Amber

Chapter 16

“A museum, huh?” Willis glanced at the old house that served as a local war memorial and museum.

“You don’t sound too thrilled.” Professor regarded Willis. The two had been paired for this trip to learn what they could about the surrounding area, to see if they could narrow down their field of where to search. After being dropped off by Maddock in the van, they walked up to the entrance, a simple wooden door which was open. Inside, an elderly woman sat at a table collecting “donations” for entrance, which the two SEALs paid. She welcomed them in German but quickly shifted to halting English upon realizing the guests were American.

As was their habit, both operators scanned the interior of the space for potential threats, but all they saw were a family with kids in tow looking at an exhibit, a 3D map of the town in a Plexiglas case, and an old man, hunched over with a cane, examining the minute details of an oil-on-canvas painting on the wall.

The woman indicated they were free to have a look around. Professor wanted to ask questions but was reticent to give away too much about their purpose here, and a large tourist group was walking up to the door behind them. Apparently the woman could sense they may have questions, because as they started to walk away she pointed to the elderly gentleman by the painting. “He knows many things.” She smiled a toothy grin at them and then busied herself with her new customers.

They thanked her and made their way slowly around the small room, taking in some of the exhibits, since the man looking at the painting didn’t seem to be going anywhere. An old World War II era map depicted former German installations in and around the town. They paused in front of it for a moment to take it in. Professor pointed to a forested area to the north.

“Look at this. See these symbols? These are the bunker sites.”

Willis gave a low whistle as he followed Professor’s finger. “Gotta be dozens of ‘em.”

A series of black and white framed photos hung next to the map. Some of them showed one of the bunkers in detail, and how it wasn’t just a mere hole in the ground, but a warren of tunnels that spidered off in many directions. Professor shook his head. “If each bunker is anywhere near as extensive as this one, it could take years—“

“Excuse me?” The phrase was in English.

The two SEALs turned sharply, aware they had been snuck up on, something that didn’t usually happen to them, but the everyday setting had dulled them into letting their guard down a bit. The old gentleman who had been staring at the painting now stood in front of them, smiling pleasantly. He wore a plaid beret over stringy white hair and had the red, bulbous nose that suggested he was fond of drink.

“Yes, sir?”

“If you have questions, I may be able to answer them.”

Professor and Willis exchanged knowing glances. To hesitate too long or act skittish could itself be construed as suspicious, so Professor decided to jump right into natural conversation. Most likely this was simply a bored old man, at any rate.

“Thank you, sir. Well, my partner and I — we’re on vacation from America, on a tour of Eastern Europe — were hoping to see some authentic war relics.”

Willis nodded. “Not the stuff that’s been all cleaned up and put on display… ” He waved an arm around the museum. “But, you know, the real deal.”

The old man smiled and nodded. “The ‘real deal’, as you say, is closer than you think.” He turned with halting mini-steps and lifted an arm in the direction of the museum’s back entrance, where shafts of weak afternoon light penetrated from outside.

Professor’s gaze followed the man’s pointing finger. “What sort of relics are out there?”

“Are they far?” Willis added.

“There are bunkers and old fortifications of various types scattered throughout the forest, but there is one bunker you can walk to from the museum, just a few steps away, if you want to experience the genuine history.”

The new arrivals now made their way into the museum’s main room, talking loudly amongst themselves. The old man glanced back at them and then led the two navy men to the rear exit. In the doorway he pointed past a fenced in garden to a dirt path that led directly into a lightly treed area that became denser in the distance.

“From that gate there, you are free to take the path to the forest. The first bunker is perhaps a five-minute walk from here. Much more than that for me, though, I’m afraid, so I won’t be accompanying you, but you two will be okay, yes? If not a guide could probably be arranged, if you have some time.”

Professor and Willis told the man that a guide wouldn’t be necessary, thanked him and made their way to the property gate. Signage there offered a map of the outside area with the location of the nearby bunker clearly marked. A warning read, CAUTION: THE FOREST BUNKERS ARE NOT MUSEUM PROPERTY AND ARE NOT MAINTAINED. VISIT THEM AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Professor pointed to the closest bunker on the map. “Let’s check this one out real quick. It’ll give us an idea of how extensive these things are so we can estimate what kind of manpower we’ll need to request from Command to search all of them.”

Willis nodded and the pair set off down the path, the sound of bird calls and insects buzzing becoming more prevalent as the road traffic faded with each step. They encountered no other people as they walked briskly down the path across the flat ground, and before long they reached a fork in the path. One branch led left while the other continued straight into a more heavily forested area.

Professor pointed left. “According to that map the closest bunker is this way.”

They glanced back toward the museum and, seeing no one, ventured off onto the left path. As they walked it became apparent they were entering a forest, the trees becoming denser. Soon the ground began to slope downward and they followed the path into a gulley-like depression, at the end of which a concrete framework held open the earth.

“That’s got to be it.” Professor mentally compared what was in front of them to the image on the signage at the museum.

“Man, looks dark in there. Got a flashlight?” Willis fished around in his pockets. Professor came up with a small penlight. They walked to the entrance of the bunker and let their eyes adjust to the dim light inside. Hanging ivy framed the concrete entrance and tree roots crawled around the structure.

“Let’s reconnoiter it and get this over with.” Professor turned his tiny flashlight on and the two of them walked into the bunker. A long shaft, reinforced with concrete, led deep into the earth. The sound of water dripping onto the ground followed them into the space.

“It’s big! Lotta room back here. ” Willis’ voice echoed in the shaft as they walked further into it side by side.

“Big enough to drive vehicles in and out of,” Professor agreed.

Soon the corridor branched into two smaller ones, both of which continued into to the darkness well past the weak cone of illumination thrown by Professor’s penlight.

“I think it’s safe to say that this bunker, at least, is substantial and will require full-fledged exploration.”

“Yeah, with something besides your little glow stick to light the way.”

“Let’s head back. Knowing how many of these bunkers there are in the wider area, the odds that there’s something pertaining to our objective in here aren’t all that good.” The thought was discouraging enough that the two of them walked on in silence, imagining fields of haystacks, one of them containing the proverbial needle.

“I see the light at the end of the tunnel.” Professor could tell that Willis was glad to exit the subterranean space, even though they’d only been down here for a few minutes. They passed under the concrete-framed entrance and exited the bunker.

“You mean you didn’t become a SEAL to slink around in caves?”

“Naw man, you know I’d rather be in the water, which I know is unusual for a—“

As they walked beneath the bunker entrance, a pair of boots landed on Willis’ shoulders, dropping him to the ground. Professor spun but another man fell upon him, too. Two more assailants hit the ground on either side of them.

“Four!” Willis warned Professor as he went to the ground beneath his attacker. Willis’ reaction was so lightning fast that it took the interloper by surprise, who had evidently been counting on that very element to work to his own advantage.

“Knife!” Willis saw the gleam of metal as it passed in front of his face. He wrenched his adversary’s arm in an awkward position, eliciting a cry of pain from the man, who was dressed in street clothes, as were the other three foes. There was the sound of a joint popping and then a thud as a blade hit the dirt. Willis landed an elbow in his assailant’s throat, and then looked up to see Professor about to lose his own battle. Terse Russian words were grunted as one man held Professor down while another closed in on him with a fixed blade knife. Willis felt the third man lunge on him as he launched himself at Professor’s attackers.

Willis spun and head-butted the man on his back, crushing his nose and flooding his face with blood. He jerked the man’s arm in a snapping motion, sending the weapon into the air away from them. In nearly the same motion he fell upon the flailing triple-headed monster that was Professor intertwined with his two assailants. All of them moved chaotically, flailing this way and that as they grappled with one another for any advantage.

Professor grabbed one of the Russians by the head and tried to slam his face into the skull of the other Russian, but that man moved first so that the man’s face collided harmlessly with Professors chest. Then Professor made a move of his own, kneeing one of the Russians in the groin. As the surprise attacker reared back in agony, Willis threw a hard right cross to his temple, knocking the man out cold.

The remaining Russian, sensing that it was now two-on-one, went into flight mode. He scrambled, attempting to flee, but Willis tripped him up by swinging a foot, sending the man sprawling face first into a protruding rock formation. Still, the fleeing attacker was quick to get to his feet, wiping blood from his eyes while he ran off after his two still conscious comrades as they fled into the woods.

Professor got to his feet. Willis bent down to begin searching the pockets of the fallen man to see if they could learn anything about who he was, but Professor pulled him away. “Forget it. There could be more coming. Let’s get while the getting’s good.”

Willis had no argument against this and the two SEALs jogged off down the path toward the museum.

The modest farmhouse was set well back from the two-lane, paved road, amidst a field of well-tended crops. Maddock eyed the dirt driveway from behind the wheel of the SUV, while Leopov scanned their surroundings for signs of a tail or any other suspicious activity. She pressed the button to close the sunroof, which Maddock immediately opened again.

She glared at him. “Dust is blowing in here.”

“It’s too hot without it open.”

“So put on the air conditioning.”

“I like to be able to hear what’s going on outside.” Maddock smiled despite the disagreement. These types of petty arguments reminded him of being with a wife or girlfriend going for a country drive instead of two operators with top secret objectives. He knew Leopov must feel the same way, for when he glanced over at her he saw the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“Fine, leave your window open but the sunroof and my window stay closed.”

“Fine. Let’s just hope this gentleman is home.”

Wagner had tipped them off to a local farmer who was the son of a World War II German veteran. As they drove up to the house, he reviewed what they knew about him, which was precious little.

“George said he might know something based on what his father told him.”

Leopov gave a doubtful look. “Hopefully he hasn’t forgotten about it, if he ever did know something. He’s old — he’s got to be at least, what… ”

“Seventy-five, eighty?” Maddock parked the SUV at the end of the driveway next to a rusty tractor.

“Right. So we’ll just have to hope—“

“Hands up!” Maddock warned. “Don’t move. He’s got a gun!”

Leopov did as Maddock suggested while slowly turning her head to the right, where she could see an old man wearing brown pants, a white T-shirt with suspenders and a straw hat, pointing a double-barreled shotgun at the SUV.

“It’s okay, Sir,” Leopov said in passable German, “We’re just here to talk with you.”

Maddock spoke without moving, his hands in the air. “He can’t hear you because your window and the sunroof are down. Mine’s open but I don’t know a lick of German.”

Leopov turned in Maddock’s direction and repeated what she had said at the top of her lungs, causing Maddock to cringe, though he kept his hands up. The farmer said something in German. Leopov shouted past Maddock’s ear again, and he recognized the word “English.” Then the shotgun-wielding farmer cocked his head and replied in English himself, “Step on out, then. Slow, and keep your hands where I can see them.”

Maddock and Leopov complied, exiting the SUV and leaving the doors open while they walked a few steps away from it.

“Turn around.”

Maddock spoke as he did so. “Sir, we are not armed. We’re not here to cause any trouble.”

“We just want to talk,” Leopov reiterated.

At length the old man lowered his weapon. “You do seem like trustworthy people. Forgive me for the scare tactics. I live out here alone, so I do have to be careful.”

Maddock tried to hide the sigh of relief he breathed as he lowered his arms. He’d always thought that as a SEAL, he was more likely to be injured or killed not during a full-on military confrontation, where he would be as prepared as possible for the clash, mentally ready and with full support, planning and communication, but in some scenario like this one; an unexpected situation at some random place like a lonely country farmhouse with a crazy old man scared out of his wits and perhaps not in possession of his full faculties. “Thank you.”

“Please, come inside.” The farmer pushed his front door open, and Maddock and Leopov walked up to the porch and followed him inside. A few patterned rugs covered part of the wooden board flooring, while the ceiling featured supports made from whole logs. The homeowner extended a hand. “I am Torsten Schropp. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

Maddock shook the host’s hand. “We are investigating the Amber Room and have it on good authority that your father, when he was in the war, may have come into contact with it at some point?”

Schropp raised an eyebrow, and then gestured to a worn, leather couch next to a coffee table made from a solid slab of wood. “Please, have a seat. Can I interest you in some coffee, biscuits?”

Maddock and Leopov politely refused. “Very well,” Schropp continued as he took a seat alongside them on the couch. He breathed a heavy sigh and then continued. “I knew that this day would come.” He pointed to a modestly framed black and white photograph on the wall. In it, a young man of perhaps thirty wore a German military uniform standing next to a train.

“That was my father, Joseph Schropp. A good man, to be sure. A man of principles… ” He trailed off, lost in thought.

Maddock and Leopov eyed one another, each wondering if this was something the elderly man did often, or if the subject was simply emotional for him. Maddock tried to bring him back to the present. “What did your father do in the war?”

“Well, he was an enlisted infantryman, from a poor family. But I think what you want to know is what he had to do with the Amber Room.”

Maddock nodded.

The old man stared at each of them in turn. “Your source, whoever it is who directed you to me, must have done their research.”

Neither Maddock nor Leopov said anything. The old man held his hands up in a gesture of supplication. Maddock noticed that they trembled.

“I don’t care who it is. I’m fairly certain it was George Wagner, but you needn’t confirm nor deny this for me.”

Maddock could not help registering a small amount of surprise at this, but said nothing. He reasoned that the community of serious Amber Room researchers was probably small and close-knit, and therefore a longtime local like Schropp would be able to deduce who it was. But it was the old man’s next words that held true surprise for Maddock and Leopov.

“You see, I haven’t even asked who you work for, what your motives are. I just don’t want you to think I’m naive, is all. You seem like good enough people, but who knows?” He smiled thinly at them before going on. “The truth of the matter is this: I am dying and I do want my father’s knowledge to be passed on to someone in a position to make use of it.”

Maddock nodded, not wanting to say anything that would prompt the man to change his mind. Apparently Leopov was of the same mind, for she, too, remained silent.

Schropp looked back to the photo of his father. “Yes, doctors tell me I will join him soon.” He held out a trembling hand for them to see. “Advanced stage cancer is quickly robbing me of my strength. I am scheduled to move to hospice next month.” He looked around the house. “I have no children and my lovely wife passed a decade ago. The farm goes up for auction next week.”

Maddock and Leopov expressed their sincere condolences, but the old farmer waved them off with shaking hands.

“It’s quite all right. I am at peace and ready for whatever is next. In fact, if you hadn’t shown up I likely would have contacted Mr. Wagner myself in the next few weeks with what I am about to tell you. My father’s duties in his wartime service were mostly mundane, that is until the year 1945, when he was asked by his commander to supervise the transportation and storage of certain crated assets, the contents of which were never specifically known to my father, but it was obvious from the manner of logistical support and secrecy with which they were treated that they must be significant… ”

For the next half an hour, Torsten Schropp told a detailed account of his father’s action during the final days of World War II. During this time Maddock and Leopov occasionally interrupted him to ask clarifying questions, but mostly just listened. Maddock even took a few notes in his field notebook.

The son of the German military man finished by saying, “This landmark will guide you to the proper place.”

George Wagner and Bones sat at a table inside the local library. Wagner had a stack of dusty tomes, newspapers and a microfilm reader in front of him that he pored over while Bones kept an eye out for suspicious activity.

“I hope you’re not getting too bored,” Wagner said, peering above his reading glasses as he flipped a page of a newspaper printed in 1946. I would have you read along with me, but all of the material is in German, I’m afraid.”

Bones feigned annoyance at being left out of the research. “I guess I’ll just have to catch up on my reading when I get back home. For now, I’ll keep an eye out. Find anything interesting so far?”

Wagner furrowed his brow and squinted at a page. “Not sure. I might have something here, give me a minute.”

Bones contented himself with watching the librarian restocking shelves while Wagner read. After a few minutes the researcher jabbed his finger into the paper and said, “Aha!”

Bones shifted his gaze to Wagner. “What is it?”

“I have here an account of a Russian POW who emerged from an underground chamber miles from town.”

“From this town?”

“From Auerswalde, yes. It says here that he was near death and not in his right mind, but he kept saying the Russian word for amber.”