The Parsifal Pursuit

by Michael McMenamin

  The Ordi Novi Templi had been reborn in 1905, the ancient sacred vows renewed. As the Prior, he had been celibate since 1915, but it was not of his own choosing. The war had seen to that. Still, it had allowed him to bring to bear on a subject a single-minded focus rare in other men more tempted by the flesh than he. Now, Josef Lanz had a new task and his focus once more would be single-minded. There were other relics over which he and his brothers stood watch, some even more precious than the Spear. But none more important or vital to mankind‘s future. His great-grandfather had been the one who carried the Spear from Nuremburg to Vienna after the battle of Austerlitz and kept it from the hands of Bonaparte, just as he had kept it safe from the crippled Hohenzollern who had sought the Spear in 1914 to both cure his withered left arm as well as ensure victory in war.

  The Spear must be protected. Those who sought it would be deterred. Or they would die.

  “THAT’S great news, Chief. Thanks. I really appreciate it. You won‘t be sorry.”

  Mattie hung up the telephone. Hearst had agreed to fund the entire expedition if that‘s what it took. How could he say no to his favorite reporter after her coup with Hitler a few days‘ earlier? Hearst had also acquiesced to Mattie‘s proposed changes in her itinerary—Geneva tomorrow; Milan to finalize Mussolini‘s new contract the next day; Berlin for a week of interviews with arms dealers and their agents; and, finally Venice for a fortnight with Cockran. Venice was non-negotiable. She and Cockran had to put their argument in New York behind them and repair the strain in their relationship. With her leaving for Geneva tomorrow, they wouldn‘t have time now. But, at least they could start the process and finish it in Venice.

  Mattie walked downstairs, asked one of the maids if she had seen Mr. Cockran, and was directed outside. She paused at the french doors. Cockran was standing in a far corner, deep in conversation with Harmony Hampton. Mattie paused. It was almost time for cocktails. She decided she would talk to Cockran after dinner. She didn‘t think interrupting him during a business conversation for a personal matter was a good idea.

  “OF course, Picasso changed everything.” Harmony said as they stood in a corner of the terrace, waiting for dinner. “Modern art has never been the same after Cubism. And while Picasso‘s paintings display his undeniable talent, I... ” She stopped with a guilty smile and took a step closer. “As an art historian, I shouldn‘t admit this.” She craned her neck to whisper the secret in his ear. “But I can‘t stand to look at them.”

  Cockran was out of his element and struggled to sound intelligent. “But isn‘t cubism concerned with emphasizing the, ah, reality of the canvas?” He had no idea what that meant.

  “That‘s what they say but I don‘t understand why reality is a desirable goal,” Harmony said. Cockran was pleased that he hadn‘t sounded like a complete idiot.

  “Reality can be ugly and depraved. Modern art should stand on the shoulders of the Romantic era‘s giants like Vermeer and Botticelli, even Leonardo. It should aspire to show the best of what men can be.”

  Cockran was about to reply when Churchill‘s butler interrupted. “Excuse me, Mr. Cockran, but you have a telephone call. A Mr. Sullivan. He said it was urgent.”

  “Thank you, George,” Cockran said and excused himself to Harmony.

  “Cockran here,” he said into the receiver.

  “The bastards blew up one of your client‘s factories tonight,” Sullivan said.

  “What? Which one? How did it happen?” Cockran asked.

  “Not the main factory. The smaller one. The one that manufactures the paper punch cards. They‘ll be out of commission for several months. Curious, though. Two walls blown out but no machinery damaged.”

  “What‘s your assessment of the situation?”

  “That you better get your sorry Irish arse over here quick or your client will have no plants left for you to beg the Krauts to protect.”

  Cockran hung up. Sullivan was right. He had to leave first thing tomorrow. There probably wouldn‘t be time to clear the air with Mattie. That would have to wait until Venice. On the way back to Harmony to resume his ill-informed defense of Picasso and modern art, he was once more interrupted by the butler. Dinner was served.

  The evening meal began, as it usually did at Chartwell, with a monologue from Churchill, interspersed with the briefest of comments from his guests sufficient to confirm to their host that he still had their attention and that they understood that immediate freedom for India meant a bloodbath between Hindus and Muslims.

  Eventually, as the main course of Cornish game hen was served, Churchill returned to the primary topic from lunch, Professor Campbell‘s theories about the spear that pierced the side of Christ. Cockran was surprised that Mattie didn‘t brighten up as she had earlier when they had discussed the professor‘s discoveries. He understood why it meant so much to her, given her father‘s lifelong devotion to Grail lore, and he was happy to see her so excited about a project far less dangerous than covering wars in far flung corners of the globe. He wondered if she had managed to talk to Hearst that afternoon.

  His question was soon answered as Churchill eagerly told everyone of the latest developments involving possible financing from a Swiss group.

  “Do you expect any problems with the Swiss?” Cockran asked.

  “None. By the time Mattie is finished negotiating on Mr. Hearst‘s behalf, the Swiss will be as docile as lambs. The same way she handled Herr Hitler,” Churchill said with a smile.

  “When will you be going to Switzerland, Professor Campbell?” Harmony asked.

  “Tomorrow morning, Miss Hampton. Miss McGary and I booked passage this afternoon on the boat train to Paris and the Orient Express to Geneva.”

  Mattie looked sheepish when Cockran raised his eyebrows in a silent question. When were you going to tell me?

  “Winston,” Harmony said. “You promised to tell me all about the German economy this weekend––something I must know if my lawyer is to succeed in transforming this poor academic into a high-powered business owner.”

  “A promise I shall keep, my dear,” Churchill said.

  COCKRAN and Mattie walked up the stairs together, holding hands. Would they go to her room? On the surface, she seemed to be over their argument in New York, a summer storm which passed quickly and left the sun shining again just like before. But Cockran was taking no chances. He wanted to keep the sun shining, warm breezes blowing and Mattie by his side. He wouldn‘t presume, so he paused at the door to his bedroom. Then he felt a gentle tug at his hand as Mattie pulled him down the corridor toward her room.

  “We won‘t have two nights together like I hoped,” she said as they entered her room, “but at least we can make the most of tonight.”

  Cockran was relieved. She was over it. He thought briefly of apologizing and talking it out but quickly rejected the notion. Why spoil her good mood? All he had to do was keep his big mouth shut and make her happy. He could handle that, he thought, stepping up behind Mattie and kissing the back of her neck as he reached around and clasped each of her breasts.

  Mattie purred. “Do that again.”

  Cockran pushed the low front of her dress down, freeing her breasts.

  “Not that, silly,” she said. “My neck. Kiss it again. But don‘t stop the other. You can do both at the same time, can‘t you?”

  “Once we get these off,” Cockran said as he knelt down, unfastened her garter belt, and smoothly slid her silk panties down, “I‘ll show you three things I can do at the same time.”

  “Talk is cheap, Cockran,” she said as she began to tug at his trousers. This was not the first time they had made love at Chartwell and the beds there made far too much noise on their own. While Cockran attempted to spread the duvet out on the floor, Mattie continued to pull at his clothes until they both collapsed beside the bed, laughing, as he kicked free of his clothes and kissed her again. One thing he adored about Mattie was the sheer variety of their lovemaking. They rarely started the same way twice in a ro
w. Tonight, unlike the last time in New York, she pushed his face from between her legs, rolled him over and, in one easy motion, straddled his waist, her hands pressed down firmly on his chest. Her way of saying she was in charge now. It was fine with Cockran. Mattie stayed on top, quietly riding him with a fierce intensity until he felt her shudder with an orgasm, his own not far behind.

  Afterwards, as they lay there together, Mattie still on top, Cockran spoke softly. “I know you‘re not going into a war zone,” he began, “and no one‘s going to be shooting at you, but take care. I‘ve never skied the Austrian Alps and I know the winter was comparatively mild, but still I worry…”

  Mattie chuckled. “Don‘t worry about me, Cockran. If you promise not to tell anyone, I‘ll even admit that you might have a point about my taking too many risks. I mean, you‘re wrong most of the time. Most of the time, I really can‘t help it. It‘s simply the nature of my assignments. It‘s not something I can just give up. Not until we bring the arms merchants under control and expose them to the sunlight.”

  “For all the good that will do,” Cockran said, a resigned tone to his voice.

  “Come on, Bourke, be fair. We both agree on this and you know the Chief has important contacts on the Hill. They promised him a Neutrality Act for America if he manages to bring them the goods on the merchants of death and all they do to facilitate death and destruction. It won‘t solve the problem, but it will be a big start if the richest country in the world is taken out of the international arms trade.”

  Cockran nodded. “You‘re right. It‘s a start,” leaving unspoken the rest of the sentence but it will never be enough because someone else will sell them the weapons. He wasn‘t going to begin another argument before they parted the next morning. “But you were saying I might be right some of the time about your risk-taking?” Cockran probed hopefully.

  “Sure. Even a broken watch is right twice a day. It happened on the zeppelin, and I was foolish and you were right. I took a wild risk I shouldn‘t have. And with hindsight, it was unnecessary.”

  Cockran listened without saying a word as Mattie told him about her excursion through and the danger she encountered on top of the Graf Zeppelin. He felt his anger growing as she continued. He knew it had a happy ending because he was holding her in his arms, but happy endings were not always guaranteed. The two of them were living proof of that. Each of them had lost loved ones well before their time. But, Cockran thought with growing bitterness, none of them had died as a consequence of deliberately and recklessly risking their lives. Soldiers in combat took more care for their well-being than Mattie had on the zeppelin.

  “It‘s not going to be easy for me. But you‘re right that I need to be more careful.” Mattie continued, “I‘ve been taking risks for so long, it‘s almost second nature. I never stop to think if there‘s a safer way to do my job. But I‘m trying Bourke, I really am. I even let another motorcar pass me on the way back from my interview with Hitler.”

  Cockran bit his tongue. He was not going to start a fight. Or, as he reflected later, he certainly hadn‘t intended to start a fight. It sort of…. just happened.

  “Well, aren‘t you going to say anything?” Mattie said at last as she pushed herself up on her arms and looked down at him.

  “What can I say?” Cockran said. “I hope you mean it. But I‘ll believe it when I see it.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Mattie demanded. She sat up now, astride him still.

  “Look,” Cockran said. “Nothing I say ever makes any difference to you when it comes to your own safety. It all goes in one ear and out the other. You twist things so that it looks like I‘m criticizing your career when it‘s just not so. It doesn‘t matter to you that I love you or that Paddy loves you. What you did on the zeppelin makes that all too clear.”

  “That‘s not fair, Bourke. You do matter to me and I‘m trying to change. Really.”

  “Sure. Until the next time you have to choose between a story and your safety.”

  “That‘s a helpful attitude. You obviously didn‘t hear a thing I said about my new insights.”

  Cockran took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I‘m sorry if you think that, but it‘s all the help I can offer. After what you did on that airship…,” Cockran said, his voice trailing off as he shook his head. “There‘s nothing to say. And for God‘s sake, don‘t give me that ‘good enough, close enough‘ crap from Eisenstadt. I‘m up to here with it!”

  “Well then, to hell with you, Cockran.” Mattie said, her voice rising in anger. “You don‘t know how hard it is to change habits that I‘ve had for so long. I try to explain how I‘m beginning to take your advice to heart and this is what I receive in return? Like I said in New York, I need someone on my side, not at my throat. After I said it, I thought I was wrong. But now I‘m not so sure. Maybe we really do need a break from each other. Maybe it‘s me. Maybe I can‘t be what you need in a woman. But I do know this. If you‘re still copping this same attitude when we‘re together in Venice, I‘ll have my answer.”

  Cockran made no reply as Mattie got up and walked to the bed. Words were not going to make this better. At least not the words he had in mind. Why couldn‘t she get as close as she could for her photos without risking her life?

  Mattie wrapped the blankets around her and lay on her side facing away from him. Ordinarily, he would have crawled in beside her. Mattie never wore clothes while sleeping and Cockran loved waking up next to her, gently squeezing whatever came first to hand and then going back to sleep. But not tonight. He waited until her deep, even breathing signaled she was asleep and he got up from the floor, put his clothes on and kissed her softly on the cheek, whispering “I love you”, before he eased open the door and returned to his room.

  21.

  The Orient Express

  Aboard the Orient Express

  Monday, 1 June 1931

  THE Orient Express was like an old friend because Hearst‘s journalists always traveled first class and, for Mattie, it was the only way to travel. She was very much looking forward to her new adventure but she was still playing over in her mind her argument with Cockran last night. Making love had been so sweet and then he had to go and ruin everything by starting the same argument they had in New York a week ago. Couldn‘t he appreciate that telling him about the zeppelin incident meant she really was trying to change? She shook her head. It could have been worse. At least she had said nothing about her last dance with Kurt.

  Mattie knew there had to be give and take in a relationship but she had admitted, albeit grudgingly, that he had a point and that she was going to try to change. Wasn‘t he supposed to encourage her? Those were the rules, weren‘t they? Being in love was so confusing.

  What made it all so much worse was Cockran‘s new client. She tried but failed once more to erase the image from her mind. Cockran and Harmony standing at the front entrance of Chartwell, waving goodbye to her and Professor Campbell as the taxi picked them up to take them to the train. That blonde vixen had been latched onto Cockran‘s arm like a limpet, looking a lot happier than she had the day before, her sorrow for her stepfather blithely put aside.

  And why not? She was leaving later that same day with Mattie‘s man for a cozy little holiday in Germany. Berlin and then Munich. On business. How convenient. Yet when Mattie had suggested meeting them when she came up to Berlin from Milan, Cockran put her off. They would keep in touch but they might not be in Berlin when she arrived.

  Mattie looked out the window of her compartment at the rolling French countryside. She was not by nature a jealous woman. But there was something about Harmony that she just didn‘t like. She had absolutely fawned over Paddy and Mattie could see that the boy had been embarrassed by the attention. Yet Mattie had been so caught up with Winston and Professor Campbell that she had no time to spend with Paddy herself. She knew he idolized her and she could still see the disappointment in his eyes that she hadn‘t done so.

  What bothered her the most was that
she had no idea what business was taking the two of them to Germany, only that it involved her stepfather‘s company. Client confidentiality is what Cockran had said. Like a priest and penitent. She was used to that. Really. A court case was different. Cockran could talk about that more freely because all or most of it was a matter of public record. Not so with Harmony. His business with her was secret. Harmony was free to tell Mattie but Cockran wasn‘t. He had even encouraged Mattie to talk with Harmony before she left for Geneva. Harmony might benefit, he said, from an older woman‘s perspective on her problems. Ouch! An “older woman” at thirty-one? Mattie was a journalist, not a nursemaid, and she wasn‘t going to initiate anything of the sort.

  Mattie glanced at her wristwatch. Dinner was being served. Good. She could use a drink right now. If she didn‘t see Cockran in Berlin, it was no big deal. Within a week, they‘d be together in Venice and Harmony could go to hell.

  Sitting in the dining car, its burnished mahogany paneling warmly inviting, illuminated by the glow of brass fixtures polished to a mirrorlike finish, Mattie sipped a martini and waited for Campbell to be shown to her table. On an academic‘s salary, Geoffrey Campbell could not afford a first-class compartment on the Orient Express and was relegated to a second-class carriage with a sleeping berth. By railroad policy, Professor Campbell was not permitted in the first-class dining car either, but Mattie had always believed in tipping well and the five pound note she slipped to the conductor had assured her both a secure location in the conductor‘s safe for Major Lanz‘s journal as well as a seat at her table for her father‘s protégé.