by Mark Donahue
Seeing the odds suddenly change, Ronnie moved quickly to the pickup and was only two feet away from grabbing the rifle that hung from the gun rack, when he was stopped cold by Tom’s left arm around his neck. Pulling backward, Tom yanked Ronnie away from the truck, only to lose his balance and tumble to the ground with the cowboy on top of him. Swinging wildly, Marlboro Man rained several blows on Tom’s face and was more than a little disappointed when his best shots didn’t have the same effect as Tom’s blows had on his companions. In fact, the punches had a negative effect, in that, for the first time since their “meeting” commenced, Tom got mad.
Lifting Ronnie off him like a well-dressed mannequin, Tom threw him four feet to his right. He rose quickly and yanked the now badly dressed Ronnie to his feet and slammed him into the side of the front bumper of the pickup. Using two quick lefts to his midsection to get his attention, Tom, now more than a bit irritated by the entire episode, kept asking the Marlboro Man questions like “Why are you following me?” and “What do you want from me?” and some other questions that Ronnie may have answered if he could have talked. But the lack of air in his lungs and a jaw that felt like it had been kicked by a mule, he could only mumble some unintelligible sounds that irritated Tom even more and led to two more rib shots which did not at all help the communication gap between the two men.
Since Tom was focused on Ronnie, he didn’t notice the short previously unconscious bald guy begin to stir and reach for the pistol that his buddy with the dent in his forehead still holstered. But again he was a tad late; Tom broke his arm with a vicious kick that snapped the ulna and sent the pistol flying twenty feet into the sand. As the man with the broken arm moaned in pain, Tom turned back to Ronnie who had crawled to the pickup and grabbed the rifle from the gun rack. But Tom was too quick and wrestled the rifle from Ronnie and smashed it to bits on the bumper of the truck.
Having seen the damage Tom had inflicted on his two friends, Ronnie decided to stay on the ground and instead gave peace a chance.
“That was a brand-new Winchester, you big asshole,” he said with what sounded like profound sadness.
“Why were you following me?” Tom demanded.
“You were messin’ around in the Jasper and some people don’t like that.”
“Why? There’s nothing in that place except beer cans, old tires, and dead dogs.”
“Maybe…but some folks feel different. You fucked up, boy.”
Taking the keys from the ignition of the truck, Tom threw them into the scrub and said to Marlboro Man, “If I ever see you again, you boys won’t get off with broken arms.”
“You killed Johnny, you asshole, look at his head.”
Fearing Marlboro Man might be right, Tom got on the Honda and drove away. He had never killed anyone before and wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel if in fact the short, bald one was really dead.
----------------------
Sam used some Neosporin, alcohol, and bandages from a first-aid kit to patch Tom up as best she could. Not seriously hurt, Tom had the most pain in his badly bruised fists. But Ben didn’t underestimate what Tom had been through and what it all meant. They were being watched by people who didn’t want them searching in the Jasper.
“I’d venture a guess that since we were ignored when we were at the Vega, and not ignored when we came to the Jasper, the question of where any gold might be hidden has been answered for us,” Jon said.
That night the team slept in a small tool bin that had only one entrance and could be locked from the inside. They also loaded the shotgun and took turns standing watch.
Before they fell into a restless sleep, Ben said, “Tomorrow, we drop a camera down that damn pit, see what’s in there, and get the hell out of here.” No one argued.
Chapter 43
Jasper Mine—1943
When Eric watched the gold-laden truck driven by Lester leave the Jasper, he felt utterly alone and confused. While Victor and Willy held the two drivers and the Frenchman under guard, Eric tried to mentally piece together a plan to deal with the arrival of eleven more trucks loaded with gold.
Eric was nineteen years old in 1943 and already a lieutenant in the rapidly dwindling German army. Born in a small farming village, he joined the army because he had no choice. He heard the rumors of what was happening to Jews, gays, and other political “undesirables” in prison camps in Austria, Poland, and Germany, but he entered the army with no agenda other than survival.
In mid-1943 his regiment was notified that they would soon be shipped out to replace depleted troops on the Russian front. But a week before his departure, Eric was approached by his company commander and informed of a mission he had recommended Eric for that was dangerous, secret, and voluntary. It also carried with it the possibility that he would never return to Germany even if he survived. Since the assignment was top secret, Eric wasn’t allowed to tell anyone about the mission, including his family.
But based on a flimsy barracks rumor that their mission was some kind of spy enterprise in the United States, Eric took a chance and accepted the assignment, concluding that no mission could be worse than the Russian front in winter.
Eric always dreamed of going to America. Yet the things he had read about the country and its people seemed unreal. The utter vastness and diversity of its geography, the equally diverse makeup of its citizens, its movie stars, and palm trees created a tapestry of life he always hoped he could visit. But once America entered the war in 1941, Eric knew the possibility of going to the country in his books was remote.
Weeks before their departure from Germany that would eventually take them to an abandoned silver mine in Arizona, Eric and the other recruits, all in their late teens or early twenties, met in Berlin several times for briefings. Eric was impressed by the men General Becker had assembled. Each spoke fluent English, all appeared athletic, and with few exceptions, well educated. Most had attended German schools that prepared the young men for a life in the military serving their Führer. No matter what the task.
The briefings included reviews of road maps of America, its culture, new slang words, its currency, political differences between parties, its racial problems, and even the difference between the New York Yankees and the New York Giants. There was particular focus on the geography of the American Southwest.
On the last day before their departure, the men assembled in a large room on the east side of the Reichstag. Martin Bormann entered the room alone and addressed the group from the head of a large cherry table where over thirty men were sitting. “Gentlemen, your selection to be part of this mission should be considered by each of you as the most important assignment of your lives. It should also fill you with pride and self-confidence that your inclusion in this group separates you from your fellow soldiers. You are special. You are the best of our country. You are our hope for our future. Most importantly, you are the hope for our Führer, a hope that his vision will someday be shared by the entire world. The success of that vision is now in your hands.”
Eric looked around the table at his fellow soldiers and saw many in tears that were born from patriotism and loyalty. The emotion in the room was palpable; even Eric was caught up in the moment of devotion to country and devotion to a man none of them had met but were willing to die for. Bormann moved from the front of the table and raised his right arm toward a large photograph of the Führer on the wall above a huge fireplace. “Heil Hitler!”
All thirty men around the table rose and, as one, repeated, “Heil Hitler!”
Now, just eight months later, Eric stood in a mine in Arizona trying to make a decision that could affect the rest of the world for decades: How and what to do with nearly two hundred tons of gold? He didn’t have a clue. But the Frenchman did.
Jean Dubois talked nonstop and repeated time and again that the next eleven gold deliveries were on a tight schedule and if he was not there to greet the n
ext truck at the rendezvous spot, the drivers wouldn’t know where to deliver the gold, and the plan would fall apart.
As the minutes dragged on, Dubois’s voice became increasingly shrill. Willy hit him in the stomach with his rifle butt to shut him up and give Eric some time to think. But Dubois soon recovered and resumed his grating rant.
Eric realized he had no choice but to work with the Frenchman and the in-coming drivers who would be delivering the gold. Finally, Eric walked back toward the now frantic Frenchman, grabbed him by the left arm, and moved him away from the other four men.
Speaking in French, Eric quickly made an agreement with Dubois for fifty bars of gold to be paid for his work after the last truck arrived at the Jasper. Dubois wanted a thousand bars, but by the look on Eric’s face he knew he would be lucky to get his fifty and escape with his life.
The deal called for Dubois to take the Lincoln and meet up with the next incoming truck and direct it to the Jasper. He would remain at the rendezvous point until the last truck arrived. He would then lead that last truck to the mine, load up his fifty bars in the Lincoln, and melt into his new homeland with over $500,000 worth of gold. And he would, against all odds and to the chagrin of most, be alive.
Eric also cut deals with the two drivers who had brought in the first truck that Lester had driven away. In exchange for three bars each, they would help unload the gold from the next eleven trucks under Eric’s direction and ensure there was no trouble with the next twenty-two drivers. While the gold was being unloaded, Victor and Willy would lurk in the darkness of the Jasper to make sure the plan was going smoothly.
After each truck arrived at the Jasper and unloaded, Eric, Willy, and Victor would thank each driver for their service, give each two gold bars for “expenses” and direct them to take their trucks in different directions miles from the Jasper and await further orders from Becker. Orders that would never arrive.
Within an hour after Dubois left in the Lincoln, the second truck arrived and quickly unloaded their gold under Eric’s direction and left for a destination one hundred miles from the Jasper.
Over the next ten hours, German precision was in practice. Truck after truck entered the mine, offloaded its cargo, and disappeared back down the dirt road to separate locations to await their orders.
At just after 6:00 a.m., the twelfth and last truck entered the Jasper followed by the Lincoln driven by Dubois. After they unloaded their gold, the drivers of the last truck got their orders from Eric and prepared to head toward Mesa for further orders. As the drivers casually chatted with Victor before they left the Jasper, Eric looked back at the gold that was stacked on pallets near the rear of the cavern. While an incredible amount of gold worth hundreds of millions of dollars, Eric was amazed at how small an area was required to hold such wealth.
Ending their small talk, the drivers said good-bye to Victor and prepared to head toward Mesa for further orders. That was when the tallest of the two was shot in the left side of his skull. His brains splattered into the face of his co-driver whose own brains were a second later plastered against the back of the truck.
Stunned by the sound of gunfire, Eric dropped to one knee and too late reached for his rifle. Instead, he was hit in the back of the head by something hard and landed face-first on the mine floor, unconscious.
An hour later, Eric awoke to a screaming headache. His blurry eyes tried to adjust to the half-light of the morning sun that filtered into the cavern entrance a hundred yards away. Finally, he looked up and saw a face he didn’t recognize. It was more mask than face. Deep crimson clots of blood covered a misshapen visage that tried to smile but had several teeth missing from both the upper and lower gums. The jaw itself was no longer aligned. The lower part was one inch off center from the upper half. A dark blue bruise framed an indentation below the left ear. The nose of the mask was smashed almost flat, and more blood was caked on the upper lip and seeped from the left eye.
The mask tried to talk, but Eric could not understand what it was trying to say. His attention perked a bit when he was kicked twice in the left rib cage. In German, the mask told him to stand up. As Eric slowly rose, he saw Victor three feet away, his face battered and his arms in the air. Eric also saw Willy standing behind the man who wore the mask. Willy had his rifle pointed at Eric. Dubois also held a rifle and smiled broadly as he pointed it at Victor.
In measured tones, the mask that was Colonel Rolle spoke through pain and blood with no emotion. “Lieutenant, you and the scum next to you are traitors to your country and a disgrace to the uniform you wore. But worse you have tried to steal from your county and your Führer.”
Eric looked at Victor and saw the fear in his face. “This man was acting under my orders and had nothing to do with...” Before he could finish his sentence, Rolle turned and shot Victor in the mouth with his Luger blowing the back of his head out and onto the mine floor. His body fell at Eric’s feet.
“He should have died trying to stop you rather than go along with a traitor. Next time he will know better,” Rolle mumbled as the report of the shot echoed off the walls of the Jasper.
Ignoring the still twitching body of Victor and continuing in an almost conversational tone, Rolle said, “There is much work to do, Lieutenant, and little time. Therefore, I must ask you to assist my comrades here, and the two drivers you coerced into helping you, to overcome the problems you have caused.” Still stunned by the death of Victor, Eric was not sure he heard Rolle and was paralyzed by what he had witnessed. To jolt him into action, Rolle backhanded him across the face using the butt of his pistol for emphasis.
As blood ran down his cheek and with Willy’s rifle jabbed in his back, Eric walked toward the gold near the rear of the cavern. He saw the two drivers he had recruited hog-tied on the floor. The men had been beaten, and Eric wondered how he could have slept through what had happened over the previous hours. The men did not react to Eric’s arrival but had heard the shot that had killed Victor and knew their lives would also soon end.
Eric was tied to the front bumper of the Lincoln and could hear Rolle give orders to Willy and the Frenchman. The Frenchman took the Ford truck and returned four hours later with twelve, twenty foot by four inch steel I-beams in addition to food, water, painkillers, ropes, a ladder, concrete blocks, mortar, six gallons of flat black paint, paint rollers, a gas generator, lights, two pushcarts and other assorted odds and ends all of which had been stored in a nearby warehouse.
When Eric and the two drivers unloaded the materials from the truck near the pit in the back of the mine, they didn’t at first understand what Rolle’s plan was. It appeared Rolle was going to order them to build a small building to hold the gold on the mine floor, which made absolutely no sense.
Instead Rolle directed Eric and the two drivers to slide several steel beams from the mine floor over the pit to the area behind the gaping hole that was about twenty feet wide, thirty feet deep, and ten feet high. After moving the material Dubois had brought over the beams to the area behind the pit, the plan to hide the gold became clear.
It was obvious to Eric that he, along with the other two young drivers who had come across the Atlantic via South America, would be killed by Rolle. At the same time, he could not help but grudgingly admire Rolle’s ability to work through what had to have been excruciating pain to achieve his goal of hiding the gold in the Jasper until his final plans could be initiated.
Over the next two days, the gold, with the exception of one thousand bars, was moved over the pit a few ingots at a time. They were carried by hand or in a pushcart, across a path six feet wide made from the beams that were placed on the right edge of the pit, which was the shortest distance from the cavern floor to the area behind the abyss. Eric and the remaining drivers were forced at rifle point to navigate the push carts over the beams that would move under the weight of the men and material they ferried across the steel path.
Eric told
the drivers not to look down into the blackness as they crossed, but the howling from the maw beneath them did not require sight to inject body-numbing fear into the men. The youngest of the drivers was so terrified that he fell to his knees and vomited while on the steel path. As he did, he lost control of his pushcart, and four bars of gold could be heard skittering down the sides of the pit.
With no order from Rolle to do so, Willy shot the young man in the back and pushed him into the pit as the young man tried to struggle to his feet.
“You may work or you may die. That is entirely your choice,” Rolle said calmly to Eric and the remaining driver named Gregg. The two men decided to work.
After all the bars had been transferred to the ledge, Eric and Gregg were ordered to take four large barrels one by one over the steel pathway. At first, it appeared Gregg would defy the order as exhaustion overtook him, and he gasped for breath. He glared at Rolle, and then Willy, and it seemed he was about to charge one or both knowing he would be shot, but not really giving a damn anymore. As the standoff continued, Rolle placed the barrel of his Luger to Eric’s temple and said, “Gentlemen, your work is not yet done.”
Over the next hour Eric and Gregg wrestled with the large, unwieldy barrels. They tipped them on their sides and rolled them over the steel rails, twice almost losing control of the heavy loads. Even in the coolness of the cavern, the men were drenched in sweat after they finally moved the four barrels over the steel beams and stored them near the back wall of the ledge.
Rolle ordered the men to erect a block wall twenty feet wide and twelve feet high that would connect to the sides of the natural rock and an overhang above the ledge. He also ordered that a three foot by four foot opening be created at the right bottom of the wall so the men could build most of the wall from the inside away from the pit and then move out of the area back across the steel beams.
