Hidden Vault

By Phillip Tingle

A vintage aircraft crashes into Lake Michigan. Mike Barron and his business partner are sport fishing on a nearby boat. They rescue the pilot who pulls a gun on boat's crew. The man is subdued but escapes when they go ashore. That night Mike and his partner are shot at as they travel home from the lake. Mike learns that the plane was stolen and its owner lives in Wisconsin and travels there to check on him. There he discovered the man had been assisting investigators in Germany about a missing horde of gold taken from holocaust victims during World War II. Mike travels to Germany to meet with the investigators there. He is joined in the investigation by a young woman law student. While in Germany he is attacked multiple times by members of two different gangs who are also searching for the horde. Mike learns that the gold had moved to the US long ago. Mike returns to the US and soon joined by the young woman. They are shadowed by the German gangs, as they follow up on many leads that take them throughout the US Midwest. Do they eventually prevail? And will justice be done?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Phillip Tingle
• Release date: Sep 22, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370013388

Phillip Tingle

My wife and I live in the Indianapolis area. Our daughter and grandchildren live nearby. I'm a graduate of Shelbyville High School in Shelbyville, IN. I have a degree in electrical engineering from Purdue University. I worked in industrial applications. I'm now retired from engineering and have started writing fiction. When not writing my activities include travel with my wife, time with family, reading, bicycling, working out at the gym, and being active in our church.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Fish on! It’s your turn Mike. Jack shouted.

Ok, I’m on it. Mike shouted back. The tip had gone up on the rod closest to port side. This flip meant that a fish hit the lure and pulled the line from its spring clip on the submerged down-rigger. Mike pulled the rod from its holder and began to work the reel quickly. A release did not confirm a fish was hooked; it could be that a fish only hit the lure and pulled the line from the spring clip.

It was long minute before the slack was out of the line and the drag took off, whirring furiously. He kept cranking on the reel as the fish kept running the line. He checked the tightness of the drag and knew that if he were foolish enough to torque it down any more the force of the running fish would snap the line.

Jack outfitted his boat with three electric down riggers and usually stacked lines from two rods on each of the slender downrigger cables. For a while around eight o'clock they were getting one release after another finding themselves fighting two fish at any one time. The three men kept busy with the fishing while the boat trolled a straight passage on automatic pilot. The fish were Steelhead, Coho, and Chinook. The Steelhead, Mike had learned a few years ago, was a type of Rainbow Trout that grew quite large in the lake. Coho and Chinook are species of salmon. They caught and released the fish except for the few each of them kept to cook later at home.

Mike fought the fish on the line by hauling back on the rod to tighten the line and then letting its tip go down and point out to get slack that he reeled in furiously. After five minutes of taking line back in he was rewarded with the fish shooting up out of the water flipping its head from side to side to throw off the lure. It was a large steelhead. The steelhead fell back in the water and the drag again sounded off. Mike continued fighting the fish until he had up to the side of the boat.

Jack managed to get a hand net over the fish’s tail and pulled the steelhead up to the gunwale of the boat. This one’s about a thirty pounder. He said.

Let it go Jack. Let it live and breed. I have enough caught and in the cooler. Mike said.

OK, it’s your call, and I don’t blame you this is one grand fish.

Jack removed the lure’s treble hook from the fish’s mouth and lowered it back into the water.

Now we need to call it quits for the day. This wind is only getting stronger. Jack said.

Yeah, I was having a hard time keeping my balance and standing upright while I was fighting that last fish. Mike said. He looked around at the lake surface and the sky.

The dark gray swirling masses of clouds had come with the increasing wind. The waves had gone from two feet to four feet crests while Mike had worked the fish, too heavy a sea to be comfortable standing on the deck of the twenty-six foot Lake Robber. Jack, the boat's owner, with Mike helping raised the down riggers and began storing away the fishing gear.

Bob Atmore, Mike’s friend and business partner was at the helm keeping the bow pointed straight into the crests of the waves. The boat pitched sharply, and had an unpredictable out-of-synchronism roll. Trying to continue fishing in this weather banged and knocked a man about too much. They should have quit fishing and started pulling their lines half-hour ago, now they quickly moved to store away the last of the tackle.

After Jack closed and latched the last two storage lockers, he then relieved Bob at the helm.

We’ve had a good day with an ice chest full of good sized fish even if we did have to quit early. Bob said. Lake Michigan's weather could spoil your fun in any month, but its July’s were usually predictable, thunderstorms that came up quickly and blew out in a short burst of violence. This was more like a March storm, strong steady winds and little or no thunder. November, December and January could see some killer storms; large ships were known to disappear.

Jack was keeping the forty year old boat at trolling speed as he steered in the direction he thought was that of his home port. No longer hitting the waves straight on the boat took on an increased roll. The engine, an inboard Chrysler V-8, was making a steady low-toned purr. They could hear the wind cracking about the antenna mast. There was the steady smacking sound of the starboard bow hitting the waves. Each time the boat rolled to port side the sonar transducer on the starboard side would be lifted up from the water and they could hear its C above middle C dirge. They looked out at white crested now six-foot high waves of dark green masses of water. Visibility was only a few hundred yards.

When the wind driven rain started Mike and Bob pulled rain suits on and turning their backs to the wind began eating leftover lunch sandwiches. Jack was sheltered in the cockpit canopy. Eating in these conditions was not conducive to mealtime conversations, so Mike fell to reviewing the weekend's events in his mind.

The Lake Robber had started out through the port of Michigan City breakwater at five-thirty that morning in a light fog not unusual for July. The fog lifted with the dawn and the day opened up bright and clear. They were guests for the second day of the weekend on Jack's cabin cruiser. The day before, Saturday, had been hot and humid and windless all day. The fishing was no good. They were skunked and it was only two in the afternoon when they had given it up and headed back to port.

It had been a solid year since either Mike or Bob had been out fishing on Lake Michigan. Both were experienced deep water fishermen. The two of them kept watch for other craft as they ate.

We need to be back in Michigan City and this wind is stalling progress. Bob's voice rose above the sounds of the storm and engine to break into Mike's reverie, jerking him back to the here and now.

Well, Jack drawled. I need to figure just what direction that is and we'll go there. Just look at that compass.

Bob and Mike eased into the cockpit to see the compass needle was oscillating wildly over 100 degrees. The boat pitching is not the whole cause of that -- too fast. We must be over some type of magnetic anomaly.

We know the wind is blowing roughly from the northwest and Michigan City is roughly to the south. We ought to turn so this wind's against our right shoulders, but when we do, the Lake Robber is going to take to rolling something fierce. Bob said.

That’s what I thought too but wind began changing direction a bit and I’m not sure. Jack said. While you guys were stowing gear I've been trying to get a weather report on the radio. I can't get nothing’ but static on the weather channel. I tried calling for a fix and no one answered me. It’s getting damned strange out here." Jack continued steering into wind with his left hand while his right clutched a thick sandwich.

You know I haven't seen another boat in over an hour, Jack said rotating his head portside and starboard. Bob and Mike nodded their agreement. They had been watching but hadn't seen any other boats in the last half hour either.

"Do you know our coordinates, Jack? Mike asked.

No, my GPS is broken.

Mike pulled his cell phone from his pocket. Bob turned to go to the forward cabin to find Jack’s chart. Misjudging the roll of the boat caused him to slam his leg against the gunwale. Damn it, he muttered. Mike quickly got the coordinates from his GPS app and Bob marked them on the chart.

We’re only about two and half miles due north from Michigan City. Jack said after glancing at the mark on the chart. I’ll keep the wind on my right shoulder and we should hear the fog horn from our port soon.

Jack tossed his half eaten sandwich over the side. He was now keeping both hands on the wheel.

Chapter 2

No fog horn, but I think I hear another engine out there, somewhere, Mike said. Another half hour had passed. The three stood intently listening, finally Bob replied, Yeah, I hear it too.

Mike studied the sound, It’s getting closer, sounds like its moving up in front of us, but I can't make out any lights ahead.

Damn, it’s moving up to us real fast, Jack said, his voice betraying some worry. That engine sounds like it may be coming straight at us. The sound was increasing in intensity at an accelerating rate.

That doesn't sound like a marine engine at all. And it doesn't sound healthy either, Bob said. The unseen engine sputtered, making a coughing sound and then catching again.

Sounds more like an airplane, Mike said.

They all looked up to the dark gray sky above the front of the boat. They could now confirm the sound was definitely coming from that direction.

There it is. It’s....it’s an old Beechcraft Bonanza! Bob shouted.

The plane had literally exploded into view because of the low dark cloud ceiling and the limited visibility. It was a single propeller plane, and it appeared to be flying straight at them. All three men instinctively ducked down and the plane passed a few feet above their boat’s antenna mast with an ear-pounding roar. Before ducking Mike had seen the characteristic V shape of the Bonanza's tail.

The next sound was a metallic boom of an explosion, like striking a huge kettledrum, as the plane crashed into Lake Michigan a hundred meters just aft of the boat's stern. The three men stood up to see the plane momentarily standing on its nose on the water. It had hit the water at a shallow angle and the force of it against the water had tipped the tail section up. For a fleeting fraction of a second they thought it would flip over on its back, but then in slow motion the tail slowly settled back down leaving the plane right side up. As it did so, it also slued around so the port side of the plane faced their stern and they could see shadows of someone in the door window of the plane.

Mike had opened one of the side lockers and was pulling out life jackets.

How many people are on it? Where's rope? Mike was shouting.

Just one guy, he's opening the door now, Bob shouted back.

Rope's in the other locker, Jack said.

Mike kicked off his boat shoes and flung his rain gear aside, pulled on a lifejacket and was digging for rope as he watched the plane. The pilot side door was being forced open and a man was coming out. Amazingly, the pilot was wearing a business suit, and had not even removed its jacket. He had what looked to be a small suitcase or a large brief case in one hand and he jumped into the water holding it.

Jack’s eyes widened, What the hell's he doing with that, trying to float on it?

Mike had tied loop of rope with a bowline knot around his waist and threw the rest of the coil to Bob.

You'll have to belay me, he said to Bob. The plane was still off the stern of the boat. Mike turned to Jack.

Can you swing around? he asked Jack, his voice surprisingly calm.

No, we'd roll around too much, by the time I got control that guy would be gone. I'll back up.

Jack then put the boat into neutral letting the wind and waves push it backward. By letting it slide backward a few seconds and then throwing it into forward for a second, he was able to keep the wind and waves from pushing it back too fast, and avoided hitting the sinking plane.

They watched as the plane started going down rapidly, the man in the water clinging to the brown leather case, seemingly oblivious to the boat crew's presence. Mike judged the time to be right and jumped into the water carrying an extra life jacket.

Mike had only thought he was prepared for the shock that now hit him. The water was numbing cold. Their boat thermometer had indicated a surface water temperature of 71 degrees when they had checked it earlier that morning. The waves generated by the storm had evidently brought up even colder water from the lower depths. He wanted to swim straight to the man, but time all he could see were walls of water all around. When he was raised by a wave he could see the pilot, but when lowered between the crests the other man was obscured by the greenish black waves. Mike struggled to keep his sense of direction and kept swimming on; then, just when he thought the pilot may have gone under, he was suddenly right next to the man.

Here! Here! Grab this, Mike shouted trying to get the man to take the extra life jacket. The pilot tried to climb on top of him while still clinging to the case, so Mike straight-armed him and then shoved the extra life jacket under the case. Holding the man by collar with his right hand, and kicking and stroking one armed, Mike started to swim back to what he guessed was the direction of the boat. He then felt the line tighten and knew that Bob was heaving them in.

Start turning her a little bit to starboard, Bob advised Jack. He was afraid he could possibly drag the two men into the propeller and he wanted to keep them as far from that area as he could. The slight turn to starboard allowed him to pull the two to that side.

When the two men come alongside, Bob secured the rope and hooked the pilot under the arm with a boat hook. This allowed Mike the freedom to pull himself back onto the boat the next time it rolled to starboard and he could reach up and grab the gunwale. Then Mike and Bob together heaved the pilot up and over the side of the boat.

The plane had disappeared below the waves. Jack had turned the boat back into the wind and the boat was again pitching rhythmically. The pilot sprawled in a heap on the deck, coughing and vomiting water. He was shivering violently, and was deathly pale with blue lips. Mike was also shivering.

Were there any others on that plane? Mike asked.

No, no, no, the man said between chattering teeth.

I'm going below and change into dry clothes. We can introduce ourselves later, Mike said. Mike and Bob had slept on the boat Saturday night and had their personal gear on board.

C'mon fella, let's get you into some dry clothes too. You have any in that case? Think they stayed dry? Mike then bent down to help the man up reaching for his arm with one hand and for the case with the other.

No! the man shouted, and pushing Mike away, he jumped up and into the center of the deck keeping the case clutched to his side. He then reached into his sodden suit jacket and pulled out a pistol.

He was nearly surrounded so the suited man kept whirling about in near circle pointing the pistol from one to the other. No, he kept shouting.

Easy fellow, you've had a scare, we won't hurt you, we'll take you ashore, you'll be OK, Bob said in his most soothing voice.

Mike was waiting for the right moment and it came. He waited until the muzzle of the pistol was pointing as far away from each of them as possible when grabbed the gun hand with his own left hand and jerked it straight up into the air at the same time delivering a Karate chop to the man's neck.

A fraction of a second later, Jack punched the belligerent man in the left ear and he sagged limply into Mike's grip. Mike lowered him to the deck his hand griping the gunman's hand so tightly the fingers could not squeeze the trigger. Keeping the pistol pointing away from everyone Mike carefully pried it out of the now limp fingers. He let the man's arm drop limp to the deck.

Jack's blow had been augmented by the unopened can of Coke he had been holding when the man had pulled the gun out. The can was now spouting a brown geyser and Jack held over the side to drain. He would not throw it into the lake.

Mike stood over the limp man and pointing the pistol down at the water he located the magazine release and dropped the magazine into his hand. He then jacked the slide back slowly and let the cartridge drop to the deck as it ejected from the pistol's chamber. The pistol had been ready for use.

What in the hell kind of gun is this? Mike asked with pumped adrenalin. It looked ugly and alien to him not having the familiar lines of any known American brand.

It’s a Makarov, Bob said. These were made in the old Soviet Union for the Red Army and various Eastern bloc nations. Let me look at it." He said as Mike gladly surrendered the odd looking pistol.

I've read about these. Not a very powerful pistol, but deadly enough at this close range. It’s rusty and worn and the ammo's corroded. This guy didn't take very good care of his toy. Let's check him out, Jack hit him pretty hard. Bob turned to assist the unconscious man.

Jack, can you get any radio reception? Mike asked, seeing Jack had returned to the boat’s controls.

It’s very poor, a lot of static. I'm trying to raise the Coast Guard on the radio. We've got to tell them what's happened out here. I don't know if I'm being received, because nothing's coming back to us. All I can get is static and popping.

If they are hearing us, but realize we don't receive them, maybe they'll send someone out to look for us.

Not likely in this weather, if they've followed our transmission they know the plane has sunk and we have on board the only guy we know of being on it. That's no dire emergency, I can't see them sending out a chopper based on these facts, Jack replied.

The man was lying on his back in a puddle with his mouth open and they could hear his ragged breathing over sound of the wind and engine. Bob reached two fingers into the man's mouth to clear his airway and to stop him from choking on his own tongue. The eyes are dilated equally, let's get him below and try to warm him up.

They dragged the man onto the cabin deck and stripped his clothes off and then tumbled him onto one of the bunks. After piling blankets on him, Bob went back to see if he could help Jack in running the boat.

Mike stripped off his own wet clothes and opening his travel bag got out towels and dry garments. As he dressed he heard the man speaking something. He looked down at the blanket shrouded figure and realized the pilot was still unconscious, but mumbling deliriously talking in his sleep. Bending down to get his ear close to the man's mouth, Mike listened.

Bok-lar The man was repeating this two-syllable word Bok-lar.

Gold He repeated this word several times and then went back to Bok-lar.

The dummy shouldn't have pulled that pistol on us; he wouldn't be in this shape if he hadn't panicked like that, Mike thought. He turned away from the delirious man and left the cabin planning to ask Bob to keep working first aid on him.

Returning to the cockpit, Mike noted the wind was unabated but the drizzle was going away. Mike was prepared to keep using his GPS app to direct boat’s course back to port, but the compass had settled down and Jack was starting the turn in the direction he reckoned would take them to Michigan City. The pitching was lessened, but now they could feel a new rolling motion, as Jack had predicted. They still could not receive and didn’t know if they were sending on the radio. The static was heavy, surprising in that there seemed to be very little electrical activity in this weather system. Another mystery of the lake, thought Mike.

Jack worked the radio for some time; finally, he hung up the microphone and asked Mike to check it out. Mike quickly went over the little transceiver, finding nothing wrong, but there was little he could check without test instruments.

Jack kept the boat going at few knots, slow speed for comfort in the rough waters; the waves were now breaking heavily over the bow even though it again hit the waves at an oblique angle. They looked ahead in silence, hearing the shrill whine of the sonar gadget on each roll of the boat. A half-hour later they started to hear a fog horn.

I recognize the sound tone of that one, Jack said. It’s the fog horn at Michigan City. We’ve drifted a little to the east by the sound of it. We only need a slight correction to our course. Using his own mental estimate he did so, but the silence was broken.

I wonder what's in that case? said Jack as they stared out into the waters ahead.

Whatever it is he was damned afraid we'd take it away from him. He was pretty docile until Mike reached for it and then he went bananas, Bob replied. Think I'll take a look inside it and in his pockets. Pockets first though, there's where the key to the case is likely to be. We need to look in on him anyway, that was a nasty clobbering you gave him.

Bob went into the cabin and examined the man. Pulling his eye lids open he noted the condition of the pupils, again, not seeing the evidence of concussion that would cause unequal dilation of the eyes. There was little in his pockets, only a money clip that was surprising in the variety of wet currencies it held. It was a clutch of US dollars, Canadian dollars and a big wad of Euros. A small leather folder held an assortment of credit cards issued to the name Herman Rathman. There were no keys.

Bob went back to examining the man. Only his face and hands were exposed under the thick pile of blankets. He was not shivering as badly as he had been when they had stripped off his clothes. Bob thought about the thermos jugs of hot coffee Jack had brought on board so damn long ago this morning. One was still mostly full and if needed the coffee could be warmed by the little microwave in the cabin cruiser's tiny galley. Hot coffee would go a long way in warming up the injured man. But if there was a concussion present, the stimulant could be harmful. Bob was worried about the man having been out for so long. He continued to look at the man's face.

The eyes Bob had examined were a washed out gray. The mouth remained partially open revealing poorly maintained teeth and cheap looking dental work. The forehead was high. The hairline had receded. The eyebrows were a blondish brown but his remaining hair was turning white. A slightly aquiline nose hovered over a slightly weak chin. A nondescript face that was not memorable unless carefully studied. A face no one could describe a few minutes after parting company. The hands sticking out from under a turn of blanket were long with big knuckles but did not show signs of hard physical labor. Bob suspected the man to be some kind of thug, probably the type that used a club when beating on some helpless victim.

Bob then realized that the cheap looking dental work went with the Makarov pistol. Along the edges of the incisors were stainless steel inlays. He had read in some documentary that the Eastern bloc nations used stainless steel for dental work. He had not thought of the Makarov pistol as that unusual at first, as these had been available for some years in the US collectors' market.

Bob then looked at the man's case. It was large brief case of the type popular decades ago, before everyone took to carrying laptop computers. He noticed it did not take a key to open it. It had combination locks on its two latches, the kind with three numbered wheels on each latch. Each lock could be set to a different combination. These were installed to ensure privacy against the not so serious snooper. A determined snooper would merely pry the case open with a tool. The individual wheels had probably been spun to random settings. He hoped he would not have to ruin the man's case with screwdriver, so he tried the combination 0 - 0 - 0 on each latch but it didn't open. Next he tried 0 - 0 - 1 on each and both latches popped free.

Bob let out a whistle as he quickly scanned the contents of the case. He sorted through the materials inside and pulled out a sheaf of papers. He then turned to go back to where Mike was working on the radio.

Chapter 3

Mike had the radio tuned to the Coast Guard channel and was again trying to raise them. He broadcast several calls and suddenly the radio came alive.

This is the Coast Guard station at Michigan City, Indiana. Continue with your message Lake Robber. The metallic voice was amazingly clear after all the static they had listened to over the past hour.

We are returning to Michigan City now, Mike transmitted. We have to report that a light plane has crashed in to the lake.

Do you need rescue assistance and what is your position? The man on the other end spoke with professional urgency.

Negative on the rescue assistance, there was just one man on that plane and we have him on our boat now. The pilot is slightly injured. We just wanted to report what happened to the plane. It sunk completely.

Do you need a rescue helicopter to take the man to the hospital? Again emergency assistance was being offered.

No he’s resting in our cabin trying to keep dry and warm.

Did you get the identifying number off the plane? the Coast Guard radio operator asked.

Mike gave them the tail number that he had seen on the side of the fuselage when the plane had been tilted up on its nose.

What was your position when you saw the plane crash? This time the voice was scratchy with static.

"Mike recited the coordinates he had taken minutes before the plane crashed.

Lake Robber, What is the name of your marina and what is the number of your slip there Lake Robber? We'll have you met so can give us a complete report, the Coast Guard radio operator told them.

Not necessary to meet us, our slip is at the Coho Club Marina and we are only a few hundred feet from your station. We'll walk over with the pilot.

Roger, Lake Robber, what is your estimated arrival time?

Another 45 minutes or so, but give us time to secure our boat.

Roger, Lake Robber, come to the station without undue delay.

Wilco and out, Mike replied.

Mike turned to see Bob standing before him with the pilot's brief case held out in front of his chest like a peddler's tray, the lid up. You have to look at this. Bob was grinning delightedly. Apparently he was amused by the contents of the case.

They walked over the rolling deck to sit on one of the lockers. Bob had the case on his lap and they both looked at the contents. The rain had ceased altogether, and the wind seemed to have slacked off slightly, but the lake was still roiled and the boat still pitched and rolled. They looked at the contents sliding around in the case.

There were several files in manila folders and several small bundles bound with rubber bands.

Bob picked up one of the small bundles. Look at this. He held up one of the bundles and pulled off its rubber bands. "It’s a complete identity, passport, international driver's license, American Express card, Visa card issued by Barclays' bank in London, and a another Visa card issued by a Frankfort bank.

Both the driver’s license and the passport were issued to a Herman A. Schlicter of Mannheim. That is a picture of our friend from the plane, Mike said pointing at the passport picture.

Bob then opened a second little bundle and spread out the contents. It had the same type of documents but these were issued to a Herman Fettner of Frankfort. The pictures on the driver's license and passport were again of the man from the plane.

Whatever, his name may be, I don't know, but I'm sure he'll always answer to the first name of Herman. The ID he's got in his pockets says his last name is Rathman. You'll notice we have only looked at two of these bundles, he has additional three identities here, all German except for the Dutch one. The one thing they have in common is the first name Herman and the same picture. The last names are all different as are the addresses.

What would you say the redoubtable Herman’s business is? Mike asked. Why would a man need so many identities? Any idea what kinds of scams do you suppose tries to pull?

Bob replaced the rubber bands around the bundles he had unwrapped for Mike to examine. He pulled out one of the manila files. See what you make of this? He handed the file to Mike.

Mike opened the folder, We shouldn't be surprised these papers are written in German. Mike looked through the file paging slowly to examine the sheet he could read very little of. My German is limited, I studied Spanish in college. He paged on recognizing only a few words. It looks like a collection of photocopies mostly, very few original documents, very few have been made on a modern printer. Most of these were typed on old fashioned typewriters. Occasionally, I can make out what looks like a date. Some are from the 1940's, but most are from the 1960’s.

Keep digging, you’ll see more amazing stuff as you go down, Bob said.

The next sheet he turned had a Nazi symbol printed on it, more sheets with Nazi symbols appeared. Nazi government papers it looks like photocopied from yellowed old records.

Yeah, Bob replied. Look at this one," he said handing Mike another file.

This one's all photocopies of hand written letters or documents or something. These are dated and signed with multiple signatures as if someone was witnessing a will or something.

Check out the script on some of those, Bob said.

Is it an archaic writing form? Mike asked.

Yeah, its old style German cursive.

Do you know how long ago it’s been since they wrote like this?"

No, but it’s likely it’s a style taught before World War Two, Bob said. It’s been a long time, and my German is very rusty and I was never really taught this old style cursive, but looking at the type written pages, I can tell you it refers to quantities of gold, and to the German SS. It also looks as if the person who put this file together was trying to find some gold that was lost during the war.

When I was below changing clothes earlier, that dude was talking in his sleep. He kept saying two words over, and over. Mike said. He said 'Bok-Lor', or maybe 'Bac-lar'. The way he said it, it sounded as it were the name of a place, some place he really wanted to go to.

I think you're overly imaginative, Bob said, looking at him with amusement.

Maybe, but he occasionally said 'gold' too.

I am perfectly willing to let our friend go about doing all the treasure hunting he wants, but for the little matter of the fact he pulled a gun on us, and the fact that he's carrying all those multiple personalities around in his brief case. We'll have to march him over to see the Coast Guard, Bob said. Let’s go see if our friend has come out of his stupor yet. We need to get him presentable for the law to see.

They went down to the cabin to find Herman sitting up on the bed scratching his head and apparently trying to get his bearings. Hermann jerked his head around when he heard them enter the cabin. They saw him look over to the galley. There's nothing over there to help you, besides we still have your gun, so don't go looking for the kitchen knives, Mike said.

Chapter 4

Bob had hung up the man's clothes over the tiny galley range with its electric burners left on. The clothes were no longer sodden but merely damp. Bob pulled the clothes down and handed them to Herman. Here, get dressed we'll be ashore soon. And don't try anything, or I'll have Jack hit you with another can of pop.

The man looked at them sullenly and began to pull on his underwear, his eyes were now on the case Bob held in his hand.

Here, I didn't bother to try to pry it open, as you can see, it is still locked. Bob handed the case to the man.

When he had finished pulling on his clothes, Herman checked the contents of his pockets and with his eyes darting back and forth between them he held the case so they could not see him work the combinations. He then opened the case for a quick glance and closed it again. Seemingly, this quick glance had reassured Herman that they had not been in the case.

Why did you shoot my plane down? Herman asked as he glared at them with accusing eyes.

What? Mike said. You're crazy.

Damn you no! I am flying the plane quite well and all the sudden it starts to die on me and crashes and then there is your boat right there, no coincidence you say?

You idiot, you ran out of gas. You should have switched tanks; but you didn't, where did you learn to fly?

Herman looked at them with hooded eyes and then called them a very nasty name in German.

You're dressed now, bring your case and come topside, we'll be docked in thirty minutes, Mike said thinking it would be best if they could watch Herman.

I'll stay here, it is warmer, Herman said.

OK, but stay out of the cutlery. Remember, we still have your pistol. We've notified the Coast Guard, and as soon as we moor the boat, we are going to march you over to talk to them about your crashed plane and that episode with the pistol.

Back in the cockpit, Mike turned to Bob. Damn, is that guy shady or what? I'm sure the Coast Guard finds he's in the country illegally.

I can't wait to get rid of him. I suspect he's some kind of crook out of what they now call the former East Germany, Bob said.

He didn't know much about the plane he was flying. I wonder if it’s stolen?

Maybe he rented it with one of his credit cards.

Chapter 5

The cloud ceiling was lifting and the sky was growing lighter as they came in sight of the smoke stacks rising up above the shore side power plant at Michigan City. Jack steered on a direct heading for their marina. The lake was still a roiling mass of waves with white caps, even though the wind was lying down. The kinetic energy imparted to the lake by the squall would take hours more to dissipate.

They could see Herman huddled down just inside the cabin entranceway. They knew he was in this position to eavesdrop their conversation, and they didn't care. Mike had taken pity on him and found some aspirin for his headache a few minutes after they had left him to sit alone in the cabin.

What is the name of this boat? They heard Herman call up from the cabin.

It's the Lake Robber out of Michigan City. What's it to you? Mike asked.

I just want to know who I am with. He hesitated. And I'm sorry I pulled out my pistol on you, I should have thanked you for rescuing me.

It’s OK, we'll talk about when we get to the Coast Guard station, Mike said.

They could hear static cracking on the radio and a garbled voice, and then were suddenly aware that Jack had cut the throttle on the engine and the boat was without power, barely coasting forward on its momentum.

They've stopped the traffic into the harbor to let a yacht out, Jack informed them.

Mike and Bob stood up to look out over the bow. A large ocean going yacht was slowly threading its way out of the narrow passage into the Michigan City harbor. Apparently, Jack had been monitoring the radio and had heaved-to in order to allow the yacht passage. After a few minutes the waters around them began to be heavily populated with boats waiting out the yacht's passage. Mostly these were cabin cruisers that had been out fishing, but included some sail boats coming in on motor power after being caught out in the storm.

That's the largest vessel that I've seen go into our harbor, Jack told them. Seems they were low on diesel fuel and decided to top off here. She's heading north to the strait and then into Lake Huron from here. He had been listening to the radio traffic with the sound turned low while Mike and Bob had been talking.

All three men were now standing up and Jack turned the radio volume up so they could catch some of the chatter going on about the big yacht. Between bursts of idle chatter they were hailed by name.

Hey there, Lake Robber, is that you over there? This is Lucinda II over here to your west.

Lake Robber here, Lucinda how'd you Chicago boys do out there today? Jack replied, talking to an old friend, the captain of the bright red 21 foot cabin cruiser that bobbed in the water about 100 yards west of them.

No good Lake Robber, we got a late start and then we got caught in the storm. Afraid we're skunked and got some guys here I promised to send home with some good fish.

"How many guys do you have, Lucinda?

Two guys, no fish.

Aw, come on over to my slip after you land, and I'll give them a couple of nice chinook I caught myself. I've got a freezer nearly full at home.

Hey, that's righteous of you Lake Robber, where's your slip these days?

We’ll be at slip 23, Lucinda, in the Coho Club Marina, come on over when you get tied up.

They heard a slamming sound from the cabin and Mike went to look down into it, seeing that Herman had merely closed himself in the tiny head.

The talk subsided both on board the Lake Robber and over the radio as the idled boats' crews and passengers watched the large yacht navigate slowly through the narrow breakwater strait of the Michigan City harbor.

Finally the large vessel was through the channel and out into open water and began to pick up speed. The number of idled small craft was now quite large and there was an additional wait as they lined up to form a queue into the harbor. After an indeterminable wait they began to slowly file into the break water opening. Mike and Bob watched the yacht diminish into the distance while they discussed what was foremost on their minds.

What do you think's the significance of the papers in that case? Mike asked. Herman was still in the head below.

Very few people have ever been rewarded by chasing after lost treasure. Bob began. But Nazi gold and looted art objects have been very much in the news on and off over the past couple of decades.

I've read about the Swiss bank accounts that were held by Jews who perished in the camps, the heirs, and even some survivors had to do legal battles for years to get the funds restored to them, Mike said. "These people had put their money in these secret accounts for safe keeping.

The gold hoards have been discussed as a part of the same injustice. Bob added. The Nazi's seized a great deal of gold from the central banks of conquered countries. They also took great quantities of personal gold from concentration camp detainees, watches, jewelry, and even gold teeth and fillings. They melted this stuff down and re-cast much of it as bouillon with German government markings on it.

I guess you could call that a form of money laundering. If you re-smelt the gold and get it back to bouillon purity, it's pretty homogenous stuff and who's to say you got by foul means. What happened to it after it was re-cast did they sell it? Mike asked.

No, up until about 1973 when President Nixon succeeded in demonetizing gold, the world still operated on a modified gold standard. The gold was money, and the Nazi government traded it for war materials through Switzerland and other neutral countries. There were certain raw materials they simply had to import to keep the war machine going and they used gold to pay for it.

Apparently, the Nazis' didn't spend it all, if Herman is running around trying to locate some. How much ended up accounted for? Mike asked.

Much of it was unaccounted for at the war's end. Although the Allied armies found a huge hoard of gold in an underground mine and smaller caches in several hiding places inside Germany, the amount estimated to have been spent when added together with the recovered amount doesn't add to the total looted from central banks and the amount that was personal gold from detainees may never be known. Suffice it to say there could be several large hoards yet to found.

Mike must have been looking at him with open curiosity, because Bob quickly began speaking again after giving the younger man a glance. I saw a documentary on it on the History Channel, or maybe it was A&E.

I had heard the Nazis were meticulous record keepers. Why the uncertainty about the missing amounts? Mike asked.

They tried to cover their tracks and escape justice and many succeeded. They destroyed records in the last days and tried to hide as much gold as possible for a later revival of Nazism. They tried hiding it in salt mines and in the bottom of mountain lakes, Bob went on, obviously enjoying being able to share this knowledge.

The holocaust survivors tried for years to recover some of the wealth that had been amassed from the personal gold. Some was hidden in 'plain sight' practically. The Allies did not make much of an effort to return this gold to the proper owners. Although it had been re-smelted, and was difficult to distinguish from the central bank gold, some of it was actually identified in the early 1990's as being part of the gold stockpiles stored in the basement vaults of the Federal Reserve Bank of New York.

Whew, now that's a story. You haven't answered my question. What's your take on Herman looking for this gold, do you think he's on to something?

It’s doubtful he’ll find any. I've been reading about treasure hunters for years, the Mel Fishers are very rare, for every one like him there are thousands that find nothing, even after a lifetime of searching.

Yeah, I've seen that presentation on the History Channel about all the people who have been out looking for the Lost Dutchman Mine, Mike replied, proud he could demonstrate to Bob that he too watched something other than sports on TV.

Chapter 6

The northwest wind had died down completely. The lake was still rolling and would

do so for hours yet, but they had just passed inside the breakwater and the water here was comparatively calm, riffled only by the passing boats, and these had to proceed at idle speed as the channel was marked No Wake all along its length in an effort to forestall bank erosion.

It’s about 20 degrees hotter on shore. Mike remarked at the sudden temperature rise that made them aware it was indeed July, after the past few hours on the lake having had the feeling and temperatures of autumn. He suddenly remembered just how cold the lake water had been when he had dived in after the plane's pilot.

Mike was also aware of the smell now thick around them. He remembered bringing an English friend on a fishing trip excursion on Lake Michigan a few years ago. When they had first alighted from their car at the marina, the man had remarked: 'It smells like the sea.' Mike too had always associated the smell around them as the smell of the sea. But later on, on another more distant shore, he had heard a blue water sailor say of the same smell: 'It smells like land.' Mike now associated the smell now in his nostrils with the shore, the place where land and sea or lake meet. The shore had its own unique ecology. It was particularly pungent today after the storm had stirred things up, turning the waters over and dislodging plant life from the bottom along with decaying matter. His senses were also aware of the overlay of freshness to the air the northwest winds of the storm had brought to the coast line. The normal westerly often carried the strong odor of smoke from the steel mills of Gary.

They heard some more slamming in the cabin and Herman came onto the deck to join them. He moved cautiously to one of the lockers and sat on its cushioned lid. He clutched his case with both hands keeping it firmly in his lap. His eyes moved rapidly from Mike to Bob to Jack to the channel banks to the marina ahead of them, and back to the men on the boat. His eyes actually dart! Mike thought.

Traffic was heavy in the channel with many boats still coming in. Some were heading out for some reason although the lake was still too rough for fishing. Once