Ghosts of the Past (32 page)

“Ready,” Ferguson and Courtney replied in unison.

They headed up a small, stony path that widened quickly into a panoramic view of a multitude of contiguous sharp peaks. At the crest of the path, the magnificent view of Voralpsee Lake opened up below.

“Wow. This is gorgeous,” Ferguson exclaimed.

“That it is,” added Rolf Batemann. “Actually there’s very little activity on the lake, no commercial entities. Quite a bit of fishing, rock climbing on the cliffs, some water sports if you’re up to it, but that’s it.”

They wandered down the slope closer to the water’s edge.

“There are a number of entrances into the lake area, but the way we came in is the easiest,” Rolf continued. He pointed back to the path and then to a small ramp and elevated boat dock about 50 meters down the shoreline. “You can’t miss the entrance to the path, because it’s just this side of that small dock. There’s also a drivable entrance where you can offload a boat. It’s just around the rocks where we parked the cars.”

Ferguson looked north down the lake past the dock and surveyed the images on the lake’s horizon. One sharp triangular peak after another, small ravines and narrow valleys squeezed between them. His eyes systematically worked their way around the shoreline to the west, then south. As he turned around over his left shoulder to face the eastern slope, he froze and nearly lost his balance. In front of him, was a large cliff that looked as if nearly rose out of the water. He stared at the curvature of the jagged face comprised of a mixture of rock and native grasses. The two inverted triangular gaps along the top ridge gave it the unmistakable image of a ‘W’.

“The locals like to climb there. They call it the ‘Wall’,” said Rudi.

His father and Courtney noticed Ferguson’s trance.

“Local folklore says there are things hidden behind those walls,” said the elder Batemann.

“There don’t appear to be any doors.” Courtney laughed as she walked up to Ferguson and put her arm around his waist.

The display of affection was not lost on the Batemann’s.

“Well Dad, I think the fish are waiting for us at the Wildhusur.”

The
Wilhusur
Thur
was a large stream west of Wildhaus that provided the locals and tourists an excellent trout fishing experience. It had been a favorite of the Batemann’s for years.

“I’m ready when you are.” Rudi Batemann waved at Ferguson and Courtney. “We’ll see you two back in Wildhaus. Please call us if you need anything else. We’ll check back with you in a couple of days if we don’t hear from you sooner.”

“Thanks,” replied Courtney. Ferguson had hardly heard a word as he continued to be mesmerized by the ‘Wall’.

The sun was rising over the peaks by the time the Batemann’s were half way back to town, and Ferguson and Courtney had negotiated the relatively flat ground that wound around the eastern edge of the lake where they had started, to the southeastern edge and the enclave that was the start of the ‘Wall’. The uneven bank between the base of the cliffs and the water was restricted to only a few meters in some spots, with the widest no more than ten meters.

The face stretched approximately 100 meters in length with about a fifteen-degree angle right in the middle. The height was more or less even across the top, except for the two natural indentions, and was roughly 75 meters at the tallest point.

Ferguson stood in front of what appeared to be the center point, at the apex of the angle. He stared at the wall, then turned around to face the lake and recreated a mental image of a plane touching down on the water in front of him. He imagined the landing path in his mind. A twin engine Junkers aircraft, just the way Max had described it, boring in straight at him. Why hadn’t he listened more closely to his Uncle, instead of dismissing his recollections and conversations as delirium.

Courtney stood off to the side watching him. She knew not to say a word. He was obviously studying and composing something mentally, and she was not about to disturb him until he was ready.

He turned back and forth, alternating staring at the cliffs and then back at the water. He closed his eyes briefly, and opened them again as he held his hands at arms length in front of his face. Placing both index fingers and thumbs together he created a frame, and through the opening a focal box. He directed it out on the lake and then slowly walked back and forth along the bank.

“It came in here. It had to. But in order to miss that little finger of land that sticks out,” he pointed to a small grass and rocky stub of land down the left side of the lake from where they stood, “it would have to stay on this line and come in here.” He turned and pointed at the left side of the cliffs.

“So you’re saying that according to your Uncle, somewhere behind these cliffs is a plane loaded down with millions of dollars worth of art. It went straight into the wall.” Courtney finally interrupted his train of thought.

“According to what I can remember him talking about, now that I know he wasn’t crazy, and considering the letter with the drawings and descriptions, this is it. If it’s still here, it’s in there.” Ferguson nodded at the cragged edifice.

“Like I said before, I’m not seeing a door anywhere. Where the hell could it have entered?”

“It has to be in one of the spots where the grass is. Either that, or where there’s loose rock.”

There were a number of spots along the face that had some sort of grass or ground cover, and they both instinctively advanced on the cliff face picking out the areas within reach that were covered with anything but stone. Neither had any idea what they were looking for, but they spent the next half hour unsuccessfully clawing and digging with bare hands at any spot that had a semblance of green to it.

Ferguson was the first to stop and realize that the opening that was made had to be large enough to accept the fuselage of an airplane. Certainly a hole that size could have closed up over the years, but it seemed prudent to look for the biggest spots and start with those and work down.

He explained his theory to Courtney and they divvied up the remaining terrain. One futile hour later they sat down and rested. Courtney walked down to the water’s edge and washed the dirt and mud off her hands. She stood and shook her hands in a feeble effort to dry them. She glanced at the right end of the wall, closer to the point where the cliffs tapered off slightly and blended seamlessly into a mountainside that retreated from the lake.

Still staring ahead, she theorized aloud. “What if they crashed into the cliff because they didn’t have enough room to come to a stop?” She looked out onto the lake and the narrow, little bulge of rocky ground 25 meters in front of her. “Or they hit something, like a finger of land that stuck out into the lake and caromed into the wall?”

Ferguson heard her and watched as she began walking to the other side of the cliff where her eyes were fixed on a large vertical seam of grass that stood out dramatically toward the end of the face. He hopped up and began trotting over to her as they reached the spot together.

“It sure looks big enough,” said Courtney.

Ferguson had picked up a sizable branch that was lying nearby and was busily breaking off the smaller branches under his foot. He fashioned a single, sturdy stick much more capable of digging than their hands. He ascended the slight incline of rocky soil in front of the base and attacked the area with vengeance. He quickly tired after ten minutes of producing nothing but a large hole about a half-meter deep. Courtney took up the fight and deepened the whole slightly, but also tired, gave in, and sat down next to Ferguson.

It was getting close to noon, and it was increasingly self evident that they were both growing discouraged. Ferguson had suggested they head back to town, get some lunch, and find a hardware store where they could purchase a pick and shovel and return and continue their excavation. They rose and he rammed the stick into the center of their dig in frustration. It hit the dirt with a clang.

They looked at each other, then lunged forward and started to dig deeper around the protruding stick with their hands. It took only a matter of minutes and they unearthed a two foot high rusted skeleton of steel that seemingly grew out of the dirt several inches. There was obviously more of it in there, but they stopped and stood back to admire their discovery.

From the curved shape, Ferguson knew immediately what it was. “If I were a betting man, I’d say that looks like a tail rudder.”

It had taken nearly two hours for Courtney and Ferguson to reach Widhaus, find a hardware store, carry out some lunch, and return to the lake. They both hauled a pick, two shovels, a sledgehammer, several flashlights and four eight-foot lead pipes. The food was devoured on the way back up the mountain.

Ferguson placed one of the pipes about a meter to the left side of their discovery. He pounded away with the sledgehammer as it stubbornly entered the ‘Wall’. With no more than a foot and a half showing, he struck the head of the pipe and it shot into the ground and disappeared. Ferguson looked again at Courtney and their eyes lit up together.

She handed him the pick. “What the hell are you waiting for? Get busy.” She grabbed a shovel and started in next to Ferguson who had already wielded the pick and was driving it into the dark soil and rock.

They broke through in about 45 minutes. Having dug at least two meters into the surface, Ferguson nearly lost the pick as it vanished into a sizable hole that gave way as he drove the point into the softening dirt.

From the dirt and rock they had been stripping away, they had created a small mound in front of the newfound entrance, and Ferguson slid down the natural slope and grabbed a flashlight from Courtney who had pulled several out of one of the backpacks they had filled from the hardware store.

He crawled up to the edge of the hole, which was approximately one meter in diameter, stuck his head and shoulders through and shined the beam from the flashlight into the pitch black. The ray of light went well into the blackness before reflecting off what appeared to be another rock wall.

“Can you see anything?” Courtney asked.

“Nothing. Except there looks like plenty of room in there. Give me the lantern flashlights and I’ll go on in. Leave ’em in the backpack.”

Courtney complied with his request and hoisted the pack up to him. “Please be careful.”

“If I’m buried alive, you promise to come get me?”

“Stop it. Just be careful.”

He decided to go feet first, and kicked away at the edges around the hole to widen it. He easily slid through and with the flashlight in his right hand gingerly reached out with his feet to feel for solid ground. He stumbled briefly, but caught himself and stood upright inside with ease.

He concentrated the light in front of him and was amazed at the size of the cavern in front of him. The light hit an opposite wall more than 15 meters away. He turned the light to the left and the opposing rock wall was closer, but still several paces off. He turned it skyward and the light diffused before it hit anything. He turned the flashlight to the right and it fell upon on the fuselage of a Junkers Ju-52.

Under explicit orders from Ferguson, Courtney remained outside the cave in case there was any kind of collapse. She would have to be free and clear to mount a rescue. Her curiosity, however, was agonizing, and she repeatedly asked to switch places so she could take it all in. She never got an answer.

The cave was cool, but had no signs of any lingering moisture or water. Ferguson had set up three of the lantern lights on the floor of the cave while he walked around, and crawled over the mangled shell of the plane.
How
in
the
world
did
this
thing
get
in
here?

He immediately noticed the absence of wings.
They
must
be
at
the
bottom
of
the
lake.
He examined the smashed cockpit area, realizing that what was once probably an engine, was now a tangled archeological heap on the top of the fuselage.
How
in
the
world
did
Uncle
Max
ever
survive
this
mess?
Despite everything, the fuselage was substantially intact from behind the cockpit to the tail, which eerily dissolved into the cave’s inner wall.

He eventually found the rear door and tried to open it. It wouldn’t budge. He tugged on it harder, but feared any excessive force might cause the completely fatigued mess to give way. He held his breath, put his right foot up against the decaying steel, and gave one final pull. The door popped open and he went sprawling backward onto his butt, slamming the back of his head against the hard floor.

“Shit!”

Courtney heard him scream and yelled into the hole. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, just lost my footing.”

He picked up the flashlight and flooded the inside compartment.

“Holy Shit.”

He struggled to climb up and over the loose assortment of wood boxes and crates. He got far enough to the front of the fuselage to shine the light on a severely damaged crate that was split in half. The decaying contents were still easily recognizable.

“I’ll be damned,” he muttered under his breath.

Two minutes later, he nearly gave Courtney a heart attack as he emerged from the cave without warning.

“Damnit… let me know when you’re coming out of there next time.”

“Sorry.”

She noticed the astonished look on his face. “So… what did you find?”

He caught his breath. “We found the mother load.”

Charles Pernod was escorted into the conference room at 2:15, and introduced by a sharp looking, young female officer with the Zurich state office. Shutt and Daniel rose from their chairs and greeted him in English, as Daniel had determined his fluency hours earlier in the phone conversation that prompted this meeting. They all thanked the officer, and watched her admiringly through the full glass windows as she exited the room and disappeared down the hall.