Chapter 3

This is the penultimate chapter. A lot of action here, as the plot rolls downhill.

Ivan checked into the Grand Hotel Prague. He didn’t know where the girls were. But he DID know where they’d eventually turn up; the Bratva headquarters off the old town square. So, he was sitting outdoors under the awning of the Staromestske Restaurant when the two of them appeared from the direction of Celetna Street.

It was comical. It was raining hard and Mel was holding the big umbrella. They were smashed together, hip-to-hip, with Hilley’s head jammed into the top. To the casual observer, they looked like a couple of gauche tourist girls out to see the sights of the old town. They went into the Caffe Italia and then emerged a half hour later and continued across the square. Ivan tossed a couple of Crowns on his table and followed. He didn’t need to guess where they were going.

He smiled again. He knew from calls that the local Bratva had begun a frantic search. If they had just looked out their window, they would have seen the two of them standing outside the building. He watched them pretend to examine the Hussite church with the crosses. Hilley was reading something to Mel from a little laptop that she was holding in her hand. It looked like she was explaining the history of the place. It was all clearly for show. Mel was reacting with mock horror. Ivan laughed out loud.

The two women proceeded along the street, still jammed together under the umbrella and then stopped. Hilley appeared to be reading more of the history of the area, while she fiddled with her laptop. Then she reached into her purse and astonishingly produced a common brick. She dropped it into the nearest trash receptacle and the two of them turned and made their way back across the Square toward their hotel.

Ivan was mystified. But he knew that Hilley had just done something important. So, he followed the moving umbrella back to the Kings Court on Obecniho House Street. All he could think was how wonderful that superb body, powered by such a superior intellect, would feel lying naked underneath him. He was not ready to reveal himself yet. But he DID want to stay close to their home base. So, he set about moving to their hotel.

It didn’t take long to make Mr. Kuriakinov’s life an open book. He had a number of files password protected. Passwords are like putting a neon sign on the stuff that reads, “Sensitive material under here!” So, I headed for those files first. I opened his e-mail. My cracking program took less than a minute to brute force it open.

There had been some interesting messages between him and my friend in Paris, regarding how he was supposed to handle any interaction with me. That included some rather unflattering comments about my personality. There were also some steamy exchanges with a woman in Belorussia who was the old boy’s mistress. I read those with interest. I marveled at the salacious things a seventy-two-year-old man could think of.

The file that stood out was the folder labeled, “POKLAD”, or “Treasure.” It took much longer to crack that password. Inside were a number of documents containing details. They provided the location and the history of how the treasure got there in the first place. The documents themselves were in German. They were written with the usual Teutonic efficiency and eye for detail and were all marked with the familiar SS. The insignia said “Ahnenerbe.”

German is not my strongest language, but I could generally understand what the reports said, and I knew right away that we had worked our way to the mother-load. But I still wanted to see it with my own eyes. So, I turned to Mel and said, “We’re going up to the Erzgebirge Mountains my little friend.”

Dieter Schmidt was cold. The freezing fall weather wasn’t typical for southern Germany and being inside a cave didn’t help. The Weinbergholen, as the cave complex was called, was located in southern Bavaria, near the Danube. The caves themselves were situated in a valley near the town of Mauern. It consisted of five caverns, two of which were joined by a subterranean passageway.

Professor Schmidt occupied the Chair of Archaeology at the University of Tubingen and he had journeyed the 175 miles south from that city to investigate the caves. He was interested in the Weinbergholen because there was plenty of evidence that Paleolithic people had lived and hunted there during the last ice age. Herr Schmidt had already dug through several layers going back to the Neanderthals. He was particularly interested in a layer of ochre on the back wall of the fifth cave.

Cave five was the only cave that did not have an external opening. It was located behind cave four and it was joined to that cave by a natural passageway. It looked as if a subterranean river had flowed through the rock to form four and five. The back wall of cave five was dirt rather than rock. That had led Professor Schmidt to dig at the back of cave five. He hoped to find evidence of a riverbed if there had indeed been water flowing through those caves.

He dug back a short distance with his trowel and found alluvial stones, which seemed to confirm that significant water had come from the direction behind cave five. The whole area had been under an ice sheet during the last glacial period and the caves themselves were probably a result of the run-off as the ice melted.

He excavated a little bit further and stumbled on the most extraordinary thing. He had made a small tunnel perhaps three feet back into the passageway when a human finger bone emerged. That set off a frenzy of unscientific digging. A skeletal hand and arm bone appeared. He thought to himself, “Perhaps I will find an intact Paleolithic skeleton. The ochre on the front of the wall certainly indicates that somebody might be buried here?”

Professor Schmidt heard a voice behind him say with indignation “What are you doing Herr Schmidt??!!” Schmidt was kicking dirt behind himself, like a burrowing mole. His efforts were also burying the boots of a tall “Aryan” man who had come up behind him.

Dieter Schmidt was firmly opposed to the Nazis. Unfortunately, by 1938 they had the entire Country in their grip. So, he had been replaced as a supervisor of the dig by Assien Bohmers. Bohmers was a Dutch archaeologist and Nazi fanatic. In fact, to prove his devotion to the “Aryan” cause, he had attached a picture of his blond, blue-eyed self to his application to join Himmler’s “Ahnenerbe.”

The Ahnenerbe was an exclusive Nazi research institute. Its name meant “something inherited from the forefathers.” Himmler’s charge to the Ahnenerbe was to document evidence of the accomplishments and deeds of the Nazi’s Germanic ancestors “using exact scientific methods.” What that really meant was that the Ahnenerbe was dedicated to manufacturing custom-made evidence to support Hitler’s ideas about race.

The Nazis believed that a “Master Race” of tall, blond forebearers lived in a mythical utopian civilization prior to the advent of the “untermensch.” Of course, only Germans were descended from those people. The problem was that such a race was like the fabled unicorn. There was absolutely no evidence that it ever existed. Heinrich Himmler’s solution was to sponsor the “right” kind of German scholarship, the kind that could give him the proof he wanted. Hence, Himmler created the SS Ahnenerbe and Assien Bohmers was a perfect example of the overly-ambitious and not particularly bright young academic Himmler had in mind.

Instead of the coveralls of the archaeologist, which were necessary for people who spent their life digging in the dirt, Bohmers wore classic Nazi regalia, brown shirt, jodhpurs and shiny jackboots. Schmidt’s enthusiastic shoveling had dulled the shine of those boots. The Professor put down his shovel and said, “I am uncovering a Paleolithic skeleton.” Bohmers walked past knelt down and could clearly see the metallic pieces of a sword belt on the skeleton. He said, “This is not Paleolithic. It is iron age at least.”

Schmidt checked Bohmers’ observation and said. “My God, this is a Germanic warrior. We must dig further. Perhaps there will be others” and went back to his enthusiastic digging. Schmidt had not burrowed for more than another half hour when he broke through into a dark open space. He thought to himself, “Aha, another cave; just as I presumed.”

There was no sign of additional bodies. But Bohmers’ interest was piqued. He ordered his work gang to clear out the dirt and shore up the passage. It was pitch dark in the space behind. But it was clear that this was a significant space. When the workers were finished, Bohmers told all of them to wait outside. He wanted sole credit for whatever was found. His first steps came across six more skeletons. They were lying in a pile, as if they had been carefully placed there. The seventh was apparently attempting to crawl out when the passage collapsed on him. All of the skeletons had the trappings of Germanic warriors, swords, axes; and in several instances, what looked like Roman armor.

Bohmers shone his light around and something glinted back at him. He walked closer to the gleam, his jackboots echoing off the smooth stone floor. What he saw made him gasp. Piled neatly along a wall were fifteen large chests of clearly Roman construction. All of them were labeled with the SPQR of Rome. One was open and a fantastic array of gold cups, plates and piles of coins lay inside. Bohmers feverishly opened each chest and each held a treasure trove of beautiful things. Bohmers was a fanatical Nazi, not a treasure hunter. And so, he knew where his duty lay. He reported the find to Reichsfuhrer Himmler. Meanwhile, he told his brown shirted SS bully boys to make certain that nobody entered the cave but him.

Himmler might have been an ugly little gnome. But he was a man of action. Based on the description he knew that he had to snatch the hoard before his fellow Reichsfuhrers found out about it. Himmler was just as dedicated to feathering his own nest as that pig Goering, or the oily little weasel Von Ribbentrop. He knew he would need a fortune to settle all the old scores with each of his associates, including Hitler. That is, after the Nazis won the war.

Within a week a convoy of heavy trucks arrived at the Weinbergholen site. A band of SS thugs carried mysterious objects out of the new sixth cave. Then the trucks headed in the direction of Bohemia and the Erzgebirge Mountains. There was a deep and secure mine there, that served as a mass storage facility for the artwork “donated” by the Jews in the captive territories. It was controlled by the SS and it would be the resting place for the Varus treasure.

We drove the Peugeot back to Prague Vaclav Havel and rented a Land Rover Defender. If we were going into the mountains, we needed a sturdy beast and there is no tougher ATV than a Defender. Those mountains have always formed the natural boundary between Saxon Germany and the Bohemian Czech Republic. Our destination was a relatively short distance away. But it was into the Erzgebirge Mountains. That was a rough drive, especially from Litvinov up to Deutschkatharinenberg. We renewed our hotel reservations, since we didn’t want anybody to suspect we’d moved north. Then we stopped by Hudy and dropped four-thousand dollars on two complete sets of camping gear which we loaded into the spacious back of the Defender.

We set drove an hour from Prague to Litvinov. The final drive up to Deutschkatharinenberg took almost another hour. Dracula would have loved the place. It’s downright sinister. The mountains are called the “Ore Mountains” because they have been a source of metal since the dawn of the iron-age. They also contained precious metals such as silver. The Fortuna mine had produced high grade silver for centuries. The extent of all of the remote passages and their perfect dry condition was the reason why the fabled “Monument Men” found a vast fortune of old masters stored there. Eisenhower even visited the place. But most of the mine has never been explored. In particular, one room at the lowest level. Its location was a secret that only Vasily Kuriakinov knew.

Vasily Kuriakinov was tough. You had to be hard to survive three years of all-out war on the Eastern Front. He had been a young, illiterate peasant lad when he was conscripted into the 7th Guards, prior to Stalingrad. He and his fellows were not even given rifles. They were told to follow the first wave and pick one up from somebody who had already been killed.

That first winter of fighting was the harshest and most devastating experience any human could endure, as the limitless Russian tide slowly overcame the German aggressors. From Stalingrad Vasily had fought his way back across the Russian steppes in a T-34, first as gunner and then tank commander. He and his boys had fought through holocausts like the battle of Kursk all the way into Hungary and Slovakia. They were stopped one night in 1945, right at the German border in Western Bohemia.

The mountain passes would be the most convenient way for Grigori Zhukov to deliver the planned thrust to the Elba River. There the Russians would link with George Patton’s Americans and cut Germany in two. But first they had to convince the Germans to get out of their way. Vasily’s T-34 was the very last tank in a line of 46 tanks making their way north through the Mountains. The progress had stopped as the lead squadrons dealt with a small group of German Panthers who were trying to bar their way.

Vasily could hear the firing in the distance but that was as much a part of his day as bird songs. He was sitting on the turret of his T-34 with his legs dangling into the hatch eating beets out of a can when a bullet zipped by uncomfortably close. The shot had come from the direction of a nearby mining facility. The sheer impudence of somebody taking a shot at him pissed him off. He knew the tank column would be parked for a while. So Vasily grabbed his PPS-43 and told his gunner to follow him.

The two Soviets progressed up to the actual mine-head. Vasily and his companion were taking occasional fire from the entrance. So, they circled in opposite directions and came in from the side and behind the shooter. He was a single soldier with a sniper rifle. The Walther-Gewehr is deadly accurate but the kid was maybe sixteen. The SS was clearly running out of men. Still, this was war so Vasily shot him. Then he heard footsteps pounding off into the distance. Vasily’s blood was up and so he took off in pursuit. He told the gunner to make sure that he wasn’t disturbed. Vasily was planning to do something very unpleasant to the person who had shot at him.

The mine was lit by naked bulbs as Vasily chased the other guy down the passageway to the ancient ladder; the one that workers took to climb down into the bowels of the facility. There was a modern elevator now. It took people downward. But Vasily’s quarry was using that. Still, Vasily was determined. He had to be, to pursue his quarry down an 800-foot series of ladders. He became angrier as he climbed. He hated the SS and the fact that one of them had taken a shot at him required a blood price.

So, he had his PPS ready when he got to the bottom of the mine. A Luger shot came from the direction of a gallery. Vasily dodged back and forth infantry style as he ran up the passageway. There was another shot and then the closing of a door. Vasily was on the run now. He lowered his shoulder and burst through the door firing. The German was in front of him. The man caught the full effect of a three second PPS burst. He was an Oberst Standartenfuhrer. Vasily took the time to wonder what the equivalent of a Soviet full Colonel was doing all by himself in a Bohemian mine. Then he looked around.

The place was immense, probably a former cavern rather than part of the mine. It was encased in concrete and well-lit by electric bulbs on the ceiling. It contained an amazing number of carefully preserved paintings, some tapestries and fifteen big ancient chests. As his anger died, Vasily walked over to a chest and opened it, curious. Inside was a gleaming treasure. He opened the others. Each was filled with loot beyond counting.

Vasily wasn’t stupid. He knew that he had discovered a stashed Nazi hoard and the SS Colonel was probably the man in charge. He wondered where the other SS had gone. There should have been at least a brigade guarding a cache this precious. Then it dawned on him that three hours earlier the column had broken through a fairly serious defensive line at this point. The two people he dispatched must have been all that were left.

Given the state of the German army it was understandable that they could only spare a small number of SS guards now. But his sole knowledge of this place left Vasily with a decision to make. Should he tell anybody else, or blow the tunnel and come back after the war? The incredible wealth spread in front of him made the choice easy. So, before Vasily returned to his tank he wedged two big American pineapple grenades in the wall of the mine, pulled the pins and walked away. The explosion sealed the passage to the treasure room.

Vasily was now the only person who knew what lay behind the dirt that looked like a simple mine collapse. Bu, there was too much political turmoil in the Eastern satellite countries after the war. So, Vasily had to grow old keeping his secret. He eventually told his story to his son on his deathbed. Family’s always first and his son would be able to recover it.

The road literally skirts the border of Germany and the Czech Republic. We finally arrived at a likely spot to camp about three quarters of a mile past the mine. It was densely wooded. So, we pulled the Defender off the road and into the primeval trees. We had camping gear that would keep us reasonably comfortable; I had bought us a Hilleberg Tent which is my dad’s favorite for camping. It has a vestibule arrangement that makes the inside almost weatherproof. It was late spring. So, the temperature wasn’t too bad. But the rain persisted in sheets.

I was wearing thermal underwear, with a tight pair of jeans and an open neck Orvis safari shirt. I had on a good pair of Merrell boots and a rain suit that was not a lot different than the foul weather gear we wore on the sailboat. Mel was dressed similarly except she was wearing a fisherman’s sweater. She’s lived in London her whole life. But she says her Indian roots make her susceptible to cold. We set up the tent and it was almost homey. We didn’t want to draw attention with a fire. So, we ate MREs and listened to the rain beating on the tent.

I had all my electronic gear with me. I used the sat-link to check the situation back on Parizska street and it appeared that the Bratva had finally figured out that we’d arrived in Prague. They had probably been checking the hotels. Mel was curled up next to me on her air mattress arm propped on one of the waterproof camping pillows. She was ignoring me, while she listened to a tune on her Apple Nano and read her Kindle by the light of a glow stick.

It was surreal. Here we were in one of the wildest places in Europe, with all of the comforts of home. Mel was in her thermal undies. Her astounding sexuality was perfectly captured by her outrageous curves. The huge mountains of her breasts and the round hills of her hips were outlined under the Gortex. I marveled at the contrast between Mel’s womanly hips and her tiny waist. She looked like a Neolithic fertility idol.

I used my laptop to read the rest of the documents in the original Bratva file. I also listened to an audio recording. The narrator was the father of a Bratva warlord. It was clearly made by an old man. He had fought in the Great Patriotic War; which we in the West call World War II. The father found the treasure by accident. He chose to rebury it by blowing the mine passage. The father didn’t make it back. But his son did. That explained why the Bratva owned the Varus loot. I even knew that the hoard was fifteen huge chests.

I sent all the information back to Sir Alex. Within 30 minutes he shot back, “Well done! Mission accomplished!” I told him that I wouldn’t consider it accomplished until I had actually seen the treasure. He shot back all caps, “DO NOT ACT - SENDING HELP.” I knew who Sir Alex was talking about and I was ashamed to admit how thrilled I was. The mystery man had gotten seriously under my skin. I could overcome any challenge. But a girl can always use a man, if nothing more than to keep her warm on a rainy night. And on a cold night in the middle of a driving rain, it’s particularly nice to have a man’s body next to yours in a tent.

Just after midnight, the end of the tent unzipped and in walked a man who took my breath away. His aura of total competence and sexuality overwhelmed me. He gave me a jaunty smile and said, “John Smith at your service Mademoiselle.” I looked at him as coolly as I could, considering the rate that my heart was hammering, and said, “We were expecting you, “ Then I offered him, a drink. He looked at me with genuine speculation and said, “You are a strange woman Hilley Larson.”

Ivan had thought that he was sitting on the girls at their hotel. Then he got a call from Sir Alex. who said, “I just got a message from Hilley Larson. They’ve found the Varus treasure and they’re planning to go down in the mine to make a visual confirmation. I think that you’d better get up there as soon as possible.”

Ivan said, “Send me the coordinates and I will be there as soon as I can.” He locked in the location in the GPS program on his smartphone. Once he did, he was amazed to discover that they were in the trackless mountains on the German border. He thought, “What kind of twenty-six-year-old girl has the guts to do that?” He knew the area. He had worked dead-drops there back in the day. He knew that it was a dangerous place; especially for two young women.

He estimated that he could drive to Litvinov, which was the nearest town. But the only way into the region would be to hike five miles as the crow flies. The roads that led up to the mine were treacherous. With the rain it would take hours to drive there; if it were even possible to do that at all. More important, tradecraft dictated that there should not be any more automobile traffic near their site. So, he planned to walk there in his waterproof hooded coat and heavy boots. He just hoped that the mountains weren’t too steep.

Ivan had been trekking up and down very rough terrain for almost three hours when he saw their campsite. It was in the woods near a road. A Land Rover Defender was parked nearby. The hike that he had just done would be difficult for anybody who didn’t have his remarkable physical gifts. But it was a simple challenge for Ivan. The driving rain was a distraction. But he had endured blizzards and sub-zero temperatures for weeks in the Afghan mountains. Still, the rain DID make the rocks slippery and so he had to concentrate.

Ivan approached the girls’ tent. It was lit by glow sticks. He approved of the low light and no-fire solution. But he did NOT approve of the fact that they hadn’t set up a perimeter. They were clearly inexperienced. Before he entered the tent he spent a couple of minutes creating the usual tripwires and alarms. It was second nature from his Spetsnaz days. Mother nature provided all the materials, branches, vines and rocks. Ivan took off his wet things in the vestibule of the tent and then he unzipped it and walked inside.

Hilley must have heard him coming, because she did not react to his sudden entry. Instead, she coolly turned her head and said, “I was expecting you, how about a drink?” She then produced a flask of expensive scotch and poured him three fingers. Her friend Mel was sound asleep in her bag. Mel was lying on her side facing away from them. The big round hills of her hips and ass were evident. She was snoring lightly which was a delightful little sound.

Hilley Larson was an incredible vision. There was nothing more than a thin layer of polymer covering her from ankles to neck. Her superb body was rounder and more bountiful than he had imagined. At the same time all of the details of that body were modestly hidden. He didn’t think that gaping at her would be a good way to win her trust. So, he just did a requisite quick scan and accepted the drink. A look of disappointment crossed Hilley’s beautiful face when he didn’t stare at her. Ivan wondered if that meant interest.

She handed him the scotch. As she did that her full breasts lilted back and forth seductively. Then she closed the laptop and stored it in a waterproof bag. She turned to him leaning on one arm, muscled legs extended along the mattress. She said, “We are almost over the goal line. But I want to confirm the details tomorrow. UNESCO will need that information in order to react properly. I assume that Sir Alex sent you along to provide a little muscle.” Ivan was stung by that statement. He knew he was infinitely better equipped to deal with the situation than she was. He was stronger, probably smarter and definitely more experienced in these things.

He recognized that Hilley was still very young and probably resented the fact that Sir Alex had seen fit to provide her with help. Like all headstrong young people Hilley Larson no doubt believed that she was immortal. But Ivan knew better than that. Ivan assumed that the Bratva had guessed where she was headed. But he was also certain, that they would never think that she had already made it to the prize.

After all, the treasure had remained hidden for almost 70 years. But after just one day of searching, this remarkable young woman was about to reveal it to the world. Ivan knew that she was some kind of certified genius but even he could not imagine that a feat like that was possible. He asked Hilley how she had accomplished what she had done. She told him that it was simple. But it was much too boring to explain.

She said that tomorrow was going to be the final stage and she wanted some sleep. She added, “I assume you are bedding down here. You can sleep with me on my mattress and we can cover ourselves with the unzipped sleeping bag; unless you would rather sleep out in the rain to prove how manly you are.” Her kittenish smile gave away her thoughts. The idea crossed Ivan’s mind that this young person was trying to seduce him. He immediately put that thought out of his mind. She was a stunningly attractive woman. But she was almost half his age.

Ivan had no problem sleeping in his clothes, but they were dirty and damp from his trek. He didn’t want to get everything wet. So, he stripped down to his boxers and the long-sleeved t-shirt he wore underneath his sweater. She was already dressed in her weatherproof Gortex body suit. He lay down next to her, establishing a respectful distance. He did not want to sleep facing her, because the heat of her fabulous body had made him very hard.

She was also on her side facing away from him. She snuggled closer, just to get comfortable and he felt the firmest roundest ass pressing against his butt. He was absolutely spellbound by her natural sexuality. He thought to himself, “You had better get yourself under control old boy or neither of you are going to be able to sleep.”

He was everything I had ever dreamt of in a man. He was devilishly handsome in a dark exotic almost-but-not-quite oriental way. His eyes were full of ironic, almost sarcastic good humor and merriment. At the same time, they looked very sad. I had wanted to kiss that mouth the minute I saw it on the train, and I was getting very wet thinking about how it would feel to have my arms around that powerful neck.

He was taller than any man I had been with except Gavin. But Gavin did not have his faultless, dangerously capable, muscular build. He radiated palpable masculinity and a competence. He made me feel safe and protected. If you know me, you will know that I was fighting those feelings, since I am perfectly able to take care of myself. But there was also an underlying gentleness and basic sense of humanity in the man’s soul.

His gallantry was magnetic, and it showed in everything that he did. More surprisingly I found I trusted him. I wanted to entrust my deepest feelings to him. He told me that Sir Alex had sent him. I had to let him know that I didn’t need his help. That was childish and I knew it the minute I said it. His hurt look was upsetting since I am not that kind of person. Still, it was also uplifting, because it meant that he cared about what I thought.

He had apparently walked in the rain through trackless mountains to get to us. I couldn’t imagine the courage and stamina it would take to do that. But it was his resolve and bravery that enthralled me. From what he had told Mel, I understood, that he was doing this strictly as a favor for Sir Alex. I was in awe of his kindheartedness and I found myself having a stupid woman reaction. I was developing a totally irrational crush. Those kind of feelings were upsetting and dysfunctional. Since, the last thing I wanted to do was fall deeply in love with a total stranger on the top of a German mountain.

He lay down on his side facing away from me. I was glad he did, because I was lying next to him feeling his heat and sensing his maleness. I was getting so aroused I started to run through the starting lineup of the U.S. women’s World Cup team. I assessed every player’s strengths and weaknesses, anything to keep from thinking that I was thinking. I scootched backward and bumped against the brick wall that passed for his back. That returned me to the forbidden thoughts, only much more fervently.