Nora sat contemplating the documents lining her desk but couldn’t quite focus for the moment. She kept thinking about the last article she wrote; one about gang violence in the Chicago streets. It left her with a bitter taste. The death threats; her car tires slashed; her cat shot with a .22 and left for dead by her apartment door. No doubt, messages from her many admirers. But she was nominated for another Pulitzer. She nailed the cities five biggest gang leaders and linked them to the downtown drug trade and two City Council members.
That was the part that felt good.
The ulcer she was getting because of her constant looking over her shoulder did not. And to top it off, she recently ended a six-month relationship, flinging her personnel life into a tailspin. But this was the part that bewildered her the most. People frequently compared her to a young Lauren Bacall, the movie star siren of the 1940’s and 50’s. Nora stood 5 ’8, with long shoulder length hair that seemed to constantly battle between blonde with brown roots and brown; a lithe body, and what captured men most of all were her eyes; a deep pool of blue-green that seemed to reel you in from the first instant you made eye contact. Having recently broken up with her latest in a long string of boyfriends, her marriage hopes were once again dashed with her thinking that this was the one. Long hours at the paper and traveling the world on a moment’s notice didn’t benefit her chances at settling down. Lord knows she had enough chances. She was constantly being approached; airports, work, restaurants, the street; even the 15-year old pizza delivery boy who hit on her the night before. But she just didn’t feel quite herself. You’re over forty, she told herself. You’re not a youngster anymore. Sleep came increasingly hard to her, despite work hours that grew longer and the constant feeling of fatigue that just didn’t seem to go away. Too much work and not enough play were beginning to wear on her. She needed to return to a proper state of mind. A regular life. She swore to herself that when this James Myers story was finally finished she would take a long vacation; a place that had no Wi-Fi. No cell service. Just a thatched beach bungalow whose owner provided massages on the beach; preferably male, 180 pounds, brown hair, blue eyes. Sounded almost too good to be true, she thought, as she pondered her assignment.
Focus, she said to herself. Don’t be a fool, focus.
Her eyes weren’t as young as they used to be. She tuned on her desk lamp as she stared at the documents that littered her desk. She now compared them with the ones that were deposited at her door the night before. Something just didn’t add up, she kept repeating to herself. Family emigrated from Salzburg, Austria in 1949, penniless. By 1953 they controlled four large apartment buildings on the Eastside, paying cash for each one of them. It was a story that was too much “the perfect American emigrant story,” from penniless to multi-millionaires in four years. Sounded like a natural headline from the National Enquirer. If only she could be so lucky.
The caffeine was starting to kick in as she donned her bi-focals and started to re-read the documents slowly, focusing on the bank statements from 1951-53. After she finished, she had to read them again. Something wasn’t right. The bank that provided the statements for Myers campaign was also the bank that his family owned a substantial portion of. But the statements were slightly different. They looked very similar except one statement’s print was slightly off, as if somebody made a copy of someone else’s statement but had laid one section over another. It was obviously a forgery. But if so, where did they hide the money? More importantly, where did they get the money? His family had started its account with a deposit of only $4.80 in 1950 but by 1954 had accumulated a net worth of $12.5 Million. A hell of a lot of money in those days and still a hell a lot of money now, she thought. But what had transpired between 1950 and 1954?
Nora looked at the brown 10 x 13 envelope that was deposited on her doormat the night before; the name Myers written hazily in black marker across its front; her name at the top. Someone had rung her doorbell and left it for her to find. When she had first opened it she found various documents with connections to the Myers family. There was one in particular that really raised her curiosity. A Nazi eagle lay boldly emblazoned at its top. Her German language skills were put to the test with Nora having stopped as a junior in college but she could still read and write the basics. Nothing technical mind you, but she could still break down the words to find their meaning. She eyed one document in particular. It was obviously an inventory concerning contents of a train loaded in May 1945, ultimately bound for Germany. Paintings, rugs, gold, silver…….
She sat trying to piece it all together.
How was Myers connected to all of this? There’s definitely a huge story here and from the looks of it, somebody was trying to help her nail Myers.
She refocused on the bank statements. What was the possible link between the bank statements and the packet of Nazi letters? Was someone trying to tie the Myers family to the Nazi letters? Now that would make for an excellent story. The next possible president tied to Nazi gold train. A smile came easy to her face. That would surely derail his campaign.
Nora took her time scrolling through the bank statements. When she reached the last statement she noticed something familiar about the signature at the bottom of the page; very familiar. She grew pale when she realized it was the signature of her last boyfriend.
It was the same lousy bastard who dumped me four weeks ago. No tearful good-bye. No lousy phone call. He just stopped seeing me!
But what was he doing signing the bank statements? Where did he fit in?
She furrowed her brow. “Was that bastard spying on me the whole time?” She removed her glasses then dabbed her eyes with a tissue. “He used me!” Nora screamed aloud the empty office. “That bastard used me! It’s the only possible excuse.”
Nora sat looking at the ceiling. Of course she wanted to deny being used but kept thinking back to the first day they met. The more she replayed their innocent meeting in her head, the more she became convinced it was too much of a coincidence. She had just started working on the Myers story around the same time she met the bastard. It started off innocent enough with her jogging in the park. It was also coincidentally three days after her first interview with Myers. Nora needed to burn off some of her excess anxiety. Jogging also allowed her to clear her head. He approached her as she was stretching after her workout, him wanting directions to a local, well-known restaurant. And she loved his German accented English. He spoke as if he were an aristocrat of the old-world. After several flirtatious minutes he asked her to join him for dinner. How could she say no? Not only was he handsome but he had the most powerful emerald green eyes that matched only her own. She debated for all of a spit second. After all, what did she have to look forward to at home but another night of leftovers in front of the television and a bad movie on cable? Easy choice.
Their first date started out as a dream. She couldn’t remember the last time she enjoyed herself so much with a man. During dinner the conversation flowed as if they knew each other for years. He was so easy to talk with. They wound up being the last two patrons in the restaurant, the staff patiently waiting for them to leave. After dinner, they talked and walked until 3am when they wound up on the street in front of her condominium. He took her hand in his and walked her to her door, even asking permission to kiss her goodnight. By the fourth week she had fallen hard. She even let an “I love you,” escape. Even worse was his response. “I love you too,” he cooed back.
For the ensuing five months they made plans, ones that even included a two-week vacation through Europe to some of his “ancestral stomping grounds” as he put it. They even spoke of wanting to move in together upon their return.
“It was all a scam! He used me!” she screamed aloud once more. He was one of Myers goons the entire time, looking to keep tabs on what information I had on the man. I bet the entire time we were in Europe someone was going through my apartment and my computer.
Nora took a moment to collect her thoughts. Being alone was not the s
ort of life she would have chosen for herself, but fate once again reared its ugly head. Now she had to strike back against two bastards: Myers and her bastard, ex-boyfriend. Vengeance against the bastard wouldn’t be enough to fill the void he’d created. And now his purpose was clear enough. But she had to strike back in a professional way. The answer seemed somehow far too arbitrary. First, she would choose a way that would hurt Myers the most: in his wallet; the other bastard in due time.
Nora resumed combing through the documents left at her door, comparing them to another set of papers “leaked” to her by a close associate at the paper. The papers noted that in 1952, the Federal Reserve Bank of Chicago melted down hundreds of gold bars bearing the swastika imprint and recast them with the pristine stamp bearing the words ''United States Assay Office.''
At the time, according to memorandum, the Federal Reserve, the United States Treasury knew that much of the gold, worth about $23 million at the time, had been looted from Hungary and Austria, nations invaded by Germany during WWII.
These bars, like most of the gold stolen by Germany during World War II, had been discreetly sold on world markets, with the proceeds helping to finance Nazi efforts after the war.
The documents went on to reveal that during the war the German mint often took the gold that their troops stole from the central banks of Europe and melted it together with gold of a more gruesome variety: the tooth-fillings, wedding rings and other jewelry of death-camp victims. Germany's goal was to turn the gold lifted from the mouths and fingers of the victims into a form that that could be traded on world markets.
But by 1952, America's main concern was rebuilding Europe, not asking too many questions about the origin of gold that eventually crossed the Atlantic into the Federal Reserve's vaults. They also listened to a personal plea from Pope Pius XII and the Vatican Bank. The Vatican was under a great deal of pressure for its Nazi ties during the war and its role in aiding them in their escape at the wars conclusion.
Now they just wanted the gold to go away.
Thus, at the request of Myers Family Bank and the Vatican Bank, the Treasury Department authorized the ''reissue'' of the gold, a polite phrase for purifying it and wiping out the German markings.
Nora couldn’t believe what she had just read. That someone affiliated with both the Treasury Department and The Vatican Bank basically allowed the Myers Family to steal the gold. She had to re-read the documents several times to make sure that is what really transpired.
Her hands began to tremble. She had felt something similar one other time; when she handed in her story to her editor that won her a Pulitzer Prize. But this story, this one felt different. She knew she had the story of the century sitting before her.
She stood up, her mouth curling into a tight smile. I think it’s time to pay Mr. Myers a visit.
CHAPTER 51
MARATHON KEY, FLORIDA
Perluci looks to each of them as if a schoolteacher on his first day of class, a wide-smile gracing his face. “As you are aware from my experience with my previous employer,” said Perluci, making reference to his prior position as head of the Vatican Intelligence Bureau. “I am intimately familiar with most of the Vatican actions from the second world war until present day. Most of its actions or involvements, if not all of them, you have never heard of. Nor will you. The Vatican chooses to keep most of its business secret or very close hold. Much like a family chooses to keep it’s, shall we say, evils, within the family. No outsiders. But if you have a Black Sheep in the family, well, they are the Black Sheep for a reason. They tend to relay the families secrets. So consider me a Black Sheep. A Vatican Black Sheep.”
Each of them laughed aloud at Perluci’s correlation.
Dan spoke up first: “I guess we all have a bit of Black Sheep in us.”
Again, they all laughed aloud.
Perluci nods. “I can see I am in good company,” he said approvingly before choosing to continue. “Allow me to provide you with some background information for your next job, or as some would refer to it, your next adventure. Now this particular job involves an action from the closing days of WWII that is somewhat different from your last little job. Now as we all recall, that particular job involved Jim’s father, Hans Dieter, and had come by mysterious circumstances, ones whose mysteries were only unlocked on his fathers deathbed. But we also know he kept the Vatican at bay for some 60 plus years — away from its stolen monies and valuable documents — documents that if they were released publically, would have shaken the Catholic Church to its core. But let’s not regress too much. We were all a party to that job. Some would say on the right side, some on the wrong.” Perluci was alluding to his former role as the Vatican bad-guy. “Well this one involves those Nazi bastards once more, and a little known movement of valuables on a scale so massive, it could never be repeated. Only the Nazi’s could have planned something so grandiose and almost get away with it.” He pauses as he looks to each man, building up the suspense as if a magician about to unveil his secrets.
Jim looked to Eian, Eian to Dan. “Come on,” said Jim. “Kill the suspense and get to it. What’s the damn job?"
Perluci nods as he reaches into a worn leather briefcase, extracting a red folder thick with overflowing documents, holding the file up for them to see. “At one time I was saving this for retirement, but, as you can see by what stands before you, I am an old man. I waited too long to go after the rainbow. I enjoyed my work a little bit too much to stop and merely let go. But this job, well, it’s a younger man’s mission. Now it’s up to you three and this newspaper reporter, Nora something or other, to get the last of the Nazi plunder.” He paused for a moment, the pause deliberate, before continuing. “It involves what was, or still is, commonly referred to as The Nazi Gold Train.” Perluci eyed his audience. He realized he had their complete attention after the mere mention of the word Gold. It’s a simple word but one that instantly stimulates one’s imagination.
Perluci continued: “In late 1944, with the Soviet Army advancing on the Austrian capital of Vienna from the east, the Nazi’s concocted a plan to evacuate large amounts goods stolen from Jewish concentration camp prisoners onto a 42-car freight train that was to head for Germany. The Nazi’s originally wanted every bit of the treasure sent to their capital, Berlin, but late in the war decided against this and redirected everything to the south of Germany. There it was to be hidden in caves or mines for some type of future use. But I am getting ahead of myself. Let’s get back to the train. This particular train contained a King’s ransom with the freight cars loaded with over four tons of valuables, each carefully and dutifully recorded and classified by the Nazi’s.”
From within his red folder he extracts yet another red folder, a Nazi swastika boldly emblazoned in black on its front. “I liberated this from the Vatican vaults,” he proclaims proudly. “Over 30 years ago, I took this very folder with the intention of going off on my own but, as I said earlier got caught up in my work.” Perluci opens the folder, looking at its contents once more, most of it memorized years before, then referencing notes he made in the margins. He then looks up and continues. “The contents of the train included more than 1-½ tons of gold consisting of ingots seized from national banks, fillings from teeth pulled from their owners' mouths, to even wedding bands, stripped from the fingers of their Jewish victims. Beyond gold, the train also contained nearly seven hundred pounds of diamonds and pearls, thousands of paintings, five thousand Persian and Oriental rugs, over eight hundred and fifty cases of silverware, fine porcelain, rare stamps, coin collections, and furs.”
Jim, Dan, and Eian looked to each other in horror. Dan was first to speak: “They stole everything but the damn kitchen sink.”
Jim concurred. “Given additional time, I bet they would have stolen that too.”
Perluci nods, before continuing. “I’m almost done, so bear with me. For the next few weeks the train travelled barely a hundred kilometers or 60 miles. During the day they would hide the train i
n railroad tunnels trying to avoid detection by Allied aircraft flying over the region. Remember this is the Alps, if there is one thing the Alps are famous for, its train tunnels. But over the course of those hundred kilometers they had a very interesting journey to say the least. This was the last days of a war that devastated the economy and the countryside; chaos reigned everywhere. Nobody knew what was going on. Most people only cared about their own survival. With this in mind, the train was hampered by at least ten robbery attempts — nine of them ending in failure — each of the nine by rogue elements of the SS. The loyal soldiers detailed to protect the train's special cargo successfully fought off each of them. But in the end it came at a severe cost with over half of the trains’ troop compliment killed or wounded.”
Eian laughed aloud. “I like it. Nazi’s killing Nazi’s; could have saved us a lot of time if they started fighting each other 5 years before.”
“Here, here,” says Perluci in agreement. “But this is where it gets really interesting. By the time the train was discovered on May 16, 1945, by the US Army, hidden in the Tauern railroad tunnel, south of Salzburg, the war was already over, having ended on May 8th. They had successfully outrun the Russians, but not the Americans. The remainder of the train's military escort simply abandoned the train and melted away into the Austrian countryside, leaving all of its valuables in-place. Well most of the valuables, since the gold was already missing.”
Perluci smiles widely as he looks to Jim, Eian, and Dan. He waits to see if any of them picked up on the one missing detail. “Come now gentlemen,” he said, holding up both of his hands, counting off the jobs with his fingers until only one was left. “The military fought off nine of the ten robbery attempts……."
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