by David Cline
“Wish we could have met under different circumstances,” she said, as she gently pushed him forward.
With no control, Rory fell sideways into the water. He tried to take a deep breath before entering but could not. The cool water felt strange. Not so much cold as heavy. He felt pressure in his ears as water entered his lungs and he slowly sank. Darkness overcame him. The last thought he had was about star water.
Chapter 5
Signs of civilization began to appear as Nick Wood weaved between large trucks laden with crops headed for the city markets.
“What is Ciudad Del Este like?” Amara asked.
Wood downshifted as he sped around a truck transporting hundreds of watermelons.
“I remember the very first time I entered the city,” Wood said. “It was years ago, and I was on a bus half asleep. As we entered the outskirts, I got a strange feeling. I remember looking out the window at the dimly lit bus stops and sensing evil.”
“What were you doing here so long ago?” she asked.
Wood grinned at her. “I was a missionary, believe it or not. I spent three long months walking these streets in a shirt and tie talking to people about Jesus.”
Amara laughed. “I can see you doing a lot of things, but proselyting is not one of them. For what church?”
Wood shrugged. “It was a wild experience. I spent two years down here for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.” He winked at her.
“Mormons?” Amara asked.
Wood nodded. “Don’t worry though, I only have one mom and don’t have horns growing out of my head. The three months I spent in Ciudad Del Este were by the far the craziest. This city is the wild west of Latin America. Laws only exist on paper.”
“What do you mean?” Amara asked.
“I remember one day we were taking a bus back to the neighborhood where we lived. The bus stopped and four guys came onboard. The first one broke a glass bottle over the driver’s head while the rest drew guns and proceeded to rob everyone. Wallets and cell phones. One man tried to escape out the back door, but someone was waiting there and shot him in the chest as he descended the steps.”
Amara’s eyes widened. “That is awful.”
Wood nodded slowly as though lost in the memory. “The sad thing is something similar happened everyday down here. I had friends who were killed. It’s definitely a city to stay alert in.”
“It sounds like it’s a miracle you are still alive,” she said.
Wood laughed. “I always felt wearing a shirt and tie put targets on our back. But it was on those nights, wandering the streets, the smoke of burning garbage settling over the city like a morning mist, when I found God.” He looked at her. “Fortunately, now whenever I return to visit, it’s a lot easier to blend in like a local.” Wood patted the dashboard of the old pickup fondly.
Amara looked around the interior of the truck. The radio was missing, and wires were hanging out.
Wood gave her an inquisitive stare and then smiled. He looked in the rearview mirror at the three silent passengers that had been listening quietly to their conversation. “First lesson to surviving in a land where rules are made and enforced by the people with the biggest weapons. Never flaunt or give any impression of wealth. Observe how the locals dress and then imitate them. Try and go to bed with the sun. If you do those three things, you should be good.”
Fin poked his head between the two front seats. “I hear you mate. This time around, I will just follow your lead.”
Amara looked sideways back at Wilkins who was trying to find service with an old cell phone. “Where were you during all of this preaching?”
Wilkins looked up and slapped Wood on the shoulder. “Nick has tried his best to convert me, but I am as stubborn as my old man.” He paused. “I have a feeling it might happen someday, but back then, the last thing I was thinking about was my salvation. I wanted to have my own adventure. Discover my own heaven. So, on the day he flew to Asunción, I flew to Manilla. I fixed up an old boat and tried to sail it around the world. I got distracted in Thailand. Two years passed fast and before I knew it, this yahoo and I were in the Navy Seals.”
“Sounds like you two have quite the history together,” Amara said.
Wood looked at Wilkins through the rearview mirror. “You could say that. Poor guy has never gotten a tan. Always in my shadow.”
Wilkins rolled his eyes.
“We going to a hospital?” Fin asked.
Amara looked back at André who still looked manic. His eyes were wide and bloodshot. She caught his eye and André gave her a weak thumbs up.
Wood shook his head. “You want to talk about malpractice,” he said. If someone wants to make some extra money, they just put a sign up in their front yard advertising a dentist practice. The only problem is they’ve never looked at a mouth besides their own.”
He slowed as traffic grew heavier. They were entering the outskirts of the city now. Small businesses lined the street.
“I have a friend who is better than any doctor you will find at a hospital,” Wood said. “And the best part is, she is always home.”
They turned at an intersection and continued for about five minutes. As they crested a hill, Wood turned again, and the asphalt disappeared. It was replaced with rough cobblestone. Everything in the truck began to shake like they were on a rollercoaster.
“The only problem with these old vehicles is the suspension,” Wood said. “The shocks never last long on these roads. Only the main highways are paved with asphalt.”
Amara looked ahead and saw an enormous tree growing out of the middle of the road. Cars were forced to veer around it on either side. The trucks two right tires popped over the curb.
“Welcome to Paraguay,” Wood said with a large grin.
Amara could not help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.
Soon the old truck pulled up to a red brick wall and Wood parked. “We have arrived,” he said opening his door and jumping out.
The rest of them followed and joined Wood on the crumbling sidewalk. Amara looked at the top of the brick wall. Broken pieces of glass had been cemented to it. She looked down the street and noticed that every house looked similar. Each residence looked more like a fortress than a home.
Wood followed her gaze and smiled. “Home security in South America. You would be surprised how well it works.”
They followed him around to a large gate stretching across a driveway. Wood slipped his hands through the metal bars and clapped three times.
“That’s how you ring the doorbell down here,” Wilkins whispered to her.
Two dogs sprinted around the corner behind the gate and barked up at them. Wood cringed. “The one thing I will never miss about this country.”
An adolescent voice yelled and soon a boy appeared. He could not have been more than thirteen. Wood spoke through the gate to him in Spanish and the child pulled the gate open. They entered through, single file, and followed the boy inside.
There was a scream and a middle-aged woman embraced Wood like a prodigal son. She was short and a little overweight. She had a round face and dark brown eyes that overflowed with love.
“This my friends,” Wood said, “is Hermana Rosa. Wood introduced everybody and then explained what ailed André. Hermana Rosa turned her attention to him. She lead André out of the room by the hand.
As André passed them, he gave Amara a look like a dog getting taken to the vet.
“Don’t worry André,” Wood called after him. “She will take better care of you than anyone else on this continent.”
Once they had disappeared, Wood turned to Wilkins. “You get that phone to work yet?”
Wilkins held it out to him. “The signal is a little spotty, but it should work just fine.”
Wood took it and surveyed the group. Everyone looked exhausted. Amara could only imagine what she looked like. “Please,” he said. “Make yourselves at home.”
The living room was small. One wall was pain
ted in dark purple. Family pictures hung encased in cheap frames. Faded couches faced each other. They all found a place to sit down. Wood typed a number into the phone and then stepped outside.
Amara leaned her head back against the soft chair. It was old but comfortable. She closed her eyes and saw images of the bunker. Despite almost dying in that cold tomb, the archeologist inside of her already wanted to return and do a thorough investigation. What was a Nazi bunker doing buried near the northern border of Argentina?
Wilkins looked at her as if reading her mind. “Tell me more about that bunker where we found you guys. You said it had Nazi murals on the walls?”
Amara began to recount their tale from the beginning. Occasionally, Fin would interject with a missed detail. Wood returned halfway through and sat on the floor.
“Incredible,” Wilkins said when she finished.
“I don’t know what is more unbelievable,” Wood added. “That the bunker exists, or that there are still people guarding it after all these years.”
“I know the Nazis had a formidable presence down here in the 1930’s and 40’s,” Wilkins said. “But your find could rewrite history.” He looked down at Wood who was stroking his beard stubble. “Who’d you call Nick?”
Wood stared at the wall for a few seconds then looked around. “My friend Esteban who works down in Centro. If the Nazis still have a presence down here, he will know. Although, they would have changed their name. I doubt that there are many, if any, these days, but it is worth looking into. Can I see the coin and ring again?”
Amara fished them out of her crusted pants pocket. Wood took his time rotating the ring between his fingers. “The workmanship is exquisite,” he said. “This really could have belonged to a high-ranking member of the Third Reich.” He shivered. “Artifacts like this make history tangible. You are no longer reading about it in a textbook but holding it in your hands.” He tossed it to Wilkins and then examined the coin.
“If I had to guess,” Wilkins said. “The Nazi party secretly minted coins down here in South America during the war. Maybe even for a few years after.”
“What about the bunker?” Fin asked. He looked half asleep, sprawled on a small couch across the room.
“When Germany realized they were going to lose the war,” Wood said, “Nazis began looking to escape Europe anywhere they could. Because Germany already had a large presence in Argentina, and because South America had remained relatively unscathed by the world war, it became the destination of choice. I would venture that the bunker you found was built to hide high ranking officials trying to escape the world courts hot on their heels.”
Wilkins handed Amara back the ring. “I just can’t understand why people would still be guarding an old cement refuge buried deep in the ground after all these years.”
“The interesting thing I noticed in our rush to find an exit,” Amara said, “is that the structure had signs of recent use. The paintings on the walls, furniture and even the rugs were in great condition.” She paused and looked across the room. “I almost wish we could go back and have a closer look.”
Wilkins smiled at her. “You know I would love to go back and find some historical artifacts to add to the collection.”
Wood shook his head. “Let’s see what we can find in Centro before we go marching back. My grandfather fought the Nazis 80 years ago.” He paused and handed the coin back to Amara. “I just hope the reason that man chased us was because we were trespassing on private property or something.”
“What are you hoping to find in Centro?” Fin asked.
Wood looked at him and stood up. “You know where the biggest black market in the world is located?”
Fin shook his head.
“Hong Kong,” Wood answered. “You know where the second biggest black market in the world is?”
Fin shook his head again.
Wood grinned and held his arms out wide. “Ciudad del Este. Every nefarious group looking for a place to live in exile comes down here and sets up shop. Only 10% of what is for sale is displayed publicly on the street. If you have the right contacts, everything from body parts to bombs can be purchased here. If the Nazis still have any kind of presence in the modern world, they will have a branch in Ciudad Del Este.”
“That is crazy,” Fin said, slowly sitting up. “Do you think your friend could really help us?”
The phone on the table buzzed and Wood scooped it up. He gave them all a thumbs up. “Esteban!”
10 minutes later, Amara was again sitting in the old pickup next to Wilkins as they bounced their way down the jagged road. Fin had stayed behind with André. He had been inside the oxygen deprived bunker longer than anyone and still felt weak.
Wood’s friend Esteban was sitting shotgun and spoke English. His strong accent made it difficult for Amara to understand everything said. She strained her ears and tried to cut out the rickety sounds of the old truck so she could follow the conversation.
“There are so many shady places in Centro,” Esteban said. “I could get you in almost anywhere but wouldn’t know where to begin.”
Wood swerved around a hole in the street large enough to bury a Volkswagen Beetle.
“So, throughout your entire life working in Centro, you haven’t seen any swastikas or signs of Nazis?” Amara asked.
Esteban shook his head. “I have seen a lot of messed up and troubling things, but no Nazis.”
“They are smarter than that,” Wood said. “When they fled Germany, and escaped to South America, they went underground.” He looked in the rearview mirror and smiled at Amara. “Literally went underground. 80 years later, they wouldn’t have anything around that would so obviously link them to their grandfathers.”
Esteban looked sideways at him. “You really think that Nazis are hiding out in Ciudad Del Este?” he asked.
Wood shrugged. “It sounds like something straight out of a Bond movie. Yesterday, I would have said no way.” He paused and swerved around a horse drawn cart full of old car batteries. “Now, I’m not so sure.”
Wilkins moved over and stuck his head between the two front seats like an excited puppy. “Let’s think about what they would look like 80 years later if they did exist. For example, there is not a chance they would speak any language except German. For them, that would be a betrayal to their heritage.”
Wood nodded. “I agree.” He looked at Esteban. “How many businesses are owned by German speakers?”
“A handful,” Esteban said. “Although, everyone speaks enough English and Spanish to sell their stuff. At the end of the day, even buyers and sellers at the black market need to be able to communicate well enough to negotiate.”
“I would imagine the place we’re looking for would be super exclusive,” Wood said. “They don’t need the money as much as a place to meet. Maybe even to show off some of the stolen relics from around the world.”
“Like a black-market museum,” Wilkins said, softly. “Nothing is for sale. Items are simply put on display. The only way you can even get in would be if you are already a member of their group.”
“Does that description remind you of anywhere in Centro?” Wood asked.
Esteban looked out his window. They reached the end of the cobblestone and turned right onto a paved road. “There is a building,” he finally said. “Near the end of a street called Ypané. One of the few I have never entered. I have heard that secret and precious things are kept there. Items that possess power.”
“Wasn’t Hitler and the higher ups of the Nazi party obsessed with finding artifacts they thought contained enough power to help them win the war?” Amara asked.
“I am no Nazi historian,” Wood said. “But I know Hitler believed in an Aryan Master Race ideology. It was not only myth and legend that fueled his beliefs, but archaeology as well. The Ark of the Covenant was an artifact that Hitler thought would give him the power to rule the world. The Holy Grail was supposed to carry the salvation of Aryans alone.” He looked over at Esteban. “I
s the building itself different than the rest?”
Esteban nodded. “It kind of looks like a fancy church mixed with an office building. Why do you ask?”
“The Nazi party always maintained a certain level of mystique,” Wood said. “I’ve read that Hitler would even hold meetings with the SS and other high-ups in old castles, abandoned cathedrals, and other occult-seeming places for show, if nothing else.”
“I honestly thought that we would spend the afternoon as tourists,” Wilkins said. “Meander through some shops on the street and enjoy some greasy empanadas.” They pulled up to a red light. “I think that building could be a winner though. At least a good place to start. I am not getting my hopes up. But, can you take us there?”
Esteban shrugged. “I can take you there but am going to be no help getting you inside. I have no friends or contacts inside that building. You will be on your own.”
“Lead on,” Wilkins said. He sat back and began to organize his things inside a brown backpack.
Esteban guided Wood along some back roads bypassing the traffic and crowds. They parked in an abandoned dirt lot.
“Things get crazy down here,” Esteban said. “Even during the day. Let’s all watch out for each other. Stay close to me.”
He led them across the street and around a corner. Up ahead Amara could see the chaos that was Centro. The street was a parking lot. Cars were turned in all directions at a standstill. Hundreds of people zigzagged around them like ants, carrying large boxes and sacks of merchandise. Giant billboards and advertisements covered every available inch of the five story buildings on either side. They overlapped each other like playing cards so only a portion of each was visible. Thousands of little shops lined both sides of the street. People bustled from one to the next as far as she could see.
She caught up with Wood and pointed down the road, smiling. “Second biggest black market in the world you say?”
Wood caught her elbow and pulled her out of the way of a passing motorcycle. It was packed so high with boxes, Amara could only guess how the additional weight didn’t cause it to topple.
