The Last Option

by Alex Lukeman

  Watch our six.

  Lamont nodded.

  They reached the open door. Nick glanced in. A dark-haired man wearing a white shirt sat in a rolling chair at a table holding a bank of shortwave radios, his back to the door, listening to something on a set of earphones. Papers lay on the table in front of him.

  Nick held up a finger. One man. Silently, he drew his knife and eased into the room. The man sensed something and started to turn. Nick grabbed his hair, pulled his head back, and slashed his throat with the razor sharp edge of the knife. Blood sprayed out over the table and the papers. The man gurgled and thrashed. His feet kicked spasmodically and he fell from the chair, sending it across the room. It crashed into the wall.

  Someone called in German from the front room.

  "Karl? Warst du das?"

  Nick dropped Karl's body and stepped back from the blood spreading on the floor.

  "Karl?" The voice called again.

  "Go see what happened," someone else said.

  Nick signaled Ronnie and Lamont.

  The front. Go.

  The time for stealth was over. They ran the last part of the hall and burst into the room, weapons up and ready.

  The space was long and wide, taking up the entire front of the main section of the house. The front wall held the big picture windows they'd seen from outside. A log fire burned in a large stone fireplace at the far end, filling the room with warmth and light. The walls were paneled in flat, vertical pine boards, the ceiling braced by massive, hand-hewn beams. Expensive oriental rugs, leather couches, and comfortable chairs were scattered about the room.

  Four men and five women stared at the intruders from a couch and chairs grouped near the fire. Nick could smell their perfume, a thick, flowery odor that made him want to sneeze.

  Senator Palmer sat at one end of the couch, a glass of whiskey in his hand. Nick recognized Charles Morgan and Hans Beck from pictures. The fourth man was course looking, dark and stocky. He reminded Nick of a Hollywood mafia don. The women were young and beautiful and exquisitely dressed, the kind of women who might have been provided by a very expensive escort service. One look was enough to know they weren't the wives of the men sitting in that room.

  "Who the hell are you?" Palmer said.

  "We're your worst nightmare, Senator. Your buddy Reynolds is already in prison. Maybe they'll put you in the cell next to him."

  "Who are these men, Howard?" Beck asked.

  "I expect they're here to stop us from completing our plan."

  "What plan?" one of the women said.

  "Shut up, Annette," Palmer said.

  "That's no way to talk to a lady," Lamont said.

  "My goodness, it speaks," said Beck.

  Nick saw the warning signs in Lamont's eyes.

  "Don't, Lamont," he said. "All of you. Stand up and face that wall."

  The fourth man reached down between the cushions of the couch. His hand came out holding a .45. He fired twice at Nick and twice at Lamont. The bullets struck Nick in his chest armor and knocked him to the floor. Lamont cried out. Ronnie opened up with his MP7.

  The bullets stitched across the man's chest, punching holes in his elegant silk shirt. Annette screamed and jumped up. Palmer pulled a pistol from under his jacket. Ronnie swung his weapon toward him, firing. The bullets caught Palmer and Annette at the same time. Palmer went back against the couch, his arms flung out. Annette crumpled to the floor.

  Beck was up and running. He disappeared into a hall as Ronnie's bullets blew splinters from the wooden walls.

  The room stank of burnt powder. Annette lay unmoving on the floor. A sewer stench rose from where Palmer sprawled on the couch. He was dead, his eyes and mouth open. The man who'd shot Nick and Lamont was dead. The other women had retreated to a corner of the room, where they watched Ronnie in terror. One of them was crying.

  Nick stood and looked down at the holes in his vest. Like being kicked by a horse, he thought. It hurt to breathe.

  "Ronnie, Lamont's hurt," he said.

  "Just a scratch," Lamont said.

  Dark blood oozed from a hole in Lamont's thigh. Nick knelt on one knee by his friend, applying pressure.

  "One of them got away," Lamont said. "We gotta go after him."

  "Yeah. As soon as we get you fixed up."

  Ronnie took a field trauma kit from his pack. He cut open the pants over the wound, cleaned it, then sprinkled a liberal dose of antibiotic powder over it. He finished up with a quick-clot bandage.

  "He missed the arteries. That's good." Ronnie said.

  "Luck of the Irish," Lamont said.

  "Since when are you Irish?"

  "You never heard of the black Irish? I always knew you were ignorant."

  Nick said, "I hate to interrupt this witty conversation, but we need to go after Beck. Lamont, you stay here."

  Lamont reached out a hand.

  "Help me up."

  "Lamont..."

  "Help me up. You think I'm going to let you have all the fun? I can walk. He missed the bone."

  "Your call," Nick said.

  He helped him stand. Lamont tried out the leg.

  "I'm all right. Just don't ask me to run."

  Ronnie gestured at the two women cowering in the corner.

  "What about them?"

  "They're not going anywhere."

  Ronnie pointed. "Beck went that way."

  They started after him.

  CHAPTER 55

  The hall where Beck had fled led past two bedrooms, a bathroom, and another bedroom. A door at the end was open to the night outside.

  "Where is he?" Ronnie asked. "He can't get away unless he's a helluva swimmer."

  "He could've gone to that building we saw in the satellite photos, the teahouse," Nick said.

  Outside, the rain had lightened up. The teahouse was past the clearing behind the house. Before, the building had been dark. Now a door into the building was open and lights were on inside.

  They took up position on both sides of the door. Nick risked a quick glance, not sure what he'd see. Teahouse conjured up images of something vaguely Japanese, but it was an ordinary room with tables and chairs and a counter along one wall. A parquet floor was covered with scattered rugs. Closed doors promised other rooms. A large, glass fronted bookcase stood against one wall. Framed photographs hung on the walls.

  Beck was nowhere to be seen. They stepped into the room and Nick took a closer look at the photographs. Some were of the Bavarian countryside, some of a medieval European city. In most of those, the buildings were hung with the swastika of Nazi Germany.

  "Must be Nuremberg," Nick said.

  Lamont eyed the pictures and spat on the floor.

  "Nazis."

  Ronnie said, "Nazis are like cockroaches. You can never get rid of them."

  "I guess we know where Beck is coming from," Nick said.

  "Yeah, but where did he go?"

  "Through one of those doors. Where else?" Lamont said.

  They searched the other rooms. Beck was nowhere to be found.

  "Remember the ground scans?" Nick said. "There's a bunker under this building." He looked around the room. "The entrance has to be here. Maybe behind that bookcase."

  They went over to the bookcase. It was big and heavy, filled with books. It took all three of them to move it away from the wall. There was nothing there, no hidden door, no trap door in the floor.

  Nick took off his helmet and rubbed his hand through his hair. "Check the rooms again."

  They found the entrance to the bunkers in one of the bedrooms. A false wall in the back of a closet was a cleverly concealed door. It opened onto a set of concrete stairs leading down into whatever was underneath the building.

  "No way out," Ronnie said.

  "Trapped like a rat," Lamont said.

  "That makes him dangerous," Nick said. "He'll have weapons down there."

  He took a stun grenade from his pocket, pulled the pin and tossed the grenade down the stairs.
They stepped away and covered their ears. The grenade went off, a brilliant flash of light and a clap of thunder.

  Nick went first down the stairs, Ronnie behind, Lamont bringing up the rear. They reached the bottom. A steel door blocked the way.

  "Waste of a good grenade," Ronnie said.

  Nick tried to open the door.

  "No dice. We'll have to blow it."

  They had plenty of C4. Ronnie began packing explosive around the exposed hinges of the door, set into a concrete wall.

  "Guy's an idiot, if he thinks he can hang out down here until we go away."

  "He's delusional," Nick said. "If he wasn't, he never would have hatched this plot in the first place."

  "All set," Ronnie said.

  They went back up the stairs to the room above.

  Ronnie held up the remote for the detonators.

  "Fire in the hole."

  They covered their ears and he pressed the button. The explosion was loud in the confined space. A cloud of dust and bits of concrete blew out of the stairwell, settling in a fine, gray mist onto the floor.

  The stairs were littered with debris from the blast. At the bottom, the steel door lay sideways across the steps. Light shone through the opening into the bunker. Halfway down the steps, Nick picked up a chunk of concrete and tossed it down at the door. It hit the steel with a loud clang. A stream of bullets came through the doorway, chipping away more concrete, ricocheting around the walls.

  Nick took out another stun grenade. He didn't want to kill Beck if he could help it. They needed information. He pulled the pin and lobbed it into the bunker beyond the broken door.

  Even with their ears covered, the concussion was deafening.

  They ran down the steps and through the opening, splitting right and left into a large, square room with concrete walls. Beck lay on the floor writhing in agony, clutching his head with both hands. A Schmeisser submachine gun lay nearby, an antique from World War II. Nick kicked it away and stepped back. He kept his weapon pointed at the man on the floor.

  It would take a while for Beck to recover. The after effects of a stun grenade were nausea, disorientation, and confusion. It made the target temporarily blind and deaf.

  Ronnie looked around the room. It was lit from above by fluorescent lights. Along the walls were wooden crates stenciled with the Nazi eagle and swastika. At the far end of the bunker was the beginning of the tunnel they'd seen in Harker's office on the GPR images.

  "What's in those crates?" Ronnie asked.

  "More Nazi shit," Lamont said.

  "Yeah, but what? These crates are old. They have to date back to the war."

  "Probably weapons, ammo, stuff like that."

  Ronnie went to the nearest crate. He took out his Ka-bar and began working the blade under the lid, prying up on the wood. The rusty nails holding the lid screeched in protest as he worked his way around.

  He put the knife back in its sheath and pulled off the lid. He looked at the contents and whistled.

  "You're not going to believe this," he said.

  Nick moved to the crate, keeping his eye on Beck.

  "What is it?"

  Ronnie held up a heavy, yellow brick stamped with the Nazi eagle. It gleamed in the harsh overhead light.

  "Is that gold?" Lamont asked.

  "Sure feels like it."

  "Are all these boxes filled with gold?"

  Nick looked at the neat rows of gold bricks. That one crate had to be worth a couple of million dollars or more. There were at least fifty crates in the room.

  "They probably are," Ronnie said.

  "Harker's gonna love this," Lamont said.

  Beck groaned and sat up. Then he vomited.

  "He's coming around," Ronnie said.

  Beck wiped his lips. Then he focused on Nick.

  "Who are you?"

  "A group of concerned citizens. Tell us about Status 6."

  "You know about that?"

  "We know about your insane plot to start a war and ride it out. Tell me about Status 6."

  "There's nothing you can do to stop it. It won't make any difference what I tell you."

  "If it won't make any difference, then you can humor me. We know what the weapon is. Where is it supposed to go off?"

  "Where it will do a maximum amount of damage."

  "Listen to me, Beck. I don't have time to play games. Tell me where the weapon will go off, or I'm going to hurt you."

  It was a bluff. Nick wasn't going to get extreme. He was counting on Beck not knowing that.

  "Do you happen to know what time it is in California?"

  This is surreal, Nick thought. I'm standing in a bunker full of Nazi gold trying to stop World War III, and this asshole wants to know what time it is.

  Nick looked at his watch.

  "It's twenty-one thirty hours exactly."

  Beck smiled. The banker was sitting on the floor, his legs out in front of him, leaning on his left arm for support. Suddenly a gun appeared in his hand. Lamont shot him before he could fire. The burst took Beck in the chest and slammed him back onto the floor.

  Ronnie went over to him and felt for a pulse. He shook his head.

  "I'm getting careless," Nick said. "I should've searched him first thing."

  "It doesn't matter," Lamont said. "He wasn't going to tell us anything. I don't think he believed you when you said you'd hurt him."

  "He was right. Much as I would've liked to."

  Ronnie looked at the body. "Why did he ask about the time?"

  "We'll never know."

  "What's down at the end of that tunnel? Could be more gold," Lamont said.

  "I'd better call Harker."

  "We should check it out before you call her. Could be something we need to know."

  Nick looked at his watch. They hadn't learned anything. Another few minutes wouldn't make any difference.

  "I'm as curious as you are," he said.

  An electrical switch box with a lever was mounted on the wall by the tunnel entrance. Nick pulled the lever down. A string of bare bulbs lit along the roof of the tunnel.

  They started in.

  CHAPTER 56

  The tunnel was lined with fitted stone. It was wide enough to walk two abreast, high enough to walk without stooping. The air smelled stale and vaguely unpleasant, as if something had spoiled here a long time ago.

  "Somebody put a lot of work into this," Ronnie said.

  "If I remember right, it's about a hundred yards to the end," Nick said.

  The tunnel curved to the right, avoiding an outcrop of rock, then straightened again. Ahead was a brightly lit room. They reached the entrance and stepped into a large, circular chamber.

  Nazi flags stood at regular intervals around the walls. Spotlights shone on a dais of polished white marble in the center of the room. Resting on the dais was a marble sarcophagus carved with a swastika and eagle. A Nazi flag lay over it, the red fabric stained with dried blood. There were bullet holes in it.

  "What the fuck?" Lamont said.

  Nick walked to the end of the dais. An inscription was carved into the marble.

  Adolph Hitler

  Führer des Deutschen Reiches

  April 30, 1889 – May 12, 1955

  "Hitler?" Ronnie said. "Really?"

  "I don't fucking believe this," Lamont said.

  Nick let out a long breath. "Look at the dates. This says he died ten years after the war. Those stories about Hitler escaping Berlin in nineteen forty-five are true. Back then, this place was completely isolated. A perfect place to hide."

  Nick looked around the chamber, trying to take it in. He looked at the flags and the marble tomb holding the remains of one of the most evil men who had ever lived.

  "If word of this gets out, it will light fires all over the world. There are a lot of people who would turn this into a sacred shrine. We have to destroy it."

  "We've got plenty of C4," Ronnie said.

  "Start now," Nick said. "We need to get out of here.
"

  All three of them were versed in the fine art of blowing things up. In ten minutes they'd finished with the tomb.

  Before they left, Nick took pictures of the room.

  They went back along the tunnel, setting charges along the way. When they went off, the tunnel would collapse. The tomb would be destroyed, buried forever with the darkness it contained. No one would ever recover Hitler's remains.

  They emerged into the bunker with the gold. Beck's body lay in a congealing pool of blood. Nick set the final charges around the tunnel entrance and the room, using the last of the C4.

  "What about those?" Lamont gestured at the crates of gold.

  "It will still be here. We'll tell Harker and let her worry about it."

  "How about I take one of those bricks for a souvenir?"

  "We'll each take one. It's proof."

  They each took one brick of gold. Then they went back up the stairs into the teahouse.

  Ronnie said, "I hear a chopper."

  They went outside. The beat of rotors got louder.

  "Sounds like it's coming here," Lamont said.

  "Take cover," Nick said. "I want to see who it is before we introduce ourselves."

  CHAPTER 57

  They watched the chopper come in from the cover of the trees.

  "That's not one of ours," Ronnie said.

  "It's a Hind," Nick said. "Russian."

  "What are Russians doing here?" Lamont asked.

  The helicopter set down in the cleared area behind the house and powered down. A dozen armed soldiers in battle dress poured out of the bird and ran toward the main building.

  "It's an assault team," Nick said. He kept his voice low. "Spetsnaz. The Kremlin must've figured out what Petroff was up to."

  "What do you want to do, Kemo Sabe?"

  "Wait. Let's see what they do."

  "When they find Palmer and the others they'll know somebody's here."