by Matt James
Jack showed it over the entire space, looking for where the serpent had entered. He walked up and down the immediate area and searched for a way out. Sadly, he found nothing and headed north instead. At least, he thought it was north. Still, the viper had to have gotten in from somewhere.
Before Jack started his hike, he started a timer on his watch. His feet ached, but not as much as the rest of him. He plodded along for an hour before finally seeing something promising. There was a rectangularly-cut passage in the right-hand wall of the tunnel. Jack hurried toward it and was filled with glee.
“Stairs…” he said, wishing he was hydrated enough to cry.
He followed them up with his light and saw that a cave-in blocked most of the path. The sight pissed him off more than anything had so far—and that was saying a lot. Midway through his tantrum, he stopped and looked back up the flight. If Jurgen’s pack was similar to Karl’s, then it would have a key to this lock.
Jack slipped out of his pack and unzipped it, diving into a compartment he had yet to check. He smiled when he found what he needed. Inside the rectangular case were two bricks of plastic explosives. He ascended the steps and jammed one of the clumps as deep as he could. Next came the required blasting cap and timer.
He rushed further up the tunnel and waited, counting down on his wristwatch. In its glow, he read, “Two, one, zero,” and covered his ears with his hands. The powerful whump was mostly contained by the stone surrounding the staircase. Jack watched as thousands of pounds of rock came crashing down into the tunnel. Some of them even reached the train tracks.
Jack waited for the debris and dust to settle before checking it out. He climbed up and over boulders en route to what he hoped was his escape. The way was still cluttered, but he found an available passage atop the bottleneck. It was so cramped that he was forced to remove his pack and push it along in front of him. Forty feet later, he hit another blockage.
“Come on, man!” he shouted, bashing the base of his fist on the wall to his right.
He dug back into his pack and removed the last of his explosives, setting them with a lengthy timer. He retreated as fast as he could and made it back to the tunnel with plenty of time to spare. Two minutes later, a second, quieter whump burst into the hidden world. With very little hope, Jack waddled back over to the stairwell and looked up the substantial incline. He couldn’t believe what he saw.
Light.
He practically dove into the obstructed path, dragging his belongings along with him. Up ahead, the path to freedom opened, and it put Jack’s mind at ease. Now, he was able to move on his hands and knees, though his footing was uneven and chaotic. It gave twice under his weight. He was getting too ahead of himself. So, he slowed and took more care. The last thing he needed was an inadvertent collapsing.
“Easy does it, Jack.” The light grew brighter. “You’re almost done.”
Or so he hoped.
Even though he had just told himself to take it easy, Jack’s pace increased the closer he got to the light. Then, like Gaia herself was birthing him, Jack spilled forward. He landed in a snowy field and slid ten feet before coming to a rest against a tall, leafless tree.
The sky was still light, though the sun was beginning to set. It was peaceful, wherever he was. Curious, Jack sat up and discovered that he was deep inside somebody’s backyard. The farm was enormous, settling up against the base of a rise of stone. It seemed that a secondary entrance into the famed Nazi gold train’s tunnel had been hidden in plain sight for nearly a century. If Jack had to guess, the owners of this land, at one point, had been Nazi sympathizers, like Piotr. He peered up at his exit but couldn’t see anything besides a crumbled hole. Whatever veiled doorway had been there, it was gone now.
He used the tree to get to his feet. Once there, he felt rejuvenated. The cold did wonders for you in some cases. And in others, it was depressing as shit. Now, Jack felt alive—because he was! He had been so close to death several times since meeting Emma.
Jack dug into his pocket, unlocked his iPhone, and opened the Maps app, quickly locating Auschwitz. He smiled when he saw that he was only four miles to the northwest of it. He turned in that direction, toward the Owl Mountains, and wondered what could be there, if anything at all. Now, Jack believed that the Owl Mountains had been a ploy to get people to think that it was where the gold train was located in order to keep treasure hunters off the scent. After all, it was Adolf Hitler who once said, “If you tell a big enough lie and tell it frequently enough, it will be believed.”
Jack stepped away from the newly opened fissure just as it collapsed, reburying itself for what he hoped was another eighty years. He vowed to tell no one of what he had found. It was too valuable in too many ways for modern man to have it. For now, Jack would allow his discovery to remain a secret.
Maybe I’ll see you again.
He hoped the Auschwitz security team would do the same. Jack had purposely failed to mention the treasure to them, and he had a feeling that Piotr wouldn’t be taken seriously. A Nazi sympathizer screaming about a gold train beneath Auschwitz sounded ridiculous—all while being arrested for terroristic activities. The park would hire a new director, one that would have no knowledge of the train’s location, or the secret entry within the Cellars. Jack was confident in that. Plus, Jack still had Piotr’s key.
The Nazi gold train, as well as the Templar treasure, would remain untouched.
“Woulda been nice to have a slice of it.”
He grinned, and his eyebrows lifted, remembering the half dozen handfuls of gold coins he had thrown into his pack. The plan had been to use them as a distraction against Emma while he got away. The opportunity had never come, though. As an alternative, Jack now possessed a memento to his discovery of the grandest collection of antiquities in history. It made him think of what else could be out there. He might just have to look into it.
“You never know.” He knelt and scooped up a handful of snow. Gently, he pressed it up against his face, and sighed. “You never know…”
Jack arrived back at Auschwitz an hour later. Along the way, he had continued to treat his injuries with snow. It had stung terribly but it helped numb some of the discomfort. It also brought down a little of the swelling. Luckily, there were large mounds of it on the way to his rental car. Now, all he needed was a fistful of ibuprofen and a stiff drink, and he’d be set.
Climbing inside the SUV, he spotted someone that made him smile. The teenage girl that had helped him up was just now leaving the complex, presumably after being questioned by police. The latter’s presence was everywhere. Thankfully, they were more engaged in the camp itself than the people roaming around the parking lot.
She spotted Jack and waved enthusiastically. He returned her wave with a wink and playful salute. The exchange was quick, but it spoke volumes.
Jack practically fell into his rental. Settling in, he called Bull. His partner was the only person he knew he could talk to about what he’d just been through. As Jack pulled out of his parking spot, he glanced down at his bracelets.
Strength and courage.
It made him smile. Jack knew that if shit hit the fan, no matter where he was, that he would always stand for what they represented.
Strength and courage.
EPILOGUE
Two Hours Later
He kicked awake and raised his empty hand. The last thing he remembered was leveling his pistol at Jack. No, he thought, tearing away someone else’s Kevlar vest from around his head, that’s not right.
Gunter recalled so much more between then and now, and it enraged him. The American had proven to be a worthy adversary, which shouldn’t have surprised him. The man was a former counterterrorism specialist, according to his sister. Not only were Special Forces soldiers exemplary in almost all combat scenarios, but they were smart. Jack displayed both qualities several times.
“Emma!” he shouted. His throat was dry.
No answer.
He slowly climbed to hi
s feet, his head feeling like he was on a turbulent plane ride. The pressure squeezing his skull was nauseating, and his ears were plugged.
A concussion.
Each step he took felt like a jackhammer to the temple. He tried to blink away the discomfort but to no avail. The pain was excruciating. He needed rest and a fifth of vodka.
“Emma?”
He and his sister needed to regroup and go home. The mission had been a disaster. The smart thing to do was fall back and try again at a later date. At least they had confirmed that the treasure existed. Next time, they’d start from the finish and work backward and avoid Auschwitz altogether.
“And next time, I’ll kill Jack Reilly myself.”
The man was nowhere to be seen. What would a normal man do in this instance?
“Go home,” Gunter said, stepping lightly.
Maybe I can find where he lives.
His head cleared with every footfall, but the pain didn’t. It was something he could deal with. So could Jack. Until today, Gunter didn’t know humans could have that high of a tolerance to pain.
Gunter headed for the unexplored exit tunnel and stumbled along. He followed a trail of glow sticks until he saw a lump next to the tracks. It wasn’t Jack. Somehow, he knew.
“No, no, no…” he muttered, running to the body. Once he saw the blonde hair, Gunter knew it was his sister. “Emma, no.”
The sight broke his heart. Emma was his everything, his reason to live. Gunter had kept his anger, and his alcoholism, under control because of his baby sister’s focus and her passion. After she had bailed him out of jail three years ago, he decided to rededicate himself to her and her goal. Emma wanted the world.
Tears flowed. With no one around, he openly mourned his fallen sibling. Glancing behind him, Gunter realized that the treasure was all his if he so chose to claim it.
“No,” he said, refocusing on cause of his sister’s death.
The priceless treasure wasn’t Gunter’s priority—not anymore. Now, all he cared about was vengeance. He wanted Jack Reilly’s head. The thought of killing him brought a smile to Gunter’s face. Something slipped into the forefront of his mind. He picked his head up and, once again, looked at the fortune. Then, back to Emma.
His smile grew broader.
Gunter would use some of the wealth behind him, as much as he could carry, and see to it that the American dog died the most excruciatingly painful death imaginable.
Breathing heavily, he stood and snarled. “I’m coming for you, Jack. I’m coming…”
German-occupied Poland
April 30th, 1945
Deputy Commandant of Auschwitz Klaus Wagner’s hand trembled. The smell of his smoking Luger was unbearable. It made him sick to his stomach. He had seen enough death for ten lifetimes, though, this was the first time he had ended someone’s existence by his own hand. Usually, he would’ve given an order, and someone else would’ve taken care of it.
Thirteen lives gone. He had stashed the corpses behind a row of handcarts. Now alone, Klaus had been forced to move them himself.
He knew he could never go back to his family now. Klaus’ presence would only jeopardize them more. Sadness gripped his heart. He’d never be able to see little Piotr grow up. Deep down, he hoped his son would stay away from this life. It was a gut-wrenching one.
He stood on the tracks and faced the train station. Behind him, further down the main tunnel, was the treasure room, in all of its glory. His pack sat on the platform, already bursting at the seams with gold. Glancing up the stairs to the bunker, he visualized the messenger he had just killed.
Two hours ago, the young soldier had come rushing through a secondary exit. The closest one sat ahead of the parked train. The access point had been concealed at the rear of a farm. Its owners, the soldier’s family, had happily agreed to watch over it.
Panicked, the messenger shouted, “The Fuhrer is dead! The Fuhrer is dead!”
He had immediately sought out Klaus, the highest-ranking official left, handing him a communique from Berlin. The author was none other than Martin Bormann, Hitler’s private secretary, the man who controlled all information to and from the Fuhrer. Some said that Bormann was actually the most powerful man in all of Germany. Information was vital, and Bormann decided what got through.
Breathing hard, eyes wide, Klaus was still trying to unravel what he had done. He holstered his pistol and turned around, shocked by what greeted him. There was a figure standing there, his face veiled by the natural shadows of the dimly lit subterranean world. The insignias on his collar gave away his identity. They were plain to see-as was the pistol gripped in his hand.
“Reichsfuhrer,” Klaus asked, raising his hands, “is that you?”
Heinrich Himmler stepped out of the shadows and fully revealed himself. He was still wearing his formal uniform, though it was torn in some places and filthy. It was clear that the once-powerful Nazi officer had been on the lam for quite some time. But the hardships he may have faced didn’t seem to dull his focus. The man’s eyes were as sharp and as intense as ever.
“Yes,” Himmler said, smiling like a shark, “but please, there are no pleasantries needed here. I am just Heinrich to you to now.”
Klaus swallowed and slowly dropped his hands. In response, Himmler lowered his Luger. “And your standing with the Fuhrer?”
Himmler’s left cheek twitched. “It is…complicated.”
Everyone in the party had heard of Himmler’s treachery against Hitler. It didn’t matter, though. The Fuhrer was dead, and without a figurehead at the top, everyone was more or less on their own. And Himmler was armed, and he was not a man to trifle with. Ever.
“What will you do?” Klaus asked, curious.
Himmler shrugged. “Hide for as long as I can. I will emerge when things calm down aboveground.”
The deputy commandant didn’t like the fact that Himmler showed up the day Hitler died. This wasn’t just sheer luck. Klaus knew it must’ve been more than that. His eyes opened wide in realization.
“You knew about this, didn’t you?” Himmler didn’t react, but nor did he shoot Klaus for suggesting it. “This—all of this—was a plan.”
The right corner of Himmler’s mouth curled upward. “Yes, Herr Wagner, there were contingencies set into motion if the Fuhrer or I died before we could move the treasure to our vault beneath the mountains. There were a select few that were made aware of this for obvious reasons.”
“Like Martin Bormann?” The man who had ordered Klaus to open fire on his own men. Klaus was livid. “I killed them all—I did!” He jammed a finger in his chest. “None of these men deserved to die today. They were loyal to the Reich!”
Himmler’s face soured. “Why does any of this surprise you? After everything you’ve done for the Fuhrer, after all the deaths you oversaw here, this is what has shaken your faith?”
“What about you?” Klaus asked, pointing at Himmler. The former Reichsfuhrer gripped his gun harder, but he didn’t lift it. Instead, it still hung in his hand down by his side. Klaus tried to hold back his anger but failed. “We have all heard about what you have done.”
He waited to be shot, but surprisingly, Himmler held his ground. The man sighed. “We all do what we must to survive. My life was never tied to that man,” he stepped forward, “and neither was yours.” He smiled. “Stay with me, Klaus.”
“What?” Klaus shocked. “No!”
“We will be richer than kings—richer than Hitler ever was.”
“No,” Klaus repeated. “I have a family. I…I can’t leave them behind.” He couldn’t tell Himmler that it was precisely what he planned on doing. If his falsehood was discovered, he’d be killed for lying. The Reichsfuhrer wasn’t always the most understanding man.
“Fine,” Himmler replied, bitter, “then be gone with you.”
Himmler wasn’t happy, but he, nonetheless, stepped aside and watched as Klaus gathered his belongings from atop the platform, then speedily disappeared down the tu
nnel. The man looked back every few feet to make sure that he didn’t get shot in the back.
Himmler wasn’t going to kill him, nor could he. His gun was empty.
He smiled slyly. Klaus didn’t know that, though.
Holstering his spent weapon, Himmler waited for Klaus to distance himself. After a few minutes of inaction, he spun on a heel and hurried toward the collection of valuables he had not seen in some time. Years had passed since he set foot inside her womb. Now, it was all his.
His tour of the bulging treasure room was short but sweet. He imagined what he’d buy while only spending a fraction of what was there. Himmler planned on retiring for the night, but not before finding a change of clothes. His formal uniform was disgusting and something he never planned on wearing again. He planned on burning it as soon as he removed it from his weary body.
After climbing atop the train station platform, Himmler sighed. He wasn’t the least bit tired. He looked around and decided to do a little exploring before settling in. The tunnel behind the row of handcarts piqued his interest. He’d only been into the major cavities of the bunker and the treasure room. The rest of the tunnel system was very much alien to him.
Himmler marched off, not paying attention to the pile of fresh corpses to his right. Klaus had done an admirable job, silencing anyone that might want to steal the fortune out from under Hitler’s nose.
He grinned. From ‘my’ nose.
Carefully, he jumped down from the platform, and pushed on. He found a fascinating tributary to his right, further into the tunnel.
Hmmm.
Himmler clicked on his large, clunky flashlight, got down on his hands and knees and entered, squeezing into the crevasse. He inched through, reveling in the freedom he was feeling. Himmler was his own man again. This was his life now, and he loved it.