by Mark Donahue
When the echoes from the blasts subsided and quiet returned to the top of the mine, Lester looked around and quickly determined he was alone. He doubted the Germans with their dwindling numbers would risk sending more men after him. So he stretched out on the rock and tried to catch his breath. After a ten-minute rest, Lester took stock of his situation, and his analysis wasn’t good. His lungs ached from the exertion and his body, particularly his back and legs, were awash with pain. His face was cut, and his arms had deep gashes from which blood poured down his arms onto the backs of his hands. But worst of all, Lester was utterly exhausted. He decided he had to get some rest if he was to continue his war against the German Army.
He also concluded that if getting some rest meant the Germans completed their task, then that’s the way she goes. He also needed a damn weapon. Both would arrive in the next six hours.
Chapter 32
Vega Mine—2014
After two hours of trying but failing to find a way into the Vega, Tom and Jon had used up their imagination and limited rock-climbing ability. Sore and dirty from knees and palms that had repeatedly banged on the rock, they returned to the air-conditioned van and quickly emptied the two remaining bottles of Evian. “If God had really wanted us to get in that fucking mine, he would’ve left a key in the door.” Jon opined.
“I’m not sure even God would have gotten in that son of a bitch, that door must be four inches thick, and solid iron. It weighs tons.”
“The only option we have is to try and hike around to the back side of the mountain and see if there are any entry points there or come back with a fucking tank and blow the hell out of that damn door.”
“Let’s go eat first, before we bring in the Army.”
Driving back down the mountain road, Jon was, without explanation to Tom or himself, suddenly into what had been Tom’s Big Adventure. Maybe it was the rock climbing, the freedom, or even the frustration of not being able to gain entrance to the mine, but whatever it was, he was no longer an unwilling participant in the hunt for gold. It suddenly engulfed him.
“We should’ve packed some food and stayed up here all day,” Jon said as he looked to his right as the men passed the Jasper mine on their way down the mountain.
“Rather stop at Elsa’s; I’m addicted to that iced tea they serve.”
“Maybe we should get a tent and just keep poking around until we get in that mine. There must be something of value in there, or they wouldn’t have locked it up like Fort Knox.” Jon said.
Glancing at his friend, Tom could see the long years in jail beginning to slowly melt away from Jon. Tom wondered to himself if, when the melting was complete, he would like what would remain.
For several months after his release, Tom felt changes in himself. Not just in adjusting to freedom or in returning to the person he was before he entered prison. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but the changes were deeper than just a response to his time behind bars. He was a fundamentally different person. At first, he rejected the change but was powerless to control his thoughts, and the thought that had haunted him most was he had been a putz and had pretty much thrown away a good part of his life. He had also hurt a lot of people. For the first time in his life he was feeling regret.
As they pulled into the crushed stone parking lot near where the helicopter had let them off days before, the men were hit by a barrage of handwritten signs in white paint on black wood placards. “Beef Jerky,” “Saltwater Taffy,” “Cold Drinks” “Horseback Rides,” “See Our Rattlesnake Pit,” “Home Cooking,” and “Homemade Fudge” were just a few of the attractive and sophisticated options that awaited them at Elsa’s Bar and Grill.
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East of Phoenix, Elsa’s opened for business in 1904, the only restaurant to serve old Route 60 running from Phoenix to Tucson. It also served the Jasper and Vega mines, and for years Elsa would pack up sandwiches, her famous beef jerky, along with Cokes, fudge, apples and make at least two runs a day to feed the men at the mines all of whom had quickly tired of the dust-laden food served by the mine companies each day.
After the mines closed, Elsa’s became part of a train station where passengers would load up on Elsa’s cooking while the train picked up passengers and water before heading east into the molten dessert. While originally only a dining room that seated twelve with a kitchen attached, Elsa’s had grown into a free form collection of buildings that now totaled over thirty thousand square feet and not only sold food, but also Indian Jewelry, cowboy boots, wallets, wine, Elvis paintings on black velvet, t-shirts, country western tapes and CDs and just about anything else a person traveling on Route 60 could use or want.
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Walking up the well-worn stone steps to the main restaurant, Tom noticed a half dozen old men sitting in wooden chairs leaning on two legs against the wall of the shaded porch that abutted the restaurant. Each man held a cup that contained the remnants of several hours of well-chewed tobacco. The patch of dark-colored spit under each of their chairs indicated that their collective aims were not all that good. It also appeared that group shortcoming did not particularly bother the men.
Eyeing Tom suspiciously, one of the men snorted, “Big sonavabitch, ain’t he?” The old man then spit at and missed his cup.
Tom smiled and nodded, walked over to the old men and asked, “Gentlemen, do any of you know anything about those old abandoned mines up the road?”
“What the hell do you want to know about those death traps, young man?” one of the old men who spit and missed his cup asked.
“I’m a history buff, sir. My friend and I were just up at the Jasper and Vega and from what we saw they’ve been shut down for some time. We were just wondering what this area was like back when those mines were operational.”
Getting blank stares and no reaction from the men for several seconds, Tom was about to give up and go inside with Jon, when one of men said, “When those mines closed, this town and the little towns that had sprung up in this valley all dried up and died. But with all the men those mines killed gettin’ silver out of those holes in the ground, it was high time they closed.”
“How many men were killed?” Tom asked.
“Some say over a hundred were killed and buried in the Vega alone, not sure ’bout the Jasper,” was the reply from one of the men who decided not to spit.
“Any of you work in those mines?”
“We’re here talkin’ to ya, ain’t we?” one of the men said, and the rest broke up in laughter in recognition of sophisticated old man humor.
Laughing with them, Tom thanked the men for the information and went inside with Jon.
Sitting in what was amusingly called air conditioning, and smelling the cacophony of beef jerky, deep fat, and strong coffee, Tom and Jon both ordered pulled pork sandwiches and chili and grudgingly admitted it was the best either had ever eaten. Swigging down their meals with raspberry iced tea and splitting a piece of fresh baked apple pie, they now realized why Jim the Asshole had spent so much time at Elsa’s.
Leaning back in his chair and stretching his still sore legs, Tom put his hands behind his head and looked out the window at the old men still in their semi-reclined position. “Those old guys are like walking history books everyone ignores.”
“They’ve forgotten more about this area than we’ll ever learn,” Jon added.
“What are you boys really lookin’ for?”
Taken by surprise, Jon and Tom looked up to see one of the old men from the porch standing over them, a half-chewed cigar crammed in his mouth.
“Sit down,” Tom said. The white-haired man slid in next to Jon.
“Thanks.”
“Something to drink?” Jon asked.
“No thanks, I’ve got to get going in a minute. Just wanted to know what you boys are really looking for up at those mines.”
> Before Jon could answer, Tom replied, “A year and a half ago my friend and I were working on a prison work gang a few miles up the road and found a twenty-pound gold ingot, and we don’t have a clue as to where it came from, or if there’s more of them.”
Staring in disbelief at his friend and looking around Elsa’s, Jon softly muttered, “Are you out of your fucking mind?”
Ignoring Jon, the old man looked at Tom for nearly a minute, alternating his gaze from the window and back to Tom. “Do you boys believe in those UFOs we all hear about?”
“Sir, my friend and I aren’t crazy, nor are we making up a...” Tom said.
“I never said you were crazy. All I asked was do you boys believe in UFOs?”
“I do,” Jon said. “It’s hard to believe we’re alone in the universe.”
“How about you?” The old man nodded toward Tom.
“I believe and for the same reasons.”
“Just wondered. You know stories no crazier than UFOs have been around these parts for a couple hundred years. So you finding a bar of gold isn’t the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. Fact is, I found some gold myself awhile back up near the Jasper after a two-day rain. But it wasn’t no twenty pounds. It was about the size of that coffee cup.”
“Was it unrefined or part of a larger piece, maybe a gold bar?” Tom asked.
“It was refined all right, smooth as milk and had the letters ‘exi’ on it.”
“Ours said, ‘Property of Canadian Government,’” Jon said. “And we found it in a creek bed a few miles south of the Jasper.”
“Do you think our finds are somehow connected?” Tom asked.
“Don’t know, but there’ve been stories over the last fifty years of other folks findin’ such things around here, but you never really know if any of it is true or not. Some folks like to make things up,” the old man said.
“Do you think the Jasper and Vega have anything to do with the gold?” Jon asked. “For instance, could a silver mine produce gold?”
“It’s happened, but it’s rare, and it would be nearly impossible to keep that kind of thing quiet. I doubt those old mines ever produced a lick of gold.”
“Then where could our gold have come from?” Jon asked.
“Look here, my name is Ben, Ben Smith. And I’m way too old to chase down gold tales and too damn old to spend anything I found, but I sure as hell believe there’s gold around here and lots of it. But I came over here to tell you boys that there are as many tales of folks disappearing looking for gold as there are tales about the gold itself. You two don’t look like prospectors to me, and when you go back to those hills, as I know you will, just keep a lookout, that’s all.”
Getting up to leave, Ben shook hands with Tom and Jon and started to move away from their table when Tom good-naturedly asked, “By the way, how did you spend the money you got from your gold?”
Smiling, the old man reached in his pocket and pulled out a leather pouch the size of a plastic sandwich bag, removed a piece of gold, smooth and flat on two sides with jagged ends. Stamped on the top of the piece were the letters “exi” with pieces gouged out before and after the letters. “What makes you think I spent it on anything?”
Staring at the broken bar, Tom and Jon both came to the same conclusion that “exi” was part of the word “Mexico” or “Mexican Government”. “Aren’t you afraid to carry that around in your pocket?” Jon asked.
“Not really,” Ben said. As he smiled wider, he lifted up his shirt and displayed an old Remington 32-caliber revolver stuck in his belt. “You boys take care now.”
“Holy shit,” Jon whispered, as Ben walked away.
For the next thirty minutes, Tom and Jon tried to recall everything Ben had told them and wavered between believing he was an old man trying to feed them some local lore, or that he had somewhat confirmed that there was more gold between Elsa’s and the entrance to the Jasper just a few miles up the road.
As Tom and Jon continued their conversation over raspberry iced tea, a white Ford pickup truck idled in Elsa’s parking lot. Inside the truck, three young men devoid of hair but resplendent in tattoo art had seen Tom and Jon when they engaged the old men in conversation before they had entered Elsa’s.
The man sitting in the middle of the bench seat, nicknamed “Mouse,” was casually leafing through a recent copy of Daily Stormer magazine. He paid close attention to announcements of upcoming marches and demonstrations that would provide opportunities to see old friends again. After he had looked up and seen Tom and John walk up the steps of Elsa’s, he offered an insightful opinion: “They don’t look like no fuckin’ miners to me.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” responded the driver named Ron, as he made a call on his cell phone. After getting an answer he said, “Hello, sir. This is Ronald, and I wanted to give you an update on those two guys we saw snoopin’ around the Jasper.”
Chapter 33
Jasper Mine—1943
Lester was used to sleeping outside and was famous on the streets of Phoenix for being able to fall asleep anytime, anywhere. Stretching out, he would fold each hand under his armpits, cross his legs, put his chin on his chest, and be out like a light in a minute. Not letting a small war with the Germans interfere with his routine, Lester slept soundly for several hours before being wakened by the sun rising over the rocks. Still sore from the night before, he slowly let his eyes adjust to the half-light and decided he really needed to pee. He rose gingerly, moved to the back of the rock cropping, and peed over the edge of the rock face and looked west toward Phoenix, its lights still radiating into pink-purple sky.
Turning back to the east, he walked toward the shaft that the Germans had used to come looking for him hours before. They had now sent and lost six men in or near the shafts, and he was certain they wouldn’t risk any more. Yet, he had no gun, and although he knew he had personally taken care of at least twelve of the guards between the truck explosion and the six men in the shafts, there could be fifty more for all he knew.
In the cavern below, Rolle woke from only three hours of sleep with the major knocking on the half-opened rear window of the Lincoln in which Rolle and Becker had slept. “Colonel, I’ve pulled my remaining six men to an area surrounding the entrance to the mine. We cannot afford further losses. I’m not sure how many men we are up against, but to overpower my men there must be at least five to six well-armed and well-trained professionals scattered throughout the mine.”
Looking at Becker still asleep on the front seat, Rolle nodded and quietly opened the back door of the Lincoln, pushing himself into the Arizona morning. He had slept fitfully after the explosion in the cavern and the subsequent attempt by the guards to trap Lester in the shaft. Hearing that more guards had been eliminated by Lester, Rolle realized that he still had a partner somewhere in the catacombs of rock that made up the mine.
“Major, it is now 6:30. Within twelve hours the first truck will arrive. Make sure your men sleep in shifts, get some food, and be ready and alert for tonight. Concentrate your men within one hundred feet of the cavern’s entrance. I agree it would be foolhardy to enter the shafts again looking for whoever is trying to disrupt our plans. By the way, are all the bodies of your men accounted for? It’s possible a few of your men could have turned on us and...”
The major’s face reddened, and he said in a low, controlled voice, “Colonel, all of my men have been accounted for. But even if they had not been, my men were chosen for their loyalty and dedication to the Führer. They would gladly give their lives before betraying our efforts.”
Watching the major walk away, Rolle already knew that what he had said about his men’s dedication was true. He had asked the question only to throw off suspicion as to who could be responsible for the death of the guards.
From inside the Lincoln, General Becker stirred and swung open the passenger side of the car. Seemingly revived and
in control of his senses, Becker seemed unaware or chose to have conveniently forgotten his performance from the night before. Seeing the major walking away, he asked, “What did the major have to report and why didn’t you wake me?”
“General, the major was simply reporting on the location of his men...”
Cutting Rolle off with a voice that hissed with anger, Becker said, “Colonel, I hope you have not forgotten that this mission is my responsibility, not yours. What other information has the major provided you that I have not been informed of?”
“None, general, the major came to me only because he was aware you were not feeling well last evening after the explosion. He felt it best you rest a bit longer this morning.”
Turning to Rolle, Becker drew up his five-foot-six inches as tall as he could, looked up at Rolle, and spat, “Ever since your arrival to this mine, we’ve had nothing but trouble. Is that a coincidence, or has spending the last few weeks in this cesspool of a country made you forget why we’re here and of our commitment?”
“General, the plans I prepared for this project had been executed to perfection until you decided to make changes without consulting me. If a coincidence exists, it is since you made those changes that chaos has taken over Operation Rebirth.”
His face now crimson with rage, Becker screamed, “Consult you? Why would I need to consult you? You, a low-level bureaucrat who could never possibly understand our goals for this operation.”
“You mean goals to make you and your fellow thieves rich with our country’s wealth?”
“Thieves? You uninformed ass. In time, you’ll learn of a group called Odessa and who makes up that group. They are men of vision, and they will soon possess the gold needed to perpetuate the Führer’s vision for the entire world.”