The Crypt Trilogy Bundle

by Bill Thompson

  89889 88380 89448 86244 04801 67018 80094 04004 89889 57216

  93980 25765 77294 04439 06798 87312 89889 76631 24697 80499 39651 35637 00793 78767 18288

  99725 81971 08675 28565 95453 94789 70222 70481 22820 39246

  89889 17479 55268 15343 89889 96116 04800 04439 91585 79835 15084 09338 45333 04439 42450 53795 46319 68749 89889 03334 44587 47387 65545 11070 74494 31106

  61272 23888 36042 73022 88639 68345 04800 20020 21088 17883 27497 98657 85176

  89889 57404 08934 89889 11879 18952 24292 08270 56336 12138 71290 40719 32433 10407 49927

  31365 40314 60204 04439 26428 01861

  89889 04439 70886 95048 04800 86908 20424

  ——

  The odd numbers continued on to the bottom of this page. The next four pages had nothing but numbers as well.

  All of this is so strange, she thought as she wondered what they could mean. Nicu had told her to keep the books together. Was Mein Kampf the book Hitler referred to – the one he called famous? It must be, but what did it have to do with the diary? And what did all the numbers mean??

  As the clock chimed twice, she read on, skimming pages and randomly selecting entries. Almost every page had a number sequence or two. She found one that had a lot and read the written entry that preceded the numerals.

  March 29, 1944

  Two dozen trains a day arrive and depart my station. Many simply pass through, carrying troops or loaded with prisoners. The latter cry for mercy, but they have nothing to cry about now. They are on their way to the camps. Plenty of time for crying there!

  Our station is critical to the war effort. It is the largest in the country and is the place where most Romanian troops board trains to go to the Eastern Front. Things are busy; there are hundreds of people milling around all day and all night, seeing off sons heading to the front to fight for Nazi Germany. How proud I am of these brave young men.

  Now and then trains of a different type come into Bucharest. I have advance notice of their impending arrival, and preparations are made according to the rules set in place by Reichsmarschall Göring. They are guided to special tracks adjacent to the main building but away from prying eyes. There is a heavily secured room, easily accessible for loading and unloading the boxcars. That room is guarded round the clock by an elite team led by Lieutenant Schlosser. He is an SS officer like myself, and we have become good friends.

  89889 14052 41564 05912 39428 12321 20202 69999 47164 42228 30479 65727 59982 03776 45837 93093

  04439 96961 19393 25543 53977 95230 98029 16189 35156 25138 81749 11916 47973 86685

  23665 12725 43948 48494 01293

  89889 53314 70663 71731 68527 78140 49300 35819 49705 08048 33019 31547 62522 69595 74935

  58913 06980 04439 21934 91362 56518 61050 00571 55450 64254 90957 10848 51177 77072

  52505 26206 78544 21529 19134 73204 37551 71067 43960 51841

  89889 52246 73867 62118 97366 91621 35415 77476 24734 09521 02044 24474 57182 85616 26870

  03112 21270 66795 56777 13389 89889 79612 18325 28747 44364 24070 84953 02303 03371

  86005 91346 75324 89889 52634 38344

  07773 72929 77460 16982 71861 80665 07369 27259 67588 93482 68915 42617 04439 37940

  35544 89614 53962 04439 60370 68252 18050 68656 90278 78528

  13777 89889 51825 93887 41144 25931 18454 40885 73592 02028 43280 19523 37681

  89889 73188 29799 33408 96023 34735 45158 60775 40481 01365 18714 19782 16577 26190 70792

  89889 97755 56098 81069 79597 10573 17645 22986 06964 55030 84274 04439 39412 89889 09100 48621

  03501 12305 39008 32340 99227 25122 73997 74256 26595 43021 67184 21254 59043 19118 65452

  99891 49689 04439 21918

  10169 89889 13114 56907 25527 46226 57571 …

  ——

  Following this page were six more containing nothing but numerals arranged in five-digit sequences like the ones on this page.

  Glancing at other dates, she observed that the numbers showed up often in the middle of a line of text. They must be some kind of code, a way for him to keep a word or phrase secret in an otherwise innocent sentence. What had caused him to go to all that effort? What was he hiding?

  She reread the passage he’d written about how the prisoners cried for mercy. In the callous way he described them, he could have been talking about sheep. But these were human beings. What a monster Nicu was! A proud, evil Nazi monster! She wept for the millions who had been slaughtered in the Holocaust by demons like Nicu Lepescu.

  Finally feeling sleepy but wanting just a little more, Adriana turned to the end of the journal and read the last two entries.

  August 20, 1944

  I fear the Reich has little time left. Rumor has it the Red Army is advancing and is less than fifty miles away. If they capture Bucharest, things will be finished for the Nazis in Romania. Times are bad and people are desperate. Even members of the SS such as I get only sketchy reports from the battlefront. What I do hear is alarming. I now believe that Germany cannot win, although I dare not discuss my thoughts with anyone. In these dark days, criticizing the Reich is treason and grounds for execution, so my concerns will be recorded only here in my secret journal.

  Today we realize the fruits of our labors. It is bittersweet – I am proud of my contribution. Sadly, my project is being rushed into use because the war is almost over for Hitler and the Fatherland.

  For six months I supervised the project while my subordinates kept the Jews hard at work. We lost many, but there were thousands more at Auschwitz to replace them. The tunnel will at last be put to use today. It isn’t entirely finished, but I was ordered to stop. We must move now, Reichsmarschall Göring told me. Yesterday the prisoners threw open the massive doors into the main tunnel under 27843.47747.08012.47747.92001/48286. The Jews built a switch at a nearby rail line, brought the tracks here, and installed three hundred meters inside the tunnel itself. Even though this was my project, I was never told the purpose, but lately I have begun to understand what is going to happen.

  In recent weeks rumors have been circulating everywhere. There is talk of a mysterious train – a ghost train. For weeks people have been talking about more than a dozen train cars crammed with the very best spoils from conquered cities across Europe. The rumor is that the train carries Old Masters worth millions of marks. And gold too – more gold than one can imagine. These rumormongers asked me about the secret train. I am stationmaster, and I should know, they said. They are right. I should know. I told these men nothing. I have an important position and I know an important secret. Lieutenant Schlosser and I spoke of it just yesterday.

  Our secure storage room at Bucharest North Station is full to the brim. Trains have arrived for weeks, loaded with everything imaginable, including tons of gold. All of that cargo has been offloaded and stored here at the express order of Reichsmarschall Göring. No one knows why.

  I think the men who are spreading rumors of a train filled with treasure are wrong. My theory is that it will arrive empty. Everything in our storerooms – every item Lieutenant Schlosser and his troops are guarding – will be put on that train and taken away to a secret place. Perhaps it will be my secret place! How wonderful it would be if my project ended up being the place where the future of Nazi Germany was hidden!

  Five pages of numbers followed that entry.

  August 21, 1944

  At last! Last night I learned the secret! After too many drinks at the club, my commander confided that Die Geisterbahn – the Ghost Train – will come today. It will arrive empty, just as I predicted. Our troops will load the cargo from our storage facility at the station and then the train will proceed to

  27843.47747.08012.47747.92001/48286.

  I am beaming with pride. When Reichsmarschall Göring picked me to supervise the project at 27843.47747.08012.47747.92001/48286, I knew it was going to be important. Until this moment I had no idea how important it would prove to be. I hadn’t heard of Operation Geist then, of course. It’s top secret. Only
a handful of officials know about it. I am one of those privileged ones, but even I am not privy to everything.

  Dozens of special trains have come through Bucharest North Station in the nine months that I’ve been in charge. Lieutenant Schlosser and I have supervised more than a hundred transfers. Our secure storage area has held thousands of boxes and crates, most thinly disguising the gold and priceless objects that they contained. Even today the secure area is filled to the brim. For what reason? Now I know!

  Until now the treasures were always sent to Poland or Germany or Austria. I am well pleased that I contributed to the war effort in this important way. A project that I personally oversaw, here in my homeland, will be the salvation for the Reich. I only wish it could have been sooner. The Allies are dangerously close. I hope they do not arrive today. The Ghost Train must make its journey safely. This is the last hope for a Fourth Reich, which, God willing, will someday rise from the ashes of the Third. May the riches on this train be the foundation of a new Nazi regime. Heil Hitler! Heil mein Fuhrer!

  ——

  As she closed the diary, she reflected on how often he wrote about gold bars. They must have been a part of the stationmaster’s daily existence. They were offloaded, stored and shipped onwards every few days. Had Nicu gotten the twenty-three bars by stealing from the shipments? His diary said the storage room was heavily guarded by special troops. Taking such a chance would have been an enormous risk; the Nazis would have killed him if they caught him stealing, but there was so much being transported from place to place, maybe they didn’t even count it. But no, it must be something else. She couldn’t believe even he could do that. As much as she detested what he stood for, she couldn’t believe the old man would have stolen from the Reich he apparently loved so much.

  She picked up the other book – Mein Kampf – and turned to the flyleaf, where Nicu had written his name and the words This is my most important book.

  Nicu had told her the book was critical. He hadn’t even mentioned his diary, which she’d have thought he’d consider more important than Hitler’s manifesto. He must have been one dedicated Nazi, she thought to herself. He considered the Fuhrer’s book the most important one of all. Crazy.

  She put the diary on her nightstand and closed her eyes, hoping tonight’s sleep wouldn’t haunt her like the others had.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Awaking drenched in sweat once again, she opened the drapes wide and let the morning sunshine stream in. It was a warm, welcome feeling after another night of terrifying nightmares. There were packs of jackals circling sheep, moving closer and closer, then tearing them apart with their teeth. Once the sheep were dead, the predators moved on. They weren’t hunting for food. They were killing for sport, their jowls glistening with the blood that dripped from their grotesque, smiling mouths.

  One of the jackals had a vicious, evil face. A human face. His face. After that particular dream she’d screamed and clawed at her bedclothes until somehow she awoke. Afraid to sleep again, she lay panting until she knew it was morning.

  After a shower and some coffee, Adriana felt better. A fix helped too, after which she walked to Nicu’s bank with her rolling travel bag. This morning she had rationalized the entire situation. She had to stop killing herself over Nicu’s sins. She had no fault in any of this. She had lucked into an incredible situation, befriending an old man who had no one else to bestow his gifts upon. None of this was her doing, and no one could blame her for accepting his largesse.

  Half an hour later she was at home with ten gold bars, nine of which she’d just gotten from the bank. She left the other thirteen in the lockbox for another time. The sheer weight was one issue, but safety was another. She would certainly be robbed if people knew what she had. She added the two old books to the suitcase and stuck it in her closet behind boxes of last season’s clothes.

  She took that first gold bar back to the bank where she’d received the valuation yesterday, handed it over to the same clerk and said, “I’d like to sell this bar.”

  “Of course,” he replied, clearly remembering both the beautiful woman and the Nazi bar. “May I have your identity card, please?”

  She stuttered, “Wh-Why? Why do you need my identity card?”

  “The law says we must record all transactions of this value, Miss. The government doesn’t want to lose any tax opportunity, you know,” he joked.

  She was shocked. She hadn’t considered this possibility.

  “I’ve left my card…” It was a stupid excuse since it was against the law for Romanians to be without their cards, but it was all she could think of. “I’ll get it and come back.” She glanced at the security camera over the door, wondering if they were recording her visit. Would they call the authorities? That made her nervous, but there was nothing she could do.

  She couldn’t give them her ID card. She couldn’t explain to the government how she suddenly had gold – a lot of it – without involving Nicu. The government was in the middle of everyone’s lives in Romania; she would be interrogated, perhaps even jailed, until she revealed where the bars came from. She had to find another way.

  She walked for thirty minutes, making several turns and backtracks in case someone was following her. She felt silly doing it, like she was a spy or something. But then again, what if someone had followed? The government was everywhere; maybe the bank clerk called the police when she left. Once she felt certain no one was following, she went home. As she turned on the light in her back room, the bright red swastika on Nicu’s diary blazed like the devil’s eyes.

  She had to call Philippe. She’d had the book too long to wait any longer. She received money from him every month, and her job was to find out where Nicu kept his diary. They both had known it would take time; she couldn’t ask Nicu about a diary she supposedly didn’t know existed. At last he had mentioned it, and now she had it in her hands.

  This is the book Philippe wants. Adriana glanced through it once more, still puzzled by the odd numbers interspersed here and there like a type of code. She set it aside and made the call.

  Philippe was very happy to hear she’d found the journal. Within a half hour she’d turned the book over to a courier and it was on the way to Philippe. She hadn’t mentioned the other book, Mein Kampf, and she tossed it back in the rolling bag with the gold. Maybe at some point she’d find out what was so important about it.

  Her thoughts turned back to the problem at hand. How could she sell the gold anonymously?

  I should ask Nicu what to do. That would be best, but she was afraid he’d think her greedy and ungrateful for already figuring out how to get rid of his gold. Truthfully, she was greedy and ungrateful. Regardless, she needed another answer. Who else besides Nicu might help her circumvent the authorities?

  Of course! Denis. Why didn’t I think of him earlier?

  Denis was her dealer.

  Adriana spent the day with Nicu as usual. They visited, ate a lunch Mrs. Radu prepared, and watched TV afterwards. At four she told him she needed to leave early to run some errands.

  “I’m not surprised,” he replied evenly. “You’ve been preoccupied all afternoon. You may have been here with me, but your mind was miles away.”

  “That’s not true,” she lied with a playful pat on his arm. “You’re all I think about…”

  “Go on home, girl. Do what you have to do. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Thirty minutes later she sat in the cavernous Bucharest North train station, ironically the same building Nicu Lepescu had controlled in 1944. She watched Denis maneuvering through the crowd of people hurrying to catch homebound trains. He was in his twenties, tall, thin and dark like most Romanian men. He was handsome, always fashionably dressed, and carried a bag – his man purse, she laughingly dubbed it. The bag was where he kept the products he sold his customers.

  “What’s up, A?” he asked as he gave her a peck on the cheek and sat next to her. “Why the urgent call? You saw me just last week. Are you needing more
already?”

  She laughed. “For once it’s not that. I need some help. Take a look at this.” She opened a bag in her lap and let him look inside. The gold bar lay in the bottom.

  He gave a low whistle as he examined it. “Reichsbank? As in Hitler? Wow! What’d you do – kill a Nazi?”

  She ignored him. “I want to convert this into cash, and I can’t do it without providing my identity card. I was hoping you had another idea.”

  Keeping it in the sack hidden from the masses of pedestrians around them, he looked it over. “One kilo. Any idea what it’s worth? Maybe a hundred thousand?”

  “Try a hundred and fifty. Nearly forty thousand in US dollars.”

  “You know you’ll take a haircut if you deal with me. I’m taking all the risk…”

  “I know that, Denis. Believe me, if I could walk into the bank and get full value for it, I wouldn’t be sitting here right now. But I am. I don’t know what else to do.”

  “I guess you don’t want to let me borrow it overnight,” he said. “I know we’re good friends and all…”

  “Not that good.” She laughed. “I’ll keep the bar for now.”

  He told her what he’d do. Presuming the bar was solid gold, which Adriana knew wasn’t an issue, he’d take it off her hands. “I’ll give you half its value,” he said.

  “Half? Are you crazy? You’re taking the risk, but God, Denis. You’d be getting nearly twenty thousand dollars for each bar…”

  He perked up instantly. His voice was eager, less cordial. “Each bar? There are more?”

  Damn. She wished she hadn’t said that. She didn’t know Denis at all. He appeared to be a nice guy, but after all, he was a heroin dealer. He could be a robber, a murderer, whatever. She shrugged off a nervous shiver.

  “There are more. In a safety deposit box.”

  “And you want me to cash them all in for you?”