Alaska Gold

By Walt Branam

Tom Wolfe, a recently retired, highly decorated Army Ranger, learns of the treasure at his granduncles birthday party. His uncle assures him the gold is just waiting to be taken, but warns taking it can be deadly. Wolfe collects an odd assortment of men and women to find the treasure. The problem is the treasure hunters are constantly at odds with each other and also antagonize everyone else, including a ruthless gang of thugs who decide to steal the lost gold from the treasure hunters. They follow Wolfe, and his team, deep into the Alaskan backcountry; spelunking through volcanic lava tubes, battling an enormous, killer bear and dodging federal agents also trying to recover the gold. Just as Wolfe finds the gold a secretive, malicious billionaire sends in a team of professional killers to steal the treasure for himself. What began as a fun, summer adventure becomes a frantic battle for their lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Abbott Press
• Release date: Apr 9, 2014
• ISBN: 9781458215000

Walt Branam

Walt Branam has worked in aerospace and served in combat as a commissioned officer in the United States Army. He has led researchers on wilderness expeditions to locate and photograph dangerous and rare animals. Branam was the leader of a special government task force to bring high tech, white collar criminals to justice. He now writes full time from his home in California.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Uncle Bob

Uncle Bob was at least four large glasses of scotch over the Inebriated Falls and down the Euphoric River, but the old man still had the energy of a teenager, which was saying something since his wife’s granduncle was celebrating his ninety-fourth birthday tonight. Uncle Bob was no longer the tall, athletic heartbreaker he had been in the Second World War as a B-17, Flying Fortress, pilot with thirty-six successful (never shot down) bombing runs over Europe. Nor was he the more mature, but still handsome Boeing 747 TWA pilot, flying the LA-to-Hong Kong-and-return circuit, until his retirement in 1985. But he still had his charming sense of humor, a sparkle in his eye, and he could really spin a story, thought Tom Wolfe.

The birthday party had run its course, and only four members of the family remained.

They could hear Uncle Bob’s wife—Aunt Ruby— doing some light clean up in the kitchen. The maid service would not arrive until Monday for the real clean up. The party’s after-mess was spread throughout the ten-thousand-square-foot custom home in the center of a private island in Puget Sound, Washington. It was difficult getting maid service to come to the secluded island on off days, so they would need to make it livable for now.

Terry and Tom Wolfe were sitting in the huge great room with Uncle Bob, watching the logs burn in the fireplace and listening to the old man tell stories of when America was great and protected by a nation dominated by strong-willed heroes. Uncle Bob was from the generation of men and women who smoked and drank to excess, by today’s standards. They were men who didn’t wear seatbelts, even when piloting their aircraft … men who had never conceived of being politically correct. Uncle Bob’s generation spoke their minds to your face when they did not approve of you, and if you didn’t like their opinion, they were ready to defend themselves physically if necessary to back up their words. Their generation didn’t go to war willingly, but when they did they fought with full force to win an unconditional victory—not to gain a better position at a negotiation table. Uncle Bob’s generation had defeated the Nazis, dropped an atomic bomb with intent to kill, and had made America safe and prosperous for the next generation. Tom Wolfe regarded Terry’s granduncle as indisputably one of the heroes from that generation.

Uncle Bob was normally a private man who rarely talked about his youth, but as the night became older, he became more loquacious. At first, he talked about the comrades he had served with, those no longer living. He told interesting antidotes and funny stories in context to the fighting in Europe. From his point of view, the others were always the heroes—the men who won the battles.

You always talk about your crew, how brave they were, and how they made the missions successful. I suspect you had something to do with those successful missions too, Wolfe said.

I was just a bus driver, Uncle Bob replied.

You’re just being modest, Wolfe said.

Terry apparently felt more obligated to help Aunt Ruby than to listen to more of the stories, or maybe she had heard them too many times before. In any event, she excused herself, telling the men she was going to help her aunt clean up in the kitchen.

Uncle Bob became quiet. Both men sat silently, watching and listening to the flames dancing in the large rock fireplace.

The moment stretched into awkwardness before Uncle Bob broke the silence. Well, I made you suffer enough listening to my stories. I’m just an old man living in the past. You’re a young man with everything still in front of you.

Not at all. I’d love to hear more. You made history.

That’s the point! I’m history. You’re the future! Uncle Bob was almost shouting.

We wouldn’t have a future without men like you, Wolfe said.

Uncle Bob laughed. You’ve served your country just like me. You did your part for twenty years. I only served for four and a half years.

I didn’t do that much.

"How about that trip you made to that shithole to tame the Taliban and catch that evil bastard Satan Insane a few years back?"

When I served, the whole world wasn’t on the table for grabs like World War II.

You’re wrong! The world is up for grabs! That’s what’s wrong today. People have become lazy and soft because they have it too easy. They don’t think!

What do you mean? Wolfe asked.

Young people today won’t face the truth that we are fighting for our survival. Everyone just thinks of what they want now—not the consequences for tomorrow. Our politically correct leaders are selfish, weak, and watered down to the lowest common intelligence denominator. They’re selfish bastards who only think of themselves. They enter public office to become rich and powerful—not to do what’s right for the nation. That’s why we’re on the edge of losing it all!

He grunted softly then fell silent again. After a few more minutes of staring into the flames, he continued. When you retired from the army, you only got that tiny pension, right? You and Terry don’t have any other income, and you aren’t working right now, are you? Can’t find a job, right?

It’s okay. I’ll find something.

Why didn’t you stay for the full thirty years? You could’ve gotten a larger pension.

I’m not good with politics.

Politics? You were an NCO. What politics?

The current administration is cutting the military.

With your record, you could have stayed anyway.

My record, yes … But my attitude, no.

What do you mean?

Over and over, I watched Taliban kill our men then run to ground inside of mosques and houses to escape, because they knew those were no-fire zones. They’d dump their weapons and pretend to be civilians. I saw men court-martialed for killing Taliban once they entered a building. We knew who they were and where to find them, but weren’t allowed to kill them.

If we’d done that with the Nazis, they’d still be here today—maybe ruling the world, Uncle Bob said.

It’s the politicians … holding us back … just like Vietnam. I didn’t want to be part of it any longer, so I got out.

Uncle Bob appeared to be studying the flames for a few more minutes. As you know, I don’t have any children, and Terry was always my favorite. I unofficially adopted her after her mother and father, my nephew and his wife, died in that terrible incident.

Wolfe sighed. Yeah, Terry has never really let that go, her parents being murdered by home invasion punks. She was so young … six years old. She only lived because they didn’t know she was in the house … she hid.

Yeah, her worthless older brother and sister weren’t home at the time.

Lucky for them, Wolfe said.

I guess … Terry seeing her parents murdered, at such a young age, explains why she’s a self-defense nut, said Uncle Bob.

Yeah, martial arts and shooting are her obsessions. When I was overseas, she’d spend all her free time training at a dojo or at a gun range. She’s a better shot than me with a pistol … probably kick my butt in a fight too. Wolfe was smiling.

I doubt that. My guess is you’re deadly with any kind of weapon … or no weapon at all. You have the body of a professional athlete. You’ve been in real combat—face-to-face with bad guys. You’re up for the Distinguished Service Cross — second only to the Congressional Medal of Honor.

The DSC isn’t official. It’s still pending.

What about the Silver Stars?

Just doing the job they sent me to do—trying to keep my men safe.

Now who’s being modest? Uncle Bob smiled. Anyway, Terry came out okay despite that tragedy with her parents. She’s got a good head on her shoulders and seems to really care about other people. She picked you, and looks like you guys are making it work. Not like her sister, going through men faster than I change my underwear, which is quite often lately. Uncle Bob giggled.

Terry and I love each other very much.

That’s what I wanted to know. Terry’s the only relative I give a rat’s ass about.

Well, you have your wife.

Ruby doesn’t give a damn about my past or how we got to where we are today. All she knows is how to open charge accounts and spend my money.

Wolfe smiled. You know that’s not true. You two have been married how long? Forty-five or fifty years?

Closer to sixty-five years. I’d divorce her in a second and get a cute little live-in maid to take care of me, but Ruby would clean me out in alimony, so I’m stuck. She only wants my money. You can see that. The moment I begin talking she leaves the room. Shopping and soaps—that’s all she cares about.

Uncle Bob was smiling and waving his arms around as he talked. He crawled out of the dark leather sofa and walked over to the bar. You want another drink? Might as well. I’m going to get shitfaced myself tonight. Hell, it’s my birthday! I’m supposed to get shitfaced! He dropped three ice cubes into his large glass and refilled it with scotch.

Yes, I’ll have another. This is good scotch.

It better be! I fucking get it directly from Scotland! Pay through my ass for it too! They love to take advantage of stupid Americans like me. But what am I gonna do, take it with me when I die? He laughed.

What does Ruby think of you spending so much money on booze?

I’ll give you some advice about women. Don’t let them spend all your money or boss you around because once they start, they don’t know when to stop. They’ll push it to the limit and beyond. You’ll be broke and henpecked to death. They’ll cut your balls off and buy the scissors to do it with your own money. That wife of mine drives me crazy. Always telling me to do this or that and asking for more money or running up her charge cards. I didn’t learn about women until it was too late. But it ain’t too late for you.

I doubt you’re henpecked.

Listen to me. There’s a reason men were the master of the house in the old days. It made sense. Men are the hunter-killers. Women are the breeder-feeders. It’s hardwired into our genetics—the way it should be. He stopped talking, looked deep into Tom Wolfe’s eyes, chuckled, and then shook his head. I talk too much.

Uncle Bob remained still for several more seconds, again watching the flames. He became thoughtful. Finally, he made a decision. He said, Come with me. I want to show you something. I trust you. You’ve got that settled, solid feel about you. The same manner the old pilots had. The ones who made it back from the difficult missions—men you could trust. So I’m gonna trust you with something.

What?

I want to help you and Terry. Come on … follow me. He walked steadily—like a much younger man—down the long, oversized, slate-tiled hallway to the rear of the house. The lights automatically came on as he entered each room or area in the house. I put motion detectors in the whole house. They’re hooked to the lights. They’re also connected to the alarm system. They watch the house for me. Had one of those computer geniuses set it all up. Of course, he never saw what I’m about to show you. I had a different genius set this up then did the final work myself, so I’m the only one who knows it all, he said with a chuckle.

Uncle Bob stopped in front of what appeared to be a cement block wall. That wasn’t unusual. The entire house was constructed of either stones or cement blocks. What happened next was unusual. He spoke four words in a loud, clear voice.

Crackus, Mutaneus, Your Anus.

Uncle Bob was bobbing up and down on his toes—almost laughing as he spoke. Works on my voice print only. Nobody else in the world can open it—even if they know the words. The wall slid open to the left, leaving an archway large enough for a golf cart to drive through. A large room was revealed with a solid cement floor, walls, and ceiling, but no windows or other doors.

Come on. Let’s go in, he said with another giggle.

The room lit up as they entered. Wolfe stared in dumbfounded silence. The only furniture in the room was a sturdy wooden table and two heavy-duty, steel storage racks filled with stacks of gold bars. Wolfe quickly estimated there were maybe one hundred gold bars on the shelves. Each bar measured approximately eight inches by three inches by one and a half inches.

Uncle Bob stood quietly and allowed his guest to digest the contents of the room. What do you think? he asked.

My God! Is it real? Where’d it come from?

Oh yes, it’s real, 99 percent pure, and where it came from, my boy, is what I’m about to tell you. But what may be even more important to you is there’s more where this came from—a lot more. More than you could carry in your lifetime, and it’s just sitting there waiting for you.

Uncle Bob selected a gold bar from the nearest shelf and carefully placed it on the table in the center of the room. He stepped back and said, Pick it up!

Wolfe lifted the bar. It was heavy. The metal looked soft yet hard. The bar almost glowed, reflecting the overhead lights. Why are you showing this to me?

I told you—to help you and Terry. I know you won’t ask for help. I know you are broke, and I want to help before it’s too late. I won’t live forever, you know.

The contents of the small room glimmered, silently emanating power and promise.

Are you saying you’re going to give this to us?

Hell no! Giving it to you would ruin your lives—it wouldn’t be good. I’m donating this all to charity.

I don’t understand.

I’m going to tell you how to get your own. Just giving it to you will make you weak and dependent. Getting it yourself will make you strong.

There’s more?

This is maybe 10 percent of the total gold remaining. I got old and worn out, so I stopped going years ago, but it’s still sitting there, waiting for someone like you. All you have to do is to be smart. If you ain’t, somebody will kill you for it—or the government will steal it.

CHAPTER 2

The Drive Home

They were halfway through an eighteen-hour motor journey south, through a storm that sometimes dropped rain, sometimes hail, and sometimes blinding snow. As they fought the weather through Washington, Oregon, and into Northern California, they had time to discuss what Uncle Bob had revealed to Tom Wolfe the night before.

Terry Wolfe sat quietly through her husband’s pitch. She allowed herself to be charmed by his boyish smile and his shiny, dark blue eyes that sparkled with enthusiasm. She reached over to brush back a thick, black curl that had casually fallen across his forehead. She was glad he’d allowed his hair to grow out since retiring from the army. It looked so much better than the standard issue crew cut he’d sported during twenty years of active duty.

He’s sexy as hell, but still just a little boy looking for adventure.

Unable to remain quiet any longer, Terry interrupted her husband. Sure! Do you really believe there’s a billion dollars in gold that’s been sitting on the side of a mountain in Alaska for over sixty years and nobody’s found it? Uncle Bob makes stuff up. He exaggerates! For bedtime stories, after my parents died, he would tell me that aliens were invading earth and that soon we’d all be their slaves. I’d be so scared that I couldn’t sleep. Aunt Ruth finally forbid him from telling me any more stories, even during the day. He’s full of shit! Don’t believe him.

I saw the gold.

We don’t need this, she said. To you this is just another great adventure. Your way of having fun. You’ve become an adrenaline junky from all that fighting in the army. You’re still looking for an adrenaline rush.

That’s not true.

She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. You need to find a real job, or we’ll lose our Tahoe house. Your army pension and the money I make in my CPA practice aren’t enough.

The gold will solve our problems … make us independent—

There’s no gold, Terry flatly stated.

Then how do you explain the gold bars and his secret room? Wolfe asked.

Uncle Bob always had secret rooms in all his houses. It’s who he is. He’d take me in there to show off his treasures. He just likes to make believe, imagine things, and create excitement—magic. When I was a girl, his treasures were collectibles: model cars, dolls, old pistols, and a few old coins. So now he’s collecting phony gold bars.

I know we need the money. I know we could lose our home at Tahoe if we don’t get more income. But I think this is our answer, Wolfe said.

No, getting a civilian job is the answer. You need to settle down. Looking for treasure is a waste of time.

Not if you find the treasure.

You’re assuming the gold is real. Most likely, they are lead bars painted gold.

Look in my black bag on the back seat.

Ahgg! I give up! Terry gave him a look that said, I don’t believe I’m married to this guy. But she reached around to lift the black canvas gym bag into the front seat. It wouldn’t move. She glanced at him again, frustrated at his games. What’s in it? A lead bar?

Just open it and see.

With a grunt, she dragged the bag into her lap and pulled the zipper open. The gold bar sat there, quietly demanding her attention. She pulled a nail file from her purse and scratched below the surface. The metal was soft and still gold. She dug deeper—still gold.

Wolfe was smiling. It’s real. He says there’s a lot more where that came from, and all you have to do is go get it.

Where?

In Alaska, where it has been for over sixty years.

Where in Alaska?

He gave me a map.

It’s illegal, or at least we’ll be taxed into poverty.

We’re already in poverty. We’re going to lose the cabin if we don’t find some way to pay the mortgage.

"How about the