“What’s the news?” she asked.
“More trouble in Cyprus. Looks like someone just threw more gasoline on the fire.”
42
The Eagle’s Nest
“Ryan, whatever you’re doing, do it faster,” said Jackson. “I can hear voices and people moving around on the other side of the door.”
Mitchell did not need to be told that their luck, as tenuous as it was, was quickly running out. He moved around the maintenance room, trying to find a way down below. He was becoming frustrated and was about to look for a way out of the chalet instead, when he nearly tripped over a metal plate on the hard, rock floor. Mitchell dropped to one knee and grasped hold of a handle. The plate was heavier than he had first thought. Mitchell had to lay his weapon down and pull up with both hands. A second later, the manhole cover moved. He dragged it off to one side and looked down. He grinned when he saw a tube leading down into the dark, depths. There was a metal ladder secured to the side of the tunnel.
“Nate, over here,” said Mitchell.
Jackson hurried over and looked down into the narrow passage. “Why don’t people build things with bigger guys in mind?” he bemoaned.
Mitchell dug out a small flashlight from a pocket and turned it on. He saw that the passage stopped after about fifty meters. There was another manhole cover at the base of the stairs. “I’ll go first,” Mitchell said. “You can pull the lid back overtop of us once you climb down far enough.”
“Yeah, okay. Just hurry,” said Jackson.
Mitchell swung his AK onto his back and quickly climbed down onto the ladder. Jackson followed suit. Unlike Mitchell, he had no problem pulling the heavy metal plate back into position. The narrow tube turned dark, the only light coming from Mitchell’s small flashlight.
At the bottom of the ladder, Jackson saw Mitchell straining to lift the manhole cover. “Let’s switch places,” suggested Jackson.
In the narrow confines of the tunnel, Mitchell had to climb over Jackson so he could get out of the way. Jackson bent down, and in one fluid movement, he pulled the cover up. Light shone up from above. Jackson got down on all fours and poked his head down through the opening.
“What can you see?” asked Mitchell.
A second later, Jackson looked up at Mitchell with an incredulous look on his face. “Ryan, you’re not going to believe me when I tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
“I think we just found the Nazi equivalent of Fort Knox.”
“Can we get down?”
“Oh yeah, that’s not a problem. There’s another ladder that leads below.”
A minute later, both men stood there, staring at hundreds of wooden boxes neatly stacked in the middle of a massive cavern dug out of the rock. Mitchell took out his phone and started taking pictures. They could see several air-tight chambers filled with artwork on display that had been missing since the end of the war. Flags that had one flown on top of Nazi buildings across Europe hung from the walls. At the far end of the cavern, bolted to the wall above a row of empty offices, was a ten-meter-high painting of Adolf Hitler. It was as if he were keeping watch from the grave over the looted treasure, and the thought made Mitchell’s skin crawl.
Jackson walked over to the closest pile of boxes and tried to read what was painted on the side of the containers. Most were in German, which he could not read; however, some also had French on them. After few seconds, he looked over at Mitchell. “Jesus, Ryan, if I’m reading this right, they have the Amber Room.”
“The what?”
“The Amber Room was a room made completely out of amber and gold. It was was a gift to Peter the Great from the King of Prussia in the early seventeen hundreds. It was stolen by the Nazis and brought back to Germany during the war. It’s been missing ever since.”
“I wonder how much it’s worth?”
“About two hundred million dollars.”
Jackson walked over and stared into one of the airtight rooms. “Hey, Ryan, have you ever seen an Imperial Russian Fabergé egg?”
“No. Don’t tell me they have one of those, too?”
“Looks like they have eight of them,” said Jackson admiring the intricate details on the golden eggs. “That’s an easy twenty- to thirty-million dollars sitting there.”
“Unbelievable,” said Mitchell. He took a picture of the eggs. He stepped back and took a couple of dozen more pictures of everything in the chamber. He grinned. They had done it. Mitchell placed his phone away. Now all they had to do was get out and let the world know that the treasure existed before it was moved or someone else tried to claim it.
Beck stood in the maintenance room, looking for clues. Unlike before, there were no wet footprints left behind. If the intruders had been in the room, they had not left any signs of their presence. He ground his teeth together and turned to leave. His radio beeped.
“Yes, what it?” said Beck.
“Sir, the heat sensors in the vault have just gone off,” reported the guard.
Beck knew it could only mean one thing. “Pan the cameras around; the Americans have to be down there.” Beck thought about running back to the control office to see for himself, but he knew it would waste precious time, so he stayed where he was.
“Herr Beck, I have them. There are two men inside the vault,” said the security guard. “Both are armed.”
“Where exactly are they?”
“Near the maintenance tube.”
Beck looked down at his feet. He was standing almost on top of the manhole cover. He loudly snapped his fingers. A man ran over to his side. Beck pointed down at the metal lid. “No one, and I mean no one, comes up out of there unless I tell you they can. Got it?”
The guard nodded his head and stepped forward, pointing his German-made submachine gun down at the cover.
Beck pressed the mic on his radio. “Herr Zimmer, fetch the Russian prisoner and meet me at the elevator.”
Zimmer acknowledged the order.
Beck thought for a moment before keying the mic again. “Activate the self-defence protocols in the cavern, and then put me on the underground speaker system.”
“I know it may be risky, but I say we head back the way we came,” said Mitchell.
“Whatever we’re going to do, let’s do it fast before we get caught,” said Jackson.
They both turned to leave. Without warning, every light in the cavern switched off, plunging the cave into darkness. Mitchell fumbled for his flashlight, but before he could get it out of his pocket, a bright light turned on, blinding both men.
Jackson raised his AK.
A disquieting, electronic-sounding voice came out of the dark. “Lower your weapon, or you will be fired upon.”
Jackson hesitated. He looked over at Mitchell.
The sound of something moving towards them made both men squint in their attempt to see what it was. A second later, the hair on the back of Mitchell’s neck went up.
“Nate, trust me. Slowly, and I do mean slowly, drop your weapon,” said Mitchell as he removed the AK from his back and gently lowered it to the floor. Jackson did the same.
“Place your hands behind your heads and then get down on your knees,” ordered the metallic voice.
Both men reluctantly did as they were told.
The lights throughout the cavern switched back on. Less than twenty meters away stood an armed robotic vehicle. Mitchell swore when he recognized it as one the U.S. Army had trialed a number of years ago but decided not to purchase. It had six large wheels that supported a slender chassis. Mounted on top was a turret with twin machine guns built into it. A camera capable of seeing in infrared was attached to the top of the turret.
“Do not move until the guards arrive, or I will be forced to fire,” warned the robot.
“Son of a bitch,” said Jackson under his breath.
“I’d do as it says,” said Mitchell. “It has motion sensors built into its fire-control mechanism. You’d be Swiss cheese before you knew it, if you tr
ied going for your AK.”
“Gentlemen, it is so nice to see you again.” Beck’s voice boomed over the cavern’s speakers. “I hope you like my little toy.”
“Why don’t you come down here, and we can tell you what we think,” replied Mitchell.
“Don’t worry, I’m on my way,” said Beck, “and I’m bringing one of your Russian friends with me.”
“Jesus, can this day get any worse?” said Jackson to Mitchell.
“I think it just did,” replied Mitchell, when he saw Yuri dragged out of the elevator in handcuffs. The one man who could still help them was the one Mitchell trusted the least. He shook his head and prayed that Yuri got a message to Donaldson before he was captured. If not, they were all facing a horrible death at the hands of their captors.
A guard stepped out of the elevator and smashed the butt of his weapon into Yuri’s side, causing him to gasp in pain and drop to his knees. Another man ran over and picked up the AKs on the ground in front of Mitchell and Jackson.
With a sadistic grin on his face, Beck walked over to the robotic vehicle and patted it the same way he would have a dog. “Wonderful invention. Wouldn’t you agree, Mister Mitchell?”
“You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t share your enthusiasm,” Mitchell replied.
“Come now, there is no need to be a sore loser. You played the game and lost. However, unlike Punta Arenas, there will be no escape for you and your friend. For you see, not only do I have Mister Uvarov in custody, but I also have your other Russian friend. He’ll be here within the hour courtesy of the Chilean police.”
“Bully for you,” muttered Jackson.
Beck turned to the nearest mercenary and said, “Strip search them all. Scan all of their clothes and personal possessions for tracking devices. When you are done, give them back their clothes, lock them up, and then bring all of their personal possessions to me.”
“Yes, sir,” replied the guard. He waved some of his comrades over.
Within seconds, Mitchell and Jackson were grabbed from behind and hauled up onto their feet.
“Walk!” snarled the mercenary.
With the robot tracking their every movement, Mitchell and Jackson walked towards the other end of the cave. Along with Yuri, they were forced into one of the offices and told to strip. Mitchell disingenuously smiled at the men guarding them and began to take off his clothes. He glanced around the room, trying to figure a way out. There was no way out other than the door they’d entered. He let out a deep sigh. For now, they were going nowhere.
43
The Cavern
Mitchell went to look down at his watch, only it wasn’t there. It, along with his phone and wallet, had been confiscated by Beck’s goons. He shook his head. It was the second time he had made the same mistake. Without a clock on the wall of their room, he had no idea how much time had gone by. He figured that they had been locked up for close to two hours already. His fellow prisoners sat a table and looked as thoroughly unimpressed as he was with their predicament.
“I thought that blond-haired Nazi told us that they had Petrenko,” said Jackson. “I’m sure it’s been over an hour. So where is he?”
Mitchell shrugged. He was, however, wondering the same thing.
“Perhaps he has escaped?” said Yuri.
Mitchell sadly shook his head. “He was limping when we last saw him. Besides, I doubt right now he could get out of a wet paper bag. The man’s better days are behind him.”
“Da, you are right,” Yuri said. “Just wishful thinking on my behalf.”
The door to the room opened. A guard with short black hair and a stern-looking face walked in, and motioned with his submachine gun for Jackson take a seat.
“Mitchell, you will come with me,” said the German mercenary.
“And if I decline your invitation?” countered Mitchell.
The man aimed his weapon at Jackson and flipped the safety off with his thumb. “I have been told that I can shoot the black man if you do not cooperate.”
Jackson did not flinch; he kept his eyes fixed on the gunman.
Mitchell stood. “I suspect that I’m already in trouble with Nate’s better half. If he died because of me, I’d probably never hear the end of it.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” said Jackson.
“Lead on,” said Mitchell to the guard.
The black haired man backed up until he was out of the room. Mitchell followed him out and was not surprised to see four more mercenaries waiting for him.
“Put your arms out,” ordered the guard.
Mitchell did as he was told. One of the gunmen stepped over and placed a set of handcuffs on Mitchell. With the black-haired guard in the lead, Mitchell was escorted to the elevator. The ride to the top floor of the chalet took mere seconds. With a man on either side of him, Mitchell was shepherded down a corridor until it came out into a spacious living area. There were numerous leather couches and seats spread out throughout the room. A roaring fire blazed in the stone fireplace. Mitchell couldn’t help but notice that the roof was made of glass, so the hotel guests could sit in comfort and gaze up at the night sky.
Aside from the guards covering him, there were four other men in the room. Petrenko was on his knees. His clothes were torn and his face was covered in bruises. He looked scared out of his wits. Beck stood behind the Russian. It was obvious that he had been the one to administer the beating and, by the way he was grinning, he had enjoyed it.
Karl August sat in a leather seat. In his right hand was a snifter of brandy. He had a smug, arrogant look on his face. Spread out on the table in front of him were the personal possessions taken by the guards. Mitchell almost cringed when he saw Jackson’s watch smashed open. The tiny transponder hidden inside had been ripped apart.
Mitchell did not recognize the last man in the room. He looked to be about the same age as August; however, he had a fat face and looked quite uncomfortable with taking part in what was going on.
August took a sip of his brandy. He took a deep breath as he put his glass down and then looked over at Mitchell. “Mister Mitchell, you are to be congratulated. You’re the first man to ever figure out where the treasure has been hidden for all these decades. Unfortunately, no one will ever know what you have accomplished.”
“I guess we couldn’t come to some sort of an arrangement,” said Mitchell. “You let me go and I’ll promise never to tell where you’ve hidden your stolen loot.”
August smiled. “If only I could trust you, Mister Mitchell.”
“Can’t blame me for trying.”
August leaned forward and picked up two cell phones. Mitchell recognized his, but not the other one. “Mister Mitchell, we have a bit of a problem. I have had my men go through the information stored on all of your cell phones. Yours, as well as your compatriots’, contain similar data. Text messages and calls between one another, and others back to the States. However, Mister Petrenko’s phone had information inside of it that took me by surprise. Did you know that he has been in contact with General Davos, a fellow believer and former colleague of mine?”
“No, no, I did not,” said Mitchell to August. “Who is General Davos?”
“The head of Greece’s Armed Forces, and a man with big designs on southern Europe and, evidently, my money.”
Mitchell grinned. “Ah, now this is all starting to make sense. The Greek neo-Nazis we bumped into in Madrid were his men, weren’t they?”
“Correct,” replied August.
Mitchell looked down at Petrenko and gritted his teeth. The man wasn’t a Russian patriot, he was nothing more than a glorified thief who would sell out whoever it took to get his cut of the loot.
“I see by the anger in your eyes that this comes as a complete surprise to you,” said August.
“Yeah, you might say that.”
“That is most unfortunate,” said August. “Yesterday, he sent a text to Davos with the name of the ski lodge a few kilometers down the road. Today, he called a number
in Greece to most likely give the exact location this chalet to his confederates. However, he won’t cooperate with us and tell us everything he knows about Davos’ future plans.”
“I wish I could help you, but I’m as in the dark as you are,” Mitchell said.
“Mister Mitchell, are you one hundred percent sure that he never said anything about Davos to you or your colleagues?”
“Not a word.”
August turned his head and looked over at the fat man in the room. “So, Frederick, what do you think we should we do with the Russian spy?”
Frederick Muller pulled out a handkerchief and dried off his sweating brow. “Herr August, I think that he should be locked up with the other men until he tells you what you want to know.”
“And if he never does? Then what?”
“Let Beck interrogate him some more,” replied Muller nervously.
“I’m not sure we have that much time,” said August. “This location has been compromised. We will have to move the treasure to our alternate site as soon as we can.”
“Yes, Herr August.”
August stood up and looked over at Beck. He nodded his head. In a flash, Beck drew a silenced pistol from behind his back, placed it against the back of Petrenko’s skull and pulled the trigger. Blood and gore splattered the carpeted floor. A second later, Petrenko’s body fell facefirst to the floor.
Muller recoiled in horror.
August grabbed Muller by the arm and swung him around so he could look into the terrified man’s eyes. “Frederick, I want you to see to the transfer of all of the treasure as soon as possible. Hire some moving trucks from a company belonging to a trusted colleague, if you have to. There is no margin for error. You have seventy-two hours to move everything.”
Muller could not speak. He shook his head. He was obviously trying not to throw up at the sight of the blood pooling on the floor by his feet.
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