The Sam Reilly Collection

by Christopher Cartwright

  It was her father.

  “Yes,” Aliana replied as she met him at the door.

  “Would you like a hot chocolate?”

  Years ago, the two of them would stay up chatting for hours, while sipping their rich hot chocolate. Real hot chocolate, the kind that only the Europeans believed in. None of this watered down, milky stuff they made elsewhere in the world.

  “Yes, I’d like that.”

  She followed him downstairs to the kitchen and watched as he added rich cocoa into a flame-lit saucepan, followed by several blocks of solid chocolate, and stirring it slowly until it turned into a molten goo of chocolate.

  He then added several drops of rich liqueur.

  The two moved to the couch and sat alongside one another, sipping their hot chocolate for a few minutes before Aliana finally spoke.

  “Dad. What’s wrong?”

  “When you were very little, do you remember when I took financial backing from a man so that I could finally get your grandfather’s company back off the ground?”

  “Yes, of course. For years the newspapers questioned who your backer was, and why, even though you own fifty percent of the company, the other half has never been seen.”

  “For more than twenty years I have not heard so much as a single word from that man, not until a week ago.”

  “What did he say to you?”

  “He told me that it’s time for him to collect.”

  Chapter Ten

  Sam read a book during the long flight from Sydney to Munich on Lithuanian Airlines. After years of working in and out of helicopters, and after having flown aboard a number of fixed wing and rotary aircraft, one might assume that he was comfortable aboard the enormous Airbus A380.

  Yet, somehow he didn’t trust something quite so large in the air.

  Tom, he noted, hadn’t woken since their departure. Like a cat, he could sleep anywhere. He nudged Tom with the sharp point of his elbow.

  “Everyone’s starting to deplane.”

  “Oh yeah?” Tom feigned disappointment. “I said wake me when the food comes around!”

  “Yeah, well I decided you weren’t hungry, and ate your food instead.”

  “Some friend, you are!” Tom said, looking aggrieved.

  At Munich’s International Airport they were met by a man named Dietrich. He was who had arranged for the delivery of the equipment they had requested, and also for a Robinson 44 four-seat helicopter to be fueled, waiting, and ready for them to board.

  They loaded their luggage into the back of the Robinson 44.

  Tom started the onerous job of ticking off each item on the pre-flight checklist. It had been a while since he’d flown such a small helicopter. It felt strange to him in the same way that an airline pilot would feel at the unfamiliar controls of a Cessna 152.

  He entered the GPS coordinates for the lodge in which they had made reservations, located at the northern end of Ötztal. It was a little over forty-five minutes by air, which they started immediately.

  Sam noticed as they flew over them that the Southern Limestone Alps lived up to their reputation for sheer beauty. The enormous limestone mountains were made of the lighter and more porous rock. In addition to limestone, they contained dolomite, marl, sandstone, and other minerals, rather than the dark granites of the more familiar Alps.

  A number of alpine lakes could be seen from the air. Their distinct turquoise-aquamarine color showed the lime content in their makeup.

  Tom pointed below and said, “Any one of those lakes could hide the Magdalena.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they’re crystal clear. If she were down there, someone would have seen her over the past seventy-five years.”

  They continued flying, the hum of the Robinson 44’s engine providing a constant background noise.

  Flying over the highest peaks on their way to Ötztal, Tom looked at Sam and pointed at the altimeter. Its reading was at 13,000 feet, and they were barely a thousand feet above the peak.

  “I doubt any airship could have made it past here.”

  “So do I,” Sam agreed. “We’ll start by searching the area to the north of here. We know the Magdalena left Munich, and that the single gold bar was found at Innsbruck, approximately twenty miles to the north of here. It’s a big area, so she could be anywhere. I’m with you though, there’s no way that she could have cleared the high Ötztal Alps.”

  Within a few minutes the alpine town of Ötztal could be seen ahead of them.

  In its alpine valley, located in Tyrol, Austria, Sam could see the Ötztaler Ache River flowing in a northern direction. The Ötztal, separates the Stubai Alps in the east from the Ötztal Alps in the west. Looking at the map, Sam noted that the valley was forty miles long, and surrounded by the confluence of the Ötztaler Ache and the Inn rivers in the east. The southern end of the valley, called the Gurglertal, terminated at the Italian border. The valley was formed by the main chain of the Alps, with many glaciers and high peaks, including the Weißkugel and the Similaun.

  Sam drew a line connecting the three edges of the alpine ranges to form a small triangle, and placed an asterisk at the top to represent Munich, from where the Magdalena was known to have departed in 1939. At that time, coming in an easterly direction, was neutral Switzerland. Due south lay Fascist-ruled Italy, and to the east, German-ruled Austria.

  He then looked at the area to the north of the Ötztal River, to a place called Bahnof, where his old friend had discovered the single gold bar, and Sam marked the spot with another X, as in “X marks the treasure.”

  Tom started to make their descent and Sam put away the map.

  He wondered if the pilot of an archaic airship possessing negligible navigational abilities could have successfully flown through the narrow Ötztal valley, thus crossing the Southern Limestone Alps, without ever raising his aircraft more than a couple of thousand feet.

  He shook his head, realizing that the thought was sheer foolishness.

  *

  Sam Reilly woke up early the next day.

  The air was crisp, and although the sun had not yet pierced the peaks of the distant mountains, it wasn’t quite uncomfortably cold. When Sam looked at the mist ahead, he felt that it mirrored his sentiments on the vast endeavor of the search ahead of him. He watched as Tom finished making their coffee.

  How could something a hundred and fifty feet long disappear for seventy-five years?

  He then considered the more important question, and how am I going to find it?

  Despite the enormity of the challenge, Sam was happy to be in Europe again.

  It had been years since he’d been to central Europe. He had once dived the canals of Venice, and had promised himself to do so again. So much history could be discovered there, but so far, he had found little reason to take Deep Sea Expeditions there.

  It was summer, but not overly warm.

  Europe never was, he decided. He’d rented a log cabin that rested at 3,500 feet. It was located in a pass that overlooked the Tyrol River.

  He had chosen the place because, unlike the rest of the Tyrolean village, which rested on the valley floor, it was perched high up in the mountains, thus saving them hours of both climbing time and fuel during the many flights that they would take over the next few weeks.

  He looked at the Robinson 44, which was perched precariously on a purpose-built helipad that rested on the edge of the mountain. Sam had half expected to discover that a strong wind had knocked it off its perch overnight, but there it was, still as graceful as ever.

  It was not a very large or powerful vehicle, but it would serve their purpose well.

  He had considered hiring a Jet Ranger or a Skyhawk, but both were so rarely seen there that people were bound to comment. The Robinson 44s were the helicopters of choice for sightseeing use by tourists. No one was going to take notice of yet another one above the Alps.

  They’d landed yesterday afternoon, but had decided to take the
time to relax and recover from their jet lag before starting in earnest.

  Tom walked in just as the kettle on the stove began to boil.

  “Morning, Sam.”

  He noticed that Tom, unlike any other traveler he knew, had actually caught up on sleep during his long-haul flight, and today, was looking even more relaxed than he had seen him for quite some time – if that was even possible.

  He would give anything to be able to sleep like that.

  “Morning, Tom. You look well rested.”

  “Thanks. I was up early.”

  “Really?” Sam was surprised.

  “So, I’ve looked into the Magdalena for you. She was supposed to be carrying the following influential families: the Goldschmidts, who were linked by marriage to the Oppenheimers. They were involved in gold bullion and diamonds; the Rosenbergs, as in the private banking Rosenbergs, who, rumor has it, funded a number of crime syndicates in the 1930s. This is what we know about them, The Goldschmidts would have been carrying large amounts of gold; the Rosenbergs may have been in possession of the Rosenberg Diamond, which was rumored to be in excess of 50 carats in a perfect emerald cut. The last was a professor, about whom we know very little. What we do know is that he was a recluse and an avid fascist, who had been working for the Nazi movement. How he came to be on the Magdalena’s manifest no one has yet been able to figure out.”

  “What were you doing on that flight Professor Ribbentrop?” Sam asked, thinking out loud.

  “It’s clear enough that the ship was carrying a fortune in gold and jewelry. Whoever is after it has already shown their willingness to do anything to prevent someone else from getting to it before they do.”

  “Any more news about the Wolfgang Corporation?”

  “Not yet. I’m still waiting for my Dad to get back to me with whatever information he’s been able to discover about our new friends.”

  Tom sat down, and set the two cups of coffee on the table next to the topographical map, in front of him.

  “What’s our plan?” Tom asked.

  “I was thinking that we’d start with where my friend found the single bar of gold bullion, and fly an aerial reconnaissance first. Perhaps the answer will present itself from the air?” Sam said.

  “That’s pretty optimistic, my friend.”

  “You never know. We both know how much clearer these things are from the air.”

  “And you don’t think your friend might have already hired a helicopter to do just that?” Tom was quick to point out.

  “Maybe he did, and that’s what got him killed. But there’s only one way to find out, and at least it’s a start.”

  After breakfast, Sam loaded his daypack and some rope into the chopper, while Tom prepared it for the day.

  They took off just as the sun penetrated the valley deep below. It looked beautiful as the rays of sunlight reflected off the snow-capped mountains.

  Only a little over fifteen minutes flight along the Tyrol valley they reached the northern entrance, where Kevin had first come across the gold bullion, which had started this entire treasure hunt.

  About a thousand feet above the place, Sam examined the location.

  It was a steep wall of limestone, which made the face of the mountain. Below that was a slight saddle through which another could be seen, and far below that lay a small lake. Dotted along the mountain face, about halfway up, were thousands of enormous pine trees.

  Kevin, he recalled, was an avid free-climber. Someone who still believed that the mountains were sacred places, which should be reserved for those few whose skills allowed them to ascend without ropes. Looking at the rocky slope below, Sam imagined that only a few rock climbers had ever scaled this mountain’s walls in the decades since the Magdalena had first left Munich.

  He found it virtually impossible to think that the mystery of the Magdalena had remained hidden for so long simply because no one had bothered to climb this particular mountain, though. Especially since it was located so close to the entrance of the popular Southern Limestone Alps.

  Tom made the decision to broaden the search area, and began to fly in increasingly wide circles around the location.

  “I can understand how a single gold bar managed to remain hidden for so long up here,” Sam said.

  He was about to continue when Tom interrupted, “But you’ve no idea how a 150 foot dirigible could?”

  “Exactly,” Sam laughed. The two of them were still thinking the same as each other.

  As the circles widened, Tom said, “I can’t see any place down there where such a large airship could have set down and yet remained unseen from the air. I mean, there’s the river down at the very bottom, but it’s nowhere near large enough to hide such a craft.”

  They continued their reconnaissance from the air, until the helicopter needed to be refueled.

  On the way back, Sam figured out how they would find the lost Magdalena. They had been coming at the problem from the wrong angle, but starting tomorrow he would rectify that.

  *

  That night, while sitting before the warmth of the fireplace, Tom poured Sam and himself a snifter of rich cognac.

  “Look at us, Sam,” he said, while pouring.

  “What?” A grin came across Sam’s face.

  “Two old men, sitting here in front of this fire, drinking cognac, the rich stench of expensive cigars scenting these leather seats.” Tom laughed, his white teeth reminding Sam of the Cheshire Cat. “Are we getting old, my friend?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sam sighed as he took another small sip of the expensive drink in his hand. “We’re only just entering our thirties.”

  “I mean, it wasn’t all that long ago that we would have camped on the mountains and climbed our way through them until we discovered our lost Magdalena.”

  “That’s true, but I bet we wouldn’t have found her,” Sam was quick to point out.

  “Yes, well buddy, after today, I’m not so convinced that we’re going to be the ones to solve this 75-year old riddle, anyway.”

  “Oh, let’s not write this thing off just yet. We’ve only just begun,” Sam replied.

  Tom had seen that same look in Sam’s eyes many times before. It was a look that said, fuck the odds, I’ll have it my way.

  “We’ll see.”

  “Tom…”

  “Yeah, Sam?” Tom filled their second glass.

  “Don’t forget, we’re still having one hell of an adventure.”

  “That we are. And, as I hope will always be the case, I will join you on your crazy escapades.” Tom drank more of his cognac, and then asked, “So what’s our next move?”

  “Okay, so I’ve been thinking about it and this is what I’ve come up with,” Sam said, handing Tom the grid map of the western side of the Alps. “There’s little point in trying to fly over every single point on this grid, because for the majority of it an airship would have been clearly visible from a helicopter.”

  “I agree.” Tom looked dubious. “So, where are we going to search for her?”

  “We’re going to do a reconnaissance of the area within this grid, of course. But we’re not going to be looking for the Magdalena.”

  “What are we going to be looking for?”

  “Any areas where such an airship could conceivably disappear for three quarters of a century.”

  “There must be hundreds of places to hide something in these mountains.” The wrinkling of Tom’s brow showed that he expected Sam to come up with a better plan than this.

  “Not hundreds capable of concealing the 150-foot canopy of the airship.”

  “No?” Tom still looked doubtful.

  “Just five.”

  “Five?” Tom was incredulous.

  “Yep, just five.”

  Sam handed Tom a second version of the same topographical map. Superimposed over this one, he had highlighted places where something as large as the airship could potentially have been kept hidden for years.

 
Tom’s pale green eyes scanned the markings on the map.

  There were a number of rivers and lakes, and the constant erosion of the predominantly porous limestone rocks that formed the mountain range would, in all probability, have created numerous limestone caves. A quick study of any topographical map would inform you that only a few of them were large enough to hide something as big as the Magdalena.

  In fact, there were only five places on this side of the Alps that were even worth considering.

  Three of these were large caves, and two were covered by deep sections of snowpack, which wouldn’t thaw out in a thousand years. Although large portions of the mountain were covered in snow, there were only two locations where the snowpack remained virtually unchanged year round. All of the lakes, although certainly large enough for an airship to disappear into, thawed out in the summer, and were too clear and unspoiled to obscure anything beneath their waters from above.

  “I think you’re on to something, Sam,” Tom said. “That is, unless the entire Magdalena has been concealed by seventy-five years’ worth of tree growth.”

  “These are predominantly pine trees covering these mountains. A thousand years of their growth would have trouble concealing the crippled remains of the Magdalena.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “I’m right. And I’m going to prove it,” Sam said, with his signature certainty.

  And I sure hope you do…

  Chapter Eleven

  Tom conducted a number of flights over the course of the next two weeks. But with each new day, he confirmed what he’d believed from the start – a ship that wants to stay hidden, will.

  The available landing sites were generally pretty poor, but the Robinson 44 was capable of landing on even the smallest locations.

  There were many large caves, tunnels, and snow fields, but none of them were quite large enough to hide the Magdalena.

  Despite the constant hum of the engine and the whine of its rotary blades, there was a melancholy quiet inside the cockpit on their return. Both men knew they had exhausted their initial theories, and their subsequent ones had come to nothing.

  In truth, Tom realized they still knew very little about what they were looking for. Their specialty was in sea-related searches, not in treasure hunting in the Alps.