Invisible: The Jack Riordan Stories, #7

By Patrick Ford

Patrick and Michael (Young Jack) Riordan go on a hiking trip in Europe with their girl friends. They stumble upon a lost cache of WW2 gold and set in motion a chase across Germany, where they uncover a blackmail attempt on the USA by a former Stasi General.

Pursued by a former SS sergeant and his gang of hitmen and crooks, they manage to escape capture more than once.

Finally, they upset the villian's plans to extort the US with a secret electronic device that renders conventional ships and aircraft invisible to all means of electronic surveillance.

Afast paced story of heros and villians.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Patrick Ford
• Release date: Apr 13, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386881179

Patrick Ford

Patrick has had an interesting life – student, soldier, farmer, accountant, teacher. He is widely travelled and loves history. His wide experiences have given him deep well of knowledge from which to draw inspiration for his stories. He writes from his home in rural Queensland and produces what Aussies call “a bloody good yarn”.

Book preview

Prologue

The Tatra Mountains , South of Kraków. Poland 1944

Swirling snow almost obscured the small convoy as it pushed further into the foothills, a Kubelwagen leading a medium size Opel Blitz - a four-wheel-drive truck of the SS. Although the truck carried only four soldiers and a couple of packing cases, it rode low on its suspension as it churned its way along the rough road. Visibility had dropped to barely fifty metres when the two vehicles came to a stop. A stocky officer climbed down from the Kubelwagen and moved to the driver's window of the truck. Wait here, he said, and walked away between two large pine trees towards what looked like a solid wall of rock. He moved left to right along the rock face until he found what he looked for, a cave entrance where two rock faces overlapped. The cave was about twenty metres deep, with a high roof and a dry, sandy floor. He smiled to himself, Gut! Just as I remember.

He went back to the truck and guided the driver into the opening, making sure he drove the vehicle as far forward as he could, its front bumper almost touching the rock wall at the rear of the cave. Then he ordered the occupants to form up behind the vehicle. You have done well, he said. "Der Führer is pleased with you. Now, one more task awaits you. You have sworn a sacred oath to die for him, and now you shall. He raised his Schmeisser machine pistol and cut them down with a long burst. Then he came to attention and raised his right arm. Heil Hitler!" He turned and walked back to the Kubelwagen.

His driver awaited him, busy with some small explosive charges. Between them, they placed them around the mouth of the cave, affixed detonators, and retreated to their vehicle, spooling out cable as they went. Taking shelter behind the Kubelwagen, they fired the explosives. They were only small charges, calculated with care, intended to collapse the cave entrance just enough to seal it. After the rock dust settled, the officer approached to inspect his work. Gut, es ist getan! He turned to his driver, only to find himself staring at the rock steady barrel of a pistol. Gottfried, he said, You knew this was going to happen. You have nothing to fear from me.

The young Scharführer smiled. He inclined his head towards the cave entrance, where some loose rock still dribbled down the slope. "That is what they thought too, Standartenführer," he said, and shot the officer in the forehead. He picked up the body and heaved it into the Kubelwagen; he would find a convenient place to dump it later. Then, he took a last long look at the rock wall and the trees to fix them in his mind and drove away.

Inside the cave, it was pitch black, like a coal mine, but light would have shown the last traces of smoke from the explosion, four crumpled forms in Waffen-SS uniform, and the two packing cases on the bed of the truck, made of heavy timber, reinforced with iron bands; stencilled on their top surfaces were the words:

Bank Emisyjny w Polsce

1. A Walk in the Woods

'B allinrobe', Goondiwindi , Qld, Australia, June 1996

Jack Riordan, approaching his fiftieth birthday, was a fortunate man. His youngest child, Michael, known to all as 'Young Jack' had finished his schooling, and, now aged seventeen, worked alongside his father and older brother Patrick running the farming aggregation his great-grandfather began in 1936. Now, in the sixtieth year of operation, the original property, 'Ballinrobe', the family headquarters, was one of three farms. Jack and his wife Susan purchased another, 'Emu Ridge', in 1974, a decision that, by dint of fortuitous timing and good planning, had resulted in the family becoming wealthy and secure. Just recently, they had purchased a property south of 'Emu Ridge'. It bore the name 'Sweet Water', appropriately enough, for it had a long frontage to the McIntyre River and irrigation licences sufficient to water a thousand acres. Here they would grow cotton. While Jack and his sons learned this new trade, an experienced irrigation hand would handle the day-to-day operations, for cotton is a capital-intensive, high-cost, high-risk crop. However, with risk comes reward, and the potential rewards are great.

Jack could see that the world of agriculture was transforming. By now, his role as overall manager had changed, for his son Patrick directed most of the field operations. Susan still ran the office. However, the markets for food and fibre were changing by the day. He needed someone to handle the new tasks associated with marketing and financial planning. For that, he had targeted Young Jack. Next year he would enter university and begin his studies in the economics of agriculture, business management and commodity trading, for Jack could see they needed better control of the supply chain, from the farm right to the consumer plate if necessary. When the boy came home, he would release the reins. Susan and he would begin the next stage of their lives.

For now, with the winter crops of wheat and chickpea planted, Patrick and his partner, Mektilde, would accompany Young Jack on a three-month tour of Europe, backpacking and enjoying long hikes through the forests of Germany, Poland, and the Czech and Slovak Republics.

JACK AND SUSAN, CONCERNED at first, came to accept the mating habits of the younger generation. Marriage was still a popular option, but many couples preferred to live together 'in sin,' as Jack's grandmother would have said. Mektilde was a German girl Patrick met in Berlin six years ago, when he and Jack spent a few dangerous weeks looking for evidence to set free an old German friend accused of war crimes. There, a group of old Nazis tried to have them stopped, killed if necessary.

Later, Mektilde came to Australia with a friend for a working holiday and her relationship with Patrick blossomed. Now they lived together in a workman's cottage he had renovated, and they seemed more than happy. It disappointed Susan there would be no marriage yet, but she took solace in the probability her two daughters would marry in time. Jacqui, a well-known paediatrician, was a partner in a medical practice in Brisbane, and Genevieve, a veterinarian, had a flourishing business here in the town. Susan hoped they would find the right man; she had a yen for grandchildren.

Paris, Berlin, and Warsaw, June 1996

Their father's cousin, Vivienne, met them at Charles de Gaulle on a sunny and warm Paris day. They had flown from the frosty winter at 'Ballinrobe' via Singapore, and both were glad to be having two summers this year, for both preferred the warmer seasons. Vivienne was in high spirits; the last time they had visited, it involved the Riordans in the dangerous search for evidence to help their old German friend. Now they had nothing to do but enjoy themselves. Patrick had been here several times, but Young Jack only once, as a twelve-year-old. Paris, as usual, offered an abundance of diversions for three young people, so there was plenty to do. For a week, they enjoyed the city; they would have liked to have seen more of France, but they had a schedule to meet. The three of them flew off to Berlin to join their friends.

Patrick had a surprise waiting for his brother. Mektilde's friend Angelika had accompanied her to Australia on that first working holiday, six years ago. Young Jack, then twelve years old, was smitten, his first teenage crush. Patrick had arranged for her to go walking with them, and to bring her two sisters with her. Elsbeth and Gerda were seventeen and fifteen respectively, and carbon copies of their handsome sister. The three girls waited for them as they cleared the terminal. Angelika greeted Patrick and Mektilde with joyful hugs and kisses before she came to young Jack. She gave him a gentle hug and a kiss on his cheek. Look at you! she exclaimed. "All grown up and looking like your father, but perhaps a little more großmütig! Elsbeth, Gerda, did I not tell you what a schöner Junge he is? Komme - meet him!"

Young Jack had no idea what she said to the girls, but they came to him and hugged him, smiling. "Willkommen, Gerda said, We have heard all about you. Elsbeth chimed in, We will look after you. I am sure we will have a pleasant time." Young Jack thought for a moment he had died and gone to heaven.

Angelika led them to a Volkswagen eight-seater minibus she had hired. It has plenty of room for us all, she explained, and the rental is cheap shared between us. Young Jack looked forward to driving in Europe, especially on the unlimited autobahns, but for the moment, he was content for Angelika to take the wheel. Berlin's traffic looked a little daunting. I propose we take a tour of the city, Angelika continued, and we should stop and have lunch in some trendy place, just for fun. Michael is a stranger here, so it will all be new to him. She turned to him. Shall we call you Michael, or Jack? It is so confusing when you have two names.

Better Michael, he said. In almost every generation of his family there was a man called Jack, some named so, others wearing the label as a family tradition. Let's keep it simple.

Ok, so you should know those two delicate maidens sitting with you are 'Gerda' and 'Beth'.

No,' he replied, Elsbeth is too pretty a name for that. I shall call her by her proper name if that is no trouble. He turned to Elsbeth, the older of the two. With your permission, of course."

Elsbeth gave him a smile that would have stopped a rhinoceros in full charge and replied, "Mein schöner Junge, können Sie rufen Sie mich an alles, was Sie sich wünschen. (My beautiful boy, you may call me anything you desire). Michael did not understand a word, and the four girls laughed. Gerda said, She says it is ok, and the same for me."

All six spent a week in Berlin, sightseeing and lapping up the nightlife. They slept in Angelika's apartment that she shared with her sisters. It had only two bedrooms, so the brothers found themselves on the floor on cushions and in their sleeping bags. On the last day in Berlin, Angelika took them to some of the richer suburbs. The suburb of Prenzlauer Berg impressed Michael. This area suffered minimal damage during the Soviet invasion of 1945, and many original buildings remained, giving a glimpse into the past. Michael, like many of his family, had an abiding interest in history, and he learned much of German history from Mektilde. So, this area was of special relevance. Jack, his father, was interested in military history too, and had been a senior army officer, albeit a part-time one, with service in Vietnam.

Michael's ambition to drive in Europe remained thwarted for the time being, for they passed on the long drive into Poland. Instead, they opted for the train. Europe has some of the best trains in the world, fast and comfortable, and so it was that they boarded a gleaming express at the Hauptbahnhof on the following morning. From Berlin, Warsaw is less than six hours by rail. By mid-afternoon, they were in the city. The Hostel Witt, near the central station, booked earlier by Angelika, provided a clean bed and a central position for their exploration of the city. Warsaw surprised them all. None had been here, but they knew the tragic history of the German conquest, the Jewish ghetto, the uprising, and the Russian invasion. They expected to see a ruined city. Instead, barely seven years since the fall of the Berlin wall and the end of communist rule, they found a vibrant place. Most of the ruined buildings, restored after the war, impressed them all, but now the fresh air of freedom prevailed. Patrick remembered the bland and ugly buildings of the former East Germany where Mektilde once lived. Warsaw was not like that, at least in the central city. They set out to enjoy themselves.

Unknown to them all, their minibus passed an ornate apartment that day in Prenzlauer Berg. The building dated from the late 19th century and, inside, a luxury apartment occupied the whole of each of the eight levels. Three levels from the street that morning, a well-dressed and groomed man of about seventy years sat on a leather sofa, finishing his morning coffee. The apartment exuded money, genuine period furniture, ornate walls and ceilings, expensive kitchen appliances and a black Mercedes saloon in the basement garage; this was the home of someone rich and distinguished.

Not visible to casual visitors, of whom there were few, was the door to a wall safe, concealed behind a panel in a bookcase. Inside the safe lay a multitude of papers, several hundred thousand US Dollars and Swiss Francs, a signed copy of 'Mein Kampf', and a Walther automatic pistol, its grips engraved with the double lightning bolts of the SS. The young Scharführer had come a long way from that winter day in the mountains south of Kraków.

The Tatras, Poland and Slovakia, June 1996

Once more, they took the train, first to Krakow and then to the small town of Zakopane. There, they stayed a couple of days, preparing for their expedition. They hired tents and walking poles, boots, and maps, and purchased rations for their adventure. On the third morning, they set off, hoping to reach the Slovak border at Lysa Polana. This they did, camping for the night. Despite midsummer, the nights are chilly in this high country. Michael felt a pang of jealousy for Patrick and the girls. They had someone to cuddle up with; he had a tent all to himself!

In the morning, they made the border crossing into Slovakia without difficulty. Slovakia was new to nationhood, having separated from the Czech Republic only three years before and welcomed tourists to its new free market economy. Now their trek began. The scenery here is beautiful, with many mountain peaks, streams, alpine meadows, and lakes. Wildlife abounds, and they had received brochures about the brown bears they might encounter on their journey. Patrick and Michael were interested in them, but the girls hoped they would see none of them - they could be dangerous. It was a good workout for them all. Angelika and her sisters were fit, involved in many sports, and conscious of the need to exercise and eat correctly. Patrick and Michael remained fit from their farm work and the rugby they played, but all were glad at the end of each day when they reached the communal huts. These were crowded, and sometimes they resorted to their tents, but they met an amazing cross section of young people from other countries. Each night they ate, drank, and talked, and sang around a bright campfire.

Their trail led them on a loop through the mountains back to their starting point, so that by the fifth afternoon they were less than a day's march from the border crossing at Lysa Polana. Michael had grown closer to Elsbeth on their march, and he sensed it attracted her to him. However, he had learned from his parents that the rewards provided by a good marriage to a loving and supportive partner are beyond pearls. He did not want to get into a casual fling, although Elsbeth was attractive, intelligent, and showed obvious interest in him. Like Patrick, he wanted to be sure, and he had three years of study before him. The last thing he needed now was a wife or any other permanent relationship.

They stopped to rest and eat some lunch this day, and Michael and Elsbeth strolled into the forest to have some private conversation. But about fifty metres into the trees, he noticed something. Look, he said, I swear that looks as though it was once a roadway, like a bush track or something. 

Elsbeth said, "It may have been. The rangers constructed the trails on parts of some of the old disused roads. There would have been many such tracks here during the war. Partisans hid out here in the mountains and I'll bet the Nazis came looking." Michael found it odd that she used the name 'Nazis', but he was to learn many of the younger Germans used it to refer to the wartime era; it somehow separated them from the terrible acts of their forebears. He bent to examine the ground again. It must have been a large vehicle, he said. These ruts are deep, although they must be quite old. They tried to follow them, but they were vague and filled with fifty years of autumn leaves and pine needles. Then Elsbeth picked them up again, where they passed between two large pines.

Look, she cried, they seem to end hard up against the rock face there! That puzzled Michael. Both ran to the rocks. How could they end like that? Then Elsbeth supplied the answer. She moved along the face and saw the overlapping rocks and the jumble of debris that filled the gap between them. I think we should get the others, she said.

They all stood around the rock pile, discussing their find. Patrick examined the rocks. Somehow, they looked different to the rest of the wall, as if disturbed recently. He reached out and tried to move one, surprised that it moved easily. He laid it aside and tried another. Look here, he said, I think we can make a hole in this and see what is behind it. Between them, they moved enough rocks to make a hole big enough to crawl into the space. Patrick bent to the hole and used his flashlight to illuminate what was inside. The first thing he saw was the bulk of the truck and the identification plate bearing the SS runes. There's an old truck in there, he said, let's make this hole bigger. Twenty minutes later, Michael squeezed through the hole with his torch. The cavity had an old musty smell. He had smelled dead and mummified sheep at home from time to time; this was similar. He cast his torch beam about him, at the truck and the packing cases,