Beneath Still Waters (Rogue Angel Book 55)

by Alex Archer

  “You did get the satchel, right?” she asked.

  Garin nodded. “And the gold bar. Nice job on that, by the way.”

  Annja shrugged. She didn’t see it as all that unusual; it was what she did, after all.

  Garin frowned. “Tell me about this diver you saw.”

  Annja explained what happened, including the fact that she’d managed to injure the man, though she didn’t know how severely.

  “If no one came out of that hole before me…” she began.

  “There has to be another way in,” Garin finished for her.

  Annja had been unconscious for about two hours, so the other diver was sure to have made his getaway by this point, but they organized a search anyway, just to be sure.

  Annja, Garin and Paul boarded one of the supply helicopters and began searching the surface of the lake with the floodlight mounted beneath the aircraft while Garin’s men fanned out along the shoreline, searching the area on foot.

  Twenty minutes after they started, Garin took a radio call from one of the search teams. He listened to whatever the other man was saying for a moment and then leaned around the seat to speak to the pilot. The aircraft began making a sweeping turn to the right.

  “Griggs found something on the far side of the lake,” Garin told them. “We’re going to take a look.”

  Ten minutes later the helicopter touched down and the three of them hurried out from under the still-whirling blades to where Griggs waited for them.

  He led them to the shoreline where several flares had been arranged in a large rectangle, illuminating the area within.

  A set of vehicle tracks started at the edge of a hole in the ice and disappeared out of sight in a straight line away from the lake and into the mountains.

  Could have been anything from a snowmobile to a Sno-Cat, Annja thought.

  “We also found this,” Griggs said, leading them farther along the water’s edge. A dry suit had been discarded a few yards away from the water. It was navy blue, which Annja thought might have been the color of the suit worn by the diver she’d encountered. The kicker was that when she picked it up and examined it, she found a long gash across one thigh.

  Clearly, this was the dry suit her attacker had been wearing.

  She said as much to the others.

  “What do you think he was after?” Garin asked.

  “Whatever is in that satchel, I guess,” Annja replied.

  Paul frowned. “Doesn’t that seem kind of weird to you? You’ve got a plane full of gold bars, and this guy wants an old leather satchel?”

  “It depends on what’s in that satchel.”

  Annja glanced over at Garin, her eyebrows raised as if asking a question.

  He shook his head. “We didn’t open it. We figured you’d want to do that yourself.”

  Darn right, I do, she thought.

  To the others she said, “I don’t think we’re going to answer the puzzle standing out here in the cold. Let’s go back to base and take a look.”

  Both Garin and Paul agreed, but Garin wasn’t quite ready to give up on the mysterious diver.

  “Griggs, take a team and follow that trail,” Garin instructed. “If you find anything worthwhile, get me on the radio.”

  “Yes, sir. Will do.”

  Leaving Griggs to organize the search, the others boarded the helicopter. Once back at the base, they gathered in the command center along with Reinhold to examine the satchel.

  The bag was made of a dark leather of some kind, with a clasp in the shape of a silver swastika. The satchel didn’t appear to have suffered any deterioration or significant water damage, which made Annja think it had been stored in some kind of waterproof container beneath the pilot’s seat during the years it had been there. It had obviously gotten wet when it had been removed from its hiding place, but it had dried out fairly well in the intervening hours between then and now. Annja just hoped the water hadn’t destroyed whatever was inside.

  Using a digital camera she had brought along with her, Annja took several photographs of the front and back of the satchel, preserving a record of its condition for later study. When she was satisfied, she put the camera down and turned her attention to opening the bag.

  Like the leather of the satchel itself, the clasp was in excellent condition and opened without difficulty on the first try. Looking inside, Annja saw that the bag contained a smaller package sealed in some kind of dark, plastic-looking material.

  She reached inside and drew it out.

  The plastic was actually a sealed bag made of stiffened rubber. Annja realized that it was what would have passed for waterproof packaging during the war years and that it was most likely a document case of some kind.

  Probably the pilot’s map case, she thought.

  She used the camera to take several more pictures, despite Garin’s exaggerated sighs of impatience. Without looking at him, she said, “I’m going to do this right or not at all. If you’d rather, you can wait outside in the cold.”

  Garin didn’t go anywhere, but at least he stopped sighing.

  Annja counted that as a victory.

  When she had finished her documentation, she picked up the bag, broke the seal and looked inside.

  A sheaf of papers stared back at her. She could see the official stamp of the Third Reich at the top of each page.

  Now things are getting interesting. One thing is for certain—this is no ordinary map case.

  Moving very carefully, conscious of both the age and the possibility of water damage from the damp satchel to the papers themselves, she reached in and drew the stack out of the bag.

  She knew just from the feel of them that they were intact and undamaged despite being underwater for so long. From her view, the guy who devised the waterproof bag from which they’d been removed deserved a medal; even today’s containers would have had a hard time providing as much protection. She laid out the pages one after another on the table in front of her.

  They were yellowed with age, and fragile as a result, but still easily readable.

  There was only one problem.

  They were in German.

  Annja’s German was rusty, but they didn’t have to rely on her translation skills.

  “Garin, would you be so kind?”

  “Of course,” he said, walking around to her side of the table to get a better view. He leaned over the page for a moment, scanned it, then gave a low whistle. Before anyone could ask what he meant, he began translating aloud.

  Martin,

  As I write this, the Soviet attack on our beloved capital has begun. I have begun making preparations to leave the city behind and move the Party to the new Führerhauptquartiere on Wolf Island. I shall be there within two weeks. I have already sent the bulk of the treasury ahead of me to fund the next phase of our operations.

  I know the existence of this new Führerhauptquartiere is most likely news to you. I’m sorry I could not take you into my confidence before this, but the eyes that are upon us are many and it is difficult to know who to trust at this late hour. Your recent exploits have assured me that you are still firmly on the side of the Reich and so I am passing this knowledge on to you. All you need to locate the island is contained herein.

  This courier is carrying the funds needed to finish the final preparations. Major Adler, who accompanies them, can be trusted fully to act on behalf of the Reich in all things. Use him as you see fit to assist you in this endeavor.

  I shall join you shortly.

  Long live the Reich!

  Adolf Hitler

  Silence reigned for a moment after Garin had finished reading and then everyone tried to talk at once. Annja brought her fingers to her lips and whistled sharply, cutting them off in midsentence.

  “All right, settle down. Let’s not lose our cool at this point, okay?”

  The others nodded, but the excitement in the room remained high.

  Annja turned to Garin. “Is there anything else?”

  “
There is a series of symbols below the signature, but that’s all.”

  “How about the other pages?”

  Garin took a few moments, examining each one. Annja could see that Paul and Reinhold were practically bursting with questions, but she held up a finger, indicating they should wait until she received her answer.

  At last Garin said, “As far as I can tell, these are the cargo manifests for several freighters carrying goods on behalf of the Führer. Construction supplies, arms and equipment, even furniture are listed on the various pages, complete with number and weight of each of the items.”

  “Is there a destination listed?”

  Garin shook his head. “No.”

  A glance at Paul told her he could barely contain his excitement, so she nodded in his direction.

  “I’m sorry,” he began, “but what’s a Führerhauptquartiere?”

  Reinhold answered first. “The direct translation is Führer Headquarters. It is the name commonly given to the various headquarters used by Adolf Hitler during World War II.”

  “Like the Führer Bunker?”

  Reinhold nodded. “Yes. The Wolfsshanze, or Wolf’s Lair, and Berghold, the Eagle’s Nest, are two others. There were at least half a dozen, if not more.”

  “And now, apparently, we’ve discovered another,” Annja said. She turned to Garin and Reinhold, both German citizens despite the centuries that separated them. “Have either of you ever heard of this Wolf Island?”

  They both shook their heads.

  Reinhold leaned over the table, staring at the letter. “It’s addressed to Martin. Could that be Martin Bormann?”

  “That would be my guess,” Annja replied. She glanced at Garin, who agreed that Bormann was the most likely recipient in his view, as well.

  Martin Bormann had been a prominent official in the Nazi Party, having served as both the Party Chancellery, and as Hitler’s private secretary for many years. He had remained loyal to Hitler up to the very end and for years had been thought to have escaped to parts unknown after Hitler’s suicide.

  More recent historical works stated that he had, in fact, committed suicide on a bridge near Lehrter Station, the main railway connecting Berlin to Hamburg, in order to avoid capture by the Russians during the fall of Berlin, just days after his Führer had taken his own life.

  Now here was this letter, seemingly written in Hitler’s own hand, suggesting that Bormann had actually been somewhere else during the time in question.

  Could it be true? Annja wondered. Could the rumors of Bormann’s survival and the plan to create a Fourth Reich out of the ashes of the Third actually have some substance to them?

  It was the kind of information that could rewrite history, and she felt the call of the mystery as an almost physical force. It was exactly the kind of intriguing puzzle that she would normally jump to investigate.

  But she couldn’t.

  At least, not yet.

  Right now our priority is salvaging the gold from the plane and trading it for Doug’s life, she reminded herself. Nothing else matters until that task is complete.

  “As interesting as all of this is,” Annja said to the others, “none of it helps us free Doug from the kidnapper’s control. As much as I hate to do it, we need to table any further discussion of this topic until after we’ve rescued Doug.”

  To her satisfaction, no one disagreed.

  Chapter 14

  “What, exactly, are you expected to do?” Reinhold asked, reminding Annja that he hadn’t been there from the beginning and had only heard a few of the pertinent details.

  She quickly filled him in.

  Reinhold listened to her explanation and then said, “The kidnapper demanded that you find the aircraft. You’ve done so. Isn’t that enough?”

  Oh, if only it were that easy, Annja thought.

  Yes, the kidnapper had ordered her to find the aircraft, no doubt so he could recover the gold before anyone else. Annja had no doubt that he hadn’t expected the airplane to be at the bottom of an Alpine lake; she certainly hadn’t, so why should he?

  That was where things got complicated. She could leave the plane—and the gold it contained—right where it was and hope for the best, or she could do what she could to recover the gold in the time they still had available to them in the hopes that the kidnapper would see that as going above and beyond the call of duty and treat Doug commensurately.

  While she wished she could say that the kidnapper had been reasonable in his demands so far, that certainly wasn’t the case. Expecting her to find the location of an aircraft that had gone missing seventy years earlier at the end of the biggest war the world had ever seen, and to do it in seven days, was about as far from possible as she could imagine. She had little doubt that the only way she was getting Doug back safe and sound was if she had that gold stacked up and ready for delivery by the time she made the phone call two days from now.

  In answer to Reinhold’s question, she said, “No, I don’t think it is, actually. The kidnapper is going to want to take control of that gold as quickly as possible. Bringing it up from the bottom of the lake is going to take some effort and increase his risk of exposure. That’s not something he’s going to be happy about.”

  She turned so she could speak to all of them at once. “We need to retrieve the gold from the lake in the time we have left if we hope to see Doug released unharmed.”

  Garin shook his head. “I don’t know how you’re going to manage that, Annja. There’s no way you’re going to be able to carry up more than a few bars from the wreck at a time. Not with what they weigh. If there are as many bars as your description suggests, it is going to take us weeks to bring them all up with only a single diver.”

  “We’re not going to use divers to carry them up. In fact, we’re not going to carry them up at all.”

  “Then how do you expect to deliver them to the kidnapper?” Paul asked.

  Annja looked at the three men standing before her and said, “We’re not going to bring up the gold. We’re going to bring up the entire aircraft.”

  The resulting silence at her announcement was finally broken by a cynical laugh from Garin. “That plane has to weigh twenty, maybe twenty-five thousand pounds and that’s before you add the weight of the gold. How on earth do you expect to lift that off the bottom of that lake?”

  “With half a dozen float bags and your helicopters, of course,” she replied, smiling.

  The idea was relatively simple, she explained. They would have one of Garin’s helicopters bring in several float bags, the kind used in underwater salvage operations to help right sunken ships or bring smaller vessels back up to the surface. When packaged for deployment the bags were about three feet long and two feet wide, making them easy to transport. When they were activated, however, they expanded into cylinders nine feet in length.

  The group would break up the ice to provide an area of open water. They would then secure several of the bags to the underside of the aircraft, activate them simultaneously, and float the wreckage right up to the surface of the lake. From there they would attach cables to the aircraft and use a pair of Garin’s helicopters to either tow it to shore or lift it out of the water entirely, depending on the condition of the plane once they got it to the surface.

  “How do you know it isn’t going to break into a hundred pieces when you activate the floats?” Paul asked.

  Annja had to admit that she didn’t, not for certain. “I’m willing to take that chance. From what I could see the aircraft was pretty intact. I don’t think it crashed at all.”

  “Then how did it get down there?” Reinhold wanted to know.

  “The pilot probably made a controlled landing on the ice, perhaps thinking it was a flat stretch of ground and not realizing what it actually was. Before he could evacuate the aircraft, the ice must have cracked open, sending the plane to the bottom of the lake with the pilot still in it.”

  It was a reasonable explanation for the condition of the plane and i
t matched the details as they knew them. Besides, it just felt right to her and she’d learned to trust her gut.

  If the plane had made a controlled landing, the frame would still be structurally sound and they shouldn’t have any problem at all bringing it back up to the surface.

  Or so she hoped.

  After a bit of discussion the others came around to her way of thinking and it was decided that they would make the attempt late the next afternoon, once the necessary gear had been flown in from Munich.

  With a plan in place, it was time to call it a day. Annja was exhausted after all she’d been through and she was asleep within seconds of her head hitting the pillow.

  * * *

  THE THUNDER OF helicopters woke her up just after nine the next morning. She got dressed and stepped out of the shelter in time to watch two big AgustaWestland helicopters, like the one that had carried them from Jamaica, land nearby. Along with the floatation bags, the helicopters were carrying a team of four divers with experience in the kind of underwater salvage work she needed. Annja was pleased that she wouldn’t have to figure out how to place the floatation bags where they would do the most good, but concerned that there were now four strangers who knew what they were doing. Word could spread rather quickly, as the presence of their mystery diver indicated, and the more people involved the easier it would be for the truth to leak.

  Her concerns, however, were put to rest when Garin explained that the divers were part of his personal security force and could be trusted to keep their mouths shut about what they did and saw during the operation. They were here to do their jobs and that was it; nothing else mattered to them. Garin paid them quite handsomely to insure that.

  By early afternoon small thermite charges had been used to break up the ice on the surface of the lake, and the divers had taken the floatation bags to the bottom and securely attached them to the wreckage of the aircraft in the appropriate locations. Once that was complete, the team was ready to make its first try at bringing the aircraft to the surface.

  Because Griggs’s attempt to follow the mystery diver’s tracks back to their place of origin had failed, Garin made sure to post several other members of his armed security team at various points around the lake, just in case someone tried to interfere with their attempt to recover the aircraft.