by Matt James
He glanced over his shoulder. “Terrorists.”
“How do you know they’re terrorists?”
Jack shrugged. “Call it a hunch.” He moved deeper into the building. “I usually have a pretty good feeling about things like this.”
“Like wh—”
“Look,” Jack interrupted. His frustrated outburst made the woman jump. He needed to cut her some slack. Emma wasn’t him, and he needed to remember that. “Look…” his voice was calm, “we’re in a place with no intrinsic value besides a historical one. Terrorists use unnecessary force to prove a point. They aren’t here for any other reason than making a public scene, but they need a bargaining chip for anyone to stop and listen.”
Her eyes opened wide. “Us… Hostages.”
He pointed a finger at her and winked. “Bingo.”
Jack headed through the next doorway on the left. On the other side was a large, empty rectangular space. Twenty feet further ahead was another doorway. He took a second left and stepped into a brick room filled with ovens. This was where the Nazis had burned the bodies.
It gave Jack the chills.
The door to the crematorium creaked open. The person responsible for opening it didn’t sound too friendly either, screaming at another man loudly…and he did it in German.
What? Jack thought, trying to work it out. Why is a group of armed Germans taking over Auschwitz?
Their hunter could be heard moving deeper into the crematorium. His footsteps were noisy and easy to follow. The acoustics, along with the tight confines of the building, made the former counter-terrorism specialist grin.
“What’s so funny?” Emma whispered.
Jack didn’t answer.
He put a finger to his lips and flattened himself up against the wall just inside the oven room. The guy with the gun didn’t know Jack about who else was in the building.
3
The room held four ovens in two sets of two. They were positioned so they looked like a pair of equals symbols sitting end to end with a gap in the middle. Emma hid behind one of them while Jack waited for the gunman to show himself. The man’s grinding footfalls sounded like shotgun blasts in the bunker-like structure. It was the only sound of any kind.
Jack’s practiced patience paid off. The tip of an assault rifle poked its way through the opening to his right. Jack instantly recognized the German-made Heckler & Koch HK416. It was a beast of a weapon.
These guys are pros, Jack thought. No way would an “activist” be armed with a carbine like that.
As soon as the weapon appeared, Jack launched himself forward and lashed out with a front kick, driving the gun barrel away. Jack was now perpendicular to the enemy. He quickly sidestepped deep inside the other man’s reach and uncorked a devasting elbow strike into the German’s right orbital bone. Jack followed with a left knee rise into the man’s groin, dropping him to his knees. It also made him drop the weapon.
Jack snatched it up and backed away, shouldering it like the pro he used to be. Seeing her savior in possession of the intimidating rifle, Emma stepped out and joined Jack across the room.
“Who are you?” Jack asked. “What do you want?”
The lower half of the man’s face was covered in a tactical face mask. All Jack could see was the top half of his head and his vengeful eyes.
Jack stepped closer, jaw tight. “Who are you?”
Emma stepped forward and asked the man the question in flawless German.
Jack looked at her, confused.
“Three years of German in secondary school and even more when I moved to Bonn,” she explained.
The disarmed shooter eyed her for a second longer and then spoke. Emma translated for Jack.
“We’re here for what’s ours,” she said.
Jack had no idea what that meant. There was nothing in Auschwitz except for bad memories.
“And that is?” he asked.
The terrorist’s cheekbones rose slightly. He was smiling. “The Fuhrer’s fortune.”
Jack’s right eyebrow lifted. He glanced at Emma, who shrugged. She had no clue, either.
“What fortune?” he asked.
The German’s eyes narrowed. “The forgotten kind.”
He explained further, speaking quickly, and Emma did what she could to keep up.
“He says that there is a hidden trove of wealth somewhere between here and the mountains to the northwest. He also says he’s supposed to meet his commanding officer here and await further orders.”
“Hold up,” Jack said, recalling something he read about years ago. “He doesn’t mean the gold train, does he?”
Emma asked.
“Ja,” the mercenary replied, nodding.
Jack burst out in laughter. “Sorry to burst your bubble, Hans, but it doesn’t exist. People have been looking for that train for decades and have come up with less than bupkis. I even studied it for a bit because it sounded cool. The research was fun, but that was about it. It’s a complete waste of time.”
The man had the gall to laugh back.
“What’s so funny?” Jack asked.
The shooter quieted and turned his attention to someone else—to Emma. He spoke to Emma in German. It didn’t bother Jack that the two conversed. What bothered him about the exchange was that it was cordial—friendly, even. It was like the two of them knew each other.
Damn.
The confiscated carbine suddenly felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. He was screwed. So, Jack relaxed his stance and slowly turned his head. The muzzle of a pistol was only inches from his face.
“Emma?”
The woman grinned. “Sorry, Herr Reilly.”
Now, her inflection was heavily German.
The male mercenary got to his feet. He was as tall as Jack, maybe six-two, but was thicker than he was, somewhere around 220 pounds. He aggressively tore the weapon from Jack’s hands and turned it on him once more.
“But like my brother said, he was looking for his commanding officer.”
“Hang on…” Jack said, shocked, “you’re leading this boy band?” He slowly raised his hands and took a step back.
She smiled like a Great White. “Ja.”
“And why exactly are you doing this?”
“Mine and Gunter’s great-grandfather worked closely with the extraordinary Heinrich Himmler, leader of the Schutzstaffel. He was Himmler’s personal assistant, Elias Schmidt—a man that knew everything the Reichsfuhrer knew.”
While taking it all in, Jack smartly allowed himself to be tossed against the wall and cuffed with zip ties. He’d willingly play ball until the time was right. As long as he was alive, he stood a fighting chance. So did the people outside.
While Emma trained her gun on him, Gunter thoroughly patted him down, finding nothing except for his rental car keys, wallet, passport, and hotel keycard. He took them all.
Jack sighed. Dang.
Then, Emma’s brother grabbed Jack by the back of his shirt and forced him to the front of the crematorium. He threw open the door and tossed him outside. Jack tumbled to a stop and was quickly surrounded by a foursome of identically dressed men. Each one of them was outfitted in the same manner as Gunter. They wore all-black fatigues with facial masks that hid their identities. The only one that was dressed down was Emma. She was out there for everyone to see.
“I had you pegged wrong,” Jack said, struggling to his knees. “I kinda thought you were cool.”
Emma stood before him, pistol holstered, hands on her hips.
“And now?” she asked, unfazed.
Jack looked around, taking in his audience.
“Now, I think you’re a bitch.”
Gunter drove the stock of his rifle into the side of Jack’s head. It sent him sprawling to the ground, groaning in pain. Blinking away the spots in his vision, Jack decided it was in his best interest to stay down. He’d make them carry him if he was to be left alive.
Looking up at the sunny sky, Jack laughed. “Geez, you hit like your sister.”
/>
Gunter stepped up to him, blocking out the sun with his thick upper body. He raised his carbine again. Just when he was about to hit Jack again, he was stopped.
“Halt!”
Gunter kept his weapon raised, but snapped his head to the left, angry that Emma had stopped him. Jack was grateful, but there was no way in hell that he was going to thank the witch. Emma joined her brother, gazing down at Jack like a pair of circling vultures. She shared a look him with—a look that didn’t sit right with Jack.
“We mustn’t harm him.” She leaned on her knees. “Jack is going to help us find our train.”
Jack’s dam ruptured, and he burst out in laughter, unable to hold it back. It didn’t last, though. Gunter drove the tip of his boot into Jack’s ribs. He groaned, cringing in pain. He took a couple of deep breaths and laughed again.
“Damn, Hans, are you wearing Steel Toes? That was like getting kicked by an ass!’”
“Laugh it up, Jack,” Emma said, her tone serious, “but you will help us.”
He snorted. “In your dreams, lady.”
She brushed away a loose strand of hair from her face and tucked it behind her left ear. “I’ve been generous, Jack. There have been no lives lost. But, if you don’t help us, I’ll start killing hostages one by one…starting with the women and children.”
“Oben!” Emma yelled.
Two of the newcomers slung their identical Heckler & Koch rifles over their shoulders and pulled Jack to his feet. Emma confidently strolled up to him until she was only inches away.
She trained her piercing blue eyes on him. “Welcome, Jack Reilly, to the beginning of the Fourth Reich.” She lovingly stroked his cheek with her hand. “I’m proud to have you as my project leader.” She grinned. “You look like a man that can get the job done, because, remember, if you don’t…”
Jack knew when he was beaten. “If I help you, what guarantees do I have that you won’t harm anyone?”
“None,” Emma replied, “but I hardly think you’re in any position to make demands.”
Now, it was Jack’s turn to smile. “That all depends on how desperate you are for my help.”
Gunter slammed the stock of his carbine into Jack’s gut, dropping him to his knees. He couldn’t breathe as a result. His core had taken a beating in a matter of minutes. Jack desperately gasped for air but was unsuccessful, and just when his breathing was getting under control, Emma gave another order in German, and Jack was clubbed from behind.
His eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he blacked out.
Jack felt like he’d been hit with a sledgehammer. One of Emma’s background dancers had pistol-whipped him from behind. Now, he’d like nothing more than to return the favor. But to do that, the world needed to stop spinning.
Groggy, he slowly opened his eyes, wincing against the intensity of the afternoon sun. The crisp breeze hit him next, confirming that he was still, indeed, outside.
He moaned. “Who hit me?”
“That would be Karl,” Emma replied, standing behind him somewhere. “He doesn’t like you very much.”
“Karl? Right, well, he’s now at the top of my shit list.”
“I thought I was?” Gunter asked, smiling, squatting in front of Jack.
He looked up at Gunter, blinking against the high sun. “No, I just think you’re a piece of shit.”
He frowned and raised his clenched fist.
“Brother, no,” Emma said, “we need Jack to be with us on this little adventure.”
“Better listen to Sissy, Hans. She’s the boss, right?”
Gunter huffed an annoyed breath and stood. He stomped off and disappeared outside of Jack’s limited peripheral vision.
Through a pounding headache, Jack saw that he’d been moved from the grounds just outside of Crematorium I, to the loading area at the center of the kitchen buildings. They formed a rectangular ring around a space that was currently being used as a corral for the hostages.
“Get him up.”
Emma’s order was answered by two people Jack had never met, and nor were any of them her team members. The pair that helped Jack to his feet were children. They sniffed and wept openly. A woman off to Jack’s right was sobbing uncontrollably. She must have been their mother, and she was scared to death for her kids.
It was a no-win situation. These people’s lives were in his hands. If he succeeded, maybe, just maybe, they’d be spared. Emma was dedicated, but Jack didn’t think she was homicidal. She was just trying to intimidate him.
And it was succeeding.
His mind went back to his last mission with Delta—back to the young boy who blew himself up in an effort to try to kill Jack. Even after half a decade, it still haunted him. That was something you didn’t forget—ever.
“Was that necessary?” Jack asked, turning and facing Emma.
She was now dressed similarly to her men, wearing a Kevlar vest over black fatigues. Emma didn’t carry an HK416 or a backpack, nor did she wear a tactical face mask. The only weapon she had was a holstered pistol, most likely the one she drew and pointed at Jack back inside Crematorium I.
“It worked, didn’t it?” she replied, crossing her arms.
They stepped away from the group. There had to be at least three hundred people present, plus the number of men Emma had brought with her.
“If you’re wondering,” she said, pointing upward to the roofs of the single-story buildings, “I have six men stationed here, plus a few others roaming the grounds. The men here only have one job. They are to contain the hostages, by any means.” She faced the civilians and spoke loudly. “If you make a move that I disagree with, I give the order for them to open fire and kill as many of you as they can.” She looked at Jack but still spoke to the crowd. “The only thing that will stop them is when they run out of bullets.”
Jack gave her a curt nod, reading her loud and clear. If he did anything dumb, the blood was on his hands too.
She went to turn, but he stopped her. “Emma?”
“What is it?”
“Which one of these assholes is Karl?”
A brutish man with greying temples snapped to attention. Sticking his chest out, he rigidly waltzed up to Jack, and got in his face, stopping within a foot of him. Then, he leaned in closer and snarled.
“I am Karl.”
“Down boy,” Jack said, leaning away from the black-clad gorilla.
With his wrists still bound, Jack feigned nervousness. Karl relaxed some as a result. Then, Jack launched himself forward and hammered Karl in the face with his forehead. He happily watched the man collapse to the ground while holding his bloodied, broken nose.
“I said, down.”
Gunter’s face scrunched up, and he took a step toward Jack.
“Enough!” Emma shouted, drawing her pistol.
She pointed it at the closest person to her, one of the children that had helped Jack to his feet. The girl couldn’t have been more than thirteen. The sight of the gun was too much, and she screeched into the air and ran. She was almost back to her mother when one of Emma’s men caught her arm and threw her to the ground at Jack’s feet.
He looked into the girl’s green eyes.
“Hey,” he said softly, “you’re going to be okay.”
Sniffing, she nodded and wiped her eyes.
Jaw tight, Jack returned his attention to Emma. “So, when do we get started?”
4
Gunter and the man Jack headbutted, Karl, forcefully ushered him along behind Emma. Two other men with assault rifles brought up the rear of the group. It seemed that the expedition team was to consist of himself and five members of the modern-day SS. Sooner or later, Jack would need to even out the five-to-one odds.
He’d never admit it out loud, but Jack needed to see this thing through. He wanted to see if there was gold at the end of this blood-stained rainbow. The fact that the descendants of a prominent Nazi had come out of the woodwork like this told him that, at least, they thought it was
real. That they chose Auschwitz to begin their search, and not the Owl Mountains, further intrigued him.
So far, no one had been killed. He’d “gladly” go along until something changed. He wasn’t a willing participant, but if his assistance ensured that none of the hostages were murdered, then he’d play along and do his best. Wherever they were going, it was clearly some sort of undiscovered, underground entry point.
They took a right and stopped directly in front of Block 11, or as it more commonly referred to, the Death Block. Some of the more horrifying events had occurred within this building. Everything from sterilization experimentation, claustrophobic standing cells, and starvation torture had taken place inside the Death Block. It was one of the few places that both men and women were seen in the same light. To the doctors stationed here, they had been nothing more than lab rats or guinea pigs.
The alleyway ended at an infamous execution site, the Black Wall. Thousands of people had been killed by gunfire there during the war, including men, women, and even children. Most of the victims were Polish political prisoners. But as bullets ammunition became harder and harder to find, the Germans turned to alternate means of execution.
Emma headed right and continued up a short flight of steps, pausing just outside of the Death Block entrance. She turned and unzipped her Kevlar vest. Emma reached in and procured a worn, leather bound book. Flipping it open, she carefully thumbed through the pages, translating its contents to herself. All Jack could do was stand there and watch her mouth silently open and close.
Finally, Jack had to know.
“What’s that?” he asked, tilting his chin toward the book.
Emma didn’t look up. “Himmler’s journal.”
Jack was blown away. “That belonged to Heinrich Himmler?”
She glanced up at him. “It did, but I’ve had it in my possession for some time now. I know it by heart. Himmler sent it to my great-grandfather before going into hiding.”
“And it’ll help us how, exactly?”
She slid it back into her vest and zippered it shut. Standing erect, she explained.
“Himmler knew that someday Hitler’s reign would end, and with it, his collection would be there for the taking.”
