The Tartarus Manuscripts (English Edition) [Kindle-editie] beoordelingen het boek quotes

It was early morning in mid-July in the snow clad mountain village of Bariloche, normally a quiet and peaceful part of this paradisaic land. God was smiling on the day of creation when he spread his arms over the land and created the small unique village of Bariloche, carving the terrain from a glacier of snow and ice, and placing it in the northern corner of Andes Mountains, only 12 miles from the majestic slopes of Cerro Catedral. Hans Von de Bosch, an eighty-four year old ex-officer of a scuttled German U-boat, was still in his robe and green plaid woolen socks. The smell of freshly brewed coffee permeated his entire home. He was in the kitchen about to pour himself a cup of Costa Rican coffee from the glass coffee pot, sitting on the small counter near his sink. The silence was broken by the heavy metal knocker on the front door. The noise resounded throughout his modest three bedroom chalet, as the hammer struck the metal plate attached to the thick spruce door. Thinking that it might be one of his neighbors, Hans von Bosch went to the door and opened it. Standing in the doorway were two men wearing wool stocking masks over their head and face. The two strangers towered over the slightly bent over Hans. Startled by their appearance and unable to speak Hans remained frozen in one spot. Before he had a chance to inquire as to what they wanted, the taller of the two men, wearing a black leather jacket and lamb skinned lined leather snow boots gave Hans a shove pushing his way inside. The two intruders were accompanied by a sharp cool breeze, which was dealt with immediately. The second man slammed the door closed behind them as soon as he entered. Not there to waste any time the first man inside shouted, “OK old man, where are they?” Caught by surprise a look of confusion came to Hans’ face, “What the hell are you talking about?” “Hitler’s files!” “What files?” “Don’t play dumb with me. You know what I’m talking about, the ones that came off the submarine. You can have the gold and the black pouch. The gold and the diamond are probably gone by now. We want the files!” “Is that what this is all about? Don’t tell me you believe those bar-room stories? I don’t have any files. If there were any files? They are still on board the sub.” The second man, the muscular one of the two, gave Hans a shove across the room, “Don’t give us this crap. We didn’t come here to waste our time.” Hans’ feet hit the round braided wool rug that covered the oak wood floor causing him to loose his footing. As his body went sweeping across the room, he knocked over an end table and glass lamp. If it hadn’t been for the living room wall stopping his motion, Hans would have landed on the floor flat on his back. Had it been a few years earlier Hans would have put up a fight and given them a run for their money. He was a tough old German. In stead he shouted out challenging them, “You can shove and scream all you want I don’t have any such files.” For a man in his late eighties, Hans had an incredible memory. Of the thousands of visitors and ski enthusiasts that came to the small ski village over the many years from all over the world, Hans never remembered seeing either one of these two men in town before. Why now and what were they really looking for? He decided to do his best to convince them that they were wasting their time, “Whoever told you this story were pulling your leg.” One of the men walked over to Hans and pulled a hand gun from his jacket pocket and aimed it at Hans’ head, “Are you prepared to lose your life over these files?” Hans suddenly realized that these guys meant business. He had to give them something to leave with or he was as good as dead. “I’m not hiding anything be my guest, feel free to look around. I have nothing to hide.” The two men were quickly loosing t