by Matt James
“Where are you going?” he asked the passage.
Jack noticed something different about this particular tunnel. He quickly widened the beam of his Mini Maglite by twisting its head. Jack gasped in response. This passage wasn’t like the others at all. It was ornately carved, similar to the main chamber of the prayer temple. Beautiful pictographs showed the history of the Knights Templar. It showed them helping others while also being victorious in bloody battles.
Moving faster now, Jack set out at a hobbled jog and skidded to a stop a few minutes later, pausing just inside the tunnel’s exit. He crept forward and was greeted by darkness. The only thing on the other side of the doorway was a yawning emptiness. The space beyond was pitch-black, and his flashlight did little to change that. When he went to narrow the bulb, it blinked and winked out.
“Dammit,” Jack muttered, shaking it hard.
It didn’t reignite. The small Maglite was dead and was now nothing more than a tiny, useless metal stick. Still, he wasn’t about to toss it aside. Jack slid it into one of the inside pockets of his jacket. Holding out his hands beside him, he took a step to his left and found the wall. Groping it blindly, he was confused when his fingertips touched something slimy.
“Ugh,” he said, holding up both of his hands.
Unable to see what he had just touched, Jack used his other senses to determine what it was. He inhaled deeply and coughed. Whatever it was, it smelled dreadful. It was both thick and slick. The only thing he could think of was that it was a form of oil.
“Why would they need this?”
And then it hit him, and Jack was grateful to still have his rock and knife. He wiped his hand off on his pants and felt his way back to the source of the oil. After a pair of strikes, he watched as a single spark landed. A fireball instantly consumed it. The flame exploded upward and then shot away from Jack, following a track—a gutter of sorts—built into the wall of the cavern. The channel containing the viscous fluid was designed and implemented for a single purpose.
It was a light source.
Jack waited to react to what awaited him, as well as the ingenuity of the gutter system and the flammable oil that had stayed viable after all these years. Finally, the fire trail ended at Jack’s right, on the other side of the doorway.
The naturally formed, though heavily retrofitted cavern, was the size of a concert hall, and it was overflowing with all forms of gleaming treasure. Footpaths were cut back and forth through piles of gold, precious jewels, and even marble and stone statues. They had all been separated by style and size.
The booty’s transportation method sat atop a recessed track in the middle of the vast, funnel-shaped room. The lower track level allowed the six transport cars of the legendary Nazi gold train to be accessed easily from “ground level,” like a typical modern-day variation. Directly behind the caboose was the tunnel leading back in the direction of Auschwitz. A second tunnel sat to Jack’s left presumably led to the north.
“This is insane!”
The value of the find had been significantly underestimated at thirty billion dollars. Jack didn’t know by how much, but he guessed it was maybe worth ten times the “reported” amount. Everything both the Nazis and Templars collected had been moved by one group and then the other.
Hitler’s people had clearly found this “vault” and decided to add to it. However, the Nazi party fell before it could be relocated again, possibly to the Owl Mountains, as so many academics have theorized.
“How long ago?” Jack asked himself, staring in wonderment.
Did the Nazis find it before establishing Auschwitz? Maybe shortly after construction of the elaborate bunker? Regardless of when, Jack was sure that if Hitler had been able to dip into this vast fortune, the tides of the war would’ve swung drastically. The Nazis wouldn’t have run out of funds and supplies. They may have even taken over all of Europe, including the United States’ allies of France and Great Britain.
Then, who knows?
Maybe they funneled supplies to Japan to help squeeze the Soviet Union into submission. The Benito Mussolini-led Italian forces would’ve strengthened significantly too. The US would’ve had their hands full against a superpower that ranged from the Atlantic Ocean across Europe and Asia to the Pacific.
“Hitler got greedy,” Jack deduced.
If the Fuhrer had started spending the cache, instead of hoarding it, they would’ve more than likely won the war. It was evident that they tried a late mobilization, but they hit a snag. The train was moved from the station beneath Auschwitz and then loaded here, though, something happened that stalled its movements.
Jack guessed that it was Hitler’s death on April 30th, 1945. Once the guy offed himself back in Berlin, the Nazi party fell into disarray before officially surrendering on May 7th of the same year. Since then, the train and treasure’s locations had been forgotten—lost to time and blood.
That was Jack’s presumption.
There could’ve also been a sect inside the Nazis that didn’t fully support Hitler as their leader. Maybe they kept all of this from him? A conspiracy within a legend that’s also a piece of an older legend.
The Himmler journal showed that the SS commander had been working in secret, maybe even behind Hitler’s back. The fact that he sent it to Emma’s ancestor and not the Fuhrer proved as much. Perhaps it was just some sort of “plausible deniability.” Have a clandestine organization down here while you did your Nazi thing up top.
Jack headed left and followed a series of descending trails through a sea of valuables. Six feet below the ring of fire were some of the larger pieces of the collection. One after the other, statues of Greek gods and goddesses meticulously carved out of both polished stone and bronze were lined up next to one another. Jack counted seven in all. They were in perfect condition except for a layer of dust that had built up over time.
The most significant piece in the room was on the other side of the cavern. It was a thirty-foot-tall stone statue of Julius Caesar. Jack had no idea how something that size made it down here. The only way that he knew of was to disassemble it and then put back together later. It’s how modern-day museums moved their oversized pieces.
To his right, and piled up behind a low wooden partition, were weapons from all eras of history. Like the statues, the armaments had been beautifully preserved. He stopped next to the elaborate handle of a sword. Slowly, Jack picked it up and pulled it free of its sheath. The unblemished curved blade of the Persian scimitar was flawless, and it glowed in the orange and yellow flames of the chamber’s fiery light.
He whistled in awe.
Putting it back was the right thing to do. Jack was going to, but then he heard shouts of excitement pick up from the tunnel to his right. What was worse was that the voices spoke German. Sword in hand, Jack ducked down just as Emma came sprinting into the treasure room. Gunter, Karl, and Jurgen were right behind her too. Jack was hoping at least one of the pricks would’ve died by now, but here he was, back to four-to-one odds.
Himmler journal in hand, Emma whooped into the air and leapt into her brother’s outstretched arms. While the Schmidts gleefully embraced, Jack moved off, gripping the sword’s hilt tight. He wasn’t a defenseless hostage anymore.
Ironically, Jack was going on the offensive with a priceless artifact as his only means to inflict damage. He also had his trench knife as a last-ditch backup plan. His eyes flicked to the man bringing up the rear. He grinned when he saw Jurgen’s HK416 in his hands.
Once Jack possessed a firearm of that caliber—pun intended—or even the German’s sidearm, he knew his odds of surviving would skyrocket. Few were as good with a rifle or pistol as Jack, and he seriously doubted any of the mercenaries below could outgun him on his worst day. His aim was steady, and his eyesight was perfect.
With renewed vigor, Jack began developing a plan of attack.
Bring it on.
Emma couldn’t believe her eyes. She’d never felt so happy in all her life. With her
brother by her side, she’d found her train. She took in the room and realized that this was more than just Hitler’s vaulted wealth.
There’s too much, she thought, briskly moving toward the train. Nothing in Himmler’s journal mentioned a collection like this. And who lit the fires?
Emma stopped in her tracks. Gunter was right beside her, carbine shoved deeply into his right shoulder.
She leaned in close to her brother and whispered, “We are not alone.”
Gunter’s eyes narrowed, and he headed off in search of their escapee, Jack Reilly.
Emma’s job was the treasure, not people. People—how to kill them—was Gunter, Karl, and Jurgen’s expertise. They were the soldiers, not her.
She turned her attention back to what she desired and was perplexed. She expected the train cars to be fully stocked, but not the rest. Plus, there were things that Hitler had never reported having. Most of what he collected was from the affluent families of the regions his armies overtook. The artifacts on display here were hundreds of years older than that.
Emma made her way to the front engine but stopped before arriving. There, on its side, was a shield that shouldn’t have been there. It was shaped like an elongated, stylized, downward-facing triangle. And there, in its center, was a red cross.
“The Templars…” she said quietly, stunned. “It can’t be.”
Emma took off at a sprint for the train engine and swiftly scaled the metal ladder. She climbed aboard and found a single occupant lying on his stomach. The man’s death had come long ago, but his uniform was still in good shape. His plain coveralls told Emma that he had been the train’s conductor.
Near the body were two spent casings.
Like the soldiers they had found along the way, it appeared that this man had also been murdered. It looked like the conductor had tried to make a break for it before he was gunned down from behind.
Seeing enough, Emma returned her attention to the discovery and smiled wide. Not only had she found the gold train, but she had also unearthed the lost Templar fortune. It all made what Hitler supposedly amassed look like pocket change.
11
In some places, the three-foot-wide pathways were overrun with valuables. Sometime in the past, the barricades had broken and allowed their contents to flood forward. Staying low, Jack shuffled over a mound of gold coins similar to the one he and Emma found back at the station beneath Auschwitz. His movements were clumsy and noisy, and they drew the attention of one of Emma’s men.
Jack saw the rifle barrel first and transferred the sword into his left hand. He scooped up a handful of loot with his right hand and quickly slung it sidearm, aiming for where he hoped the man’s head would be. Three of the five coins found their mark, connecting with Jurgen’s face. The non-lethal projectiles startled him and knocked him back. The slight delay gave Jack the time he needed to bring the sword blade up and deflect the weapon’s muzzle away.
Mid-swing, Jack slipped and let go of the scimitar. He grabbed the first thing he could—Jurgen’s lead arm. The two men immediately traded blows with one another, using whatever they could to harm the other. Jack caught Jurgen across the temple with a quick elbow strike and was thanked with a meaty fist to his ribs. Jack fell atop of the mercenary and tried to end it quickly with a swift jab to his windpipe.
It didn’t work, though. Jurgen blocked the attempt with a swat of his hand and then landed a closed fist to Jack’s face. Dazed, he stumbled back and fell into a neighboring pile of treasure.
He groaned and shook the cobwebs loose. Jurgen had hit him square in the left eye socket. It was a move that was meant to stun your opponent. It told Jack that Jurgen wasn’t just some big, dumb ox with a gun. The guy knew how to fight. Leaning forward, Jack pushed away from the pile, but the added pressure on the ancient wooden barricade was enough to splinter it.
“Damn,” Jack said, just as he and Jurgen were overwhelmed with a tidal wave.
The twenty-foot-high mound of books of all sizes rolled over the two men, burying them deep. Jack fell onto his hands and knees, having the wherewithal to shove himself off the ground.
One after the other, the dusty books pounded his back. He ducked his head down like he had when he was tossed around by the raging river. Pistol drawn, Jurgen took an oversized, leather bound volume to the forehead, and another to the groin. It was precisely what Jack was trying to avoid—even the shot to the nether regions.
The weight was too much, and Jack’s right arm gave out. But then, the books let up, and he dug and tugged his way out of the paper tomb. It took him a few seconds to wriggle free, and when he did, he smiled.
Only feet from him was Jurgen’s limp hand. It had been pinned in place, sticking straight into the air. And there, dangling from his inert forefinger, was a Glock 19 pistol. Favoring his ribs, Jack limped over and snagged the weapon, as well as a stray flashlight. Jurgen’s must’ve been dislodged from his person before he was buried. Over to his left, Jack found his erect scimitar. It looked very much like the fabled sword in the stone.
Jack wrapped his left hand around the hilt and plucked it free, happy to see that it wasn’t damaged during the most bizarre tsunami he had ever witnessed. He also gained a precious asset in the surge too. Jack also combed the area for Jurgen’s HK416 but couldn’t find it. The carbine, like its owner, was buried.
Regardless if he found the rifle or not, his odds had just gotten a lot better. If he could bet on himself, he would. Still, he needed to be careful. These weren’t inner-city gangbangers. Emma’s crew was staffed with trained professionals.
But Jack was one too.
He hustled into the next area. It was the largest one so far, and similar to the section of books, it was completely void of anything shiny. What it contained, it did so in spades. The collection of sarcophagi was eerie. It reminded him of a graveyard in a way. Most of them were from medieval times, but a few were older. Three were Egyptian and had been left untouched and unopened. In fact, Jack noted that not a single one of the coffins had been accessed.
He would’ve given anything to stop and explore. The artistry on display was remarkable. Then again, no one had discovered this place since World War II. Jack was curious as to why the Nazis hadn’t opened anything. When he was alive, Hitler had been anything but considerate.
His régime’s war crimes had been very public and a mile long.
The vast majority of the Templar wealth was from their advanced banking system that had allowed Christian pilgrims to deposit their valuables for notes of credit. Once they arrived at their destination, all they would have to do was trade in their receipt, and the Templar “bank” made good on their agreement and repaid the value stated. They only kept a small percentage for themselves as payment for their services—a donation to their cause. It made traveling much safer. Thieves quickly became aware that the pilgrims held nothing of value and steered clear of them.
If a note wasn’t claimed, whether because its owner died, or the note had been lost, and ownership couldn’t be proven, the Templars kept the property as their own, merely adding to their swelling fortune. But even they couldn’t hold onto it forever. Jerusalem fell to Islamic rule, and their grip on the Holy Land dwindled down to nothing. Eventually, the Templars fell out of favor with Pope Clement and King Philip IV and were stripped of everything.
Or so we thought, Jack thought.
If the Templars’ prosperity had continued, they would’ve rapidly become the wealthiest group in all of Europe and controlled much of the world. There was no doubt that they would’ve retaken Jerusalem at some point. Their influence and bankroll would’ve seen to it. But instead, their leadership had been put on trial by the very people that encouraged their existence. They were betrayed and brutally killed off by the vile and corrupt.
Jack slid in behind a stone sarcophagus depicting a Templar knight on its lid. The man had been classically posed with his sword and shield vertically laid across his chest.
The detail in the kni
ght’s face was surreal. Even in stone, he looked alive. Jack peeked over the dead man and watched Emma pace in front of the train’s engine. She was fully engrossed in the Himmler journal, reading it aloud to herself.
This was Jack’s chance. If he could take her as his hostage, she’d have to ensure his safety. She was only armed with a pistol, which was currently holstered on her right thigh. He was roughly fifty yards from her, and he’d have an opening to traverse to get to her. Plus, she was nearly out of accurate pistol range. He weighed his options. He’d be an easy target to anyone keeping watch. Gunter, Karl, and maybe even Jurgen were still out there looking for him, though the latter was probably still buried in paperwork. If they observed him advancing on their leader, they’d react with violence.
Unless I get to her first, he thought, thinking it through.
Even if he did get to her before they could react, then what? Jack wasn’t about to murder the woman in cold blood despite who she represented and what her goals were. He was never one to kill anyone or anything without reason. Jack wasn’t soulless.
But these guys are.
He understood what may need to happen. Gun to Emma’s head, Jack might be forced to pull the trigger. Mercenaries weren’t loyal to anything except money, and radical ones, like Emma’s men, would scatter once the snake’s head was removed.
Jack made the smart decision instead of the easy one. He circled around to the rear of the train. He did so while staying within the first layer of archaeological wonders. The collection of sarcophagi ended at the tunnel from which Emma and the others had entered. For a moment, Jack thought about slipping away and heading for the surface. They had somehow made it through the blockade back near where the track split.
“Then what?” he asked himself.
No, Jack wasn’t about to abandon his discovery. If he did, they would win.
Quietly, he climbed down onto the tracks and bypassed the exit. He pushed himself up onto the other half of the platform and rolled onto it, scrambling behind the rear car just as Gunter appeared from where Jack had been only moments earlier.