The Forgotten Fortune

by Matt James

  In the darkness, right then and there, Jack looked down. He visualized what was directly below his feet, picturing the water beneath him meeting up with the river he’d been in twice before—twice more than he would’ve preferred. All of the subterranean tributaries seemed to converge in the same place, back where he had first fallen through the elevated tracks. That knowledge gave Jack an advantage, but it also presented him a horrible idea, and if he didn’t act fast, he’d lose the battle. He could feel his strength rapidly diminishing.

  Karl released Jack’s gun hand and smashed his left fist into his foe’s face. Woozy, Jack tried and failed to raise his pistol and pull the trigger. His head swam.

  Swam…

  “Hey, Karl…” Jack said, his vision dancing, “can you swim?”

  Jack leaned right and went limp. Two-hundred pounds of dead weight rapidly brought the unbalanced, unsuspecting German along for the ride. Jack’s hip bumped the low rail. Underneath the men’s combined mass, it cracked and abruptly rocked the rope bridge. They spilled over the rail and fell into nothingness.

  Gunshots spewed wildly as the pair struggled to shoot the other. With each successive gunshot, Jack could see Karl’s snarling, bestial face. The roar of a raging river rose to a crescendo, and just before Jack plunged through its surface for a third time, he released his hold on Karl’s gun hand and took a deep breath.

  The Glock was nearly knocked away from him by one of Karl’s flailing appendages. But all the blow did was activate Jack’s weapon light. The pair plunged beneath the surging rapids. The cold temperature snapped Jack back into focus, awakening what must be his fourth or fifth wind.

  Within the swirling illumination, Jack reacquired Karl—not that pulling the trigger while submerged would do a damn thing. The first thing he noticed was the look on the big German’s face. Karl no longer looked like he wanted to kill Jack. He looked surprised. Jack was likewise confused until his light’s beam turned red. Karl’s line of sight dropped to his own chest.

  Jack followed the man’s eyes. There were twin holes in his exposed sternum. Jack was currently wearing Karl’s protective vest—a garment that would’ve stopped the bullets from entering the other man’s body.

  The water ushered both men along, separating them for a moment, then crashing them back into one another seconds later. Jack drove his feet into Karl. With not delay, he shoved, and kicked him away.

  Pointing his light forward, Jack angled his body like a torpedo and allowed the river to direct him. The underground channel was as craggy as the others but more open. And like before, the ceiling above his head disappeared without notice. Jack was bowled into from behind. Startled, he lost most of his held oxygen in a burst of bubbles. Apparently, Karl wasn’t down for the count.

  Jack was belly-up with Karl directly atop him. Both men rode the current like a pair of synchronized dolphins. While Karl focused on choking the life out of Jack, the former Delta operator was paying attention to his surroundings. The ceiling was rapidly appearing and disappearing overhead. If Jack could time its reappearance correctly…

  There!

  Jack slid his arms in between their bodies, and he heaved Karl upward, wincing when the man’s face cracked against a jagged outcrop of rock. It missed Jack’s nose by inches, nearly dislodging his gun from his numb hands. In desperate need of air, Jack pushed away from the ceiling and turned over. The current rolled him around to the left, and the passage narrowed slightly.

  It opened into a swirling vortex of water. When it did, Jack kicked to the surface and took in a deep breath. He felt around for his thigh holster, slipping his pistol inside before it was torn away.

  The light wasn’t powerful enough to see anything of use, but Jack knew where he was. He was back under the tracks, where the main tributaries converged. The earlier idea of climbing the cliff was quickly swept away—as was Jack. Like he had twice before, the waterfall threw Jack into the air. He curled into a ball and re-entered the water and rode the bumpy water ride back to the glassy Templar pool.

  Jack surfaced, treading water for a moment. He caught his breath and doggy paddled over to the bank. He pulled himself up and flopped onto the flat stone and laid still, staring up at the ceiling. In the silent, calm of the cave, he was startled when something else entered behind him.

  Staying down, Jack rolled onto his left side and drew his pistol, activating its light. He acquired the latest threat, though, it wasn’t a new enemy. It was a very familiar one, and he was floating face down, unmoving.

  Jack waited twenty seconds before getting to his feet. He kept his gun leveled at the buoyant man and crept up to the bank’s edge. After an additional ten seconds of inaction, Jack turned away.

  Karl was dead.

  Drenched, yet again, Jack shook it off and depressed his Glock’s magazine release and checked his ammo. Satisfied, he replaced it inside the weapon’s handgrip, holstered it, and stepped away.

  “Right,” he muttered, holding his bruised ribs. “Now for Emma and Gunter.”

  19

  The Schmidts took cover the way Jack had done and knelt behind an overturned table. They both had their weapons drawn and aimed down the tunnel, waiting for either Karl or Jack to emerge. Gunter doubted both men would return. Karl went in knowing that there was a chance he wouldn’t see any of his comrades again.

  “I will make you proud,” he had said, turning and stomping away.

  The fire to Emma and Gunter’s left had died down. It was a clever move on Jack’s part to think of it so quickly. Unfortunately, for the American, they were already a step ahead of him. Lying near their feet were four small wads of torn fabric. They had used the material as earplugs to muffle the concussive sound of their weapons while firing them in the tight confines of the subterranean corridors. The abusive report didn’t get completely suppressed, but it worked well enough.

  Emma and Gunter waited for their friend for ten minutes. Agitated, Emma stood and stepped around the table.

  “Emma!” Gunter hissed.

  She shot her brother a venomous glare, silencing him without a word. Biting his lip, he stood and followed her, keeping an eye on their rear. The American had proved wily. The setting, and the man’s unwillingness to die, spooked the otherwise stoic mercenary. Few had ever made Gunter feel this way.

  He respected Jack.

  “We must take great care,” he said softly.

  Emma ignored him. She was lost in her rage, blindly focused on killing the man that was responsible for ruining her years of planning. Yes, Jack Reilly needed to die, but Gunter was worried that his sister’s foolish mindset would make her fall in the process. He loved Emma, but she was her own woman. Gunter could only do so much to protect her. But…

  Sorry, Emma, he thought. If it comes to it, I’m choosing my life over Jack’s death.

  The trail was straight and true, and it didn’t rise or fall. The construction was impossibly precise. The duo marched on in silence until they heard water. The suspension bridge was something to behold, as was the expanse of the chasm. It was tranquil, and it bothered Gunter terribly.

  Neither Karl nor Jack were present.

  “You think they went across?” he asked.

  Emma didn’t reply, and she didn’t stop. Without testing the bridge’s structural integrity, Emma continued forward, locked in, and zoned out. Gunter waited for his sister to reach the halfway point before following. When she did, he stepped as she did—where she did. A few feet out and to his left, Gunter noticed that a section of the railing was badly damaged. The breakage didn’t seem to weaken the bridge in the least, though. He didn’t stick around long enough to see if it was a new break or not.

  Emma moved quicker as she neared the other side. The bridge was sound all the way across. In his weapon light, Gunter watched Emma enter the tunnel and hurry inside, never once looking back.

  Before following her, Gunter paused and faced the other way, shining his light across the expanse. He held it, and his breath, and wai
ted. When no one emerged, he exhaled, turned, and crossed the threshold.

  Jack stayed hidden until Gunter was out of sight. After climbing up to the second floor of the Templar church, he had hightailed it to the circular living quarters, glad to find it deserted. Jack was correct to assume that Emma and her brother would go to check on Karl. If he decided wrong, then it was apparent that they headed back to the treasure room instead.

  Regrettably, Jack was now at level ground with his foes. He had no idea what lay ahead. Returning to the train was a possibility, for sure. If he did, he could spring a trap and take the Schmidts out together. He thought it over and decided to go with his gut and stepped back onto the decking of the suspension bridge.

  Gunter had only just vanished further underground. Still, Jack needed to hang back and be cautious. If they suspected that he was following them, they could turn the tides quickly.

  The trek across the bridge started out fine, but then Jack came across the portion that he and Karl had damaged. As soon as his left foot came down, the bridge listed in that direction, and his knee gave out. Luckily, Jack caught himself, and he didn’t spill back into the raging river below.

  But his gun did.

  “Well, shit…” he said, watching the illuminated weapon flip end over end until—sploosh—gone.

  With his only real means of defending himself now sleeping with the fishes, Jack unsheathed the German trench knife he had begun his journey with. It was the only armament he had left. With no light to see by, Jack patted himself down and felt something in one of the pockets on his vest. Reaching in, he was happy to find six glow sticks. He removed one and cracked it, shaking it vigorously. The Sharpie-sized object glowed orange and settled a little of Jack’s rising anxiety. Regardless, he proceeded by stepping slowly and felt each section of decking for weak spots.

  Arriving at the other end, Jack knelt just outside the passage and waited. He shielded the glow stick and couldn’t see squat—which was great. It meant that he was alone—or at least—that’s what he was hoping for.

  Jack stood and transferred the glow stick into his knife hand, holding both together. Next, he felt for the ceiling, finding it a foot above his head. He kept his empty hand on its surface and carefully proceeded forward, using it as a guide. Jack gripped the trench knife’s hilt and the glow stick tightly, covering the light the best he could. With no gun, Jack was at a serious disadvantage and needed to resort to stealth over force.

  Soft, muted voices beckoned him onward. A dozen steps later, he emerged and quickly found cover behind a thick stalagmite near the outskirts of another impressive cavern. He pocketed the glow stick and leaned out, spotting a ring of several more orange chemiluminescences off in the distance. They encompassed the center of the room, and within their collective aura, stood Emma and Gunter.

  Jack estimated the cavern to be somewhere between two and three hundred feet in diameter. The floor of the cave was mostly clear apart from a pair of enormous, naturally formed columns, as well as a handful of small depressions filled with mineral-laced water, the lifeblood of the rock formations.

  The Schmidts stood with their backs to him, pointing their flashlights at a lump on the floor. Jack was too far away to tell what it was that held their attention. Emma knelt and covered her mouth with one hand. Her other hand was pressed up against her chest. It was a display of emotion, one that seemed out of character. He had seen very little of that from Emma since meeting her. Whatever they’d found, it must’ve been something amazing to behold.

  Jack needed to see it too.

  Few things could move a person as heartless as Emma Schmidt. If it brought her to her knees, then it would blow Jack’s socks off for sure. Even Gunter was taken aback by it. Considering their family history and the reason they were here, Jack thought it was safe to assume that it was somehow Nazi related.

  He waited an agonizing fifteen minutes before Emma and Gunter headed back the way they had come. Jack’s eyes opened wide, and he looked for somewhere to hide. With no other option, he hugged close to the spire of stone and prayed he wouldn’t be found. Emma wasn’t carrying a weapon, but Gunter was. He still held his rifle at the low-ready, head on a swivel.

  Jack couldn’t chance it.

  Keeping the column between him and the Schmidts, Jack crept sideways, cringing with every step he took. At their closest, Emma and Gunter passed within ten feet of Jack’s hiding spot. The stone spike was barely thick enough to conceal him, but it did the job. Plus, Jack hadn’t given them a reason to think that he had followed them.

  As they reentered the passage back up to the Templar caves, Jack wiped his brow and quietly made his way over to the center of the room. The glow sticks still had plenty of juice left in them. The lighting wasn’t the problem. The issue with what he saw was coming to terms with what it was, or rather, who he was.

  Like Emma, Jack knelt and got a closer look.

  The first thing he noted was the man’s clothing—his uniform. Even after eight decades of grime, Jack recognized him as a high-ranking Nazi officer. However, it was the man’s matching collar insignias that gave his identity away. The historians had gotten this one wrong. He hadn’t killed himself like they had said, at least, not while he was in British custody anyway.

  “Heinrich Himmler.”

  The Reichsfuhrer of Hitler’s Schutzstaffel was here—in the flesh—sort of. It’s why Emma had been so broken up about it. Lying here was a man she still idolized. Seeing the body in front of him, Jack realized that perhaps Himmler had escaped the Allies and had died down here, maybe even on his own terms. Inspecting him further, Jack couldn’t see the back of Himmler’s head and body, but the sight was too much to take in and he knew it had been hard for Emma to handle.

  It dawned on Jack that he had once read an article describing how most of the Nazi commanders had professional stand-ins. The lookalikes had known everything there was to know about their twin. And Jack was sure Himmler would have had help from German spies on the inside. They had been everywhere back then. It would have been easy for the Allies to have captured Himmler’s double, who would have been able to keep up the rouse, while the real Himmler got away.

  “And you came here.” He looked around and pictured everything he’d seen since stepping foot into the Death Block.

  Medical records would have been a cinch to alter. Nothing had been digital and paper copies would’ve needed to have been accessed and swapped out. It may have even been done years before the war ended, but Jack was just guessing.

  Did that mean that Hitler may have survived too? His death had been a suspicious one. Like Himmler, Hitler had, supposedly, killed himself. What had never added up was that the bullet had entered through his forehead, an odd angle to have shot one’s self. It would have been more plausible had it been done under the chin or into the temple, which was more common in firearm-related suicides. Some theorists have said that Hitler, or maybe his body double, had been murdered and then staged to look like a suicide. And again, Hitler’s medical records could have been easily modified.

  It made sense to Jack why Himmler had come here. There were plenty of supplies, and few knew of the bunker’s existence. And he would have needed a secure place to hide. He had been responsible for a lot, not more than Hitler himself, but he easily took second place. Few had ever held an office as powerful and influential as Himmler. There was only one other person Jack could compare him to. General Erwin Rommel, commander of the German Army’s Afrika Corps.

  Himmler had returned here for something that he valued.

  “The treasure,” Jack whispered, standing. He never took his eyes off the corpse. “You came back for the treasure, didn’t you? Probably right after Adolf offed himself.”

  If that’s what really happened.

  It terrified Jack to think there was a world where Hitler, Himmler, and Josef Mengele had all gotten away. The Nazi physician had somehow outrun the law for years, most notably Israeli Mossad agents. Thankfully, for all of
humankind, it looked as if the other two had died, either just before the war ended, or shortly thereafter. Just because Himmler escaped custody, didn’t mean Hitler had.

  Jack blinked hard and refocused. He needed to stay on this side of paranoia. He also needed to catch up with Emma and Gunter before they too slipped away from justice. Following them would be easy, but it would also be dangerous and downright foolish. Since they had lost him, Jack didn’t think they would be outright hunting him. They would still be extremely cautious, but not ravenously trying to find and kill him.

  That’s what he supposed, anyway.

  Jack was drained. He needed a break to reset, so he pushed forward. Nature’s design would lead the way. At the other end of the cave was a tall, thin pathway. Initially, he could barely squeeze through. His vest made it difficult, but once he got himself going, the passage opened enough to move about freely.

  In the soft illumination of his glow stick, Jack looked up. The ceiling was veiled from sight, high over his head. The ground beneath his feet was uneven and difficult to navigate. His assessment of the trail—something Bull had taught him to do—was that it hadn’t been in regular use back when people roamed these caves on a more regular basis.

  Jack estimated that he had traveled about half a mile by the time he saw something different than his narrow-walled strip of tunneling. In this case, the corridor’s ceiling shot down out of the heavens and cut the path’s height down to three feet. Grumbling under his breath, Jack sheathed his trench knife and dropped onto his hands and knees. He shuffled forward for twenty feet before seeing something he recognized. Facing down, and with just his head sticking out, Jack saw train tracks. Next, he looked right and then left, smiling wide.

  There, he saw the backside of a familiar set of handcarts. He was back at the train station, and he couldn’t have been happier. Jack pulled himself up to his feet and limped toward the station. He squeezed around a duo of carts before reaching the edge of the platform. Just beyond that were the bodies they had found earlier.