by Matt James
Jack used both of his bound hands to pump up and down while Emma and Gunter only used one each. Their free hands were holding flashlights. Either he got a blinding LED beam in the face, or he saw nothing except darkness.
The track up ahead—behind Jack—wasn’t in the greatest of shape, and since he couldn’t see squat, he held onto the pump bar as tight as he could. They dipped and bent back and forth beneath an untold tonnage of earth. It was horrifying to think of just how much rock was above their heads.
Zoning out for what seemed like hours, he almost missed Emma and Gunter’s shared expressions. Both looked unsure of what they were seeing. They slowed, which allowed Jack to check his watch. He sighed. He’d only been on the handcar for a few minutes—and, boy, was he feeling it.
The Schmidts didn’t communicate what they were doing, but Jack felt the pair ease up on their half of the pump bar. So, he did the same, turning and looking behind him as they slowed. He instantly found what concerned the siblings. A massive pile of rocks blocked their path. At some point between now and the Second World War, the tunnel had caved in and crushed the tracks.
They came to a full stop fifty yards shy of it.
Jack didn’t get down right away. He wanted to see what they were going to do first. The fingers of his left hand slid into the right sleeve of his jacket, just in case. If this was the end of their journey, Emma and Gunter could quickly cut bait and retreat to the surface, which meant that Jack was expendable.
He—the hostage—needed to keep himself relevant.
Before anyone forced him off, he hopped down and took a look around. With his hands in front of him now, he was able to itch his nose, a feat that was only possible beforehand if he used his shoulder. The boulders laying atop the track were enormous. A few were taller than he was. There was no way they’d be able to move them, even if they cut Jack’s wrists free again.
Jurgen called out from somewhere behind them. He spoke in German, which meant that Jack had no idea what the hell he was saying. The private conversations were quickly getting on Jack’s nerves. Gunter replied and looked at Emma. She, thankfully, remembered that Jack didn’t speak the language and quickly translated.
“He says that he spotted an outlet a hundred yards back the other way.”
“So,” Jack said, “we’re going off the reservation?”
Emma looked unsure, but she nodded. “Ja.”
“Can I at least have a flashlight?”
Without turning, she called for Jurgen. In rapid-fire succession, she told the man to do something. The mercenary wasn’t thrilled, which meant it was probably a good thing for Jack. He unslung his pack and produced a small black Mini Maglite, handing it over with a scowl. Jack clicked it on and smiled. He, now, had the gift of sight.
“Okay, Jack,” Emma said, stepping aside. “Lead the way.”
“Really?” he asked, not trusting her.
She stepped up next to her brother. “Better something terrible happens to you than us.”
“Yes, my lady,” he announced, “I shall be your shield.”
Jack headed back the way they’d come, feeling the trench knife in his sleeve. He stepped around the pair of handcarts, looking them over as he did. Jack was impressed that they worked as well as they did. His shoulders fell. He wouldn’t be able to operate one on his own if he was able to make a break for it. Maybe if they were brand-new and their gears freshly oiled, he’d be able to, but not now.
He was just about to suggest using the handcarts but stopped outside a small passageway. He sighed. Looking it over, Jack saw that the track leading inside was in good shape, but the railroad switch wasn’t. The pole attached to the gearbox had been severed at the base. There was no way to throw it in their favor.
Being cautious with his footing, Jack slowly crept into the offshoot. The path had originally been a natural fissure that had since been expanded by force. There would’ve barely been enough room to fit the handcarts through.
Behind him, Emma and Gunter quickly conversed with one another. Jack paid them no attention and focused on the task at hand. One by one, he silently counted off the number of railroad ties that passed beneath him. Jack couldn’t recall where he’d read it, but he knew there were roughly 3,250 wooden beams per mile of track.
God, I hope there isn’t that many.
8
After two and a half miles worth of twisting railroad ties, Jack stopped counting. There was no way to tell where they were, but they certainly weren’t under Auschwitz anymore. He didn’t know the area outside the complex well enough to try and figure it out either.
The passage opened ahead, rapidly relieving some of Jack’s amassed anxiety. He wasn’t claustrophobic—not at all—but just being in the tight confines of a Nazi tunnel system was discomforting, particularly with his present company.
“What’s that sound?” Karl asked.
Jack heard it too. It was similar to the white noise of a crackling radio. He was pretty sure he knew its origin.
“Man, I hope I’m wrong.”
“What?” Emma asked, hearing him.
Jack waved her off and kept moving.
As the shaft broadened, the ground beneath them fell away. The track didn’t, though. It continued straight and true, extending out over a chasm. Woah! Jack was seriously impressed. Even with the others adding their light to his, he still couldn’t see the other side.
The air around Jack was wet, like a chilly night before a storm. Every surface was covered in a layer of moisture.
Careful not to slip, Jack inched out onto the elevated track a few feet and looked straight down between the ties. He pointed his flashlight in the same direction, dreading what he saw. The moisture’s origin was six stories beneath him. There, a trio of raging subterranean rivers joined as one. One flowed from directly beneath his feet. The other two were expelled from tunnels to his left and right. Together, they rushed straight under the track with all the might that the natural world could muster.
It was equal parts power and peace. Jack loved the sound of rainstorms and trickling streams. Even a raging river, such as this, could put Jack to sleep in minutes.
A nap sounded terrific right about now.
All of his appreciation for the powerful current faded as he followed the combination of tributaries. The imposing display ended at a waterfall that fell away into an even deeper darkness.
Seeing enough, Jack backed away and bumped into something dense and immovable. He turned and found Gunter staring at him with the slightest of grins on his face. Karl and Jurgen stood on either side of the German.
Jack shrugged. “What?”
Gunter finally spoke up. “Keep moving.”
His words made Jack laugh. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No, Jack, he’s not,” Emma said, stepping around the trio.
Jack glanced back and forth between the foursome. Neither of them backed down. They were dead serious, and Jack couldn’t believe it. Then again, it wasn’t their lives they were gambling with. It was his.
“Fine,” Jack said, frustrated, “but if I die, I’m coming back as a ghost and haunting the shit out of all of you.”
With extreme caution, Jack stepped toward the precipice. Since he was the guinea pig, he took his damn time and inspected the path. The train track sat atop a series of horribly rusted metal supports. The moisture had done a number on them over the years.
Slowly, Jack inched out, using the warped railroad ties as stepstones. So far, it felt stable enough. The only sound other than the rushing water was his footfalls. After twenty railroad ties in, he found one that shifted beneath him. It didn’t wiggle much, but it was enough to spook him. He stopped and took a moment to collect himself.
“Oh, Jaaack,” Emma called out. “We don’t have all day.”
Annoyed, he glanced over his shoulder. “Wanna switch spots?” She crossed her arms and glared at him. “Is that a no?” He turned around, examining his next step. “Then do me a favor, and k
eep that shit to yourself.”
Jack headed off before the peanut gallery could speak up again. It felt good to shut them up. What didn’t feel satisfying, was the track beneath his feet giving out. Surrounded by crumpling mass of steel and wood, Jack fell and plummeted into the bitterly cold water below.
Quickly swept away, Jack did two things as he was forced underwater. He gripped onto his flashlight as hard as he could, and he curled himself into a ball, tucking his chin into his chest. Much like his tumble down the stairs beneath the Cellar, Jack was battered, thrashed hard by the current. As expected, the stone walls didn’t give an inch.
Suddenly, Jack was thrown from the water, freefalling again. In the aura of his flashlight, he saw that he wasn’t, technically, thrown anywhere. Jack had found the waterfall. A heartbeat later, he plunged back into the river.
He managed to surface and took in two lungfuls of air just as his head nearly struck the sharply descending ceiling. Jack was comfortable in the water, but this was ridiculous. He held his flashlight out in front of him and kicked, occasionally flipping the beam up. If the ceiling didn’t rise soon, Jack was going to drown. He couldn’t let that happen.
He was keen on kicking some Nazi ass.
Lungs on fire, Jack pumped his legs hard, kicking like the world’s most awkward frog. He had no idea how much distance he covered between his and the water’s efforts, but it felt like a lot.
The current died down to almost nothing—which meant Jack was on his own. He panicked, and reflexively tried to surface, expecting to smack his head against stone. Surprisingly, he found air instead. Kicking in place, he sucked in one greedy lungful of oxygen after the other. In the half-submerged beam of his flashlight, he saw shore up ahead. Slowly, he propelled himself toward it, clumsily climbing out of the water and collapsing to the chilling stone floor. He was waterlogged and cold—two things that didn’t complement one another.
If he were back in Yellowstone, he’d simply build a fire. Jack doubted there was anything to burn down here, though. Come to think of it, he had no idea where here was. Jack was miles outside of Auschwitz’s perimeter fence by now. Until he was told otherwise, he’d assume he was traveling northwest toward the Owl Mountains. That was his best guess.
Before he did anything else, Jack stuck the end of his flashlight in his mouth and swiftly worked the trench knife from his jacket sleeve. With a flick of his wrist, he cut through his bonds and chucked them in the water.
Jack sat up and placed the small Maglite on the ground, pointing it back toward the water. There was nothing except a calm, serene pool. It was flat and glassy, beautiful even. On his hands and knees, he crawled to the water’s edge and gratefully dipped his sore wrists beneath the icy surface.
Then, he scooped a few handfuls of water into his mouth. Satisfied, he kept both his hands under the water and closed his eyes, relishing in the relaxing stillness the cavern provided. He knew he should get up and try to find a way out, but instead, he took an extra moment to reset and recharge.
When he got to the point to where he couldn’t feel his fingers, he removed his hands from the water and gingerly climbed to his feet, snagging his flashlight as he did. Like the floor back up by the railroad track, the one beneath his feet now was worn and slick. Jack backed away from it, wanting nothing more than to camp out for a while and rest. He knew he couldn’t, so he turned and started walking away.
Jack cracked his neck and groaned. “What a day….”
He only made it one step.
Not only did Jack shiver because of the temperature, but he shook because of the wonderful discovery standing before him. He twitched with stunned excitement. Here, somewhere in a forgotten cave system within Poland’s borders, was a sanctuary of stone. Straight ahead was a tall, narrow doorway cut right into the rock itself. He craned his head up and spotted a very familiar emblem carved into the wall above the entrance. It identified the owners of this place. It was simple, yet it spoke volumes. A twenty-foot, symmetrical cross adorned the arched entry.
“The Knights Templar,” Jack whispered, staring up at the perfectly preserved emblem.
The Knights Templar was a Catholic military order founded in 1119. They were responsible for inventing one of the earliest forms of banking in history. They also employed some of the fiercest warriors within their ranks. Some say they left behind the greatest treasure of all.
“No way,” Jack said. “It can’t be…”
Was Hitler’s fortune, in reality, the found Templar treasure?
It was possible. A similar organization had been in Poland during Hitler’s reign.
The Teutonic Knights, also known as the “German Order,” were founded decades after the Knights Templar. They acted similarly, too. They were often volunteers, but they were also paid mercenaries. Like their predecessors, the Teutonic Knights’ primary goal was to assist and, if necessary, defend Christian pilgrims traveling to the Holy Land—Jerusalem. There was a small number that also took part in…extracurricular activities.
The Knights Templar were often used as shock troops during the Crusades. They were ferocious and intimidating to the enemy, exhibiting an almost otherworldly presence while on the battlefield. But unlike the Knights Templar, the Teutonic Knights’ charitable arm survived into the modern era before eventually being forced underground by none other than Adolf Hitler and the Nazis in 1938.
Clandestine warrior priests. Treasure. Nazis. The connections between them all were too much for Jack to ignore.
But this place is much older than Hitler, Jack thought, panning his light over the find.
Knights Templar prayer temples could be found across Europe since before World War II. Most notably was the one recently found in Shropshire, England. The seven-hundred-year-old temple was accidentally discovered after a farmer dug up the entrance to a rabbit hole. It was an incredible story. It all started with the farmer trying to get rid of a nuisance. It ended with him finding an archaeological wonder.
Just like this, Jack thought, smiling wide.
Forgetting all about the cold, he entered the tall, elongated opening in a state of euphoric exhilaration. Its contents immediately revealed how this particular temple had been used. Lining each wall were gorgeously engraved wooden caskets. This was a secret burial chamber of the Knights Templar, and none of the coffins had been opened. It proved that Jack was the first person to lay eyes on this place in hundreds of years.
The vaulted ceilings were over twenty feet high and beautifully crafted. They showcased scenes of battle, but also images of grace. The group’s history was on display here—and he found it! It was an amazing achievement, something he needed to share with the world.
It was just another reason that he needed to survive. Emma and her brother would undoubtedly bury the discovery after pillaging it, of course. Perhaps they’d even wipe it off the face of the earth altogether. The thought of them destroying this place sickened Jack. All of this belonged to everyone, especially the ancestors of the knights entombed here.
If he was going to tell the world about it, it meant that he needed to find a way out. He widened his light’s beam and played it over the main chamber. There had to be another way out. It was inconceivable to think that the water was the only entrance.
Unless the water was a recent change? His face fell at the prospect of having the entry to the tunnel flooding over time. Dammit.
There was a good chance that he was trapped down here. The flooding could’ve occurred centuries ago. Just because the way was presently submerged, didn’t mean it had always been that way.
“From a trickle to a roar.” He shook his head. “No. Not happening.”
Jack Reilly wasn’t going out like that.
He turned and spotted a passageway, quickly entering it. He’d explore every single square inch of this place and find his damn exit. Emma, Gunter, Karl, and Jurgen—all of them—needed an uppercut to the mandible in the worst way, and Jack wanted his knuckles to do the damage.
Feeling defeated, Jack slowly made his way back to the central chamber. Directly across the temple was another opening. He entered it and found that it was fashioned as a mirror image to the other passage. Grumbling, he stomped back to the main hall and gave it yet another look. Besides the beautiful construction, there wasn’t much else to see.
“Shit.” He scratched his sopping wet head. “Now what?”
Emma watched Jack plummet to what she figured was his death. She’d regret not having him along for the rest of the ride. He had proven himself to be more than valuable. She, honestly, thought she’d get a lot more out of the man.
She shrugged. “So long, Jack. It was nice while it lasted.”
“It was?” Karl asked, tentatively touching his nose.
To regain their status quo, they would need to return to the surface for another hostage. It was too bad, though. Jack had been her first choice because of his knowledge. Plus, pushing around a man as skilled as him had been a thrill.
No, she decided, looking behind her. I want my treasure first.
After she discovered it, she’d have one of her men bring her the young girl. In memory of Jack, the girl would be Emma’s new insurance policy against a counterattack.
9
Jack faced the entrance and craned his neck back, stretching it, desperately trying to knead the frustration out with both of his hands. He closed his eyes and calmed himself, taking several deep breaths. When he opened them, he noticed something about the chamber that he had missed. Along the upper half of the space was a ledge protruding no more than a foot in depth. He traced it around the room, following it until it disappeared into the rear wall. The sight made him grin from ear to ear.
