Quest for the Führer’s Treasure

Copyright © 2014 by Conrad Hudson and Aelite Systems. All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this publication may be replicated, redistributed, or given away in any form without the prior written consent of Conrad Hudson or Aelite Systems or the terms relayed to you herein.

All characters and circumstances herein are fictional. Any resemblance to actual people or circumstances is accidental.

Conrad Hudson, Aelite Systems

web site conradhudson.com

Scottsdale, AZ 85259, State, 85259 USA

Table of Contents

Ques for the Führer's Treasure

Prolog: Twenty years ago, very bad men

Chapter 1: Two years ago, remember Katy?

Chapter 2: Two months ago, good shot, right?

Chapter 3: A blue steel time capsule

Chapter 4: Just relax, I’m a professional

Chapter 5: The pilgrimage

Chapter 6: Never run out of scotch and talk really slow

Chapter 7: Unlikely hero, figures

Chapter 8: Ah yes, that explains everything

Chapter 9: Just innocent hunting or hunting the innocent?

Chapter 10: One hippopotamus

Chapter 11: The most you can hope for

Chapter 12: Paying respects

Chapter 13: Nothing is what you think it is

Chapter 14: Danny’s story

Chapter 15: Ann’s story of the captain’s crossing

Chapter 16: Riding crop not included

Chapter 17: Thanks, don’t let it happen again

Chapter 18: The kids roll

Chapter 19: Bill's story

Chapter 20: The old switcheroo

Chapter 21: The devil’s debate

Chapter 22: Chips ahoy

Chapter 23: Road, trip

Chapter 24: Coffee, tea or Lisa

Chapter 25: High desert deception

Chapter 26: The deal is this

Chapter 27: Malvina

Chapter 28: Double cross is in

Chapter 29: More therapy

Chapter 30: Eastern point of view

Chapter 31: Meanwhile, back at the ranch

Chapter 32: Bad day to be a cartel hit man

Chapter 33: Iron man

Chapter 34: Freezing in the woods, again

Chapter 35: The basement of two evils

Other Works by Conrad Hudson

Prolog: Twenty years ago, very bad men

As long as Julio could remember, he had worked for the captain at his villa just outside a small village in Argentina. Many of his people had worked there over the years. While the captain had been a gruff, sometimes crude man, he was known to the villagers for his generous nature and kind face. They were all terribly sad when, well into his eighties, the captain simply failed to wake up. Julio, the captain’s closest caretaker, was the saddest of all.

Knowing his time was near the captain had told them that, when he passed, it might not be safe to stay at the villa. He was old and had never spoken the language well, and so none of them understood why they should leave. Unlike the others, Julio did stay. A lifelong resident of the villa, he just didn’t have any place else to go. And so, he continued to tend the gardens and sleep on his bed in the back. He thought that, maybe, the captain had become overly cautious with age. He was wrong.

They came silently during the night with their lights off and parked around back, careful to make no noise. They were light-skinned men, like the captain, but wore coal black clothing. They snuck into the house and gardens carrying pry bars and shovels. Waking to a flashlight illuminating his bedside window, Julio thought at first that they were just there to steal. But then they started to tear out the walls and dig up the earth and Julio quickly realized nothing the captain had built would be left standing. He also knew the men would find him. If not for the captain’s dire warning Julio might have confronted them or threatened to call out the villagers. Instead, he decided to run.

Julio hid in the bushes behind the house, waited for the right moment, and took off into the dense woods. He was sure the workers wouldn’t notice him in the dark but the shepherds heard him, smelled him, or sensed his movement, and they went ballistic, their barks muffled by leather muzzles.

Unlike his young, exuberant and rash sons, the old man sat in his '69, tan International Harvester pickup and watched with little hope of success. The quiet and solitude caused his mind to wander, as it often did, to how it all began. He had mellowed over the years, but when he thought of the captain, his fists clenched with rage. Suddenly, the raucous raised by the dogs caught his attention, and he knew they had seen something or someone. His large frame bent by time, the old man slowly went around to the back of the truck, opened the cages, pulled off the dogs’ muzzles and unleashed hell.

Julio ran through the underbrush in the dark away from the villa, away from the men, away from the village, and into the thick forest. Sweat pouring from his face, he stopped and looked back. Was the barking for him? Wisely, he changed his heading to throw off the dogs. Maybe they would overrun the turn and lose his scent, and then he could circle back and sneak into the village where he could hide. He changed heading again looping around toward the village. Breaking into a clearing, he ran as fast as he could. Now making decent time, he put distance between him and his pursuers.

The dogs were far behind him and had not followed his scent well. He might have escaped them for a while, but in the faint light of the crescent moon and stars, the lead shepherd saw him darting across an adjacent clearing. Now, it was a foot race that Julio just couldn’t win. The other two dogs were right behind the first, growling and barking, eager with anticipation of their favorite part, the catch. Hearing them come Julio stopped and looked back. He wondered what he had done to have such lousy luck. First, the captain had died leaving him homeless and alone and now he was being hunted down. He made it across the clearing to the edge of the trees and launched in. Wrestling his way through the underbrush and briars, he cut himself badly, but he kept going.

Suddenly, the dogs were on him. He turned, laced with the scent of his own blood, to face them, assuming they would not be bold enough to attack him straight on. They were beautiful, long, noble creatures with classic German Shepherd markings. True pack animals, they operated as a team. The larger, alpha male snarled and stalked him from the front while the other two took positions on his right and left flank. He had no opening to run. An exceptional athlete, Julio gave them a hip fake to the left as he often did in football and took off to the right. The dogs bit on the fake but were on his heels within seconds. In the underbrush or in an open field, it was no match. The alpha male took a bite thigh high, and Julio went down on the sticks and rocks with a scream.

The three dogs were now on top of him barking and nipping. On his back, they could have taken out his jugular right then, but they were well trained. Growling, snarling as they jumped around constantly adjusting their position, they kept him pinned down until their master arrived. Julio knew if he moved they would bite hard until he stopped.

After some time, the old man and a native came through the undergrowth flanked by two young white men. He spoke in a foreign language Julio had heard many times but did not understand. The native translated or maybe just explained for him.

He said, Éstos son hombres malos, ellos buscan algo, y ellos piensan que usted sabe cual es, usted mejor les dice donde es ahora, telling Julio that they were bad men, that they were looking for something, and he should tell them where it was, now.

Julio responded, Lo que, como sé lo que usted busca, assuring his countryman that he didn’t know what they were looking for.

The old man knew what that meant. He looked at Julio’s sweaty face and simple clothes and just said, Ah. He waved his hand behind him as he walked away, indicating to let the man go. Heading back to the villa to continue the search, he passed Gunter, his eldest son. From the look on Gunter’s face, the old man knew that Gunter didn’t plan to let it go that easily, but the old man, too tired to fight, kept going.

Many people had told the old man not to raise his sons as he had been trained in the Waffen SS. It wasn’t until it was too late that he realized what he had done. The eldest was the worst. They had all been raised to be able to do what needed to be done. But tall, powerful, and round faced, Gunter with his father’s light coloring, took to the training all too well. The result had been an unstable sociopath who scared even the old man. Looking back more honestly, he realized that this was not the first time he had seen this behavior. It had been all too common among the SS in his day, though he had not recognized it at the time, even in himself.

Gunter stayed behind, and as soon as he was sure the old man was gone, pulled a large caliber revolver out of his belt and continued what had been started. Despite Julio’s pleas, Gunter, the native, and a husky blonde-haired man tied him up without explanation. They dragged him to the road, and threw him in the back of an old van. He rode uncomfortably in the dark for hours, finally falling asleep. When he woke, he was in a basement carved out of dark, grey rock. He was as scared as he had ever been. Julio was now willing to give them whatever they wanted. He just didn’t have anything. Gunter, the native and blonde-haired man entered the room. Gunter clearly gave the orders. Ignoring his pleas, they tied Julio to the chair in front of a stone-topped table. Then they took turns punching him, oblivious to his cries for mercy, until they were all exhausted.

The dark skinned, native man stepped forward and looked deep into Julio’s eyes as he pleaded for mercy and asked him, ¿Dónde está ello?

¿Dónde está que? Si usted me dice lo que usted busca lo conseguiré, Julio cried, assuring them if they told him what they were looking for he would get it, right away.

The man turned and reluctantly shook his head. Again, the men took turns hitting Julio until they were exhausted. It was clear by the look on Gunter’s face that he was no longer entertained. Looking to make more rapid progress, he dropped a heavy, somewhat rusty roofing hammer on the stone table in front of Julio with a loud clank. Julio stopped pleading and looked at the hammer in terror. Gunter laughed and nodded to his men.

The dark-skinned man stepped forward and said, Donde está ello? There was a real look of concern in his eyes as if this was Julio’s last chance.

Julio, clearly comprehending the seriousness of the situation screamed, Por favor, si usted me dice para qué usted mira, le diré de buena gana donde es o ayuda usted lo busca. Sólo no haga, por favor, assuring them that he would do his best to find whatever they were looking for if they just let him try.

The dark-skinned man looked back and reluctantly shook his head, now developing a deeply furrowed brow. He and the other man hesitantly pushed Julio’s right palm flat on the table, while Gunter picked up the hammer and took a hardy swing. Julio jerked his hand back violently, and the hammer missed. It was a victory, but short lived.

They held the arm more firmly this time, putting all their weight behind it as Gunter, grinning sadistically, took another swing. The hammer hit home exploding his right index finger at the upper knuckle, shooting blood across the room and producing a blood-curdling crack. Feeling overwhelming pain shoot up his arm, Julio screamed horrifically and collapsed. He woke to Gunter’s excited face as the man slapped him into alertness. Confused and filled with despair, Julio still didn’t know where or what it was they were looking for. He was also aware he couldn’t do anything to stop the horror.

It was even more terrifying to Julio that they didn’t seem to think he knew anything. It just didn’t matter, because to Gunter, Julio didn’t matter. Finger after finger they continued to question Julio. Unlike the others, Gunter glowed, feeding off helpless Julio’s terror and unbelievable pain.

When they were done, Julio lay curled up on the floor bent around his broken, bleeding hands. The men stood just outside of the chamber.

No one could take that. If he knew anything he would have talked, the dark-skinned man said to Gunter.

I know. No reason for ze animal to hang around bleeding all over my basement. Get rid of him, Gunter said bluntly as he walked away. Zis was a vaste of my time and effort. I von’t make zis mistake again.

The two men left to deal with Julio, dragging him half-conscious out of the basement and up the stairs. They threw him roughly into the back of the van. Landing awkwardly on his broken hands, Julio let out a blood-curdling scream from the crippling pain unsettling his already shaken captors.

They drove for some time, turned onto the coastal highway, and stopped at a point with a high cliff overlooking the dark ocean. As they dragged Julio out of the truck, convulsing, hands and arms swelling, they noticed his eyes were glazed. Now cooperating with his captors Julio didn’t struggle. They all wanted the same thing. The two men dropped him broken and bloody over the side of the cliff into the water far below. Afterward, they drove away in silence unable to find justification for the evil they had done. They knew it would not be the last time.

Chapter 1: Two years ago, remember Katy?

Katy grinned at Claude as Justin came back into the camp, arms filled with firewood. She and Claude had been sitting by the campfire talking in low whispers all morning. Claude was a square faced, heavy set, bearded man, dressed in colorful hunting attire. Katy was a tall, lanky brunet with a long, handsome face and a good figure. She wore tight jeans and a gray sweatshirt, which she had pulled down over her hands to keep them warm. This was pretty much her daytime camping uniform. In the early spring, the North Carolina forest was warm during the day but quite cold at night. When it was cold, she would wear a heavy coat and wrap up in hand sewn patchwork blankets like the others.

Justin winked at Katy as he walked by them, bringing in the firewood he had gathered. Justin, a teen with a muscular build and light shaggy hair, was trying to be cool. He was keenly aware that Claude was showing his girlfriend, Katy, too much attention. She was older and more experienced than Justin, which made it even more amazing that she had chosen him over the others. Jake and Skip had gone out hunting early in the morning, but Claude hung back, and so did Justin. Oddly, they seemed to be aware that he was keeping an eye on them while he impatiently poked the fire. As he did, Justin wondered why Katy would act like this.

Finally, Justin grabbed his rifle, a Browning Mark IV autoloader, and headed out to shoot something. The gun was his fondest possession, and, next to Katy, the thing he cared about the most. He fantasized that bringing back a big buck would fix whatever was suddenly broken between him and Katy.

Justin wandered through the woods for some time before he heard shots. He knew that it was his fellow hunters Jake and Skip. He shot three rounds from his rifle into the air to signal them as he had been taught. Both sides then walked toward the sound of each other’s shots until they joined up. All thoughts of hunting seemed to dissipate, and they spent the rest of the morning lying and bragging in the same way they had seen their fathers do.

Katy is just great. She does everything. She says I am great in the sleeping bag too, Justin said boasting.

Jake was in his early twenties, of medium height, heavily bearded and had an oval face. He nodded at Justin’s comment and said, Yeah right, great in the sack. Jake shook his head and under his breath said, Dumb ass. He walked for a few minutes before glancing back at Justin to ask, Katy your first girlfriend Justin?

No, he said blatantly lying, indignant at the question.

Yeah, then how come you're so fuckin’ dumb? Least that would give you an excuse, Jake responded.

Skip’s dark, deep, sunken eyes darted to each of them in turn, as they talked, but he said nothing. The sunken eyes along with his black, boxcar mustache made Skip look like a sinister cartoon character. He was one of Jake's old high school classmates and was always along for the ride, flying under the radar.

She says I’m a great lover. You jealous? asked Justin swinging his arms, his Browning hanging over his shoulder.

No, I’m sure if she says that it must be true, said Jake emphasizing the word she as if he and Skip were privy to a great joke.

We did it twice this morning, Justin said sticking his chin out, boastfully making his case.

Everyone knows, trust me. That right Skip, dude? Jake asked stroking his beard.

Right Jake, Skip said in one of his longer speeches.

Justin what you say we head back to camp and get Claude? We’ll all go out and do some real hunting, said Jake figuring he would change the subject. He genuinely liked Justin, even if he was hard to take at times. While he planned to pick on him some more later, right now it just didn’t seem sporting.

OK. He and Katy were talking when I left, he said looking down at the path.

Yeah, Jake sneered at Justin. I’m sure they're still talking, he said unable to hold back.

Justin looked confused. He knew what the innuendo suggested, but he was sure they were just jealous. They headed back to the camp single file not talking much. As they came into camp, Katy ran up to Justin, jumped into his arms, and they ran off into the woods together. Suddenly, everything was alright again.

Since they had not been actively hunting, lunch was light, which wounded their hunter’s pride. After a while, they headed out in groups of two going in opposite directions away from the camp, leaving Katy there alone. Justin was with Claude. He avoided asking Claude why he had been hanging around Katy but referred to her as his girlfriend a few times in case Claude hadn’t gotten the memo.

They shot a few rabbits and headed back. When Justin and Claude returned to camp, Jake and Skip were already there. They had also only found small game. As they sat around the campfire freezing and roasting marshmallows, Justin felt all was right again. As night fell, Katy crawled into Justin’s tent to sleep, announcing she’d had a big day.

With Katy out of earshot, Claude said in a low voice, Big day? She stayed in camp all day. What was big about it?

Well Claude, I would guess, you, said Jake.

Yeah, Claude! echoed Skip.

They laughed aloud as they all bedded down, repeating the lines over and over again.

Overhearing the banter lying beside Katy in his tent, Justin’s face grew bright red. He was ready to blow. As the night went on, Katy was able to settle him down telling him that they were just jealous.

The next morning, Justin’s friends picked up where they had left off the night before. They wanted the secret to be out so they could behave more openly. Justin would just have to learn.

Ready for a big day? asked Jake as he passed Claude.

Claude snickered and pushed Jake’s shoulder. The morning fire was roaring, and Katy was making steak and eggs with the last of the meat they had brought in with them. Today they would have to get more serious about hunting or pack up and go home.

Justin had had enough of their comments and was turning red again. What? She’s my girlfriend, don’t be talking like that.

Is that what she said? Or did you just decide that on your own? asked Claude frowning. Fun is fun kid but there’s something you seriously should know.

They all busted out laughing, except Justin.

What’s goin’ on? Justin asked.

Katy was hovering around the fire snickering along with them. It’s OK Justin. Don’t let them give you a hard time. You’re just innocent, she said sneaking a glance at them with a good-natured chuckle as she walked from the fire to the edge of the camp. There she knelt down collecting the metal plates and utensils.

Jake broke in saying, He ain’t innocent, the kids just flat fuckin’ stupid, walking around bragging bout hittin’ it. Hell you dumb ass bastard, we’re all hittin’ it. Of all the people you know, half of them are doing Katy, ‘n the other half are women, maybe some of them too, huh Katy, everyone laughed, even Katy.

Justin turned back and moved toward Katy, who said, Yeah, Justin you’re cute, but not that swift, she said shaking her head while cutely crinkling her nose. Center of attention now, Katy almost blushed, then turned and headed around the camp toward the fire where the meat was cooking. In her arms, she carried a stack of metal plates. The top one was piled with heavy steak knives and forks for breakfast.

Why? Justin cried realizing his entire world was crumbling around him.

Katy stopped.

She knows what she wants and isn’t embarrassed to go get it, said Claude making a rude motion as if he was doing her.

In front of the broad tree on the edge of their camp, Katy stood tall, chest out. She was proud of who she was and smiled broadly at all of them, including Justin.

Justin’s face immediately turned red. It couldn’t be true, but it was. The rapid fall twisted him up inside as he realized he had been made the fool. Justin was filled with rage and looked for an outlet. It didn’t help that everyone was watching and snickering. That they were supposed to be his friends made it much worse. In his mind, it was all Katy’s fault. She had committed a cardinal sin. She had embarrassed him in front of his friends, maybe not maliciously, but she had done it.

Shaking and at his limit, Justin found an outlet. Lashing out angrily, he lunged toward her, yelling bitch. Instinctively, she turned back toward him, as he shoved her into the tree with all the force his young powerful muscles could create. She crashed full force into the tree, metal plates exploding into the air in a violent collision. She bounced back off the tree staggering awkwardly.

They were a rough bunch, and this caused no particular show of concern from the other campers. For them, Justin’s tearful outburst and the ass whipping that Katy was about to give him were high entertainment. They froze, anticipating equitable payback for having had to listen to Justin’s boasting.

Katy cried out and turned toward them with a surprised look, one of the cutting knives now firmly embedded in her torso. She looked at Justin in a panic and simply said, No. Her expression was that of surprise and fright. Justin and the others ran toward Katy as she crumbled.

In that second, everything and everyone changed.

Chapter 2: Two months ago, good shot, right?

Lisa’s assignment was mostly an easy one. She had done it before, and it never amounted to anything. She just had to mingle in the area and be ready in case something simple turned into something more. Dressed in a basic pantsuit like an office worker out on a lunch break, she walked over to a park bench and stood tossing pieces of bread from her lunch to incredibly fat, gray pigeons. She glanced only with peripheral vision at Charles Leroy Curtiss. He even sounded like a creep. She had read the file. Curtiss, a paroled sex offender, was a wiry, thin faced man with short, dark hair. The psych report suggested he was capable of evil, and had probably done evil, but he had only been caught contemplating evil, so he was out of jail walking around in the world. The neighborhood watched him like a hawk, and he wasn’t supposed to be at a playground. Yet, here he was, watching the kids play. In his case, it couldn’t be innocent. The rules were clear.

Lisa froze as she saw the plain clothes detectives walk at a purposeful pace toward Curtiss. She knew it was going down now! It wasn’t a look, or even an obvious move, but it was something Curtiss picked up between the detectives and Lisa and maybe the pigeons, but he suddenly knew what was about to happen.

In his mind, it had all been innocent, and certainly not worth being sent back to jail. Jail was a tough place for sex offenders. It was a place where guards you hated and didn’t trust were the only things between you and humiliating annihilation at the hands of others.

Desperate not to go back Curtiss bolted, and it was his shorts and tennis shoes against the detectives’ slacks and rubber sole leathers. Despite the extra weight from their guns, radios, suit jackets, bulletproof vests, and handcuffs, the detectives were winning the race. Seeing it all slip away, Curtiss reached into his pocket and produced a sharp table knife as he ran through the park. Staying armed was a habit he had picked up in jail. Then sliding in behind a swing set, he grabbed a toddler dressed in light blue. Terrified the child started to wail at the top of its lungs increasing the tension exponentially.

The detectives slowed, but Charles Leroy Curtiss didn’t. Now carrying the toddler before him cupped against his chest with his left arm, knife in his right hand, he rounded the corner and headed up the steps of the office building next to the park, the toddler continuing to scream. The child’s mother had realized what was happening and stood frozen.

Lisa followed along on a parallel route in a failed attempt to cut off his retreat. The pursuing detective at the bottom of the steps yelled, Charles, we were just coming for a talk, put the boy down, and that’s all we’ll do. It doesn’t have to go like this!

Curtiss looked at them and seemed to think about it for a moment, but he knew better. From the day of his parole, it was always going to end just like this.

Just out of his view Lisa found a concrete post at the base of the steps on the side of the building and used it to steady the aim of her Smith & Wesson M&P9 semiautomatic pistol. Holding the gun in her right hand, she wrapped her left hand around the right, thumbs together, exactly the way she had practiced. Heart pounding, she sighted just to the right of Curtiss’ head, away from the child. Past Curtiss in the line of fire was a large wooden sign. If she missed, that was where the bullet would go. Except for Curtiss being twenty yards away, a child in his arms, and about to be on the move running up the steps, the shot would fit with department public safety policy. Sweat dripping down her face and scared shitless, Lisa knew the concrete post was the only reason her hands weren’t shaking like mad.

Curtiss decided not to talk it out, turned, and set his feet as he prepared to bolt into the building, toward who knows what end. There wasn’t time for Lisa to think it through. Her training took over, and she instinctively squeezed the trigger. She had never had her gun out of the holster before except on the firing range, and so, she was surprised at the violent explosion and stood shocked at the result uttering, Oh shit, under her breath as the chaos of the scene engulfed her.

Chapter 3: A blue steel time capsule

It was on the rack where it had been untouched for many years with its blue steel barrel, and American walnut stock. It had not rusted or faded with age. With a little oil, it would be the same as it had been. In some ways, it was his most cherished gift from his father. It represented his strength and resilience well. His father was now a faded memory, and the gun was all that was left. Although it had been a gift, it was something more, something different, something bad.

Coy was forty, rugged, medium height, with a handsome oblong face, and medium-length auburn hair. More fit than muscular, he stepped onto the hearth of the rock fireplace and took the rifle down off the rack above the mantle. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t have considered it over his other options, but at that moment, it seemed right. He laid it on a dark-green bath towel on the old, mahogany veneer, kitchen table beside a roll of paper towels and his cleaning kit. He cleaned the gun thoroughly, strategically placing drops of oil in the mechanism. Then he laid the gun, clean as when it was new, on the edge of the towel while he pulled the rest of his pack together.

Being in the house made it all come flooding back, just as he always knew it would. That was something that he would have normally avoided, and one reason he had stayed away. But, it had all been pushed way down far too long, and he knew it was time to face what he had done. It was time to think and atone. He knew what he had to do, but it was too late to start now. He would prepare everything and leave early in the morning. When he had done all he could, he went to his bed, familiar and not, and fell asleep.

Suddenly, there was a shot. Before him in the dark was a terrifying, white, round face with soulless eyes and a deep, frowning mouth that growled something, something evil. Coy just looked on, frozen, unable to move, and did nothing to stop it. Then, there was another shot. Waking, he sat up startled. It was the same-old dream he had many times over the years except for the second shot, that part was new. The message was always clear when he was asleep. It seemed to make sense before, but now he didn’t know. He was sure it meant something. He wondered if the dream was his brain’s way of trying to work through something, or