Hunter's Hope

by M. J. O'Shea

“Yeah, Marsh. I hear you loud and clear.” I’ve been hearing you. “You need the white whale.”

  “No, Jack. You need the white whale.”

  Jack didn’t even have a goddamn dolphin.

  He said good-bye to Marshall and hung up his phone. He flopped back onto his bed and stared at the ceiling fan of his hotel room whirring around in slow, plodding circles. It was still hot. The hotel didn’t have anything that could be reasonably called air conditioning. Jack groaned loudly.

  Fuck. He was literally fucked. He didn’t know how to do anything else, be anyone else—not that he was so amazing at the whole TV adventure guide gig. He’d managed to b.s. his way through it for years, but that’s all it was. Bullshit.

  Before he was Jack Hunter, treasure finder extraordinaire, he was a big nobody with nice hair, a pretty smile, and a useless degree in broadcast journalism. What was he going to do if his show died? He had some good savings but not enough to keep his Manhattan apartment. Or his car. He only drove it a few times a year, but he loved his damn car.

  Jack’s phone buzzed again. He didn’t feel like talking to anyone else, but he looked at the screen. At least it was just Brad. He and Kendra had to be feeling just as screwed over as Jack after their long fruitless week in Colombia.

  “What’s up, Brad?” Jack didn’t feel like talking, let alone being pleasant. Useless Brad, who hadn’t gotten them a decent segment in a year, wasn’t high on his happy list.

  “Kendra and I were just heading out for dinner. You should come.”

  Jack thought about skipping, just having something in his room and hiding until they got into a car for the airport in the morning, but he dragged himself up into a sitting position. It wouldn’t do him any good to lie around in the hotel room and mope. Plus, the hotel’s food sucked.

  “Yeah, I’ll go with you guys. How long?”

  “We thought we’d meet in the lobby in an hour. Can you do that?”

  “Sure. I’ll be there.”

  Jack got off the bed and searched through his suitcase. He pulled out his last pair of clean jeans and a T-shirt from a concert he’d gone to a few years before, not Jack Hunter adventure gear. He hated that shit. He had decided a long time ago that if he never saw another pair of cargo pants and button-up khaki shirt, he’d be happy. Of course that was before the looming possibility of actually never seeing his costume again was right in front of his face.

  He took his change of clothes and some clean socks and underwear into the bathroom and showered quickly. It was depressing to consider his possible future. With the zero ideas he had for how to save his show, and one dusty old media degree, he was pretty much hopeless.

  Think, Jack, think.

  He was out of thoughts. There was no angle, no story, that he hadn’t already covered in a hundred different variations. Nothing cool, unique, new. Nothing. I’m so fucked. Well, not literally. He hadn’t had time for much of that lately, and he sure as hell wasn’t interested in getting it from either Kendra or Brad. He probably wasn’t going to get it anytime soon at the rate he was going. Not as a jobless has-been in his thirties who’d probably lose his apartment in less than a year.

  Get it together.

  Jack got out, got dressed, and stuck his wallet in the back of his jeans. He slipped into a pair of canvas sneakers and flopped down on the bed to close his eyes until it was time to meet Kendra and Brad. He tried to think again, hoped that some lightning bolt would hit him, but there wasn’t anything. Of course there wasn’t. They’d done it all, and not very well at that.

  Maybe some second-rate news channel will take me. He supposed he could dust off his degree and go that route. Maybe whatever clout he had left in television could get him something decent. Treasure Quest was over.

  When it was time to go, Jack got up and checked to make sure he had his key. Then he trudged out of the room and down the hall to the elevator. He tried to put a smile on his face, something that would make Kendra and Brad feel less uneasy. But he knew it was bad. They probably did too. He had to talk to them at dinner.

  They found a small bar not too far from the hotel that served food. It wasn’t spectacular, but it was better than the room service he’d have been eating had he stayed behind.

  Brad and Kendra were both subdued. They knew that they’d just filmed another dud of an episode, one in a long line of duds. Jack didn’t know how to tell them about the conversation with Marshall. He took a long drink of his beer and just went for it.

  “So, guys. Marshall called earlier,” he blurted out.

  Kendra paused, fork in the middle of the air. Brad wrinkled his forehead. They already knew.

  “Was he on your case again?” Brad asked. Brad, who should be dealing with Marshall and the other network suits. But no, Jack was the one they called.

  “Worse than that.” Jack shrugged. “He basically said our next episode needs to be the best one we’ve ever put out or they’re canceling the show. They need new viewers, a huge premise, something sexy. I don’t have it.”

  “So....” Kendra put her fork down and looked at Jack pensively. “We need something that hasn’t been done before, and it has to be big.”

  Jack laughed sourly. “Yep. Small order, right?”

  “I don’t know.” She grinned. “Miracles do happen.”

  “Right,” he said. “I’m going to get another beer.”

  Far too many rounds of beer later, the three of them poured themselves into the hotel. They were drunk but quiet. Tired. Jack wondered if it wasn’t the best thing for the show to end. Less stress that way. But Brad had a new son, and Kendra had said was still paying off the degrees she’d never once used.

  And Jack? He’d miss being Jack Hunter. A lot. Cheesy as the show was, he still loved it, and he didn’t want to give up just yet. Too bad he would probably have to.

  Jack felt like death. Hungover, ready to puke death. And the best part was, in a few hours, he’d be on a plane feeling like death. Which never helped things. He pried open his eyes and stared at the clock on his phone. It was only eight. He had no idea why he always woke up so early when he’d been out drinking the night before. It made him feel even worse.

  Still he dragged himself up, even for a minute, to drink a huge glass of water and take a few pain relievers. It would probably help. Then he got back into the bed, pulled his sheet over his head, and tried to pretend the day before hadn’t happened.

  The ratings are sliding.... As soon as he closed his eyes, he could hear it—Marshall trying to be nice but still managing to sound absolutely condescending. We might need to look for something fresh.

  Jack didn’t want to go back, tail between his legs. He didn’t want to go back at all. He was tempted to take what was left of his dignity and disappear. He was tired of New York anyway. Time to move. California sounded nice. Santa Cruz. He’d always liked the beach. Jack knew he was spinning.

  Go back to sleep.

  He wanted to forget that the world existed. It was hard when he wasn’t passed out. He was tempted to break into the hotel minibar and down enough tiny little bottles to forget everything again. But that would make the long ride home even worse. So he just lay there until he finally fell back to sleep for the couple of hours he had left.

  Kendra looked annoyingly cheerful when Jack met her and Brad down in the lobby. She’d put her hair up into a swingy dark ponytail, she had makeup on, and she didn’t look like she’d been out drinking until three. Which they all had. Brad, at least, looked similarly worse for wear.

  “You have anything to eat yet, guys?” Jack asked. “We have time before we head to the airport. If they’re gonna cut the show, we might as well have something good on the network’s budget.”

  “They’re not going to cut the show, Jack.” Kendra smiled at him. Too cheerful. Stop.

  “We’ll see about that when we come to that meeting next week with nothing. Don’t be so sure.”

  Brad didn’t say much, just grunted like he usually did when he didn’t h
ave anything to add and pulled out his phone. “If we’re going to get lunch, we might want to head out now. Should I call for a car?”

  “Yeah. I’m tired of this lobby anyway.”

  Brad moved away to make the phone call. Jack raked his hands through his hair and used the ponytail holder on his wrist to pull it into a short, stubby ponytail. His wasn’t as high and perky and shiny as Kendra’s, but it did the job of getting it out of his face.

  “Are you two ready to go?” Brad asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Let’s go outside. The car will be here in about five minutes.”

  If there was ever an irony, it was how much Jack hated flying. He’d never been very good at it, not in all the years Treasure Quest had been on the air. Certainly not before that. He got first class, at least. The thought of cramming his big tall body into coach would be enough to make him choose to walk. But he still didn’t like it much. The stale air, too much time to think. It was a necessary evil, but he was always more than glad to be out of the plane once it landed.

  At least he had his own row this time. The flight was uncharacteristically empty, and Kendra and Brad had spread out to their own rows as well. He closed his eyes and laid his head back on his seat to try and sleep away a few of the hours.

  “Hey, boss. You have a minute?” Kendra asked from where she’d snuck up beside him.

  “Can’t it wait?” Jack just wanted to relax and try to avoid thinking about his problems.

  “I don’t think so. Listen, we’re going to have some very uncomfortable meetings and probably a big cut if we don’t come up with something to tell the channel by the time we get back. We need a big story. We need something that’ll draw the viewers back in.”

  “I know all of this,” Jack grumbled. He’d been the one to tell her after all, and the whole crew was aware that the network had been breathing down their necks for close to a year. “I thought this hidden idol was going to be our big story.”

  “I did too.” Kendra frowned. “We all did. But I think what I found has a far better chance of panning out.”

  “You found something?” Jack had no idea how she operated. He was barely able to walk in a straight line and speak coherently after the night they’d just had, and she’d already been up doing research? “Is it something the network suggested?”

  “No, it’s better than that. I promise. I’ve had my eye on a few different possibilities, and I think one of them is going to pan out. Big time.”

  “We can’t hang the whole fate of the show on a possibility that might pan out.” Jack couldn’t handle one more embarrassment that they’d have to jazz up with music and fancy editing.

  “Do you have any better ideas?” she asked.

  Of course not. He pretty much had dick. And they all knew it. “Fine.” Jack sighed and lost all hope that he’d spend the next five

  hours attempting to sleep. Apparently he was going to listen to Kendra’s far-fetched idea instead. “What is it?”

  Kendra pulled out her laptop and took the seat next to him. He turned to face her. “This kid out of Columbia, the college not the country, he wrote an article, a paper I suppose, and it got published a few weeks ago.”

  “And I’m supposed to take a college kid’s thesis paper to the network?” Jack didn’t have the energy for this shit. He didn’t have the energy for anything anymore. Maybe it was best for him to quit while he was only slightly behind.

  “Yes. Listen. I know listening’s not your best skill, but try for once.” Kendra raised her eyebrows.

  Okay, she had a point. Listening wasn’t one of Jack’s better skills, but maybe it was time he employed what little patience he had. He fidgeted in his seat and waited.

  “This paper, it has to do with letters the kid’s great-grandfather sent out of Europe during World War II. Letters about treasure the Nazis stole. Letters that hinted he stole chunks of it from them and hid those chunks all over Europe.”

  “Nazi treasure?” He had to admit, Kendra had his attention.

  “Yes, and a Jewish servant who stole it out from under the Nazi’s nose and sent coded letters to his family in America to keep safe so he could find it later.” Kendra’s voice rose. “Listen, Jack. This is a massive story. Our guy disappeared before he could ever get to America and decode the letters himself, but his great-grandson thinks he has it figured out. He thinks he knows where his ancestor hid all the treasures. And he hasn’t gone looking for any of it yet.”

  Holy shit.

  Hidden Nazi treasure was about as sexy as it came in the world they lived in. Just the hint of it would be enough to have the network salivating. And if this kid’s paper wasn’t full of shit and they actually found something? Double sexy.

  “Look, this kid’s ancestor worked for Hermann Goering, a high- ranking Nazi.” She flipped open to another saved document on her computer. “This Goering guy was notorious for his hoards of treasures— gold, hundreds of paintings, statues, jewelry, icons, tapestries—you name it, the guy had it.” She flipped to another article. “There’s even been rumors of him dumping gold by the cask in a lake as the Russians were drawing closer to Berlin. Gold that would be worth hundreds of millions today.”

  “And our boy’s thesis is that his great-grandpa stole some of Goering’s stolen wealth. A servant?”

  “I guess the great-grandfather was a bit of a slickster. Managed to talk himself into the household of a bigwig. Sounds like the kind of character who might siphon a few treasures away for a rainy day.”

  “And risk being caught carrying them out of Goering’s house to locations all over Europe?”

  Kendra shrugged. She was grinning. Even Jack had to admire the guy’s balls.

  “It’s a great plan, isn’t it? Never leave two things in the same place. Come back and find it later. The kid says in his paper that the locations are huge landmarks—cathedrals, government buildings, theaters. Places his great-grandfather probably thought would still be there by the time the war was over. At least places that had a better chance of being there.”

  Jack’s mind was blown at the possibility. But then again, the paper had been published. “You don’t think there are a million people already on top of this kid?”

  Kendra shook her head. “From what I’ve read, the academics aren’t taking him very seriously, and he won’t talk to anyone else.”

  “And you think he’d talk to us?”

  “I think he’d talk to you.” Kendra gave him a small smile that said she might know something else about this kid with the billion-dollar letters in his hands. Oh. Well, if that was the case, Jack wasn’t above using his charm to save his own ass.

  “Damn.” He let out a long breath that he hadn’t been aware he was holding. “That would be amazing if it worked out.”

  “Wouldn’t it? We’d have the bosses bowing down if we pull this off.”

  “So where do we find this kid?”

  “That’s the best part. I told you. He’s at Columbia. He lives right in New York.”

  It was like the damn job fell right into Jack’s lap. In the next half hour, Kendra filled him in on how the kid never published the entire clues in his paper. Just bits of specifics to illustrate his point and broad details to support it. It was probably one of the reasons his theory wasn’t taken seriously by the brainiac types, but Jack supposed the kid was smarter than to leave a completed map right out there for anyone to see—and use.

  It was perfect. “Let’s get a meeting with him. What’s his name?”

  Kendra checked her notes. “Aloysius Green.”

  “What kind of a name is that?” Jack snorted.

  “I don’t know. Not Jack Hunter.” Kendra gave him shit for his screen name all the time, but it wasn’t like he’d chosen it. He’d gone by Jack Hunter for, God, fifteen years. Jack forgot how to answer when someone called him anything else.

  “Well, get a meeting with this Abdominal guy, and we’ll get him to sign. He’d have network backing, plane tickets, ho
tels. It wouldn’t cost him anything to go out there and find his grandfather’s treasure.”

  Kendra nodded. “I’ll set it up when we get back to the city.”

  “Nazi treasure. Damn.” If this worked out, it would be by far the best get that Jack had ever come across—the best that anyone had come across since Howard Carter and King Tut’s tomb. It had to work out. It was his last chance.

  Chapter Three

  Most days, Alo wished he’d listened to Dr. Perry and stayed the hell away from his great-grandfather’s letters.

  At least publicly.

  He’d thought it would just be a paper... something interesting to turn in. But then that damn treasure hunting magazine had taken it and run with it, and he’d let the glamor of being published, even in a cheesy magazine, make him do something he never should’ve done. Too late to take back that choice. Nothing like a lethal combination of vanity and naivety to lure someone into making a huge mistake. Worked every time. At least it did on him. Apparently.

  As a result, Alo had spent the past three weeks hiding from his colleagues and wishing he could go back in time.

  “Hey, Robert Langdon. Find any secret treasures lately?” one of the other history grad students called when he walked into the library for his shift. The small crowd around him cackled.

  Assholes. Yeah, as a joke it was lame as hell, but Alo didn’t have the balls to roll his eyes at them. Not after what he’d done. Instead he flipped the guy off in front of his body where they wouldn’t see it and continued on his way to the help desk.

  The past few weeks, the other history students had been coming up, asking him bonehead questions—if he knew where they could find the lost catacombs under the library, where the books with all the government secrets were kept. Alo couldn’t afford to get fired; he needed the work- study hours, so he’d just answer them as politely as he could and let them scamper off giggling at their own cleverness. Well. Except the one time he sent a certain asshole on a tour of the basement stacks looking for a hidden door to the place where the Columbia secret society met. The dickhead had been asking for it. Alo couldn’t believe he’d actually gone looking. He chuckled every time he imagined the moron knocking at every corner bookshelf looking for the “hollow sound.” At least Alo hadn’t locked him down there when the library closed. He couldn’t say he hadn’t been tempted.