Blood of the Reich (32 page)

“Keyuri, now!”

“Hans!” Raeder shouted. The archaeologist jumped and Hood instinctively swung his gun toward him. And as Keyuri bent for the amber staff, Raeder grabbed for her and it.

Shots blazed.

All their light abruptly vanished.

31

Eldorado Mine, Cascade Mountains

September 6, Present Day

I
t just gets weirder than weird,” Jake said, studying the sad heap of bones. “What in the devil was Special Agent Duncan Hale doing in an old gold mine in the Cascade Mountains, with city shoes and a business suit? It had to have something to do with Benjamin Hood.”

“My great-grandfather took him here,” Rominy guessed.

“Or forced him here.”

“If he worked for the government, he should have been on Grandpa’s side, shouldn’t he?”

“Let’s review what we know.” Jake was squatting, thumbing through the papers in the satchel, now the businesslike investigative reporter. “Grandpa is recruited to go to Tibet. He comes back, but instead of returning to New York he becomes a hermit up here. Somewhere there’s a child, who will turn out to be your grandmother. And Hale comes calling. To lure him out of retirement? To find out what he knows? What if Hale was stealing this satchel?”

“What if Great-Grandpa Ben lured him here? Or was hiding here, or the satchel was here, so Agent Hale comes up the mountain . . .”

“Or was killed at the cabin and brought up here. Carried like a sack of potatoes.”

“I don’t think my ancestor would do that. Can you imagine carrying a corpse up that mountain? And wouldn’t the OSS have come looking for him?”

“And found Benjamin Hood. And . . . killed him.” Jake stood up.

“That’s pretty melodramatic.”

“Well, all we know is that everybody died. Except your grandmother. Except maybe she was murdered, too, eventually.”

Rominy shivered. “So who was
her
mother? Who did Hood marry?”

“You don’t have to be married to have a child, Rominy.” He stopped shuffling the papers and pulled out a photograph. It was a faded shot of a woman standing next to an old biplane, in flying helmet and pants. “Take her, for example.”

Rominy craned to look. “She’s pretty. You think she’s my great-grandmother?”

“It’s possible.”

“Who is she?”

He turned it over. “It says,
Beth Calloway, 1938
. Maybe there’s more in here about her.”

“This is so strange, finding people who’ve been dead so long and having some obscure connection to them.”

“Not obscure. A blood connection. Blood is thicker than water. Descent is important. Ancestry is important.”

“Don’t talk about blood down here. It’s creepy.”

“Historically, it used to mean everything. You were who your parents were. Children inherited the sins of their fathers. Now genealogy is just a hobby, nations are mongrelized, race is politically incorrect. But blood is who we really are.”

“No. Too confining.”

“I’m talking about family, Rominy. DNA. Self-identity. Belonging. As an orphan, you should understand that better than anyone.”

“Belonging? To a race? Yes, Jake, politically incorrect.”

“You want to know how to become a messiah? Tell your followers they’re chosen. Jews, born-again Christians, Muslim fundamentalists, it doesn’t matter. Tell them they’re
chosen
and they’ll follow you anywhere. You think Hitler didn’t understand that? People long to be told they’re special. Blood, my dear, makes the world go round.” He turned the flashlight so it lit his face from below, drawing deep shadows like a Halloween mask. “The trick,” he said in a deep voice, “is deciding who’s
really
chosen.”

She looked at him in confusion. Now he was frightening her. “Who
are
you, Jake?”

He turned the light away, becoming a silhouette in the dark. “I’m a reporter, remember? I just try to see the world clearly, without all the self-censorship crap that goes on these days. We don’t burn witches, we fire the blunt from media jobs. Well, I speak to truth. Isn’t that what journalism is all about?”

“Why did you take the battery out of my cell phone?”

“What?” He cocked his head.

“I found it in the trash this morning. That’s why my cell wouldn’t work, wasn’t it? You’d taken the battery out.”

“I took the battery out
because
it wouldn’t work. I was trying to fix it. When it was obvious it was really dead, I tossed it. What, you think I sabotaged your phone?”

“Yes! Somehow. Way back at Safeway. I wanted to call and I couldn’t.”

“Because your battery was already dead! How could I get your battery out? Do I look like Houdini? Come on, don’t be paranoid. We’re trying to help each other here. Figure this out together.”

She sighed. He was right, the battery
was
dead. “I’m so confused.”

“Jesus, I’m not. Did last night mean nothing?”

“Jake . . .” she groaned.

“I’m falling for you, Rominy. You’ve got to trust me on this. We’re onto something big, really big. It’s going to make all the difference. Come on, let’s walk back to the shaft we fell down where it’s light, and look at what’s in the satchel.”

She was consumed with doubt. She was falling for
him
, too, at the same time every instinct told her this was way too sketchy. Hadn’t she been wary the first time she spied him? But now he looked a little wounded, boyish, and she still buzzed inside from the night and the morning. Which instinct was true?

“How did you get that scar?”

“What scar?”

“On your chin. Like you’ve been in a fight.”

He looked at her as if she were a lunatic. “I flipped my bike when I was ten.”

Now she felt foolish. She flushed. If he was some kind of rogue, why was he trapped down here with her?

Deep breaths. One step at a time. Get out of here, and
then
think. Everything was happening too fast. She needed a day—heck, a
month
—to decompress. To figure out if anything with this guy was real. She was falling in love with a man she didn’t entirely trust, which wasn’t smart, cubicle girl. Get gone, get focused, get clear.

Meanwhile, the satchel was a treasure trove. Maps, diagrams, diaries, photos—the raw remains of a strange, truncated life. There was a crude drawing of mountains with a bowl-like valley, with coordinates. A diagram drawn in a circle, with arrows and boxes. And a journal with the title page reading,
For the heir, only
. Jake solemnly handed it to her. “I think he means you.”

She thumbed through it, unable to resist excitement.
This
was real. The handwriting was surprisingly neat, almost feminine. Well, they did teach penmanship in those days. The diary appeared to be about some kind of journey, fleeing from some terrible thing. But also notes to return there,
When the time is right.
And underneath it,
Wisdom before invention.

Maybe this would explain the whole story.

Her old life seemed so trivial.

Jake was peering at the map. “My God, I think he’s telling exactly where we need to go.”

“Go? I thought we were already here, in a hole in the ground.”

“No, in Tibet, to find what he found.”

“Tibet! That’s the other side of the world.”

“Don’t you see? His death, your relatives’ deaths, the skinheads—it all must come back to this. There’s something wonderful there, something
huge
, and it’s been waiting for
you
—the heir to get into this safety deposit box, the heir to find this mine—to go find it again. We’re supposed to go to Tibet and retrace his journey.” His eyes were alight. He’d found his treasure map.

“Jake, we can’t even get out of this mine. We’re going to crumble into bones like poor old Duncan Hale, and some other descendant is going to find this satchel and our stash from Summit Bank.”

He laughed. “We haven’t had time to make a descendant yet.”

“Actually, we have, except I’m on the pill.”

“There you go. But look, if we’re going to Tibet we’d better focus on getting out.” He stood, peering up at the shaft. She didn’t understand his confidence. He didn’t seem like a newspaper nerd, he seemed like a commando.

“I’m not going to Tibet, Jake. I’m going to where there’s a shower.”

“They have showers in Tibet. Listen. I’m going to boost you up and you’re going to grab that ledge and that root. If you can pull yourself up into the chimney you can wedge, back against one side and feet on the other, and inchworm your way up.”

“Then
what?”

“Go get help. There’s rope in my truck. You’ll be back for me by tomorrow morning. Unless you were
really
dissatisfied with my performance.”

“I don’t want to go down the mountain alone!”

“Well, maybe you can throw down a log I can climb out on. First step is to get you up there.”

She sighed. What choice did they have?

He was strong, surprisingly so, and he hoisted her up on his shoulders. “Can you reach?”

“Just barely . . .”

“Try to pull yourself up. I’ll push your feet.”

It was like her worst memory of gym class. “Jake, I don’t have any upper-body strength . . .”

“Try, Rominy. We’ve got to get out of here.”

She reached, straining, and he took the soles of her shoes in his hands so she wobbled as she tried to pull herself up into the shaft. It felt like a cheerleader stunt. She got so her waist was even with the bottom of the hole, grabbed a root, and pulled. Her legs thrashed now that she was above his reach, arms shaking. She was hanging helplessly, looking for something higher to grab. Nothing! Then it was as if a pin burst her effort. All strength left her and she fell back into his arms. He sat down hard, with a woof.

“I can’t. Jake, I’m sorry, but I just can’t lift myself.” Her voice shook.

“We’ve got to try.”

“I
did
try.”

“Can you lift me?”

But that was even more useless. She tried to boost him but he was nearly two hundred pounds of hard muscle, and it was like trying to hoist a piano. They collapsed together, Rominy crying.

They were going to die in this hole.

They lay awhile, panting.

And then there was the baying of some hounds. He sat up. “Listen!”

The baying came closer. There was the sound of thrashing brush, and then frantic barking. There were dogs at the lip of the shaft.

Rominy sat up, too, drying her cheeks as hope filled her. Rescue?

“Thunder! Damnation! What the hell did you find?” It was Delphina Clarkson, her new neighbor!

“Mrs. Clarkson, we’re down here!” Jake called.

“That you? What’d you do with that girl?”

“She’s down here, too. Can you call Search and Rescue?”

“I don’t need no Search and Rescue. Hell, I’d be raccoon meat if I waited for the likes of them. I know this hill like my own La-Z-Boy.” She peered over the lip. “Missy! He treating you right?”

“Yes, Mrs. Clarkson, we fell in accidentally. We need help getting out!”

“Yeah, let me tie a rope to this tree. City folk!”

A line slithered down. Jake boosted her once again and this time, with something firmer to hold on to and the promise of salvation above, she managed to climb. Once she got her feet and legs working in the shaft, it was much easier. Jake was right behind her, hauling himself and boosting her when she needed it, while also carrying both their packs and the satchel.

They crawled out of the hole, dogs sniffing and yipping, and collapsed, the sky a miracle.

“What the devil is down there?” Mrs. Clarkson asked.

“Old gold mine, I think,” Jake said. “We found this depression and wondered what it was and then boom, cave-in. We’re really lucky you came along.”

“I’ll say. What are you doing over here? You’re way off the trail. You know there’s a cliff right there?” She looked at them suspiciously.

“Yes, ma’am.”

The dogs tried to lick Rominy, and she pushed them away.

“I tracked you with my hounds,” Delphina said. “Started with your truck at the trailhead and followed you on up.”

“Thank goodness, but why did you do that?” Rominy asked.

“Because you’re all over the news, Missy. There was a bomb down in Seattle, and nobody knows where the heck you went or who you’re with, be it city slicker here or the Taliban. You got half the cops in the state looking for you. You know that?”