

“Well, dammit, son, what’d you think that meant? I give you Alton, and you give me what I want.”

Remi said, “We’ve decided you’re in breach of contract, Charlie.”

“What’re you talkin’ about?”

“We’re talking about the bogus tour guide you hired to kill us in Mustang.”

“I did no such-”

Sam interrupted: “Difference without a distinction. You ordered your children or your wife to get it done.”

“You think so, huh? Well, go ahead and prove it.”

“I think we can do better than that,” Sam replied. Beside him, Remi mouthed, What? Sam shrugged and mouthed back, I’m playing it by ear.

King said, “Fargo, I been threatened by tougher and richer men than you. I hose their blood off my boots just ’bout everyday. How ’bout you just give me what I want and we’ll part company friends.”

“It’s too late for that-the friends part, that it. As for the prize you’re after-the prize your father spent most of his adult life hunting for-we’ve got it. It’s sitting right in front of us.”

“Bull.”

“Mind your manners, and we might send you a picture. First, though, why don’t you explain your interest in it?”

“How ’bout you tell me what you think you found.”

“A wooden chest, shaped like a cube, in the possession of a soldier who’d been dead for half a millennium or so.”

King didn’t respond immediately, but they could hear him breathing on the line. Finally, in a hushed tone, he said, “You really have it.”

“We do. And unless you start telling us the truth, we’re going to open it and see what’s inside for ourselves.”

“No, hold it right there. Don’t go doin’ that.”

“Tell us what’s inside.”

“Could be one of a couple things: a big coin-shaped thing or a bunch a bones. Either way, they won’t mean much to you.”

“Then why do they mean so much to you?”

“None of your business.”

From across the table, Selma, standing behind her laptop, held up an index finger. Sam said, “Mr. King, can you hold for just a moment?”

Without waiting for a response, Pete reached over to the speakerphone and tapped the Mute button.

Selma said, “Forgot to tell you: I’ve been doing a little more digging into King’s teen years. I came across a blog written by a former reporter at the New York Times. The woman claims that during an interview with King three years ago, she asked him a question he didn’t like. After staring daggers at her, he terminated the interview. Two days later she was fired. She hasn’t been able to find a legitimate job in journalism since then. King blackballed her.”

Remi asked, “What did she ask him?”

“She asked why in King’s high school yearbook everyone referred to him by the nickname Adolf.”

“That’s it?” said Sam. “That’s all?”

“That’s it.”

Wendy said, “We already know Lewis King was a Nazi in name only, and Charlie had nothing to do with any of it, so why would-”

“Kids being kids,” Remi replied. “Think about it: Lewis King was largely absent from Charlie’s life from an early age. On top of that, everywhere Charlie went he probably got teased mercilessly about his Nazi roots. It doesn’t sound like much from our perspective, but for a kid, for a teenager . . . Sam, this could be King’s hot button. Back then, he was a petulant child with no power. Now he’s a petulant billionaire with more power than many heads of state.”

Sam considered this. He nodded at Pete, who unmuted the phone. “Apologies, Charlie. Where were we? Oh, that’s right: the box. You said it could contain a coin or some bones, correct?”

“That’s right?”

“And your father wanted them for what? Some obscure Nazi occult ritual? Something Himmler dreamed up with Adolf?”

“Shut up, Fargo!”

“Your dad spent his life hunting for this. How can you be sure he didn’t have some ties to a secret postwar Nazi organization?”

“I’m warnin’ you . . . Shut your mouth!”

“Is that why you want the Golden Man, Charlie? Are you trying to finish what your goose-stepping dad couldn’t?”

From the speaker came the sound of something heavy crashing down on wood followed by jumbled static. King’s voice came back on the line: “I ain’t no Nazi!”

“The apple never falls far from the tree, Charlie. Here’s how I think it happened. Your dad learned about the existence of the Theurang during the 1938 expedition, then after the war the family moves to America, where he continues your Nazi indoctrination. In your twisted minds, the Theurang is some kind of Holy Grail. Lewis disappeared trying to find it, but he taught you well. You’re not going to-”

“That bastard! That idiot! He traipses off leaving my mother back in Germany, then does the same damned thing when she gets here! When my mom swallows a bottle of pills, he don’t even bother comin’ back for the funeral. He killed her and he don’t even have the decency to show up!

“Good ol’ eccentric Lewis! He don’t give a damn what they say about him, and he can’t understand why it’d bother me. Every day, every damned day, I had to listen to them whispering behind my back, giving me that damned Heil Hitler! All that, and I still beat ’em. Beat ’em all! I could buy and sell every single one of ’em now.

“You think I’m after the Golden Man ’cause it meant so much to my dad? You think I’m some kind of duty-bound son? What a joke. When I get my hands on that thing, I’m going to crush it into dust! And if there’s a God in heaven, my dad will be watching!” King paused, and let out a forced chuckle. “Besides, you two have been thorns in my paw since day one. I’ll be damned if you’re gonna take what’s rightfully mine.”

Sam didn’t respond immediately. One look at Remi told him they were of like minds: for the child Charlie King they felt absolute pity. But King was no longer a child, and his insane mission to exact revenge on his long-dead father had cost people their lives.

Sam said, “That’s what this is? A tantrum? King, you’ve murdered, kidnapped, and enslaved people. You’re a sociopath.”

“Fargo, you don’t know what you’re-”

“I know what you’ve done. And I know what you’re capable of doing before this is all over. I’m going to make you a promise, King: not only are we going to make sure you don’t get the Golden Man but we’re going to make sure you go to prison for what you’ve done.”

“Fargo, you listen to me! I will kill-”

Sam reached out and hit the Disconnect button.