GOLDEN REICH

by Mark Donahue

  Rolle reeled from the collapse of his plans and tried to determine an alternative course of action during the thirty-minute drive to the site. Dubois tried to engage Rolle in conversation several times, but after receiving only “yes” or “no” answers, dropped his effort.

  As they headed east toward Whiskey Junction, Rolle concluded there was little he could do until he understood more fully what had created such a colossal change in plans. Then for reasons Rolle could not explain, he felt a calm descend on him that he had not experienced since Operation Rebirth had been explained to him months earlier.

  Perhaps it was the fact that for the first time he had absolutely no control over what was to occur. Whatever was to unfold in the hours ahead would come as a surprise to him. He no longer wondered if he was to live or die; he knew the answer to that question. Yet, the prospect of death did not concern him. For the first time in months, Rolle felt at ease. He let his body sink into the luxury of the Lincoln’s fine leather upholstery. Rather than feeling anxiety, he instead felt curiosity. He had to see this adventure come to an end.

  Chapter 20

  Arizona Minimum Security Prison—2012

  As they looked at the work assignments for the next week, neither Tom nor Jon said a word when they saw “laundry” next to Tom’s name and “cafeteria” next to Jon’s.

  Tom broke the silence by saying, “They’re going to pave that road next week and if they do any grading at all, they’ll find that bar.”

  “I know.” After several more moments of silence, Jon added, “All we can do is hope they don’t, and you go back in eighteen months and dig it up.”

  “We could always tell Frick and Frack where we hid it, and they could…”

  Jon turned to Tom with a look that said, “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

  “I know, I know, that was not one of my better ideas. Do you think this is God’s way of displaying a warped sense of humor, or is our luck really that bad?” Tom asked.

  “Not sure, but I keep wondering how the hell a bar of gold got all the way to Arizona from Canada and who was the poor bastard hanging onto it?”

  “Think there are any more bars? At three hundred fifty grand each, we find a few more, we’d be set,” Tom said quietly.

  “Who knows? But we have plenty of time to think about it.”

  The men agreed that Tom would, immediately after his release, go to mile marker 19 and see if the bar was still there. But they also concurred early on there was a high probability that the bar would be gone. They realized the pavers could certainly turn over and expose the bar if they graded the shoulder of the road before paving it.

  In addition to someone finding the bar, it was also possible that the bar would be paved over, and to retrieve it would require a sledgehammer, a metal detector, and a lot of luck. In short, Jon and Tom had little hope that what they once found could ever be found again.

  Over the next eighteen months, Tom and Jon were both consumed by unanswered questions: How? Who? Why? When? And were there more bars? But the questions were like an exquisite pain keeping the men alive and focused.

  As Tom’s release date approached, the men devised a code that would allow them to write or talk on the phone and discuss the gold without fear of having their messages intercepted. When Tom was able, he would go to the site to try to find the bar. In any case, he would call Jon the same day and report his progress. Given the low probability of the bar being there, the men spent most of their time planning more long-term strategies and how they would work together after Jon’s release.

  Jon dreaded Tom leaving. “It’s gonna be a bitch with you not around. Why not stay another few months? No one will notice.”

  Even though Jon’s release date was now only six months after Tom’s, they would be long ones without the only friend he had ever known in or out of prison. He also remembered the stories of how jailhouse friendships never worked on the outside. Jon knew he could trust Tom regarding the bar. He just hoped that once Tom was on the outside, Tom would not forget him, or worse, associate Jon with the darkest period of his life.

  Tom looked forward to his freedom and making his way to mile marker 19. But the euphoria of the ingot, especially since there was little likelihood of finding it again, had worn off. And though $180,000 per man made for a nice gift, it would not be enough to build a life around, even if the gold was still lying in the dirt, waiting to be found. Tom decided he would make his way back to Philadelphia and try to start a life there. If not, he needed to find a home. A place where he could make a living. Maybe even find a wife and raise a family.

  While he would miss Jon, Tom was not certain if he would or should ever see Jon again after prison. While they spoke of somehow working together after their releases, he didn’t know how if that would be possible or plausible. Yet, he had grown to love Jon like a brother, and if Jon ever needed help, he would be there for him.

  The morning of his release, Tom met Jon for their last breakfast in the cafeteria. It was a bittersweet meal. “I’ll call as soon as I get back from the mile marker. I still have my Visa card, a few grand in the bank, and I got my driver’s license renewed by mail, so I’ll rent a car and get up there this afternoon.”

  “No hurry, if it hasn’t been found by now it’ll probably be there another hundred years.”

  “I want this over with. We’ve been waiting for over a year. It’s like one of those cliff-hanger TV shows that keeps you waiting over the summer to see who shot J.R.”

  After half an hour of awkward good-byes, Tom and Jon bear-hugged for what both assumed would be the last time.

  Chapter 21

  Arizona Mountains

  The Jasper Silver mine opened in 1884 after Joseph Jasper found a piece of rock laden with silver as he looked for something to wipe off the horse shit he’d stepped in while travelling from Salt Lake to Phoenix. A remarkably unsuccessful miner until that point, Jasper kept food in his stomach and clothes on his back by performing magic tricks as he went from town to town. He made some money by occasionally finding gold nuggets in California and Nevada but striking it rich was never his dream. He loved his freedom and as he saw it, too damn much money complicated a man’s life.

  That’s why after taking his silver-laden rock into town and staking his claim, he was more than willing to sell his claim to a Denver mining company for a fraction of what it was worth if they could make a quick deal, pay him in gold, and agree to keep his name on the mine forever.

  Laughed at by those who learned of the deal and called a fool, Jasper nevertheless took his $100,000 in gold and left Arizona for Northern California. Despite his concerted efforts to avoid becoming wealthy, Jasper invested some of his money in San Francisco real estate, and the rest in a local lumber company. Both were shrewd investments that made him a millionaire, and by 1905 he was one of the wealthiest men in California.

  But Joseph Jasper was never really comfortable living in the big city. He would dream of the nights when he slept out under the stars and the freedom he enjoyed in his days as a miner/magician. He would cringe when his wife of ten years would announce yet another dinner, tea, garden party, or other nonsensical event he would have to attend. Wearing his tuxedo, he would remember his horse, pack mule, and denims and wonder how he ever got caught up in such a life.

  His chance for escape came in October 1906, when San Francisco was leveled by an earthquake at which time Jasper was in a bar on the docks playing poker, drinking whiskey, and hiding from his wife. The wooden bar he was in collapsed in the first few seconds of the quake. A gas line ruptured and fueled a fire that devoured the structure in minutes. The flames trapped several of the patrons who died excruciating deaths when they could not escape from under the wreckage. Somehow, Jasper was thrown clear of the fire.

  He attempted to get to the screaming men who were trapped, but was unable to reach them, although his hands were
badly burned when he tried to pull tons of flaming lumber off his friends and drinking buddies.

  Caught between burning buildings and the bay, his only escape was to jump in the water and swim for his life. After swimming one half mile north of the inferno, he came out of the water and made his way back to where the docks had been and discovered them burned to the waterline.

  When he overheard his name being mentioned as one of the dead among the ruins, Jasper kind of liked the idea. After he walked to his house, found it intact, and saw his wife in the street as she talked with neighbors, he made his way to the rear of the mansion and entered the carriage house to check on his horses.

  He saddled his favorite Morgan and changed into his denims and work shirt hanging in the barn. He lifted a floorboard and retrieved $100,000 in cash he kept in the carriage house for a “rainy day.” Walking his horse through the devastation of the city, he slowly worked his way east, and eventually to Reno, and was reportedly last seen at a campfire by two drifters outside Tucson. He died in his sleep on July 4, 1918, in a sleeping bag overlooking the Jasper Silver mine.

  Early on, the Jasper mine had made a fortune for its investors. Only forty miles from a major Western city and near rail lines, the mine poured out tons of silver per year and easily distributed it to the rapidly growing western markets. Overlooking a creek that flowed heavily in the winter and spring, the mine entrance, although large enough to accommodate horse-drawn wagons, was not easily seen from the dirt access road a half mile away.

  A huge rock shelf outside the mine created an optical illusion that made it appear there was no opening at the base of the hill that led to the mine’s entrance. But the most unique aspect of the Jasper was a huge cavern several hundred feet high and more than two thousand feet deep that allowed miners access to rich veins of silver deep in the mine without the laborious and dangerous drilling normally required to reach such sites.

  Cool and dry, the cavern also provided excellent working conditions for the men and acted as a staging area for their equipment as they moved tons of dirt and rock each day. The cavern was a natural entryway to the silver and a barrier from the elements. Each day the men would make their way down the dirt road, enter the cavern, and then go to the shafts they were assigned to begin their day’s work. In an industry fraught with danger and at times subhuman working conditions, the Jasper mine was considered relatively easy work in its protected environment.

  By 1905, silver production, even with improved technology, began to taper. As a result, the Denver Mining Company sold the mine to a German cartel in 1916. Promising new investment capital and state-of-the-art techniques for extracting more silver, the new owners were apparently prepared to make good on their promises when World War I exploded across Europe. All business with German companies was suspended, and by the time the war ended the cartel had lost interest in the mine, and it closed for good in 1921.

  Forgotten, the Jasper mine lay dormant for twenty-two years until its remoteness and size proved to be the perfect environment for Operation Rebirth. Its South American ownership had taken possession of the mine through an inexpensive option and notified local authorities of their intention to do some core sampling to determine if there was sufficient silver available to possibly reopen the mine. Therefore, any traffic spotted going to the remote area could be explained.

  Three weeks before the first gold was to arrive, Becker had arranged for workmen to install gasoline generators for lighting, in addition to other improvements, that would facilitate the ingress and egress of Germany’s wealth.

  Becker had handpicked twelve men to help retrofit the mine, plus eight more who were assigned to patrol the area around the site to make sure no one interfered with the operation. The German-born crew was made up mostly of strong, young soldiers, otherwise destined for the Russian front, who were smuggled into the U.S. from Mexico via South America over a six-week period.

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  As the Lincoln began its climb up the dirt road, Rolle had no idea what to expect when he reached the distribution site. Originally told by Becker not to come to the mine before the first delivery, he could not risk ignoring the order knowing that guards would no doubt be assigned to protect the site. Even bringing the four derelicts within three miles of the site had been a risk, but one he had to take.

  Within one mile past the point where Rolle had dropped off the four men earlier in the day, he saw the first armed guard. Using a walkie-talkie, the guard spoke animatedly into the mouthpiece. Within twenty-five yards of the guard, the Lincoln slowed but was waved on by a second guard. Although Rolle did not see other guards, he was certain the Lincoln was being watched all the way up the hill.

  Without warning, an armed guard appeared twenty feet in front of the Lincoln on a ridge above the road. In German, he said, “Follow the road another fifty meters and turn left. The road will be at a severe angle nearly behind you. Take the road to the bottom of the valley and someone will meet you.” Not waiting for a response, the guard turned and disappeared behind the ridge.

  Following the directions, the men still nearly missed the turn off, its angle so acute. After making a 120-degree left turn, the massive car maneuvered down the steep dirt road. Looking out the passenger window, Rolle estimated there was at least a three hundred foot vertical drop to the floor of the valley below.

  Arriving at the floor, the Lincoln was met by two more guards who immediately waved them on to the gate that lay fifty yards ahead. As they approached the gate, it was slowly opened by two more guards who directed them to the enormous cavern that had been impossible to see at any point on the steep dirt road leading to the valley floor.

  While Rolle had been given the authority to select Arizona as the general area for the distribution site, it was Becker who had selected the Jasper. It was now clear to Rolle why this location had been chosen. It was inaccessible from three directions, and the fourth was totally protected by guards. It would be impossible for anything or anyone to enter or exit the site without being spotted. As the Lincoln approached the cavern entrance, General Becker could barely be seen in the shadow of the cavern. He said something to the guard, turned, and walked back into the darkness. The armed guard came out of the cavern and motioned for the car to stop.

  DuBois cut the ignition. When he did, a heavily armed guard slowly approached the Lincoln with a rifle held across his chest, Rolle waited, but he was not sure for what.

  Chapter 22

  Arizona—2014

  A cab picked Tom up at the gates of the prison at 10:00 a.m. and took him into town where he rented a van. He went directly to the Phoenician Hotel in nearby Scottsdale. After he checked in to the luxurious hotel at 11:30, he was told his room would not be ready until 2:00 p.m.. He decided that lunch by the pool was a good idea, and after a second Arnold Palmer, decided it was time for the mystery to end.

  Heading east from Phoenix, Tom drove toward Whiskey Junction on State Route 60 then headed north into the hills on the paved road the men had oiled a year and a half before. As the miles ticked by, Tom realized that he was likely on a fool’s errand. He also couldn’t help but think of Occam’s razor from a history class he took in grad school—the simplest explanation for something was usually the right explanation. In this case, Tom realized that the simplest and most logical explanation for what happened to the gold bar was it had been discovered by someone when they graded and paved the dirt road eighteen months earlier. Despite the logic of that argument, Tom had a plan if, in fact, the gold bar had been overlooked.

  His plan was simple; he would drive up the paved road until he saw mile marker 19 and from that point begin a thorough search of the shoulder of the road with the shovel he had purchased at Home Depot. Unfortunately, Tom soon discovered that all the old mile markers were missing and had not been replaced, no doubt part of the paving efforts of the men and machinery months earlier. He also ran out of paved road,
which meant he had already driven past the spot where he and Jon had buried the bar.

  Then another depressing thought entered Tom’s brain: what if over the eighteen months that Tom and Jon had been washing underwear, more paving had been done than just the twelve miles the men worked on? That thought depressed Tom even more because it would expand the area where the ingot could be; and with no mile markers, the gold bar could be anywhere.

  Starting at a point where the dirt road ended and the paving began, Tom drove back down the hill. He went exactly twelve miles and pulled the van to the side and got out, hoping his mileage measurement had been accurate eighteen months earlier, and most importantly, there had been no more paving.

  He tried to envision where Jim had left them off that first day to begin oiling the road, but nothing looked familiar. Locking the van and putting on some old running shoes, Tom started to walk up the hill looking for something. He found nothing.

  The longer he walked uphill, the more he realized that trying to find the bar under miles of pavement was idiotic. He worried that Jon wouldn’t believe him when he told him he had not found their gold.

  He turned and looked back down the hill toward the van now nearly two hundred yards away and saw heat rising from the pavement. As he walked closer to the car, he saw something else behind it. It was an almost imperceptible line in the pavement maybe a twenty-five yards behind the Chrysler. Tom jogged toward the line, keeping his eye on it as he passed the van. He knew that if this was where the new pavement had been laid, it was also the spot that the four men had begun oiling the dirt road over a year before.

  Kneeling down, he could clearly see a two-inch line of tar that covered the seam between the original section of road where the men began their oiling work and the new section that had been paved a week later.