Das Bell

A continuation of Chapter One. These are chapters 2 and 3 Again, this is not a final edit so some imperfections may be there (I leave the final editing to my publisher).

Chapter Two

 

            Right after making the call to Alan, Doug Markey was out the door of the hotel and heading back to the Geo-Explorer.  After hearing from the admiral in Newport, he wanted to quickly get the unopened document case back into a tub of fresh water to protect whatever contents might be readable with the navy’s new scanning technology. 

Making his way toward the harbor amidst the immediate devastation to the low lying parts of the city, Doug Markey was anything but inconspicuous. Most of the residents of San Juan claimed either Inca or Spanish ancestry and in most cases, both. Markey, standing at six foot six, towered over them like a giant as he made his way to the boat.  Adding to his larger than life appearance was the nearly three hundred pounds of bodyweight he carried along with his close trimmed black beard and piecing blue eyes. 

            Reaching his moored ship, Markey suddenly came to a halt.  He was certain he’d seen someone move on deck, going below by an access hatchway.  Doug had left orders for everyone to stay put at the hotel until he got back so he was sure it wasn’t one of his crewmen. Markey was about to go charging onto his ship to demand just who was skulking about but that little voice that was his intuition began screaming in his head to be careful. Doug couldn’t imagine that this would have anything to do with the U-boat, but he didn’t know.  Perhaps it was a rival artifact hunter or even a member of another TV documentary show poking about his ship, but no one boards a ship like his without permission unless they want their head handed to them. Whoever had gotten aboard was taking a big chance for something.

Ducking behind a small service shed on the dock he carefully peeked about the side of the rusted metal structure, keeping his eyes focused on the last point that he had seen movement.  There is was again, only now it was on the bridge. Markey pulled out the tiny pair of 8 X 21 folding binoculars he habitually carried and scanned the bridge. Two guys all right and big ones! One man appeared to be in his thirties with sandy brown hair and the other one a blond looked to be younger.  Both looked in very good physical condition. Man, Markey though to himself, they sure ain’t Peruvians.

Carefully opening the door to the shed, Doug’s eyes caught sight of a length of heavy inch and an quarter steel pipe.  It wasn’t an ideal weapon, but Markey, a former Navy SEAL, could turn it into something quite lethal by virtue of his combat training. Grabbing the pipe, he slipped it under his Jacket and walked away from the ship, down the dock and then got very close to the stern, keeping in the shadows. As soon as he came to the first access ladder, Markey pulled himself up to the deck and quickly rolled under the lifeboat supports, keeping well out of sight.

The Geo-Explorer had a secondary hatch leading to the on-board decompression chamber as well as to the stairway to the bridge. In a flash he was in, moving silently despite the pounds he had added to his body after leaving the service.  As Markey crept closer to the top of the stairs and the bridge, he could hear the two men talking.  There voices seemed to carry an urgency in the manner they spoke, and . . . they were speaking in German!  Doug flattened himself against the stairway wall. When one of the men, the younger blond one had his back to him, Markey rammed the end of the pipe into the small of his back, yelling, “Okay, what the hell are you to doing on my ship!”

The blond barked out something to his companion in German and Doug’s eyes went wide as he watched the man reaching for a weapon in a shoulder holster. Markey slammed into the blond as hard as he could, his almost three hundred pounds knocking the man off balance and sending him sprawling into the other German right before the man could pull his gun clear of its holster. Doug swung the pipe at him like a claymore battle sword, aiming for the man’s head, but he was fast and moved just enough for the pipe to hit a glancing blow to his upper arm and shoulder.  That was an impact that should have broken an arm but not on this man.  It did however succeed in knocking the pistol from his hand, but he rolled quickly, coming back up on his feet with a deadly looking long bladed knife in his hand.  At that moment, Doug knew he was facing a professional, Special Forces maybe; definitely commando training. Markey was a SEAL but that was over twenty years and a good sixty pounds earlier. Still, he knew he was in a fight for his life. Suddenly Doug was facing not one, but two trained and dangerous opponents.

Both Germans were in crouched positions, feet spaced well apart, rocking from side to side with the older one brandishing a knife. Markey was concentrating on both men but his mind was racing. A student of the Art of War, he thought about the good advice Sun Tzu would have offered him, confuse your enemy, make him misjudge and underestimate you. Markey stood slightly stooped, eyes dating wildly, feigning fear and confusion, and looking like an easy target.

        The blond made a sudden lunge for the automatic pistol on the deck.  It was then that their prey became predator as Markey, moving like lightening, pivoted on his right foot, swinging the pipe up and around in a lethal arc in the manner of a martial arts master. The heavy steel pipe combined with the force exerted by the beefy ex- Navy SEAL shattered the man’s right wrist just before his hand could close on the gun. In a move almost too fast to see, he spun the pipe in the opposite direction at the second man.  The older German, combat trained himself, pulled his head back an instant before the metal pipe would have smashed his skull in. The blond howled in pain staring momentarily at his hand, now bent in an impossible angle.  The German with the knife screamed at him but the only words Markey understood were, rouse, rouse! He knew it meant get out and fast!

            The blond, despite his broken wrist and hand, lunged for the metal case on the chart table. Taking his eyes off of the knife wielding German, Doug Markey made a grab for him and that’s when the older man sprung forward, aiming for Doug’s chest. Navy SEAL training is something that stays with a man years after having left the service. Doug deflected the German’s thrust, causing him to miss his target: Markey’s heart. Instead, the blade sliced deeply into the muscles of Doug’s shoulder. Markey twisted away with his blood turning the sleeve of the light blue windbreaker a brilliant crimson.

            A smile of satisfaction came over the face of the German. “So, Amerikaner, I draw the first blood eh?  You’re good for an old fat man, but you are no match for the Waffen SS!”

            SS? Markey was thinking, does this son of a b***h still think he’s fighting World War Two?  Doug, ignoring the blood and the pain replied to him. “The SS huh . . . Just put an “A” in front it and then I know who I’m fighting.   Come on you p***y, let’s see what you got.”  Markey again drew on the lessons of Sun Tzu, Anger your opponent, let his rage blind him to your cunning. “I may be old and fat but at least I’m a man.  What were you and your little f****t boyfriend doing up here on my boat: playing hide the bratwurst?”

            Markey guessed right. Taunting the man, whose entire sick culture was steeped in machismo, enraged him, blinding him with anger, and causing him to miscalculate. The German sprung forward with a vicious thrust of the nine inch blade.  As he did, Doug side stepped him ramming the end of the pipe into his temple as he rushed by.  Markey had miscalculated as well. By putting his full two hundred and ninety pounds behind the thrust; he had just eliminated any chance to question the man. 

The threaded end of the pipe smashed into the man’s head, just aft of his right eye, at the thinnest point of his skull, and kept right on going. The German, carried forward by his own momentum, crashed into the wall of the stairway, tumbling down the steps.  This had the effect of driving the length of pipe even deeper into his skull.  Doug Markey, his right hand over the knife wound, bounded down the stairs to find his attacker crumpled in a heap, blood pumping from the end of the pipe like a crimson fountain. Markey feeling his emotions catching up to his adrenalin rush sank down against the wall and sat on the lowest stair.  Pulling his cell phone out, and breathing hard, he called his first mate at the hotel.

            “Yo Cliff! Get the rest of the crew together and get your asses back to the boat on the double and make sure doc’s with you . . . I’m hurt pretty bad.”

            In spite of the pain and loss of blood, Markey opened the weapons locker and grabbed a 1911 army issue .45 caliber automatic.  If any more of those sons of b*****s tried to get onboard his ship, they’d get more than a pipe to the head, more like lead slugs to the heart!

****

            A brilliant sun in a deep blue sky greeted Alan Carter and his guide when arrived at Nazca just before noon. Looking like a landscape from another world, the dry flat plain rising up into steep mountains seemed the perfect setting for some alien encounter to have occurred in the dim past.     

            “Señor Carter, this is a holy place, a sacred place where the gods of the ancients once dwelled and are to be honored.  We will speak with some of the old ones who still live here. Some of the old ones have spoken to me before of the despoilers, men with guns, who came here many years ago. They spoke a strange language and terrorized the people, looking for the sacred magic of the gods. Many of these men wore the symbol of death on their clothing.”

            Carter got out of the Land Cruiser, grabbing his backpack and camera and began walking toward the few isolated dwellings at the very edge of the geo-glyph fields, giant figures and lines that spanned several kilometers and pointed to a great trident, carved into the rocks above the Bay of Cuzco. Alan quietly scanned the horizon, sensing the desolation of the place.  The feeling was only magnified by the soft, but relentless wind, that blew across the empty landscape. 

Walking beside Carter was the man, Sergio Hernandez. Short with a thick body, black hair, and a prominent eagle-like nose, Sergio looked as if he could have sprung to life from an ancient Inca glyph. “Señor Carter, the first house belongs to Acahuana.  He has lived here since he was born.  He is very old now, perhaps ninety.  He will remember the men who came to steal the treasures of the gods.”

            Both men stood at the doorway of the crude stone structure. Sergio reached forward to knock on the well- worn, ancient wooden door.  A few moments later it opened into the dark interior of the structure and a man, looking as old at the landscape about them, came forward, eyes blinking in response to the bright sunlight. Sergio spoke to him in a language that was not Spanish, but the Cahuachi dialect of the Inca.  Carter could see suspicion in the old man’s eyes as he looked Carter over but as his guide continued to speak with the man, his look of mistrust softened. 

            “Señor Carter, this man’s name is Acahuana and he will speak with you.  He said that no one took the tales of his people who lived here seriously, the story of the soldiers that came to steal the treasures of the gods.  At first the people did not know what they wanted. They did not know this language of the soldiers.  Once they began to understand, they did not want to tell them.  He says the soldiers killed one man and threatened to kill more and the children, one by one, if they did not tell them where to find the treasure.  He said you are the first white man to ask about this and to believe this happened to his people.”

            Alan Carter Had pulled out a notepad and pencil and had sketched something as the old man spoke. “Here,” he said, handing the drawing to his guide.  “Ask Mister Acahuana if this was the insignia the soldiers wore?”

            Across a face that looked like aged wrinkled leather, Alan could see anger flash in the man’s eyes and hear it in his voice as he spoke to Sergio.

            “Yes, it is the same insignia señor, but what does this mean: the two lightening bolts and the head of death?”

            “It’s the symbol of the Nazi SS and shooting people and terrorizing this man’s village was standard operating procedure for those b******s. Ask him if he remembers seeing what they came for and what they took out of here.”

            Again Sergio spoke to the old man, and then listened for quite a while as he answered him. “He says señor, what the soldiers took was buried at the feet of the man, the man with the round head, the one his people call the star god.  Acahuana was a young man then and these soldiers took him at gunpoint and the others to the sacred place to dig for the gods’ treasure.  They had strange machines with them on long rods that they swept over the ground.  They told him and the others know that these machines would know if they were telling the truth about the treasure.  If they were lying, the soldiers were going to kill them.”

            “Ask his permission to go out to the site.  Please tell him that I respect his gods and the sacred ground of his ancestors.  Tell him . . . tell him I want to help, and that these men who came to his land were very bad, that some of their evil lingers in the world today and that I and many others would like to put an end to it.”

            Alan listened as this guide and the ancient looking descended of the Incas conversed: Finally, “He agrees señor, but he must come to purify the ground.”

            It was a short drive out to the site of the German’s excavation. It was just past an enormous figure of a triangle, perhaps the representation of some sort of aircraft or spacecraft. There at the feet of the man, thirty two meters long, were signs that the ground had been disturbed.  Alan Carter pulled out the photo of this geo-glyph from his back pack, noticing the similarity to a man wearing a space suit and a helmet.  He had never taken the idea of influence on early cultures by some form of extraterrestrial contact seriously, but today his mind was open to just that possibility.       

            Carter, his guide, and the old Indian got out of the Toyota and approached the “boots” of the glyph.  Even after all these years, some evidence still remained of a disturbance in the soil.

            “Sergio, please ask our friend here if I may gather some of the soil to take back and have it analyzed.  Tell him that I believe him and I want others to know the truth.”

            Speaking in the unfathomable tongue with the old man, Acahuana, his guide quickly replied, “He gives you his permission.  He said that once the ground had been desecrated by the foreign strangers, that it no longer holds the spirits of the gods.  He said they weep and wail for the loss of their treasure, the gifts they had given to his people.”

            Carter was curious. “What were these . . . gifts?”

            Sergio asked the question and then replied for the old man in English.  “ He says our crops grew tall and plentiful with little rain, and when the storms came, we were safe from the lightening from the sky.  The lightening struck neither man nor home, but always fell to the feet of the star god.  After the strangers took these gifts, our crops withered and shriveled. Many died in the fields from the lightening bolts from the sky.”       

            Putting the steel blade of his small shovel into the ground, Alan placed a soil sample into a collection bag.  It was then that he noticed tiny beads of some metallic substance were sticking to the shovel.  Bending down to examine them, Alan was struck by the fact they had magnetic properties.  He passed the shovel over the disturbed ground and was amazed to see more of the tiny beads leaping upward to attach themselves to the metal blade. “That’s the damnedest thing I’ve ever seen!” Pulling a small compass from his pocket, he watched the needle spin wildly over the site. Carter then walked a few meters away from the original excavation and again tried the ground: this time there was no sign of the strange metallic beads and compass returned to normal.  This certainly was evidence of the residual effects of a powerful magnetic field.

            “Sergio, tell him that I need to take these samples with me then ask him if he can recall what the Germans took from the ground.”

            “He asks you for your paper and the pencil.  He will draw these things for you and then he will try to describe them.  He says he has no names in his language for the treasures that the strangers took. ”

            After about five minutes, the old Indian handed back the notebook to Alan Carter. The drawings were not crude but quite well done.  However, the objects in the drawings were inexplicable.  They were a series of shapes: tubes, cylinders and triangles, some depicted with rays of light emanating from them.

            Sergio Hernandez continued. “Some were in things that looked like big gray eggs.  These were the ones the strangers were very careful with.  But one of these men was not. He opened one of the eggs and looked inside. It held the clear tubes of the purple liquid that glowed with a light all its own.  Another man, his chief, yelled at him and pushed him away, but it was too late.  The wrath of the gods destroyed this man.  In only minutes, he became sick.  Then later, of his hair fell away from his head and blood flowed from his teeth and his eyes. His skin became purple with bruises and by the third hour the man was dead.  They took the man’s body with them but buried all of his clothing and what metal he had over there.”

            “Can he show me where?”

            They walked a few dozen meters from the site with Carter and his guide digging into the spot until one of the shovels hit something. Pulling it up both men could see it was the remains of a leather belt with two ammunition clips attached. The belt buckle was stamped with the image of a Nazi swastika. 

Sergio reached down to pick it up.  Alan seized his arm, pulling him back. “Don’t touch that!  It’s probably still radioactive.   The way the old Indian described that soldier’s death, it could only have been caused by a lethal dose of radiation.” 

         Carter’s head was spinning!  After looking over the information found in the case he’d recovered he wasn’t quite sure what to expect, but certainly nothing as weird as this!  Whatever was buried here, these treasures from the gods, had to be something very unusual with properties that left a persistent magnetic field and was highly radioactive as well. Carter cursed under his breath that he didn’t have a Geiger counter along with him.

Collecting the rest of his samples, he noticed a small silvery square of metal sticking up from the ground that they had dug in earlier. “Sergio, can you get me one of those plastic containers from the Toyota and a long pair of pliers?”

 The metal fragment might or might not be radioactive but Alan was taking no chances.  Picking it up with the long handled pliers from the Toyota’s tool box, he dropped it into a plastic bucket and placed it at the very rear of the Land Cruiser, as far as possible from the front seats. Finally, after shooting a few photos of the area he spoke to his guide. “We’ll drive Acahuana here back to his home.  Please, thank him very much for his willingness to help.”

            “He says that you are welcome and if you would please, he would like to share a meal with us before we leave.  It is the Inca tradition señor.”

            “Tell him thank you.  And that I would be honored to accept his hospitality.”

            Pulling his cell phone from the pocket of his Jacket, he began to dial Doug Markey’s number back in San Juan.

            “Damn, no service up here Sergio.  We must be too far from a cell tower.  I’ll call him on the way back.  We’ve got a Geiger counter on the ship.  I’d sure as hell like to know what that piece of metal is made of and if it’s hot.”

            “Hot señor?”

            “Oh, sorry, it means radioactive. When these Germans were here in 1945, the only radioactive materials in the world that potent were at Hanford and Los Alamos in the United States, being used in the Manhattan Project to build an atomic bomb.  Where the hell this stuff came from, I have no clue, but whatever was buried here fell into the hands of the Nazis and just maybe it wound up in Argentina.  This is a real mystery: one that I’m really curious about solving.”

****

            “Damn it Doc!  Will you stop poking me with those freak’in little needles and stitch up my damn shoulder?!”

            Doug Markey sat on the examination table in the ship’s medical room.  Far too small to be called an infirmary, it would have to do.  After the damage wrought by the hurricane, the two available hospitals in San Juan were full. Plus, Doug didn’t want to leave his ship.  Despite his combat training, he was deeply shaken by the furious attack from the two Germans and what the hell was did that man he killed say?  That he was an SS commando?!  The SS were all gone sixty-nine years ago!  And that gun he’d recovered, where the hell did that come from?  It was an automatic pistol, but unlike any anything he’d seen before and Doug knew guns like he knew his own face! 

            “Hold still Doug.  I’ve got to shoot you up with plenty of Novocain before I go cleaning out that wound and stitching you back together or it’ll hurt like hell!”

            Gritting his teeth Markey replied, “It already hurts like hell!  Come on Doc, the Peruvian cops will be here any minute and I’m going to have to explain what happened and why there’s a dead guy on board my ship with a pipe sticking out the side of his head.  Maybe they’ll want take me in for questioning so don’t be giving me any pain pills.  I’ve got to stay sharp.”

Turning to Cliff Simowski, the Geo-Explorer’s first mate, Doug asked him, “Did you get a hold of Alan yet?  If those b******s were on the ship, looking around for those cases, they might be waiting for Alan in Nazca or maybe ambush him on the way back down here.”

            “Sorry skipper, I haven’t gotten through to him yet.”

            “Well keep trying!  Come on doc, speed it up!”

            Halfway thought stitching up Markey’s wound, his cell phone rang.  Cliff was holding on to it, and immediately saw it was Alan Carter on the other end.

            Carter was surprised to hear the first mate’s voice on Markey’s phone.

            “Hey Cliff, Where’s Doug?  I got like eleven missed call from him.  What’s up?”

            All Cliff could even answer was, “Jeez Alan, I’m glad you called. We got real trouble . . . The captain’s been hurt!”

Alan could hear Doug Markey yelling in the background, “Cliff, give me the damn phone and quick!”  Then, “Alan, don’t talk, just listen.  I went back to the boat after you left and caught two guys, Germans, sneaking around. One pulled a gun on me but I busted his wrist, only he got away with one of the cases, the one we already opened. The other one pulled a knife and we fought. I killed him.  We’re still waiting for the cops to show up but they’ve got their hands full with all the damage from the storm.”

Alan listened not quite believe what he was hearing. “Doug, Cliff said you were injured: how bad?”

“Ah nothing, just a scratch.”

In the background Alan could hear doc yelling, “Scratch my a*s!  I just put thirty two stitches into you!”

“Doug . . . Thirty two stitches?!”

“Never mind that now.  This German said he was SS just before I put a length of steel pipe through his head. Somehow they knew about your find on the sub. Listen Alan, if they knew about you finding those cases on that sub, then they know about your trip to Nazca. I want you and your guide to be real careful on the way back.  You see anything suspicious, floor it and just keep right on going.  I’ll see you when you get back . . . uh oh, I gotta go.  The San Juan cops just showed up.”

Carter quickly ended the call and sped up, heading down the mountain passes, back to the coast. As he passed a turnoff, he noticed a Jeep parked on the side of the dirt incline with two men in it.  As soon as Alan and the guide passed them, he could see the reflection of the setting sun dancing on the Jeep’s windshield as the driver pulled out onto the unpaved road behind them.  Whoever was driving was accelerating hard. A moment later the back window of the Toyota exploded as a high velocity bullet pieced the glass.  Carter Jammed his foot to the floor pushing the speed of the Land Cruiser up to 150 kilometers per hour on a road that was made for half that speed, screaming around turns with no barriers overlooking two and three hundred foot drops.

“Madre mia señor!  Slow down or we’ll be killed!”

“Sergio, if I slow down we will be killed.  Those guys have guns and they’re not screwing around!

            “Why señor?!  Why these men want to kill us?!”

            “It has something to do with what those Nazis b******s took from Nazca sixty-nine years ago. I found more clues in a sunken sub and two men tried to kill Captain Markey today.  Now hang on!  I’ve driven in both the Dakar and the BaJa rallies.  Those SOBs don’t know who they’re up against!”

            With the gas peddle to the floor; the Toyota was topped out at 160 kph.  Now Alan was sliding through S-bend turns on the narrow mountain road, veering side to side, trying to throw the shooter’s aim off.  The gunman in the Jeep however must have exchanged his pistol for a sub machine gun and was spraying bullets at the wildly gyrating Land Cruiser. Three or four slugs hit home, punching holes into the back tailgate and bumper.  Carter could see that while the Jeep wasn’t gaining much on the Toyota, its driver was sticking with him. This b*****d must be a professional, he thought. To make matters worse, Alan could see him sliding another clip into what looked to be an MP-40 sub-machine gun.

            “Sergio, I’m going to swerve hard and throw off the shooter’s aim!  When I do; jump into the back seat and pull that big hammer from the tool box!  I’ll tell you what to do.  Don’t worry; I’ll get us out of this!”

            Carter swerved sideways, kicking up a huge cloud of dust.  “Now Sergio, now jump in the back seat, grab that hammer, and get ready to throw it!

            Alan slowed the Land Cruiser, sliding from one side of the road to the other.  The shooter must have thought he’d hit both men.  Just as the Jeep came up on the Toyota’s bumper, Carter yelled, “Now, now, throw the hammer at their windshield!”

            The jeep couldn’t have been more than ten feet behind them and moving at over ninety-miles per hour when his guide popped up and hurled the heavyweight hammer at the windshield of the Jeep with all his might.  His aim was perfect with the steel hammer head shattering the Jeep’s windshield, sending the hammer as well as shards of glass into the two assassins’ faces. Carter slewed the Toyota sideways, Jammed on the bakes and came abreast of the Jeep.  Carter was on the inside of the road, hugging the excavated side that cut through the low mountains.  The Jeep however was skirting the edge of a four hundred foot drop-off that lacked any sort of guardrail protection.  He could see both men in the Jeep next to him, clawing at their faces, trying to clear the shattered glass from their eyes.  It was at that moment, he slammed his Toyota into the side of the Jeep, sending it and the two men inside flying off the cliff side in a curving ballistic arc.  Carter Jammed on the brakes, sliding to a stop to watch the final hundred feet or so of the Jeep’s death dive down to the bottom of the canyon, smashing into the ground with crack of an explosion. Running to the edge of the drop off, Alan and his guide could make out the Jeep, looking like a crumpled aluminum can far below, shooting flames into the air as what was left of the vehicle and its occupants burst into a raging funeral pyre. Alan grabbed his phone, his hands still shaking, and hit redial for Doug Markey’s number.

            Forty kilometers away, on board the Geo-Explorer, First Mate, Cliff Simowski, answered Doug’s phone. Doc was standing next to him and could only hear half the conversation.

            “Yeah, Alan . . . What?!  Holy crap!  Yeah, I guess the skipper was right!  You sure you’re okay?  Well then get your a*s back here to the boat on the double.  Yeah, Captain’s going to be all right.  He’s talking to the cops right now.  They collected the dead guy.  Looking for some ID on him I guess.  Yeah, come right back and don’t stop for nobody!”

            “What happened to Alan?”

            “Jesus Doc, it seems like World War Two ain’t over yet!  Alan and his guide got ambushed on the road coming back.  He said his rental got shot up pretty good but he forced the shooters off the road, all the way to the bottom of a four hundred foot drop!”

            “I take it they’re dead?”

            “Yeah, I guess so if they went off the side of a four hundred foot cliff.  I’d better tell the cops to stick around for a while.  They’ll want to talk to Alan and his guide.  Anyway, seeing his rental shot full of holes should convince them that the Captain is in the clear.  Also, after the cops leave, I want everyone who’s had some firearms training to be armed.  We can’t be taking any chances.”

Moscow: The Kremlin Archives:

           

            As much as Nina Shevchenko disliked having a watchdog in the form of FSB Lieutenant Khrunov shadowing her every move in the archives room for the past few days, she found that he could be useful at times.  Almost nothing in the sealed files had been transferred to computer, so she was left with having to go though box after box of yellowed hand written and typed reports about the 1961 incident.  Khrunov was very helpful at pulling out the boxes and assisting her in compiling the information as she dug for clues. She came across the name of an engineer who had been involved in the excavation in that area of Berlin. The man was still living.  He was an East German named Gunter Voss.  What struck her as odd however was a KGB Colonel by the name of Yuri Stechkin, who seemed to appear out of nowhere and declared the excavation off-limits.  On his authority, the site was closed and the route of the wall changed to avoid this particular area.  However, the strangest thing was Stechkin’s order to have tens of thousands of liters of concrete poured into the gaping hole that had been dug.  It reminded her of the way Chernobyl had been entombed twenty-eight years earlier.  This along with a soil report that indicated a spike in what appeared to be an unknown radioactive isotope aroused her suspicions. If there was something down there that might have pointed to a Nazi nuclear experiment during the war, then the KGB should have been anxious to discover what it was.  This Colonel did quite the opposite in burying whatever was below the ground under so much concrete, nothing could ever be recovered.

            “Lieutenant Khrunov, I’m finished examining the documents. I need you to contact your superiors about a KGB officer, Colonel Yuri Stechkin. There is a mystery here.  I have also found his photograph in these documents.  I want permission to remove it for proper identification.  I want to know why this man ordered the excavation halted and the site closed and why he sealed in concrete.”

            On the way out of the special sealed section, she passed one of myriad of boxes containing documents.  It was labeled, “Kiev Protocol- 1983.” Andropov was director of the KGB before that, she thought.  He must have known something about who ordered the excavation sealed.

            She walked up to the box, running her hand over the top, contemplating what sort of treachery Andropov would have carried out in Ukraine against those seeking independence.

            “Professor Shevchenko, please, you know access to those files is forbidden.  It has been my pleasure to assist you.  It would be a shame to spoil all that now.”

            “Lieutenant Khrunov, aren’t you the least bit curious about history, not the kind that’s been sanitized and rewritten before it’s presented to us, but real history as it actually happened?”

            Khrunov considered Nina’s question before answering. “Perhaps Professor, but there are many things in this world that I would prefer not to know.”

            “Because you would have to question assumptions that you have become comfortable with?”

            “No, because I follow my orders.  Come, I will drive you back to the university.  I will let you know the results of what can be discovered about this Yuri Stechkin.”

****

            “So then Captain Markey, you have never seen these men before today?”

            “Yeah inspector, that’s what I told you.  The entire crew was in the hotel.  I went to put one of the two metal cases we recovered from a sunken German submarine into a tub of water when I saw two men on my ship.  I confronted them, one pulled a gun and I smashed his wrist and hand with the metal pipe.  He took off with one of the cases.  Fortunately, I put one of the really important documents from that case into the ship’s safe.  We photographed the rest of them so it’s no big loss.”

            Inspector Gomez, listening to Doug Markey, read through his earlier notes.  Markey’s story was consistent. Usually if there was any deception on the part of a suspect, subtle changes would creep into his tale: an embellishment here, a hesitation there, followed by a slight change in a particular point, enough to alert a man like Gomez with almost thirty years of police investigation experience as to whether the person he was questioning was telling the truth or not.

            “Yes I understand Captain Markey. So there is nothing on board your ship or in your possession that could be considered . . . contraband?  Narcotics or the smuggling of diamonds perhaps?”

            A red stain of anger began to creep up Doug Markey’s neck and face.  He answered the inspector with a voice many decibels higher. “Hell no!  We’re a research and exploration vessel!  That’s what we do . . . explore, we don’t run drugs!  We have permission from your government to go looking for the remains of some of Pizarro’s ships!  For Christ sakes, everything here has been paid for by the History Channel!”

            That was the kind of response the Gomez had expected from a man who was telling the truth.  The inspector had deliberate provoked him.  Had he actually been involved in smuggling or drugs, his response would have been evasive and not confrontational.

            Smiling, Gomez continued. “I am sorry for the accusation captain, but as the chief inspector for San Juan, I had to ask you this.  Your answers convince me that you are innocent of any wrongdoing in the death of this man and that you have nothing to hide.”

            “Do you have any idea who he was?  Did he have any ID?”

            “No we do not.  This man carried no identification in his wallet, just some money, most of it Peruvian, but there was a one hundred peso Argentinean note as well.  We are checking passport control to see how this man entered the country. Your story; that this man was of German origin, seems correct if one can judge by his physical appearance.  Tell me Captain, what is so interesting in those cases that nearly cost you your life?”

            “I’m not totally sure.  Alan Carter recovered them from a mystery U-Boat off your coast.  The one we opened had documents signed by a Nazi SS general about something they were trying to recover from Nazca.  Carter went up there today with a guide to see what he could find out and . . .”

            Cliff Simowski burst through the cabin door. “Skipper! Alan Carter just called!  Him and his guide were ambushed on the way back to town.  He said two men tried to kill them but they ended up dead instead: they went off the side of a mountain.”

            “Is Alan okay?”

            “Yeah, he says his rental got shot up but his guide and him are fine, just a little  shook up.  I told him to head straight down to the boat and not to stop for nothing.”

            “Good thinking Cliff.”  Turning to Gomez, Markey added, “I guess you’d better stick around ‘til Alan Carter gets here inspector. It seems like you have a couple of more bodies on your hands.”

 

Chapter Three

 

FSB Headquarters Moscow, Russia:

 

            “Please Doctor Shevchenko, be seated.  We have much to discuss.”

            It was just a little past seven in the morning when Nina Shevchenko received the telephone call at her apartment from the Federal Security Service. A woman informed her of Director Boris Ivanov’s request to meet her at nine that morning in his office. Something she thought, that I have discovered must have triggered this meeting.  Then when she arrived at Ivanov’s office, she thought, it could have something to do with my conversation with the Lieutenant.  Perhaps he reported my interest in the Kiev files to his superiors.  That was an unpleasant thought.  Although Russia in 2014 was not as it was in 1984, those who went digging into things that they shouldn’t often found their curiosity rewarded with very unpleasant consequences. Still, Ivanov’s body language and demeanor appeared to hold no threat.

            “I will get right to the point with you Nina Sergieavna.  Your duties have changed.  I have arranged with Moscow State University to have them grant you a leave of absence.  You are now assigned this investigation, one that I wish to remind you is secret and under the direction of the FSB.   Is that quite clear?”

            “Director Ivanov, I am teaching, and doing research at the university.  Have I no choice in the matter?”

            Crushing out another one of his Dunhill English cigarettes for emphasis, he continued. “No you do not!  Leonov was correct.  You are very thorough at what you do.  This information you’ve uncovered on the man who had ordered the Berlin excavation sealed is quite disturbing.  You see, Doctor Shevchenko, this Colonel Yuri Stechkin, apparently never existed.  And, there is more to this.  This man, Stechkin, was a protégée of Yuri Andropov.  It was Andropov who had spoken to Alexander Shelepin, director of the KGB in 1961 about this colonel and had him cleared to oversee the excavation.  The first question to be asked is why was a high ranking KGB officer placed in charge of what appeared to be a simple excavation in Berlin?  The second question is why did he order the excavation sealed with thousands of tons of concrete? Third, and this is the most disturbing, this man was most certainly not Yuri Stechkin.  We researched his records of birth as well as his internal passport photograph and then compared this with new face recognition software and Stechkin’s KGB records.  There is a similarity but they are not the same man. According to Stechkin’s military records, he vanished for several days while on combat training in Cuba and then reappeared, claiming to have gotten separated from his unit and lost in the tropical undergrowth.  Shortly after his return to Russia, he was hand picked as Andropov’s military assistant.  From there his career took off like a rocket, having been promoted from Lieutenant, to Captain and then made a Colonel with the KGB in less than two years.”

            “Is this why these files are sealed?” Nina asked.

            “In part, but we had no idea until your discovery of how deep infiltration had cut into the Rodina.  For years we had suspected that the American CIA had compromised our security service, duping many high ranking members of the Politburo.  Such revelations, even today, would be highly . . . embarrassing.”

            “So was this Stechkin an American agent?”

            Ivanov didn’t answer right way, instead he pulled another cigarette from the pack in his drawer and lit it.

            “No he was not an American and this is why I have called you in and have had your services transferred to the FSB.  We examined many photographs in our data base with the new biometrics program and we came up with a match.  Colonel Yuri Stechkin is a ninety seven point five percent match for Dietrich Molders, a high ranking Nazi Gestapo operative who vanished in 1945.”

            Nina Shevchenko’s eyes went wide, realizing the implications of what Ivanov had just revealed.  Echoing her thoughts the man continued. “This imposter made certain that whatever mysteries were underneath that excavation would be sealed forever.  Doctor Shevchenko, you are to fly to Berlin this evening to continue your research on this matter. I have arranged to have a translator, Olga Zhdanova, accompany you.”

            “But Director, I am fluent in German.  I will not require a translator.”

            “Perhaps I should clarify myself. Olga Zhdanova is an FSB agent whose expertise is in the German language.  She is to assist you and to also . . . make certain that you do not reveal anything . . . sensitive to the wrong people.”

            Nina nodded her head in resignation. “So, is this because I am an academician or because I’m a Ukrainian?”

            “Both Doctor.  As you are an intelligent woman, you must certainly be able to see that Yuri Andropov was complicit in this deception. This man was ruthless and he was the director of the KGB beginning in 1967.  He must have been aware of the true identity of Yuri Stechkin, that he was actually Dietrich Molders of the Nazi Gestapo.  Stechkin’s file was sanitized as soon as Andropov became director, upon his orders. This man became President of the USSR!  To think perhaps Yuri Andropov had ties to the Nazis is most disturbing.  His repression of those of an independent bent in the republics; in particular, Ukraine, was quite brutal.  If this information about his Nazi connection were to be revealed, it would be highly damaging to Russia and it most certainly drive Ukraine into a formal alliance with NATO.  That is something my government does not want to see happen.  And, if Andropov was working at cross purposes to the Rodina, how many others might have been, and might still be involved?   Now if there is nothing further, Doctor, please return to your home and pack your belongings.  Olga Zhdanova will collect you this afternoon.   You will both be leaving from Domodedovo airport for Berlin later this evening.”

****

            “Alan!  Thank God you’re in one piece!  How are you man?!”

            “A lot better than those two that went over the side of the cliff!”

            Alan Carter and his guide had pulled up to the dock just as Doug Markey had completed his interview with Inspector Gomez. One of the crew went out to the Toyota and helped the two men gather up their samples.  The smashed out rear window and the back tailgate riddled with bullet holes bore ample testimony to just how narrow an escape the two men had.

            The man sitting across from Doug Markey appeared to be in his mid-fifties, balding and with a moustache. He was in a light gray suit and tie and holding a note pad.  As he stood up, he addressed Alan Carter. “Good evening. I am Inspector Javier Gomez, chief of detectives with the San Juan Police.  I ah, understand two men tried to kill you this evening, is that true?”

            Alan, still looking shaken sat down in the extra chair. “Yeah, that’s about the size of it.  My guide here, Sergio, and I were on our way back from Nazca.  We got about halfway here and two men in a Jeep pulled out of a side road and began following us.   Then they shot at us. I pretended to be wounded, slowing my car down while Sergio hid in the back seat.  He managed to put a hammer through their windshield and I side swiped them.  They went off the side of the road.  The drop was maybe four hundred feet.”

            “I see señor.  What reason would these men have to wish to kill you?”

            “I have no idea.  I went up to Nazca to follow up on some information we found on an old German expedition up there: a Nazi expedition near the end of the war.  My guide and I spoke with an old Indian who was about twenty when the Germans showed up and took a number of objects that were buried at the site.  The Indian said they were sacred objects: gifts from the gods.  The stuff up there is pretty weird.  I’ve never seen soil samples like the one’s we found.  And, there’s this. Hey Steve,” Alan called out to the ship’s chief engineer, “Could you bring in that plastic container?”

            The men in the room looked on curiously at the small plastic tub on the end of a shovel.  Inside was a small, light-gray shard of metal.

            “I didn’t want Steve to take any chances by getting too near this sample.  What the Indian described was the death of one of the Germans by what I think was acute radiation poisoning.  This sample may still be hot.”

            Johnny Yeager came into the room holding a piece of scientific equipment.

            “Thanks John.  Okay then, this is a Geiger counter, Inspector.  It measures radiation.”

            Carter pointed the device away from the sample and switched it on.  It clicked slowly, its meter barely reaching the first decimal mark.  Then he brought it close to the piece of metal that lay just below the soil on the Plain of Nazca.  The clicking increased until it sounded like a two-stroke chainsaw motor, with the needle pegged at the far end of the scale. Doug moved back, a good five feet away and watched the needle drop and the clicking subside. “Holy crap!  I was right! Whatever this is, it’s sure as hell hot all right, enough to give you radiation burns if you picked it up!  That reading indicates whatever this piece of metal is; it’s been irradiated to a pretty significant degree. Everyone keep back from it until I put this into a lead storage box.”

            The inspector moved several paces back toward the door before addressing Alan.

            “Señor Carter, I have no wish to be a victim of radiation sickness.  I assume this find of yours and the attack on you and your captain earlier today have some connection?”

            “Absolutely, but right now I’m not really certain what that could be. This has something to do with Germany at the close of the Second World War and whatever nuclear material they dug up in Nazca.  Someone tried to steal the documents we found on a sunken U-Boat and then tried to kill me after I went up to Nazca.  This is pretty bizarre stuff!”

            Turning to Doug Markey, Alan Carter continued. “You said the other German got away with the first case?”

            “Yeah, I tried to stop him.  That’s how I got my shoulder slashed. Doesn’t matter though, I’ve got Kammler’s letter in my safe and we have photocopies of the rest.”

            “What about the other case?”

            “All taken care of. I had Cliff put it into a tub of fresh water.”

            Carter turned to speak to Gomez. “Am I free to go?”

            “Of course señor, however, please give me your telephone number in case I have more questions for you.  By the way, where are you going?”

            “I plan to charter a plane in the morning and take the remaining case and my samples to US Naval Operations in Norfolk Virginia.  I have no idea what this is all about, but maybe it has to do with Germany’s secret atomic weapons program during the war.  I’m not sure why, after sixty-six years this information would be valuable enough to kill for, but you never know.  Maybe this has something to do with terrorism and then again maybe not, but I sure as hell would like to find out.  The Navy has a means of looking inside the second case without opening it.  If there’s something there, it may shed some light on what this is all about.”

            At that moment one of Gomez’s officers entered the room holding the recovered handgun and spoke quietly with his boss.

            “Captain Markey, the inspector said, “You were correct about this pistol.  It is an automatic that carries fourteen six millimeter caseless rounds.  This gun can be fired as single shots or on full automatic. It’s a very advanced weapon and it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before.  My sergeant did a computer search for this gun. There is no record of anything similar made anywhere in the world.  Perhaps your find in the ocean will lead you to a very big fish.”

            “Inspector, I don’t suppose that you’d let me take that with me to Virginia? “

            “I am afraid not señor but you may take as many photographs of it as you wish and I promise to contact you if we discover anything more about its origin.  Other that that, you are free to go.  My officers will investigate the site for remains of the two men that ambushed you tomorrow. Adios and good luck.”

            As Alan Carter left the Captain’s cabin to arrange a charter flight back to the US, he was deep in thought about something that seemed to go far beyond the discovery of a World War Two German submarine. Could the Nazis still be in business someplace in the world, working on some sort of nuclear weapons program and turning out advanced fire arms?  He shook his head, thinking this sounded too far out a possibility to be taken seriously.  After placing his call, Carter was able to secure a chartered Gulfsteam V long range business jet.  His flight would depart at 0:530 the next morning. By late afternoon he would be at the Department of the Navy’s research center in Norfolk.  If luck was with him and if the Navy’s new scanning machine worked as advertised, then maybe, just maybe, he’d get a little closer to the truth behind a visit to an ancient site that nearly cost him his life.

 

 

Site Alpha: 12 Km. outside of Mendoza, Argentina.

 

            “Your report leutnant!  How do you explain your failure to eliminate this untidy problem as well as your broken wrist?!”

            Klaus Hoffman, the tall blond, stood before his commanding officer with his eyes lowered and his hands clasped in front of him, the cast covering his wrist and hand plainly visible.   

            “Sir, we were taken by surprise.  We did not see this ship’s captain come aboard until it was too late. When he confronted us . . . he, he showed fear and confusion.  We assumed he could be easily disposed of.  He appeared to be a typical fat American.”

            “But you failed to kill him, and now Strumbannfuhrer Kirsch is dead!  This ship’s captain tricked the both of you.  He was once a trained navy commando.  And what of my other two operatives?!  Dead at the bottom of a ravine!”  It seems all of my operatives in this division have grown soft and complacent over the years!  Most disturbing is this report of the recovery of your pistol!  You were ordered never to use a weapon of the new Reich in any operation!”

            “But sir, I . . . I didn’t think that . . . The attack in Russia, the operatives there used these . . .”

            “Silence leutnant!  Those men have been demoted!  They are finished as agents!  Against my strict orders they provided our automatic weapons to their Russian recruits.  It was very fortunate that they escaped without capture or loss of one of our guns! The Reich has spent years in planning for our ultimate goal and I do not need ill trained agents in my division upsetting those plans!  Tell me, Leutnant Hoffman, just how did the American know where to look in Nazca?”

            The Brigadefuhrer’s voice was low but it held both a menace and a coldness to it, like a steel bayonet. Sweat was beginning to bead up on the blond leutnant’s forehead as he struggled for answers.

“Sir, the documents they recovered from the U-Boat pointed out this site in Nazca.  This, Alan Carter, left in the morning with a guide to investigate it.  We didn’t know of this until later, but once we did, my commander sent Gunter and Lothar to intercept him on his return.  I . . . I can’t believe that a television historian could have escaped our agents, let alone kill them.”

            “Do you have any idea what this Alan Carter found at the site?”

            “No sir, I was the only one of us left in Peru.  My wrist was broken and since I had recovered one of the cases, I thought it best if I returned to Argentina as quickly as possible . . . sir.”

            “Did you now?!  The Reich has no interest in what you think is best, only what is best for the Reich!  The case that you’ve brought back has been opened and the documents have already been examined.  If they had not, this Carter would have never gone to Nazca!”

            But . . . but sir, our expedition . . . that was sixty-nine years ago. Surely there could be nothing of value to find after all these years?”

            Now the steel bayonet in the Brigadier General’s voice began to cut right though the young officer.  “Nothing of value?  Nothing of value?!  Then why is this Alan Carter on his way to the United States today?!  Please leutnant, I would like an explanation from you!  We have spent a great deal of time and a great deal of money to know about anything that can affect our plans!  And you with your . . . thinking, and your assumptions, and your remarkable ability to underestimate your opponents have placed those plans in jeopardy!   You should consider the major and the other two agents lying dead in Peru as more fortunate than yourself when I’m finished with you!  You are to be sent back at once!  Prepare yourself for transport!”

            Commandant Drexler’s eyes were boring into the man; the rhythmic pulse in his neck was plainly visible.  Drexler was so focused in his anger that he did not react to the sound of his telephone until the fourth ring. 

            “Yes?!  Yes this is Drexler!  Oh . . . my apologies Gruppenfuhrer I was in conference . . . What?!  Yes sir . . . yes sir but, I am low on manpower.  Yes, you shall have my report on the men we lost by tomorrow.  Yes sir, but I . . . yes Gruppenfuhrer, I understand. It shall be done sir.”

            Drexler hung up the phone, glaring at his lieutenant. “Well, well Hoffman, you are a lucky man.  Perhaps you can redeem yourself.  I have new assignment for you . . . in Berlin.  The Russians have been poking into old business, business that was thought to have been buried many decades ago.  Since I am short on manpower, you are to eliminate the problem.  This time do not fail!”  

            “But sir, my wrist.”  “

“You have been trained to fire your gun with either hand, have you not?  Make certain that you hit your target, and this time, you are to use a standard Walther pistol, is that clear?!”

“Yes . . . yes it is Commandant Drexler!”

Snapping to attention the lieutenant’s right arm shot out in the traditional Nazi salute. “I will not fail Commandant!”

“For your sake Leutnant Hoffman, I hope not.  Dismissed!”

 

****

“Good afternoon Doctor, I am your interpreter, Olga Zhdanova. I’ll have the driver help you with your bags and take us to the airport as soon as you are ready. “

Nina looked at the woman standing in front of her apartment door. She was about her same height, weight, and coloring, wearing a light weight Jacket and a pleasant smile.  Still, she realized that this “gift” of a translator from the FSB was in truth her chaperone. 

Replying in rapid German, she answered her new assistant. “Good afternoon to you as well Olga.  I have only one suitcase so it will not be necessary for your driver to exert himself.  I am quite capable to taking this to the elevator. And, as you can plainly hear for yourself, I speak and read German fluently.  So, if we are to be traveling and working together for the next few days, it would pleasant to start with a little honesty.  Please don’t call yourself my interpreter when we both know why you’re here.”

Olga Zhdanova’s eyes would not meet Nina’s.  They were focused toward the floor with her face turning from pale pink to red.  “I . . . I’m sorry Doctor Shevchenko, I didn’t realize that you were fluent in German.  I feel rather foolish.  This is my first mission out of the country.  I’m just supposed to keep an eye on you and to see that you don’t, well . . . you don’t . . .”

“So I don’t what?  Uncover any information that might be damaging to Moscow?  History is a search for the truth. We follow a path and it takes us where it leads us.  Sometimes this is to truths we may find uncomfortable, but wishing they were somehow different will not make them so, and disguising facts will not make them vanish. The truth will eventually come out.  When it does, it will be all the worse for the legacies of those who sought to bury it.”

“Doctor Shevchenko, I’m sorry, really I am.  I don’t even know what it is you’ll be looking for.”

Nina looked at her watch. “We have about thirty minutes before we need to leave and I‘ve just poured some tea.  You’re welcome to join me, I’m certain your driver can wait a few more minutes. I’ll tell you what we’re looking for and why this may be a very big embarrassment for the Russian Government. You would have known soon enough.  This will save you the trouble of trying to hide your listening equipment in my hotel room or secretly making a video recording of me while interviewing the German who was part of the excavation.”

The FSB agent stepped through the doorway.  Still feeling mortified by the way her bosses had set her up; she looked around Nina Shevchenko’s apartment.

“Your home is charming and so interesting! You have so many paintings of historical events and so many books!” When Nina didn’t comment, she continued in a subdued voice. “What I really wish to say is that I’m sorry about this.  This is my job, my mission but, I’m not holding your leash and I do not want us to be enemies.”

Nina’s expression softened. “Yes, I know you are in a difficult position but I must make you aware of certain suspicions that I already have. However, I’m not completely certain that I can trust you.”

Olga Zhdanovaa clasped her hands together as if fighting an internal battle and then, she reached into the inside pocket of her Jacket, pulled out a tiny digital recording device, shut it off and laid it on the kitchen counter.

Nina eyed the recorder while pouring the woman a cup of tea. “There is something very suspicious about the site of this excavation in Berlin. It may have something to do with Hitler’s possible escape or possibly some sort of secret research center used by the Nazis during the war.  However, instead of investigating this, a KGB colonel had the site sealed in concrete in 1961.  This Soviet colonel was almost certainly a German agent, active in the Nazi Gestapo during the war.”

Olga put her tea cup down, leaning closer to Nina. “How is that possible?  Didn’t anyone in the KGB suspect this?”

“Oh yes, someone in the KGB not only knew who this man was, but managed his career and made certain his file was sanitized.”

“Who . . . who would have done such a thing?”

Nina leaned closer to the woman, pausing before she answered. “Yuri Andropov.”

Author's Note

Not a final edit. See my other books at www.freewebs.com/chrisbfla

Reviews

[Wez Hardyn]

The body count is rising - fortunately just Nazis so far! When will you post Chapter 4? I'm trying to imagine a Fourth Reich Starship and whether it would be a match for the Lakota Souix 'Manitou' class star-fighter in my story. Great swashbuckler, I need more...