Sam shielded his eyes from the sun, seeing scattered birch trees that had taken hold in the barren rocks.
“You see the one birch,” Gustaw said, “about twenty feet up? From here you can’t tell, but up there, at its base, you can hear the water running below. There’s a space between the rocks next to the tree. I think it’s an air shaft. Possibly a better way in than removing all these rocks down here at the base to open it up.”
Sam turned back to the solid rock cliff, looking up at the tree and the possible air shaft. “Some reason you haven’t gone in before now?”
“I have no idea if it leads anywhere or if it’s simply a cavern. Mostly, I haven’t had the heart. Not since Renard was killed. We were going to go down together. Now . . .” He looked away, not saying anything for several seconds. The only sounds were the birds chirping around them and the leaves rustling overhead in the breeze. “You’re here now. I say we go in.”
They climbed to the top, and though Sam would have preferred to anchor off the trees higher up, the rope he’d brought wasn’t long enough for a simple two-line rappel, especially after he cut off a six-foot section to improvise a harness.
Returning his attention to the air shaft at the base of the lone tree, he decided it looked more natural than any man-made opening. Still, as Gustaw had described, they could hear the water running below.
Remi pushed against the birch. “You think it’ll hold our weight?”
He kicked at the papery white trunk, feeling a slight vibration beneath his boot. Though thin, the tree seemed to be solidly rooted. “I think so,” he said, grateful that both Sergei and Gustaw were experienced climbers. “I’ll go first.”
Years of fallen leaves cushioned the floor, the scent of must and mold rising with each step as Sam turned around to examine the cavern. Sunlight filled the shaft but also filtered in through the few cracks near the bottom where Gustaw had removed some of the rocks from what had once been the entrance. Behind him, water trickled down the rock wall, then disappeared below into a crevice.
Sam turned again. If there had been a cavern, it looked like the explosion had sheared off a massive wall of rock across it. His first inclination was that they’d reached a dead end. But as he shined his flashlight around, he saw darkness at the top of the rock wall, making him think the cavern continued on the other side.
“Everything okay?” Remi called down.
He looked up, saw her silhouetted at the shaft opening above him. “Fine. Come on down. Not much here. Hoping there’s something deeper inside.” After an easy climb up to the top, he swept his light across the area. All that was left of the cavern entrance was a V-shaped passage leading off into the darkness. That’s what told him there was more to see, and he waited for the others to climb down. Once there, Sam led the way, over the broken rock, past all the destruction from the explosion, then into the narrow opening that eventually widened into a fully finished tunnel. Twin steel rails of train tracks emerged from the rubble behind them, continuing on into the tunnel, where they disappeared into the darkness. The size and scope of the tunnel reinforcements gave Sam pause, trying not to think of the horrors suffered by the men forced to build it. The others must have felt the same. No one spoke as they followed the tracks until they ended at the entrance of two separate tunnels.
“Which way?” Sergei asked.
Sam shined the light down the right tunnel, noting the bricked arch and supports as far as the eye could see. The left was about the same size but had not been reinforced. “Good question.”
“The left,” Gustaw said, checking his compass. “That seems to be the general direction of the castle. Maybe it even leads there.”
“What about the right?” Sergei pointed that direction. “At least it’s finished.”
“Actually, neither,” Remi said from behind them. All three turned. Remi was pointing toward something on the wall. What at first glance appeared to be an uneven portion of the reinforced bricked tunnel wall was actually a sliding door set on a rusty track. The brick was carefully layered over it as camouflage.
“Good eye,” Sam said, returning to her side. He pushed, then leaned into, the door, but it held firm. When Sergei joined him, the door squealed in its track, finally opening. Sam handed his flashlight to Remi. “You found it. You get the first look.”
Remi entered, and Sam nearly ran into her when she stopped short. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“There’s a dead guy on the ground.”
35
Sam aimed the beam of his flashlight into the space. Even though Remi had warned him, the sight of a mummified Nazi soldier was not what he’d expected. The man had been shot in the forehead, his body mostly preserved by the cool air circulating in the tunnel. “Totenkopf,” Sam said, noting the skull and crossbones insignia on the man’s collar. It was a duplicate of the insignia that Gustaw had found near the forest entrance. “Could have been a prison camp guard brought in to oversee the work. I wonder who killed him?”
“And why?” Remi added.
“Russians, maybe?” Gustaw said. “When they were rousting the Nazis after the war?”
“Interesting theory,” Sam replied, shining his light around the cavern, noticing the stacks of wooden crates filled with canned goods. “If it was the Russians, they would’ve stripped it of anything of value. Definitely the food. There’s enough canned goods here for an army.” In fact, the crates, lined up several deep along the wall, were about the shape and size of a railcar. Gustaw looked over at Sam. “I suppose this explains why we saw what we did on the ground penetrating radar. That Renard lost his life over canned food—”
“He lost his life,” Sam said, “because there are evil people in the world.”
“I know . . .”
“Look at this,” Remi said, her attention fixed on the floor beside the desk. “An Enigma machine. A shame someone destroyed it.”
Sam glanced over to see a splintered crate and, within it, the remnants of the machine, some of the wiring exposed near the front, the keys and rotors smashed to bits.
Sergei walked up next to Sam. “What’s an Enigma machine?” he asked.
“For codes,” Sam said, leaning down and picking up one of the smashed rotors. “Sort of like a typewriter to send out ciphered messages.” He showed the rotor to Sergei, pointing out the few letters that hadn’t been scraped off the circumference. “Each rotor had the alphabet on it,” he said. “This machine used three rotors at one time. Some of them used four. A message was typed in and coded by the rotors. The person on the receiving end needed to know which rotors were used and in what order to decode the message.”
Remi moved to the desk, picking up a green book, opening it. “Maybe the dead Nazi was in charge of inventory control . . .” She turned a page. “A list of what’s in the cans.”
Sergei looked over her shoulder. “I don’t suppose there’s a listing of treasure chests . . . ?”
“Unfortunately, no.” She glanced at Sam as he tossed the broken rotor onto the Enigma pile. “If I had to guess, they were preparing the ultimate bomb shelter. With what’s listed here, and the water they diverted, they could live for months.” She set down the book, then opened the top desk drawer. “Fountain pen, pencils . . .”
Sam walked over to the dead soldier, crouching down beside him for a closer look. “I’d say he was executed.”
“Maybe he was an embezzler,” Sergei said. “Lesson learned.”
“Doesn’t make sense,” Sam replied. “Why seal the chamber, break the Enigma machine, and leave all that food behind . . . ?”
Gustaw reached into one of the crates, pulling out a can. “Only one explanation. They didn’t want anyone to find it or know what it was for. There has to be a reason.”
“If,” Remi said, “this is the location from the Königsberg map, maybe he was killed for the same reason that all those guards were kil
led at Königsberg castle. Dead men tell no tales.”
Sam looked up at her. “That is the best explanation yet.”
She smiled.
“Don’t let your head swell. If you’re correct, we still have to figure out what secret he was protecting.” He patted the dead man’s pockets. Finding nothing of significance, he stood, looking around the room. “Let’s do an inventory. Maybe something will turn up. Remi, finish going through the desk. We’ll search the crates.”
After looking through a half dozen, Sam glanced over at Remi, who was crouched beneath the desk. “What’s wrong?”
“Trying to get this drawer out,” she said, pushing at it from beneath. “I’m hoping there’s a false bottom. It won’t—” There was a soft click, and the drawer slid out. “Bingo.”
She scooted out, then stood, a slight frown on her face as she reached into the drawer. “One gold bar—”
“Not bad,” Sam said.
“If it’s the rumored Romanov Ransom, there’s not much of it here,” she replied, pulling out a thick stack of bills and placing it next to the gold. “A key. And this . . .” She held up a familiar-looking square tin, placing it on the desk. “Typewriter ribbon . . . Clearly, this is the favored Nazi brand.” She opened the tin. “Surprise! Typewriter ribbon.”
Sam picked up the tarnished brass skeleton key, turning it over in his hand. “A key and money.”
“Do you know what I don’t see?”
He glanced at the tin and realized the moment she said it. “An office with no typewriter.”
Sergei and Gustaw stopped their search, Gustaw asking, “Why would that be important?”
“Not sure.” Sam handed his pack to Remi and she placed the found items inside it. “But we have someone who can research it for us. Let’s finish up in here and get moving.”
They went through every last crate but found nothing but canned goods inside. A few minutes later, they left. Once they hit the railroad tracks, Sergei stopped to look back.
“What’s wrong?” Sam asked.
“Who knows what else is down there. It’s a shame we can’t explore farther.”
“We can always come back another time.”
“Of course,” Gustaw said. “You know where I am. Anytime you want to come back, you come see me.”
They reached the cave entrance, climbing over the boulders that had bridged the creek bed. A shaft of sunlight lit the floor, dust motes floating up and around the rope they’d left hanging.
They climbed out, emerging into the bright sunlight, but the peaceful sound of the water trickling beneath them was broken by the buzz of Gustaw’s phone. He pulled it from his pocket, looking at the screen. “Someone’s here . . .”
Sam scanned the area in the forest below, not seeing anything. “Where?”
“Everywhere.” Gustaw looked up from his phone in shock. “We’re surrounded.”
36
How many men out there?” Sam asked, his eyes on the woods.
Gustaw swiped through the various screens on his phone, each showing a different area where the alarm had tripped. “Eight. No, ten. Four, just coming up to the cabin. The other six are fanning out. If any of them have tracking skills, it won’t be long before they notice our trail up here.”
Sam realized they had very little time. The thick trees of the forest below would shield them from view for a bit, but not for long. He grabbed the double strand of rope hanging from the birch, handing it to Sergei. “You wanted to do a little more exploring? Looks like you’ll get your wish.”
Sergei turned a worried glance toward the forest. “I didn’t mean now.”
“Sorry,” he said, drawing his gun. “Not a lot of options.”
Sergei climbed down.
“You’re next,” he said to Remi.
She dropped down.
A moment later, a half dozen armed men crashed through the forest into the clearing. So far, they hadn’t been seen. He doubted their luck would hold.
“Hurry,” Sam whispered to Gustaw, aiming at the approaching men. Gustaw slung his rifle over his back, then lowered himself into the shaft.
“Da oben!”
A shot whizzed by Sam’s head.
He returned fire.
The men below scattered.
Sam grabbed the two strands of rope, ripped off another shot, holstered his weapon, then slid down. The second he landed, he gave a tug, and the rope snaked down into the cavern at his feet.
Sergei watched as Sam coiled it, then slung it over his shoulder. “How will we get out?”
“Quiet,” Sam said. He motioned toward the rocks that separated them from the outside. Last thing he needed was for the gunmen to realize how very little stood between them. At least if they came down the air shaft, he could pick them off.
A moment later, they heard the sound of running outside as the men converged on the cave entrance. “Da oben!” someone shouted again, then something more that Sam couldn’t understand.
“Up there!” Remi translated. “They’re calling for someone to bring a rope.”
Sam took the flashlight from his pack, hoping to find a place of defense when he heard the unexpected scrape of rocks at the cavern entrance.
“Sam . . .”
He was alarmed to see the light bleeding through the rocks, reflecting off the barrel of a gun. “Hurry!”
They scrambled over the other side as the sharp crack of gunfire peppered the cavern.
Sam grabbed Remi’s hand, and they raced down the tunnel, Sergei and Gustaw at their heels. At one point, the echo of gunfire was so fast and so loud, Sam had to look to reassure himself that the Guard hadn’t made entry. For now, the tunnel behind them was clear.
As they followed the tracks around the curve, Sam glanced back, trying to listen. The gunshots had stopped, replaced by shouting. “Can you hear what they’re saying?”
No one could. They hurried down the tunnel, stopping at the point it divided into two. Sam looked both ways, then turned to Gustaw. “I vote left. What do you think?”
“There’s more of a chance of an outlet toward the castle. Why else would the Nazis have gone to the trouble of tunneling down below it?”
“It’s not even finished,” Sergei pointed out.
And it wasn’t. Sam glanced down the long stretch of reinforced tunnel to the right. Who knew what the Nazis were contemplating when they built it? A deeper place to bury the Gold Train? Or something else entirely?
It didn’t matter. What did was finding a way out. Whether it led to the castle or a dead end, he wasn’t sure. “To the left,” he confirmed, hoping anyone chasing them would think they’d gone down the finished tunnel.
They continued at a run, the sound of their pursuers echoing toward them. They were growing closer. Soon, the smooth floor gave way to loose rock and uneven terrain, slowing their progress. At one point, Sam felt the movement of air across his face, along with the familiar smell of must and mold. He hoped that meant they were nearing another tunnel entrance, but the scent quickly disappeared. As the shouts and footsteps of the Wolf Guard grew louder, Sam drew his gun, covering them from the back.
Remi stopped at the turn. “Sam.”
“What’s wrong?”
“The tunnel. It ends here.”
37
Sam rounded the corner, the beam of his flashlight bouncing off a thick wall of rock and rubble that filled the tunnel. Someone had blown up that entrance as well.
“What now?” Remi asked.
“Back the way we came.”
“But—”
“I think there may be a way out.” He led them to where he felt the air moving and smelled the musty odor of dead leaves. A deep crevice angled off to the right. “Here. Smell that?”
Remi stepped closer, breathing deeply. “Yes.”
“What is
it?” Sergei asked.
Sam reached into the crevice, pulling out a handful of debris. “Remember the smell of leaves where we came in? That’s what this is.”
“Another air shaft?”
“Possibly.”
Gustaw looked in. “I don’t see any sunlight.”
“The dead leaves got in there somehow.”
A shout echoed down the tunnels, and they all turned, startled at how close it sounded. Sam turned back to the crevice, shined his light into it, examining the cracks and fissures within view. Plenty of finger- and toeholds, and narrow enough that they could brace themselves without need for a rope. What he didn’t see was any light at the top. “It’s a risk, but it’s our only option. If we’re lucky, it’s our way out.”
He turned to Gustaw and Sergei. “Follow Remi. I’ll bring up the rear.”
Sergei eyed the narrow space. “What if it doesn’t go all the way through?”
“At the very least, we can climb up and hope they’ll miss us.”
He gave Remi a boost and she disappeared inside. Sergei followed, then Gustaw. Sam was just about to climb in when he heard a shout of “Da!” behind him. He looked back. A half dozen men raced in his direction, their flashlights bouncing along the tunnel. One of them saw him and fired.
Sam shot back as Gustaw lowered his hand toward him. Sam grabbed it, pulling himself into the crevice, as a barrage of gunshots hit the tunnel.
Bracing himself in the narrow space, he waited for Gustaw to move before climbing up after him, grateful to hear Remi’s voice calling down, “There’s light. It leads out.”
The passage angled sharply to the left, then up, where sun filtered down. By the time he emerged from the tunnel, he heard the gunmen clambering up.
Outside, Sam looked around. The air shaft they’d just emerged from was completely hidden in the low brush growing at the edge of the forest. No wonder it’d never been found.
“Look,” Sergei said, pointing down the hill toward a sign near the railroad tracks. The sixty-fifth-kilometer marker. “I guess we can safely say the Gold Train isn’t in this tunnel.”
The Romanov Ransom Page 15
