Down the Rabbit Hole- Nazis in Tibet

by Jason Walker

  Dargaville let out a small chuckle, in a sign that the Australian’s humour may finally be getting through to her.

  “We’ll get some rest for a couple of days while we read through the rest of those documents, and we’ll go down into that hole first thing in the morning. Come on, let’s see if the Krauts left anything to eat or drink.”

  At first light, two days later, James was the first one to open his eyes. Immediately to his right hand side, Mere Dargaville was still very much asleep, and very close to him. He could smell her hair, and see the curves of her body. He was thinking things which she probably wouldn’t appreciate.

  To his left hand side, was Tau, snoring loudly.

  Can’t have everything in life Mate, James said to himself.

  James stepped outside the tent to write his name in the snow, and found the other two Sherpas along with the group of ever-loyal Gurkhas keeping watch. They really were amazing guys. Always willing, never complaining. Luckily for the group, the Germans had left some cans of food behind which they opened, and everyone ate breakfast together.

  “We go down after breakfast,” announced Agent Dargaville.

  “I should go down alone,” said James, earning an inquisitorial look from all around the table.

  “It seems that no one is likely to come out, but you and the guys need to stay up here and make sure no one goes in while I am down there. There is also the fact that if I get swallowed, never to appear again, you can get the information to your intelligence guys better than I ever could.”

  “You seem committed, all of a sudden, Mr McKinley,” said Dargaville.

  “Well, I’m in it now, so, may as well be in it up to my bloody neck,” replied James, flashing his trademark toothy grin.

  “I will go with you,” offered Babu Chiri.

  James looked at him long and hard before agreeing.

  Both men emptied their backpacks which they had been carrying since leaving Nepal, and filled them with as many grenades and explosives as they could fit inside. These were yet more assets mysteriously left behind by whoever had occupied the camp in the past.

  They secured their ropes, and hung over the edge of the hole, ready to go. “Good luck,” said Dargaville, speaking more to James than to Babu Chiri.

  James, with his youthful Australian confidence was the first to start the journey downwards. He used one hand to guide the rope, and the other to hold the lantern he had taken from the Nazi’s tent. After around the first 20 feet he stopped. There wasn’t anything to see, but he could hear water flowing. He looked up, and Babu Chiri was there just above him, following like a faithful Labrador.

  A little while later, the wall seemed to disappear, and James noticed that there was what appeared to be a tunnel leading from the wall of the hole they were now a good sixty feet into. He looked around, and opposite, there was another.

  “We’re gonna run out of food and water before this is over,” he muttered.

  He and Babu Chiri managed to crawl their way into the first tunnel and edged forwards.

  Not far in, they started to see something which would, at first sight, have seemed impossible given that they were in what was arguably one of the most remote locations in the world: there were statues carved into the thick heavy rock of the walls.

  James held up his lantern, trying to decipher the meaning, or even the origin of these hand-carved works. He’d never seen anything like it.

  “Let’s go further in, Mate. We need to start marking our way every ten feet with chalk, we haven’t a clue where we’re heading, or how far we’re heading, that last thing we want is to get bloody lost down here,” said James.

  After around half an hour, they were continuing their exploration of the tunnels and James signaled for Babu Chiri to stop. They both stayed perfectly still on their hands and knees, and could hear something far off into the distance. It sounded like the sound of rhythmic drums, a single beat every few seconds.

  The lights on their lanterns both flickered and went out at the same time. By what they saw, it appeared that they’d blown out, except that neither men had felt the slightest bit of air. On the contrary, it was now getting increasingly warm and muggy as they journeyed further into the tunnels. Now, with no light pollution, they noticed something in the distance, something that appeared to be a soft green glow. Their eyes had now become more accustomed to the dark, and they both glanced at each other. Neither men was smiling.

  As they progress, they get to the source of the glow. It was incredible! The rocks in the walls, the roof and the floor of the tunnel were actually glowing green! As they continued, the glow became more intense, and the drums grew gradually louder.

  After more crawling, they turned a corner and the glow was now almost blinding. The carried on following their noses and as their eyes adjusted, they found themselves witnessing the last thing they would ever have expected - they were standing before a circle of Monks, and it was they who were banging the drums. On their travels, the Sherpa and James had both seen things which normal people would have difficulty in believing, but this was really stretching it. They both stood watching, their mouths wide open.

  There was a sudden splash of water on James’ face. After he’d finished shaking his head like a dog when it gets wet, he opened his eyes, and a Monk stood before him, staring down at James, but was not saying a word.

  James’ vision started to blur. The oranges from the candles which the Monks were using for lights, the glow from the lanterns which he and Babu Chiri were using, the greens from the glowing rock all merged together, becoming a vision of something psychedelic. James started to lose his balance and he knew he’d been drugged.

  “What have you done to…,” he said before clumping down onto the floor.

  He looked up, and the Monk handed him a cup. Looking around, Babu Chiri was also drinking from one similar. He took a sip. Not long afterwards, he was unconscious.

  Chapter Ten

  Sometime later - James had no idea how long he’d been out - he woke up, his head feeling like a train had just passed through it ear-to-ear. The green glow was now softer again, and the drumming was still present, but much more subdued.

  He looked around, and out of the corner of his eye, noticed the same Monk. He was sitting, looking at, and observing James.

  “Where am I,” he asked. Nothing.

  The Monk handed him a bowl. It was difficult to see exactly what was in it due to the low light, but it felt like meat. James took a piece, and placed it into his mouth. One thing he’d learned as an explorer, was never to pass up on food, whatever it was.

  This, however, was nothing like he’d ever tasted before. He spat it out. His eyes, once again getting used to the dark light, focused on something which sat directly in front of the Monk. It was an arm, a human arm, and bedside it lay a jacket.

  It wasn’t any jacket. This jacket bore the Nazi insignia on the sleeve. “Where’s my mate, where’s Babu Chiri?” asked James.

  The Monk said nothing, and simply pointed upwards. Too much for James to process, he once again passed out.

  Once again he came around, and, like before, he could have been out for one minute or ten hours for all he knew. The first thing he noticed was that the volume of the drums had become louder again. He could see all of the Monks, and they were all sitting around in a circle, chanting along to the beat of the drum.

  Over to the other side of the circle, was what appeared to be some kind of beast, and it was walking off away from the circle of Monks. It was dragging something, and upon focusing his eyes, James managed to make out that it was the body, the very dead body of his friend, Babu Chiri. He, and the beast, whatever the hell it was, disappeared into the darkness.

  Something tells me that they aren’t going to give me any bloody leniency, he thought to himself.

  With all of the strength he had left, he picked himself up and left along the tunnel from which he had arrived. Due to his disorientation and general state of shock, James faile
d to remember to follow the chalk marks. Without knowing it, he was soon inside, and following the path of an entirely new tunnel.

  Unlike the first one, this tunnel was lit by candles every few feet, and after walking for what had seemed like an eternity, he noticed a body lying on the ground. The man’s eyes were wide open and hallow, the face drained of all colour. The look on the face of the body suggested that he had died in pain, and terror. James would never know it, but he was looking down at the body of Alfred Fedder. His body was missing both legs. James threw up all over Fedder’s torso, an action, which had he not been under such gloomy circumstances, he would have found amusingly ironic.

  Nothing’s too bad for those Nazi bastards, he would have told himself.

  He turned around, sensing something, and saw the Monk once again standing behind him, who this time, blew some dust into his face. He immediately passed out.

  When he woke up, he could feel that he was tied by his ankles, and was being dragged along the floor. He managed to tense his stomach muscles slightly, and bend upwards. It was the beast which was dragging him along. The beast, covered in hair or fur which was of a hue somewhere between orange and red. His mind flashed back to the little village they had stopped off at several days before. The hunter; the Monk holding the red hair; his mangled face; the fact that he repeatedly mentioned the word Yeti.

  Back up at the top, Agent Dargaville was still waiting with Tau, and as time went on, she had to admit to herself that James and Babu Chiri would not be returning. She found herself feeling sadness, not only because she had no definitive answers as to what was beneath her, but for personal reasons too.

  She turned to Tau, and asked him to pack all of the essentials that he could fit into two backpacks and that it was time for them to leave, and, while he did this, she wrote an entry into her diary.

  It’s been 72 hours since we’ve heard anything. The worst has to be assumed. I am tempted - and feel compelled - that both myself and Tau should go down to look for them, but, I feel it would do no good. They both know what they are doing, and if they have not returned, I am confident that something terrible has happened. We already lost Gervesh on the way here, and, should I not make it back, I want it to be known that he, Babu Chiri, Tau and James McKinley all served our cause with dedication, bravery and loyalty. We are all to be assumed to be missing for twenty-one days from the date of this entry. If we have not been heard of following that period, please notify our families that we shall not be returning home.

  She signed and dated the letter.

  For several days, hungry and cold, she and Tau trekked back towards Nepal, and finally, against all the odds, they made it.

  A Safe House, Nepal.

  A knock interrupted his sleep. He crawled out of bed, across the room and opened the door. There, stood Agent Mere Dargaville.

  “Mr Hughes, Mr Grant Hughes?”

  “Yes, and who may you be?”

  “I’m Agent Dargaville. I was in charge of the expedition of which your friend, Mr McKinley was a part of,” she said.

  “Oh, I know very little about that. I have vague recollections of James talking about it, but I was so ill back then, I can hardly remember a thing,” replied Grant.

  “Yes, from what I have been told, you are a very lucky man to have survived. How are you feeling now?”

  “Better. What is this about, is there some way I can help you?” asked Grant, a look of suspicion on his face.

  Agent Dargaville asked if she could go inside.

  “Mr Hughes, there is no good way to say this, so I will get straight to the point. It is with sadness, that I must impart some bad news to you. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but your friend, James, is missing, presumed dead.”

  “What?” Grant suddenly looked as ill and ashen faced as he had when James had last seen him.

  “I cannot go into specifics, I’m sure you will understand why, but James, and other men with whom he travelled with have failed to return from their mission.”

  “What are you going to do about it, are you going to send in any kind of a search party?” asked Grant.

  “For now, I have to go and report to my superiors. I hope to be able to get a search team together, but I have to wait until they authorise it. I’m sorry, but my hands are tied. I am quite low down in the chain of command, you will understand,” she said solemnly.

  “Are you some kind of a bloody joker? If James is in trouble, he needs help, and he needs help now, not after your bosses have spent several days quaffing their bloody single malt scotch before making some kind of half-assed token decision. I’ll go up there and look for him myself,” shouted Grant.

  “My Hughes, you are in no position to do that. Firstly, you have absolutely no idea where James and the other men went missing, and secondly, you are still a long way away from being fit enough to trek in the mountains.”

  “You can’t just come here into my room to tell me that my best friend is missing, and that you’re going to do bugger all about it! Bloody Kiwis, you’re no better than the damned Poms.”

  “I am going to do something about it, all that I can do given my level of authority,” said Dargaville, trying to remain calm and understanding given Grant’s emotions.

  Chapter Eleven

  British Intelligence Compound, Katmandu.

  Dargaville entered the office of her handler, Agent Peters. He was a weathered looking man well into his 50s, and was looking over her report without making any attempt whatsoever to hide the look of dissatisfaction which was firmly etched onto his face.

  “Sit down, Agent Dargaville,” he said. More silence and more reading ensued.

  “Dargaville, this report is terrible. It is not what I was expecting, and I have to say that your, shall we say, rather loose attitude towards out Australian volunteer is most displeasing.”

  Dargaville looked away and made every effort to suppress the anger building up inside her.

  “You know I don’t mince my words, Agent. The Asia-Pacific missions are about…” Dargaville cut him off.

  “My mission was not a complete failure. Until now, we knew nothing. As I have written in my report, in case you have not actually read it properly, Sir, we found Germans on the Tibetan Plateau. They were searching for something in the Himalayas.”

  “The Germans, in the Himalayas, you say?” scoffed Peters.

  “Yes, Sir. We found documents, in German, and a letter addressed to Himmler. The Germans were searching for the Yeti, along with an underground city known as Agartha.”

  “Have you gone insane? An underground city? The Yeti? Your report mentions very little about these matters, Agent Dargaville,” said Peters, his impatience growing.

  “That’s correct, Sir, because this needs to stay absolutely confidential, and writing things down does not help that cause. Sir, I need to go back with a full search party to get to the bottom of this,” she said.

  “No way, no bloody way in a million years,” was Peters’ reply.

  “Sir. We found a small village where the inhabitants had met the Germans. We found the German’s camp with the Swastika flying around in the breeze. We found the documents, the letter written to Himmler. We cannot, we must not drop this, you have to authorise me to go back and see what the hell is going on, Sir,” pleaded Dargaville.

  “Agent Dargaville. If you think for one moment that I am going to wreck my entire career - which I have worked long and hard on to get to this position - by telling London that I want to send you back into the wilderness to look for an underground city that’s full of bloody Yetis, you may think again, end of conversation.”

  “But, Sir…”

  “I strongly urge you to stop right where you are before I have you brought up on charges of insubordination. You have already wasted valuable time, not to mention resources that I could have used for far more important - and realistic - projects. You are responsible for the loss of life of an Australian volunteer. Agent Dagarville, I am having you reassign
ed with immediate effect. You will join the Canadian branch for further training in covert operations. That will do you no harm at all, I would think.”

  Dargaville stood up.

  “Sir, I must protest. I have done nothing to deserve this treatment. They are all dead! The mountain literally swallowed them whole, and alive, Sir.”

  “Sit back down Agent Dargaville, you are the width of a hair away from crossing the line.”

  Dargaville sat, and Peters handed her a file.

  “Here are your travel orders. Your duty is not to ask questions, but to act on whatever orders I give you. This investigation is over, and you're on a plane out of this country tomorrow. Pack your bags. Dismissed,” commanded Peters.

  “Sir…,” spluttered Dargaville.

  “Dismissed, Agent Dargaville, now get out,” yelled Peters. She took the file containing her orders and left the room.

  Peters, now alone, started to write his own report ready to send back to London.

  German camp was found, but deserted. Nazis believed to have abandoned it and killed in an avalanche. Dargaville survived but rest of team including one James McKinley, and Australian volunteer, killed due to exposure and exhaustion. Mission a failure, Dargaville reassigned.

  Peters.

  A Note from the Author

  Thank you very much for reading my series, your support is very much appreciated.

  The reason I have chosen to make these into quick-reads is because they are the adapted novelette forms of the screenplays which have already been written. It is my intention to use the money raised from this series of short books to make my dream a reality and have the screenplays produced.

  If you would like to see this happen, you can help! You already have this book, so please be kind enough to leave a review from your source. More reviews means better placement and more exposure, and that means more sales which means that we can see this on our screens in the not too distant future!