There were many large caves, tunnels, and snow fields, but none of them were quite large enough to hide the Magdalena.
Despite the constant hum of the engine and the whine of its rotary blades, there was a melancholy quiet inside the cockpit on their return. Both men knew that they had exhausted their initial theories, and that their subsequent ones had come to nothing.
In truth, Tom realized that they still knew very little about what they were looking for. Their specialty was in sea-related searches, not in treasure hunting in the Alps.
Sam was the first to break the silence.
“What about a lake?”
“What about it?” Tom looked at the glassy lake below, and he could see the reflection of the helicopter on its clear surface. “We’ve already discussed lakes. They’re too clear.”
“Might it have sunk into any of these lakes?” Sam was serious.
“Are you kidding me?”
“No. Why?”
“Look down at that lake there, Sam. What do you see?”
“I see giant rocks, holes, and even some fish. What do you see?”
“That’s exactly what I mean, Sam. If there were an enormous airship in that lake, or even something the size of one, in an area which is frequented by so many tourist choppers, it would have been spotted long before now.”
“You’re right, Tom. It would have been impossible to lose the Magdalena on this side of the mountain for any prolonged period of time,” Sam said, as though Tom had been agreeing with his train of thought, instead of disputing it.
“So, it was never here, then?”
“No, I didn’t say that. I believe it definitely passed over this area; the location of the gold Kevin found confirms that.” Sam’s confident grin returned as he spoke.
“Then where did it end up?”
“I have an idea Tom, and I think it’s time to take this search elsewhere.”
Sam dumped the topographical map of the Southern Limestone Alps in front of Tom.
“Okay, so let’s just say that they were trying to clear the range. The gold bullion my friends found was… here, he said, pointing to the spot. But there is no other evidence of the Magdalena anywhere around this place. Perhaps they were trying to lighten their load in order to clear the mountain top,” Sam suggested.
“That’s nuts,” Tom replied. The zeppelin had a maximum ceiling of 650 feet. There’s no way these guys were ever going to get over that mountain, and they must have known it. My bet, they turned around somewhere, and put her down on this side of the mountain — possibly hundreds of miles further north?”
“Then our previous list of five places to hide her, would increase to thousands,” Sam didn’t sound convinced. “But, what if they knew precisely where they were and thought that they could fly her through the giant mountain passes?”
“You mean, weave her through the Tyrol Valley?” Tom asked, incredulously.
“It must have been possible.” Sam said.
“But very unlikely.”
“Well, clearly they didn’t make it.”
“There is that,” Tom conceded, and then went on to say, “Besides, what were they even doing there in the first place?”
“What do you mean?”
“Okay, say you wanted to escape Hitler’s stranglehold — where would you have flown from Munich in order to escape?”
“Switzerland, of course,” Sam answered immediately. “It was the only neutral country located nearby.”
“Of course it was. So, why did the Magdalena fly due south, towards the Southern Limestone Alps and towards Italy? Mussolini had already partnered with Hitler. If they’d somehow managed to clear the Dolomites, they would still be within Hitler’s grasp. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Unless they simply didn’t realize where they were?” Sam commented.
“There is always that possibility. GPS was nonexistent in the 1930s.”
“Perhaps someone on board was a traitor? Or there’s always the possibility that one of the passengers or crew might have been coaxed to take the treasure-laden ship somewhere else entirely?”
“Anything’s possible,” Tom said. “The other thing that troubles me is this, if the Magdalena really has been resting somewhere on the southern side of the Alps, don’t you think someone would have noticed her remains by now? I mean, the biggest climbing haven in the world runs throughout the Dolomites; skiers in the winter, paragliders and base jumpers in the summer, and helicopter joy flights all year round. I’m sorry to say it, pal, but if she was on the other side of the Alps, someone would have already found her!”
“When all the likely causes have been ruled out, the only natural course of action is to investigate the unlikely ones. Now, you have to remember that the Magdalena wasn’t a zeppelin, per se. She was a dirigible, built by Peter Greentstein, a very rich, former employee of Zeppelin Enterprises. He himself had seen the decline of the era of the great airships after the Hindenburg disaster, and he had decided to reinvent the glory days of airship travel. Is it not possible that he built the Magdalena to make this journey? One of the greatest problems with airships in Europe at that time was its impassable mountain ranges. Had he discovered a way to overcome that?”
“I don’t buy that theory at all. Perhaps, if the mountain rose to a height of only two, or even three thousand feet, it might have been possible, but we’re talking about almost ten thousand feet! No, my money says that they turned around and went back the way they came. We’ll find them on this side of the mountain, if anywhere at all.”
“Okay, show me where on the map, on this side of the mountain, where you think you could possibly hide a 150 foot airship for 75 years?”
Tom’s intelligent, hazel green eyes scanned the topographical map for almost five minutes.
Then, he studied Google Earth on his laptop for another forty five minutes before saying, “It couldn’t be done. Not there. Someone knows where she is. Maybe the Nazis already discovered her, took her apart in pieces, and never acknowledged it, just as they never acknowledged so many of their other war crimes?”
“Now it’s my turn,” Sam said, “to say, I don’t buy that story. If someone successfully shot her down, and captured the sort of prize she was carrying, someone would have heard about it by now. War crimes or not, these stories have a way of getting out.” Sam stated, confidently.
“Okay, so hypothetically, if this ship actually did somehow succeed in making it over the mountains, then where the hell did she end up?
“Somewhere on the southern side of the mountains,” Sam grinned, his all-knowing, I’m about to show you my winning hand, smile. “Have a quick glance here, and tell me, as a pilot, where would be the first place to come to your mind if you had to put an aircraft down quick.”
Tom’s eyes scanned Google Earth’s map of the other southern side of the mountains. He smiled, when he saw it, “Oh, you mean here?”
Chapter Twelve
Sam studied the lake pictured before him.
Lake Solitude.
It was perfect. As huge as it was remote, inaccessible to all, with the exception of mountaineers and helicopter pilots. It was also known to remain frozen for most of the year. Its elevation being 8,500 feet.
Measuring more than six miles long by five miles wide, and perched near the top of the mountain, Lake Solitude would have been more than adequate to hold such a large airship. Who could even guess how deep the lake could possibly be?
He imagined the Magdalena somehow clearing the mountain peak, and then making her descent. Something must have gone wrong and forced them to land. To the pilot, in the middle of winter, the rocky, tree lined mountainside must have looked like a nightmare; its jagged rocks resembling giant teeth, and then, seeing a perfect clearing up ahead. Blanketed beneath the thick covering of snow, it could have just as easily appeared to be an open field, cleared for farming.