CHAPTER 11
Quaid Grissop leaned against a street lamp and watched as the Valkyrie docked. He had arrived just as Schmidt was climbing out of one of the black Volvos parked on the pier about one hundred yards in front of and below him. Grissop had decided to keep an eye on his new client. He did not much care for Germans and he did not like Schmidt at all, finding the man to be both arrogant and stupid, a dangerous combination, especially in the jungles of Brazil. Quaid had received three times his normal rate to lead the German’s, and so he would put his prejudices aside and guide the man where he wanted to go.
Schmidt had started their negotiations with a bullshit story about searching for lost colonist. Grissop cut him off almost as soon as he had begun spinning the fallacious tale.
“Let’s get something straight right from the beginning Herr Schmidt.” Grissop had said. “I don’t care why you want to go into the jungle. I only care about where you want to end up and how much you are willing to pay to get there.”
“Very good Mr. Grissop.” Schmidt replied. “It seems we understand each other then. I am not concerned with the price of your services. My only concern is that you bring us to our destination.”
“Which is?” Grissop asked.
“Xingu territory!” Schmidt said ominously.
Grissop had been surprised by that. Of the dozens of white men that had entered Xingu Indian territory in the northern Mato Grosso, none had ever returned. Of the five Xingu Indians ever seen, only one had been alive. Xingu territory was the one place in the Amazon jungle that Quaid Grissop feared.
“You do understand, Major Schmidt, if I take you into the Mato Grosso you and your party will probably die there.” Grissop said unapologetically.
“Yes, yes Mr. Grissop.” Schmidt replied indignantly. “I am aware of the presumed dangers of the territory and its inhabitants and I assure you, they will be of little concern. We are quite prepared for any contingency. Your obligation will be simply to guide the expedition. You will leave the security of the mission to me.”
Schmidt had not hesitated during their negotiations, agreeing instantly to Grissop’s price and terms. This had given Quaid an uneasy feeling. However, he could not afford to be as discriminating in his choice of clients as Jack and Jolly could be. Grissop owed a gambling debt to a very bad man that was unwilling to suspend payment any longer. This contract would not only pay that debt but also get him out of town long enough for any feelings of ill will to wane.
As Grissop watched the freighter, being unloaded Schmidt’s words echoed in his mind. “We are quite prepared for any contingency.”
The overwhelming amount of weaponry impressed Grissop. He counted the fifty or so soldiers and noted enough munitions for three times that number. If they were able to transport it all the way to the Mato Grosso, the Xingu Indians would be in for a real surprise.
Quaid decided it was time to check in. He made his way down two flights of concrete steps and across the dock to where Schmidt stood.
“Ah, Herr Grissop. Heil Hitler!” The German saluted.
Grissop appraised the man before him. No longer dressed in the white linen suit, Schmidt was wearing high black boots, brown wool breeches, a tan cotton shirt and field cap. Around his waist and crossing over his right shoulder, was a black leather belt and holster. Encircling his left upper arm was a red band bearing the black swastika.
“Good morning Herr Schmidt.” Grissop replied only.
“Major Schmidt!” The Nazi smiled, touching the insignia at his collar as he corrected Grissop.
“I trust you have made the necessary arrangements so that we may depart at first light tomorrow?” Schmidt continued.
“Yes, we are ready.” Grissop replied.
“Good, then you will direct my battalion to the staging area when offloading is completed.” The Major ordered. “You and your men will join us there tonight, understood?”
Grissop nodded as a beleaguered grin spread across his face.
“This is going to be a long trip,” he thought to himself.
Grissop watched as the soldier’s loaded the vehicles and prepared equipment. Schmidt may have been stupid but these soldiers were not. The Major paraded among them barking useless orders. The soldiers knew their business and needed no one to direct them. Each man wore a pair of black laced boots with leather gaiters, green khaki pants and a camouflaged long sleeve tunic. A wide black leather utility belt held a holster and each wore a green field cap.
Grissop caught sight of a group of men exiting the Valkyrie and coming down the gangplank. Six of the men wore tall black boots, black breeches and a grey shirt with what appeared to be two lightning bolts stitched on the collars. One very large man wore the same but for a black shirt that matched his breeches. The other two men were wearing civilian clothes and were dwarfed by their seven escorts.
As the men approached, the oldest man, wearing a tweed suit was violently thrust into one of the Volvos. The second civilian in a black suit climbed in next to him as the six grey shirts boarded the Volvo’s two to a car.
The big man in the black uniform approached Schmidt and Grissop.
“Heil Hitler!” Schmidt shouted thrusting up his arm in a smart salute. The big man replied with an unenthusiastic salute.
“Welcome to Brazil Colonel.” Schmidt said nervously. “May I introduce our guide, Herr Quaid Grissop? Herr Grissop, Colonel Klaus Wolfgang.”
“Colonel.” Quaid offered.
“Herr Grissop,” Colonel Wolfgang responded ignoring Grissop “you have told no one of our destination, yes?” The Colonel asked.
“No, not even my men.” Grissop said.
Colonel Wolfgang nodded his approval, turned away and climbed into the front seat of the first Volvo. The black cars sped away leaving Major Schmidt looking after them longingly.
“You’re not going with them Major?” Grissop asked sarcastically.
Schmidt gave the Englishman a viscous glance then turned away, angrily shouting orders at the soldiers. Grissop smiled wryly, satisfied at the response he elicited from Schmidt. It had been painfully obvious to Grissop that Colonel Wolfgang had little respect for the Major. Yes, this was going to be a long, long trip.
The black Volvos sped off across the dock and then toward the Hotel district. Grissop watched as the car’s turned a corner out of sight. He began to create a mental diagram, placing each of these characters in their proper place. The soldiers were obviously well trained, experienced and equipped. This fact led him to believe that this expedition was of significant importance to the German government. Colonel Wolfgang and his six Waffen-SS soldiers were obviously dangerous men. They carried themselves with the confidence and bravado of soldiers who have lethal training. The civilian in black was a conundrum, however, Grissop had the feeling this man was probably controlling the entire operation. It was obvious that the other civilian was here against his will. This was not something Grissop had expected and he did not like it. He had heard stories of the Nazi’s and there disregard for the rights of others, yet this was really none of his business. The old man’s part in this expedition should not concern him. After an hour or so, the soldiers and equipment were loaded into the trucks. Grissop boarded the lead vehicle and the company headed toward the North West part of the city.
Later that afternoon Quaid Grissop made his way to the Lazy Peacock to gather the six men he had hired to assist him. He found them waiting outside the pub. Smoots, Gunn, Quinn, Ferguson, West and Tucker were a motley bunch, all Englishman with the exception of Quinn who was an Inuit Indian. Each man had his own reason for choosing a life in South America, each having his own personal demon’s with which to contend. Not one of them could be referred to as “a good man” however they were all good help. They could be trusted to do the job but not much beyond that.
Quaid took the men into the pub and bought a round of drinks. He noticed Jack and Jolly sitting at a table and moved over to say hello and goodbye. After a short conversation with Jack,
he felt a little guilty for accepting this charter, but dammit he needed the money and that was that. Back among the six hired men, Quaid told them what he could about the expedition.
“This will be a long and hard job boy’s.” He began. “These Germans are cantankerous and easily provoked. They are unpredictable and dangerous so keep your opinions to yourselves and stay out of their way. Here is a nice little advance to remind you of what’s at stake.” Quaid tossed a canvas sack on the table. “Divide it up and have good time tonight, but be at the staging area by midnight, understood?”
Quaid left the six men greedily grabbing at the sack. He did not like starting the journey with six hung-over hellions however it was a real possibility that some or all of them would die while on this expedition. Quaid would not deny them one last night of pleasure.
Quaid went home to his one room apartment, gathered his gear and left his last Will and Testament sealed in an envelope with the proprietor. From there he made his way to the German staging are where he found the company bivouacked near the Morro de São Januário. Entering, he was impressed with the orderliness. Every tent was the same and every soldier arranged his equipment precisely like the next. It was a model of discipline and efficiency.
He was met by two guards who escorted him to a large tent in the middle of the camp. The tent, at least sixty feet square and twenty-five feet high with a canopied entrance supported by two wooden poles capped with a great silver eagle, wings spread wide and clutching a silver Swastika. Above the tent flew a large red flag emblazoned with a black Swastika. Four guards stood one at each corner and at the entrance were two of the big Waffen-SS soldiers. The two blonde haired blue-eyed men stood blocking the entrance, an impenetrable wall of muscle and bone.
“Herr Grissop is here to see Colonel Wolfgang.” One of his escorts said.
One of the SS guards stepped inside the tent and then returned a few seconds later to hold the flap open and motion Quaid to enter. Inside he found a well lit room about thirty feet across with a light weight, folding dining table in the middle, six folding chairs with cushioned leather seats and what appeared to be a four foot long bar, complete with bar tender, and a good stock of liquors in the far corner. Concealed by canvas curtains were three additional rooms, coming from one of these could be heard the distinct sounds of cutlery and dishes being rattled about, accompanied by the scents of baking bread.
Occupying one of the chairs in the opposite corner well away from the entrance was the little man in the tweed suit. Perspiration flooded his brow and dripped down his nose. Quaid noted that the man’s hands and feet were bound to the chair. At the table in the center of the room stood three men, Schmidt, Wolfgang and the white haired man in the black suit.
“Welcome Herr Grissop.” Schmidt said motioning for him to join the men around the table. “May I introduce the Marquis Vincent Xavier de Venoma, the Fuehrer’s emissary and the chief authority on this expedition?”
Vincent Venoma stared at Grissop, still wearing the odd glasses with one darkened lens. Quaid could see one pale blue eye measuring him, like a predator measuring his prey.
“Welcome Mr. Grissop, and thank you for agreeing to lead us on our journey.” Venoma said politely.
“And you of course remember Colonel Wolfgang?” Schmidt continued.
“We were just looking over the map Mr. Grissop. Please join us.” Colonel Wolfgang ordered. “Would you like a drink?”
“No, thank you.” Grissop replied as he joined the three men. Laid out on the table before him was a large map of South America. The city of Rio de Janeiro was marked with a green flag. Extending from Rio, heading North- North West, a black line extended to a yellow flag marking the edge of the Mato Grosso. From there the line continued North West toward the Xingu territory and ended with a red flag bearing a black Swastika. He took a moment and studied the map while the three men quietly awaited his comments.
“What is this?” Quaid asked, tapping his finger on the map near the yellow flag.
“Ah, yes, the Lost Nazi Colonist!” Schmidt said with a mournful tone, his face twisted in an expression of gloominess. “We must stop here to pay our respects to our lost countrymen. I am unfortunately the only living member of that brave delegation. As such, I am capable of leading the way upon this leg of our journey. Crossing the great savannah should not prove too difficult I should think. Do you agree Herr Grissop?”
“You seem well prepared.” Quaid replied. “It appears however that your men will be burdened with unnecessary extravagances that will prove to be a test of the company’s endurance. The unfortunate deaths of your lost colonist should serve as a reminder of the lethality of this country. Crossing the savannah will be easy only when compared to the difficulties we will encounter once we have entered the Mato Grosso, and those trials will pale in comparison to the horrors of Xingu territory. I have attempted to convey this fact to the Major and now I feel it is my duty to convince the two of you as well. Men will die on this journey! If any of us have the slightest chance of returning alive, it will take every bit of strength, will, and determination to accomplish it. If any of you actually reach the final goal I assure you, it will be with the shirt on your back and nothing more.”
The three men silently digested Quaid Grissop’s words. Colonel Wolfgang glared at Major Schmidt who fidgeted uncomfortably under the big man’s stern gaze.
“Well Mr. Grissop,” Venoma finally ventured. “It seems we have been misinformed as to the arduousness of our task. I would graciously ask, sir, that you spend the next few hours taking stock of our provisions and equipment. After which you would please report to Colonel Wolfgang any adjustments you feel are necessary. I place our safe travel in your capable hands and thank you for your candor. I will welcome your recommendations and suggestions.”
Quaid nodded his head in agreement and at the same time looked over his shoulder in the direction of the bound figure in the corner.
“My first suggestion is that you get your guest some water and a change of clothing more appropriate to the climate or he is soon to be the first casualty of this expedition. And it would help if I knew exactly what we were looking for in the Xingu.” Quaid pushed.
“One step at a time, Mr. Grissop, I assure you, all will be revealed in due course.” Venoma replied confidently.
Grissop now measured Vincent Xavier Venoma. The man was amicable and appeared to be benevolent. Quaid felt however that this exterior masked something dark. Looking back at the poor man bound in the chair Grissop exited the tent. Squinting in the bright evening sunlight, a young Corporal named Fritz met him.
“Heil Hitler Herr Grissop! Colonel Wolfgang has assigned me to act as your official liaison and facilitator. May I show you to your tent?” The young man said with a smile and perfect English.
“First, it is Mr. Grissop! Second do not salute me, I am no Nazi!” Grissop barked.
“Of course Herr… er, Mr. Grissop. Right this way sir. I am very sorry sir.” The young man tried desperately to make a second more favorable impression. “It is truly an honor to work with an Englishman sir. You see I was educated at Oxford sir. I am so very much looking forward to our time together sir. I understand you attended Oxford as well?”
Quaid stopped walking and the young corporal almost ran into him. He was about five feet six inches tall and wore round glasses that magnified his brown eyes. Growing above a lip that had obviously never seen a razor was a faint patch of blonde hair and a lock of brown hair was sneaking out from under his field cap. He was carrying a note pad and an Oxford yearbook dated 1936.
“This is going to be a long trip.” Quaid said to no one in particular.
Fritz led Quaid to a four foot by eight-foot white canvas tent equipped with a cot, writing table, chair and lantern. Fritz indicated six similar tents assigned to Grissop’s men. Quaid brought Fritz into the tent and detailed a list of adjustments and modifications for Colonel Wolfgang. Fritz took notes, often shifting uncomfortably in his seat
. Quaid lay on the cot while dictating and noticed the young man’s discomfort.
“What is it lad? Why are you fidgeting and squirming in your seat?” Quaid asked cheerfully.
“Mr. Grissop, sir, it’s just that, well, I am concerned.” He replied.
“Concerned about what?” Quaid sat up on the bed.
“You sir!” fritz replied. “The Colonel has a reputation you see. He is not accustomed to having his contrivances questioned or altered.”
“What do you know about him Fritz?” Quaid asked.
“Well, sir,” Fritz looked outside the tent, satisfied that no one would overhear his words he continued in a low voice. “Colonel Klaus Wolfgang is notorious! He is the head of the Wolfsatz, a group of government assassins who are responsible for murdering in one night over two hundred of the Fuehrer’s political rivals. Rumor has it that he personally selected his soldiers and supervised their training. Another rumor is that he required them to assassinate a family member as a test of their loyalty. The six SS troop’s that accompany him here are his best, or worst, men.”
“And what about Schmidt and, Venoma. What do you know of them?” Quaid pressed.
“Major Schmidt was sent to Brazil to establish a Nazi outpost.” Fritz eagerly continued. It seemed the young man enjoyed gossip. “The thirty or so soldiers and officers that accompanied him were rumored to be incompetent men who had failed their superiors in some manner. All had political or family ties, restricting their punishment and so, with orders never to return to Germany they were given the Brazilian assignment. It is said that they all died, except for Schmidt, who found something of great importance in the jungle, which he presented to Hitler, and received absolution for his past transgressions. One can only assume that this expedition is a direct result of that discovery.”
“Who is Vincent Venoma?” Grissop asked.
“I do not… I … perhaps we should get back to your recommendations for Colonel Wolfgang?” Corporal Fritz suddenly became hesitant and anxious.
“Fritz, tell me about Venoma!” Quaid insisted.
“He is the Fuhrer’s closest confidant and, an occultist!” Fritz had lowered his voice to almost a whisper, as if the Marquis de Venoma could somehow hear. “It is rumored by some that even the Fuhrer fears him, that he, not Adolf Hitler, is the true mastermind of the Third Reich. Some say that he is not human, that he is evil personified, a demon. I think, Mr. Grissop, that if he is here, the objective of this expedition is of such critical importance that, when revealed, will be remarkable and historic.”
“Do you know the man being detained?” Quaid asked.
“Professor Kermit De Wulf, a physicist and mathematician. I could not say what his part in all of this is. He has, or knows, something the Marquis wants, or needs, I would suppose. I feel sad for him though. They will kill him when they have what they want from him.” Fritz became suddenly perturbed and sat quietly looking at the ground as if contemplating some unpleasant thing.
Quaid Grissop stared at the Corporal for a moment.
“You are not what I would expect of a Nazi soldier Fritzy.” He said in a friendly tone.
Fritz jumped to his feet.
“I am a Nazi!” he said loudly and defensively. “It is just… well… all this bloodshed, it is difficult to reconcile. Should not all German’s have the right to life in the country of their birth? I do not understand why we are killing our own citizens simply because they are born of another race. Surely that is not what God wants?”
“I am sorry Fritzy my boy, but you are asking the wrong man. I know little about God and even less of Socialist. A man must be loyal to himself, and what he perceives to be right is what is right, for him! The rest of the world will have to take care of itself.”
Grissop led the Corporal out of his tent, sending him off to deliver his recommendations to Colonel Wolfgang suggesting leaving behind the large tent and its luxurious contents, including all the liquor. Quaid suggested reducing the food supply to coffee, sugar, flour and soup, and abandoning the kitchen, including the bar, the cook stove and all but the basic cookware as well. Fritz doubted the approval of the recommendations however; he agreed to deliver the information.
Later that evening five of the six men Grissop had hired arrived at the encampment. All were drunk and most were bruised and bleeding.
“Where is Quinn?” Grissop demanded.
“He was arrested boss.” Will Tucker offered. “He aint’ goin’ to make it.”
Annoyed but not surprised Grissop ordered the men to their tents to sleep off the evening’s intoxication. Turning toward his own tent, Colonel Wolfgang and two of his Wolfsatz brutes confronted him.
“Is this the sort of behavior we are to expect from your people, Herr Grissop?” The Colonel asked condescendingly.
“They may not be disciplined soldiers Colonel, they are however well suited for the task at hand. You will come to appreciate their value, in time.” Grissop said.
“For their sake, I hope that you are correct!” Colonel Wolfgang said. “The Marquis de Venoma has agreed to your refinements, though I myself feel you are being dramatic in your estimation of our future hardships. The expedition leaves at sunrise. Be sure your… associates… are prepared. Good night Herr Grissop, and Heil Hitler!”
Yes, this was going to be a very, very long trip.
Chasing El Dorado Page 11