Angels Fallen (18 page)

Bukberg Strasse was a street in na
me alone, one that mapmakers tended to drop due to its “rural attributes.” The rut-filled, rock-laden dirt road could barely accommodate the width of their truck. Tall hedges grew wild on each side, scratching the sides of the truck as it maneuvered down the dark road. The hedges did provide one benefit; they hid the truck from distant observers. For Jim and Dan, they couldn’t have asked for a better location. 

With Dan now driving, Jim concentrated on his
father’s hand-drawn map.

“Do us a favor
and don’t hit anything like you did with the barge back at the canal. Okay?” Jim pleaded, extracting sweet revenge for some of Dan’s earlier barbs.

The hedges on both sides of the road brush
ed against the truck’s side mirrors as Dan struggled to keep the truck on the narrow road.

“Jocularity, young Dieter. Never loose it,” Dan said. “You have a keen eye and a good sense of judgment for detail. As you have so kindly noted, I try to apply myself a hundred percent for all tasks, whether it’s screwing up on piloting a barge through a lousy French canal lock or finishing a bottle of good wine. My father, god rest his soul, always told me, ‘If you’re going to accomplish anything in life, do it all the
way through and not half-assed.  Leave that for the everyday man.’ He was a man of few words yet profound ones at that.” 

“Hold up here,” Jim said excitedly.  They both followed the dim light
afforded by the truck’s headlights, viewing an opening in the hedges, a graveyard just beyond it.  “This is it, my friend,” he said, consulting the directions that his father had provided. “Yes, this is definitely it. My father said that this would be the only graveyard along this stretch of road. We have arrived, Dan.”

Jim guided Dan into a tree-covered location with the aid of a flashlight he had
found in the cab. He had to make sure the truck was entirely off the dirt road and hidden from direct view if anyone were to pass at this early hour.

Dan exited the truck’s cab, surveying the area for a quick escape route if need be. Even at this late hour he was constantly on guard. “Now, young Dieter, I would expect you have a rationale for parking in the back of the farm along the darkest road I have ever seen in my life
.”

Jim was busy consult
ing his map. “My father said it would be best to park near the gravesites. I think we have located them.” He used the flashlight’s beam to center on a group of tombstones. “We can thank Dad for the directions down these dirt roads that are more of a cow path if you ask me.”

Jim maintained a grin from ear to ear, guiding Dan over to the graveyard with the flashlight’s beam leading the way. “Now for the fun part, my friend,” he said, pausing at the graveyard
’s entrance, its Victorian style Iron Gate slightly ajar. “I’ll give you one guess as to where he buried the gold.”

“I knew there had to be a reason for our coming in the back way,” Dan replied.  “That old bastard buried it where nobody would suspect. He buried the gold in the damn graveyard, didn’t he?”

Dan relieved Jim of the flashlight, him now probing about the meticulously maintained gravesite.

“That was the main reason my father asked you to leave his room when we visited a few weeks
’ back. He wanted to discuss the location with me and only me. For some reason, he didn’t want you to know the location until we actually arrived.”

Jim f
ollowed Dan as he maneuvered in between the well-tended stones.

“I‘m going to make this real easy for you,
even if you are Irish
,” Jim said, looking about the unfamiliar area for what his father said would be the largest stone.  He paused upon seeing the majestic stone rise into the night air.

Dan shone
the flashlight upon a familiar name engraved on the stone.

“Excellent guess
, my friend,” Jim said.

Both touched the stone to acknowledge the person buried beneath.

Jim tapped the stone with his forefinger, turning to Dan. “The gold and documents are buried one and a half meters under the marker on Goot’s grave. My father, in all his wisdom, thought that Goot should have the gold as long as possible. One last and final salute to him. “

“Who would have thought to bury it in a grave?” Dan said. “Especially in Goots grave—his friend from the war. Brilliant. Bloody brilliant.  Yes, it all makes sense now.”

“I was just as surprised as you were when Dad disclosed the location. That was the poker player in my father. Let’s bluff the world until the end,
then call
.” 

Jim and Dan alternated between thirty-minute shifts, one digging and the other resting, this in order to keep fresh for the return drive. After 2 hours, a grave-sized trench suddenly took shape. They were making excellent progress with almost a meter of dirt having been extracted.

It was Jim’s turn in the hole when Dan noticed movement in the woods off and to the left of their position.

Dan dropped a small stone into the hole, hitting Jim’s shovel with a soft metallic click, one not audible outside of the hole. Jim looked up to see Dan indicate they had company.    

Jim calmly pulled himself from the hole via foot holes they had dug into the earthen wall.

“Don’t look now
, but I think we are being watched,” Dan whispered.

“Where?” Jim replied.

“From the direction the sounds originated from, I would say about 10 meters to your lef
t—
one o’clock position,” Dan whispered. “Whatever you do, don’t look. Make them think we haven’t noticed them yet.”

Jim searched for his weapon, cursing that it was
n’t on his person, having left it on another headstone.  “Shouldn’t we at least prepare to defend ourselves?”

“Every once in while you have a good idea,” Dan said, eyeing possible locations where others may lay in wait. “Yes, that might be a good idea
, my friend. Slowly make your way to your weapon. When you reach it, dive to your left, and I’ll break right.  That should draw our company out into the open.”

Dan watched until Jim was no more than a foot from his weapon. “Break now, lad.”

Jim dove for his weapon rolling for cover behind Goot’s tombstone.

The motion by Jim and Dan drew the lone figure out from behind a tree, a burst of semiautomatic fire exploding the earth around them.

“Jesus, who are you? Identify yourself,” Dan demanded, slamming a round into his gun’s chamber, leveling the weapon at the last sighting.

The mysterious figure replied in near perfect English. “I have one question for you both. Would one of you happen to be Mr. James Dieter?”

Jim sought refuge behind a tombstone whose writing had been obscured by age, looking over awkwardly to Dan.

The mysterious figure waited several seconds before proceeding.  “By your silence and sudden appearance on this property I will assume as much. Allow me to provide you with some information before we potentially kill one another.  Approximately six weeks ago I received a call from an old friend of mine.
The old friend happened to be Hans Dieter. It was right before he died. He informed me that his son would be coming within a few weeks for a visit. Well, if you are him, you sure took your time getting here, didn’t you?”

The mysterious figure emerged from behind a tree, his hands up. “I mean you no harm
, gentlemen,” he said politely, laying his weapon on the ground in front of him as a sign of good faith.

Jim walked toward where the man stood with his hands in the air, still pointing his weapon at the mystery man. If you are a friend of my fathers, why in the hell did you fire at us?” 

“Me, fire at you?” responded the older man, a wisp of gray hair covering his head, slightly stooped. “Why did you make such a sudden move? You scared an old man like me.  You left me with no choice.” 

Dan emerged from the shadows, his gun pointed at the myster
ious figure. “Sounds like a pretty reasonable excuse to me,” moving closer to inspect the man. “Now that you know who we are, could you please identify who you are?”

“
Gentlemen, my name is Axel; Axel Schmitz. I have been the caretaker of your father’s farm for 60 plus years.

Jim paused in
thought for a moment.  “Schmitz?  I just heard that name used in a story my father told me.” The memory of his father suddenly washed over him.  A smile creased his face.  “You wouldn’t happen to be the same Schmitz that my father helped escape from Berlin during the war?” Not waiting for his reply, he walks over with his arm extended, wanting to shake Schmitz’s hand.

“The one and only, Mr. Dieter,” replied Schmitz, grabbing Jim’s hand in a bear-like grip. “I owe your father a
debt I will never be able to repay. I was sorry to hear of his passing. He was a great man. You should be proud of him.”

Jim fought to control his emotions at finding yet another rock of his father’s past overtu
rned. “Thank you.  That means a lot coming from someone who knew him from his younger days,” he said.

Dan looked
to Axel for a moment wondering if the man spoke the truth. “Mr. Schmitz, you mean to tell me that you have been working here for 60 years and you had no idea what lay buried here?”

Axel walked over to the freshly dug grave and peered in to see the progress the two men had made,
admiring their work. “Mr. Dieter informed me of the gold only when he called several weeks ago. I had no idea before that.”

A genuine look of shock spread across Dan’s face.
“He told you a few weeks ago?” Dan asked. “Why didn’t you steal it yourself and run off?”

Axel performed a slow gracious turn from his position near the open grave, walking over to where Dan stood. “Who said I didn’t?” 

Dan fell for Schmitz’s gag before realizing the joke was on him. “Oh, I like this man, Jimmy,” Dan replied, having met someone just as sarcastic as himself.

“No, no, just joking with my new-found friends. I do
n’t need the money,” Schmitz, replied.  “I am happy with whom and where I am. The gold is not mine to begin with. I just stood guard over it for the past few weeks until you came to pick up what was rightfully yours, Mr. Dieter,” pointing over to Jim.

An awkward few moments elapsed before they all laugh
ed aloud at the silliness of the moment, Jim and Axel patting each other on the back.

“Well, I don’t mean to interrupt this little midnight garden party, but I
must insist we get moving before daylight,” Dan said, pointing back to the grave.

“Yes, your right
. We’re wasting time,” Jim said, turning to face Axel. “Mr. Schmitz, allow me to introduce Mr. Dan Flaherty, a friend of my family. He is also a major player in this little adventure my father cooked up.”

“Any friend of your father’s is a friend of mine,” Axel said, shaking Dan’s hand with the same bear-like grip he had provided Jim.

Schmitz pointed over to where a yellow tractor lay secreted beneath an old WWII vintage green and brown camouflage net. “I moved my backhoe down from the barn a couple of weeks ago to assist in your dig,” he said. “But don’t worry, the townspeople, they won’t hear you digging. We are a good half kilometer from the nearest farm, and we are located in a valley where sound will not travel far. Even if they do hear something, they will just think its crazy old Schmitz up working early again.”

Luck had once again raised its glimmering head
.

Perluci’s subordinate tossed a small stone into the river below, obviously angry at the handling of the operation. He turned to face Perluci, his rage boiling. “We have been in position for two days with nothing to show for it. Nothing even resembling a barge has crossed our path.”

He allowed Perluci the luxury to run the operation with no questions, but no longer. The time was ripe for a change.

“Mr. Perluci, I don’t want to second guess your decisions, but don’t you think the time has come to split our forces into two teams?  This would enable us to keep surveillance on both the farm and the river.”

The L
ieutenant realized a decision should have been made a full 24 hours before.

Perluci turn
ed to face the young lieutenant, his face drained of all color, looking through him as if he were part of the background. This act of defiance amounted to a cold slap in the face for Perluci. Was it truly his fault? Maybe the Lieutenant was right. For the first time in his life, Perluci felt powerless. Maybe his superiors were right to insinuate that he was getting too old for this type of operation. In his youth, he would have trailed Flaherty from New York instead of playing the waiting game on the receiving end.

“Excellent idea
, Lieutenant. We should split our forces,” Perluci’s voice trailing off.  “I think you should take two men and reconnoiter the farm. From our intelligence, they should have already arrived. When you approach the farm, I want you to check all areas front and back, then split up with one man in front and the second in the rear of the property,” his voice lacking the authority it once brandished.

“Yes, sir. 
I will notify you if we encounter any activity at the farm,” the Lieutenant replied.

“Yes, excellent idea, L
ieutenant. And another thing,” said a visibly shaken Perluci, scrambling for the appropriate words.  “Upon our arrival in Rome, I am going to recommend you take over as section chief. You are ready for the job. The time has come. I am going to retire after this one. No more Perluci to kick around.”

The
Lieutenant concealed his delight.
If only he realized the higher ups would have relieved him after bungling this job anyway, one way or another.”