by Ron Smoak
Blocher nodded in agreement.
Kunze began the meeting. “Dieter, Albert tells me that you are quite an effective administrator of our work in Miami. You have a big job ahead of you. You will be the apex of our gold operations in the United States.”
Dieter sat up a bit straighter. He was very pleased with the comments. “Herr Jackson is very kind with his comments,” began Dieter. “I have learned a great deal from him. I feel confident that I will be able to fulfill your needs in Miami.”
Albert smiled and took another sip of coffee. “Dieter will do well. Not only has he worked well with the operations but his quick and decisive handling of the Nader situation was perfect.”
Kunze’s brow wrinkled slightly. “Yes. That was very unfortunate but also very necessary. I do commend you on your work, Dieter. Our sources in Miami confirmed his demise and I can also say that the authorities there are totally baffled. No clues or traces of evidence were found. That was excellent work. Sometimes we have to step out of bounds to protect our investments, you see. Your handling of such a touchy issue was noted in high places.” Kunze was alluding to the Führer.
Dieter tilted his head slightly to one side and gave Kunze a small nod of appreciation.
“On to our next opportunity,” said Kunze, redirecting the conversation. “Up to this time we have been shipping our manufactured gold in very small lots back to the U.S. with Albert’s help. Now we need you, Dieter, to take up the task of doubling our shipments beginning next week. When you get back to Miami you will be contacted by a new gentleman taking the place of the late Mr. Nader. He has been totally vetted by our security teams and can be trusted completely. Mr. Eric Clark is his name. You will have his dossier in your hands by tomorrow.”
“Very good,” said Dieter. “I look forward to working with him.”
“Good! He will also have a new operational plan for you to follow. I would give it to you now, but the Führer has yet to completely approve it.”
Dieter nodded again. “I understand completely,” he said.
When they finished their breakfast, Kunze stood. Jackson and Blocher stood as well. Kunze walked around the table and offered his hand to Dieter.
“This is a glorious time for the Reich,” he said, smiling broadly, shaking his hand. “And for you, my good friend, I look forward to working more directly with you,” he said, shaking Jackson’s hand. Kunze checked his watch. “Ahh, it is time for you to catch the helicopter. Let me walk with you.”
The trio left the dining room and walked through the complex toward the flight center. While Kunze and Jackson talked of old times, Dieter was still amazed. He was totally in awe of the complex. They walked past a children’s center where the children of the workers and scientists played and went to school. There was even a small university, cinemas, a gymnasium, basketball court and a pool. Other floors they passed through were living quarters for the inhabitants. Everything Dieter saw was state-of-the-art. He was proud to be a Nazi; proud to be involved in the entire operation.
When they arrived at the helicopter, their luggage was already packed aboard. The pilots were ready.
Kunze congratulated Blocher and Jackson on their work again and wished them well. Kunze made a particular effort to invite Blocher back again. When the two men were aboard, Kunze stepped back a safe distance and the helicopter began its starting sequence. At the same time, the large overhead doors began to open enabling the takeoff. Kunze braved the prop wash and waved a final goodbye as the helicopter lifted from the ground. Blocher and Jackson were on their way back to Miami.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
The Jungle, Brazil; 8:45 a.m.
Hugo froze. Dane froze as well. They heard the helicopter seconds before they saw it rise up over the trees ahead. The black, unmarked helicopter seemed like it came from nowhere. It was quieter than most due to some type of stealth package. Both men dove under the foliage to make absolutely certain no one could see them from above. The helicopter rose higher and higher, stopped abruptly, hovered for a second and sped away. Within thirty seconds the chopper had moved away to the east and out of range.
Dane looked at Hugo. “Bingo,” he whispered. “I think we have something. That chopper had to come from somewhere. It has to be their base. Stealth helicopters like that don’t grow on trees out here.”
“Yeah, you don’t see a chopper like that everyday. Looks like it came from about a hundred yards ahead. Let’s move up and see what we can find,” said Hugo quietly.
It was nine in the morning and the sun was climbing in the sky. While the sun made their vision much better, the probability of Dane and Hugo being seen was greater. They moved forward gingerly. They knew something was out there, but what?
About one-half klick from where they saw the chopper, the two stopped abruptly. Hugo saw it first. Through the bushes was an aluminum stanchion sticking out of the ground about a foot. They moved closer to get a better view. They could see that it was part of something man-made buried under the jungle floor. Neither Dane nor Hugo could identify what it was.
“Hold it,” said Dane. “If we are near an entrance, we have to assume the area is being monitored. There may be cameras, motion sensors and vibration sensors around each entrance.”
“I’ll check it out,” whispered Hugo as he moved over to the right.
Dane took a knee partially hiding under a bush. He worried they may have been seen or detected in some way. He watched and listened intently, ready for anything that may rear its ugly head.
Hugo was gone twenty minutes. There was no response from the base. Maybe they were lucky, thought Dane. But he was taught not to count on luck. Count on facts.
Hugo appeared out of the bush.
“I found nothing,” he reported. “Not one camera, monitor or anything. It all looks clear to me.”
“That’s what worries me,” said Dane, biting his lip. “It’s too damn easy. Let’s sit back for a few and see if anything develops.”
“Your call, Boss,” said Hugo, also taking a knee beside the bush. “I need a bit of rest anyway.”
Dane cracked a small smile. “Don’t get too comfortable. We’ve got work to do.”
They waited for twenty more minutes; nothing. During his earlier recon, Hugo determined they were on top of the base. But they had no idea of its size. Both decided to probe a bit more for an entrance. The two men skulked through the jungle brush trying to make as little noise as possible. There was no trail to be seen. As they moved about fifty meters to their left, Dane noticed a small stone half buried in the ground.
“Got one,” he said quietly to Hugo, tapping him on the arm. Hugo turned. There was what looked like a tombstone as the German told them. They both knelt around the stone looking for an opening.
“See anything?” asked Dane.
“Nothing here,” answered Hugo. He moved to his left about a meter when his foot hit something. “Wait!”
Dane stepped over. Hugo’s foot had hit a small pile of brush. But the small pile did not move.
“I think I found something,” Hugo whispered. He moved his hands around the pile. This was not a brush pile but a very well camouflaged entrance. He used his hands to outline the hatch-like opening. This was definitely a door to somewhere underground.
“So that’s where these bastards are hiding. Underground,” said Hugo. “I knew it. I knew it.”
“Makes sense,” said Dane. “I’m guessing that helicopter came from a covered underground cavern that can’t be seen from the air.”
“Now, that would be pretty sophisticated,” quipped Hugo. “Somebody spent some money to build an underground heliport. And it must be pretty big.”
“Well, if these guys are the ones with all the gold that would explain the underground complex and the stealth helicopter. Both of those would cost millions,” explained Dane. Hugo nodded his head in agreement. “So far it looks like we are on the right track.”
Hugo uncovere
d a lock mechanism on the hatch. “You ever seen anything like this?” he asked Dane as he searched for a way to open the lock.
“Actually, I have,” answered Dane, taking off his gloves and kneeling beside the hatch. “This is a European design I ran into on that quick run we had in Bosnia. Let me see what I can do here. There’s a spring-loaded lock and a counter lock. Release the counter lock and you have it.” Dane took out a small cloth folder with some metal picks and hooks. Hugo’s head was on a swivel looking around for any sign of movement. He didn’t want to let down his guard and let one of the Germans stumble upon them. While he watched, Dane worked intently. After about two minutes there was a dull click. “We are in!”
“Guess we will find out if they have entrance monitors,” Hugo said. “Keep a sharp eye.”
“Roger that,” Dane said as he put away his tools and pulled back the lock lever and opened the hatch. There was no audible alarm, just a soft low red glow. However, unbeknownst to the two, deep in the complex a small red alarm light began to flash on a security control panel.
Dane looked into the shaft quickly and brought his head back. He didn’t see anyone. There was a small empty room painted in a dark color with a soft red light. Hugo looked in and surveyed the room. It was all clear. He quickly stepped down the short ladder and into the room, his weapon ready. Scanning the room he saw only one door. He covered the door while Dane came down, closing the hatch behind him. In the red glow of the room they looked at each other. So far they had encountered no issues. They both wondered how long that would last.
In the security center the red indicator light burned brightly. The guard monitoring the board noted the silent alarm light and immediately grabbed his log book. He picked up the telephone and called in the alarm.
“Security reporting an open hatch alarm at Hatch 0-122 at 0951 hours. Request visual check,” the guard reported, waiting for further instruction.
An answer came quickly. “Security, adding Hatch 0-122 to visual check during regular check rounds. Guards are heading that way now.”
The guard noted the call and the response in his log book and returned to his monitoring.
Dane and Hugo stood in a four meter by four meter room. There was no furniture, no accoutrements of any kind in the room. The only light was two glowing red lenses on opposite sides of the room. There was no light switch. It was clear to Dane and Hugo that the soft red light was to obscure the entrance at night if the hatch opened.
“Try the door,” said Dane, stepping to the left side of the entrance to cover the opening. Hugo stepped up and pulled the lever handle. The door opened. They were met with a cool breeze. Dane could see a short hallway with a set of stairs going down about three meters ahead. He listened for a few seconds. Hearing nothing, he stepped out of the door into the hall swinging his weapon back to the left. The corridor to the left was empty as well. At the end of the passageway was another door with a small brass plate, Luftzufuhr 1-123. Dane immediately noticed the language was German. He tried the door. It was locked. Meanwhile Hugo stepped to the top of the stairs to the right. He looked down quickly. He saw no one. But he heard and felt a low rumbling.
“Clear here,” called Dane quietly.
“Clear here,” replied Hugo. He looked at Dane. “Guess we go down.”
“Lead on, buddy,” said Dane moving toward the stairs. Hugo started down leading with his weapon in a ready-to-fire position. They crept down two flights of steps to another door with a small window. Hugo looked as far right and left as he could. Again he saw nothing. With Dane behind him he turned the lever door handle and opened the door. This time he heard voices. It sounded like they were several feet away, maybe even in another room. Hugo pulled out a tiny mirror and looked down the hall to the left. He saw two men dressed in dark green coveralls walking away from them. He checked the other way. It was clear.
They both moved into the hall, one facing right and the other facing left, covering both aisles. Dane looked at the first door he came to on the right. The brass plate read Nahrungsmittelspeicher III, trocken 2-112, more German. He tried the door handle. This time the door opened. He quickly checked that no one was in the room. He turned and signaled to Hugo and they both slipped into the room. They listened and heard nothing. After a few seconds they switched on the light. There were boxes everywhere. Dane read some of the labels. Flour, Cornstarch, Salt; this was a food storage room.
“Some kind of food storage,” said Dane. Hugo moved toward the back of the room looking over more of the boxes.
“Yeah, and lots of it too,” said Hugo. “There must be tons of stuff stored in here.”
“The labels on the doors are in German. This one said something about dry storage room number three,” said Dane, watching the door. Hugo came back to the front of the room.
“This room is huge,” said Hugo. “It has to easily be forty feet by forty feet. A lot of food can be stored here.”
“And there may be at least two more of these rooms if this one is number three,” said Dane.
“See the German labels on the doors?” asked Hugo. “I think your theory was right. This is a German base of some kind.”
Dane’s thoughts went to stories about Germans fleeing Germany after World War II. Some of Germany’s worst war criminals disappeared late in the war or after the war. There were many stories regarding Nazis in South America. Some were proven, such as Josef Mengele, the so-called ‘Angel of Death’, famous for his medical experiments on prisoners at the Auschwitz Birkenau Concentration and Extermination camp in Poland. He was certain they’d found a group of Nazis here, deep in the jungle.
“I got a very bad feeling about all this,” said Dane, looking around the room. “If this is the base Wayne’s friend Nathan told us about, we have stumbled upon something huge. These are Germans from the war and they have Dana and Randall. They are somewhere in this complex.”
“If this place is as big as we think it is, it’s definitely a threat to the free world,” said Hugo, still looking around the room. “This amount of food could feed thousands.”
The security guard patrol came up the back stairs and into the small room through which Dane and Hugo had entered earlier. They looked around the room quickly. One guard climbed the ladder and checked the hatch above. It was locked. Dane had previously locked it in case someone came checking behind them.
One security guard pulled his radio from his belt, keyed his microphone, “Visual check of the alarm at Hatch 0-122 all clear.”
“Affirmative, all clear on visual check, alarm at Hatch 0-122,” came a tinny reply. The guard returned his radio to its belt holster.
“Let’s move on,” sneered one guard as they went back into the hall. “We’ll write it up to be checked by maintenance. It must be a faulty sensor.” With that the patrol moved back down the stairs and continued on their rounds on Level One.
“We’ve got company,” snapped Dane as he heard someone coming down the hall. He switched the light off. They stepped behind several pallets of flour and aimed their weapons toward the door. There was a clatter outside the door as a young man of about twenty-two dressed in a white cook’s uniform stopped his cart by the wall outside the door of the food storage room. He stopped, glanced at his watch and waited. Within a minute a young girl wearing a technician’s white coat came around the corner with a wide smile on her face. She was about his age. He opened the door, switched on the light and held the door open for her and then pulled his cart into the room. When the cart cleared the door the door closed. They both turned around to see two CAR-15 muzzles inches from their face. They were stunned. Their eyes were as large as saucers. His hands flew up into the air. She froze.
“Nicht schießen! Nicht schießen! Ich bin ein Koch! Nicht schießen!” he cried.
“Quiet! Get back here,” demanded Dane as he grabbed the man by the arm and slung him toward the back of the room. Hugo grabbed the girl by the arm and stepped up to the door and listened for anyone else coming down the ha
ll. He locked the door from the inside and moved the girl back behind the pallets of flour where Dane was with the man. They sat them both down on flour sacks.
“Sprechen Sie Englisch?” asked Dane in German to the young man.
“Yes, yes,” cried the man. “I speak English.”
“What about you?” asked Dane. He looked at the girl. He expected a yes answer from her as well.
“Yes, I can speak English.” Her tone was deliberate and cold.
“Excellent,” said Dane, looking over each of them. “Are either of you armed?”
“No, sir, we are not armed. Please don’t hurt us,” said the man quietly. “We will do anything you want.”
“What is this place?” Dane said forcefully, his weapon’s muzzle still in the man’s face.
“What do you mean?” said the man, scared to death. “It is dry food storage.”
“I don’t mean this room, you idiot, this complex. What is it?”
“This is Fortress Alpha,” the girl said as if everyone should know.
“Sit down,” demanded Dane. “Tell me about Fortress Alpha.”
“This is our home. We have thousands of people here,” said the girl defiantly. “Who are you and how did you get in here?” she asked, her voice showing contempt.
Dane was stunned at her answer regarding thousands of people. But he did not show it. “You say you have thousands here. Are they all Germans?”
The man’s eyes widened. Dane had guessed well. “Yes. Most of us grew up here. A few came from Germany but most were born here,” explained the man.
“How long has Fortress Alpha been here?” Dane asked, sensing that this cook would probably answer any question he asked.
“Since the end of the war,” the man answered calmly.