by Iain King
‘The planets,’ confessed Myles. ‘They seem to be connected with human events.’
Helen looked confused. ‘Huh?’
‘Astrology,’ Myles explained. ‘It works.’
She frowned. ‘Really?’ Her face was contorted, as if Myles was telling a silly joke. ‘Come on. You mean, I’m an Aquarius, you’re a Gemini, that sort of stuff?’
Myles found himself nodding. ‘That’s the way it looks. From Stolz’s papers, the ones we’ve seen.’
‘And you believe it? Come on, Myles – how can you believe this crap?’ She emphasised the word ‘crap’ with her hands, as if something was exploding between them. ‘You’re an academic at Oxford, believing in – I don’t know what? How can the position of, say, Jupiter make me choose sausages rather than bacon in the morning?’
Myles tried to calm her down. ‘I know. It sounds crazy. But the evidence points that way.’
Helen took another bite of toast while she chewed over Myles’ bizarre news.
Myles felt the need to explain more. ‘I don’t know how it works either. But that wasn’t what Stolz had found. He didn’t know how astrology worked. All he knew was that it did work. Somehow.’
She kept at him. ‘OK, so what’s the evidence?’
Myles leaned back in his chair, trying to remember the papers. ‘Well, first of all, the patterns between the planets. Take Saturn and Neptune. Since ancient times, Saturn has symbolised order and structures, while Neptune is linked with dissolving things away, and the ideals of the masses. The two planets orbit at different speeds, which means they come together in the sky every thirty-six years.’
‘As we view them from Earth?’
‘Yes. And the last time they came together was the second week of November 1989, when the Berlin Wall came down. The timing’s exact. Every thirty-six years, when the two planets come together, something big happens to do with revolutions. The next one is February 2026 – perhaps China will give up on Communism then, or the Communists will be returned to power in Russia, or something. Stolz thought there would be conflict on that date somehow.’
Helen sipped from a mug which was out of view of the laptop camera. She seemed to be remembering the paper from Stolz she had read in the hospital. ‘Did Stolz have anything else?’ she asked.
‘Yes. Lots.’ Myles could tell she was intrigued, but still far from persuaded. ‘The old Nazi had a chart predicting the number of people who would be killed in wars each year, and it was extremely precise. One-in-a-million-trillion precise,’ he said. ‘Hey, Helen - you know what the word “plutocracy” means?’
The question made Helen feel like a schoolgirl. ‘Well, democracy is government by the people. So “plutocracy” is government by big money – is that right?’
‘That’s right. Pluto: it’s the slowest planet, and when it goes into a different sign of the zodiac, there seems to be a big deal to do with governments and money.’ Myles listed the dates he remembered. ‘Er … 1884, 1913, 1939 ... the dates when the EU and the World Trade Organisations were set up … even the credit crunch. The next one’s in 2023. Stolz reckoned something about technology and world organisations on that date.’
Helen’s face became sceptical again. Myles knew that, as a journalist, she’d come across lots of people who were convinced of nonsense. Cures for cancer, mind-reading machines, even voodoo. Usually it was hokum. When there really was something to it, it was only because people expected there to be. It was the belief, not the cure itself, which did the curing. The ‘placebo’ effect. Helen paused before she spoke. Myles guessed she was trying to find a tone of voice which didn’t condemn him. ‘You know, scientists can explain why people believe in ghosts,’ she said, ‘even though they don’t exist. Could there be another explanation for all this?’
Myles didn’t answer immediately. It was a difficult question. ‘I’m not sure. It really looks like there’s something in it. But if there is, I don’t know how it works. And I’m not about to look at the planets before I make decisions, if that’s what you mean.’
Helen relaxed. ‘So how do the Nazis fit in?’
‘Well, it looks like the Nazis worked this out, and more. Stolz had papers predicting events in the USA and UK, and he had maps predicting Hitler would be vulnerable around Stalingrad. Then there’s stuff about when nuclear accidents are likely. And statistical work, too – data connecting future careers with the position of Mars when people are born. We think he’s got more – much more. We’ve only found half of it so far.’
‘You know where the rest is?’
‘No, not yet. We’ve only got clues,’ he admitted. ‘And the trouble is, we’re not the only ones looking for it.’
As he said the words, he thought he heard a noise behind him. He checked, but the door to the soundproof cubicle was firmly closed.
Forty-Five
Russian Foreign Ministry
Moscow
11.13pm MST (8.13pm GMT)
* * *
Ludochovic pulled the receiver away from his head - it was the only way to save his ears from his line manager’s ranting. He had heard enough about the Zenyalena’s travails underground, the rats and the brutish Glenn, whom the woman was convinced was a CIA spy. He just waited until she stopped screaming down the phone at him, which he hoped would be soon.
It was several more minutes before he was able to say, ‘Thank you, Ms Androvsky,’ and ask, ‘So what exactly do you want me to do from here?’
After another few minutes of high-volume hysteria, Zenyalena’s voice began to become more reasonable. Although it was peculiar, what she was saying made sense, and Ludochovic found his pale head nodding silently in understanding.
‘So,’ he concluded. ‘I will check the data. This means I will check the birthtimes and places of Hitler, Himmler and Churchill…’
‘…and Hirohito,’ demanded Zenyalena’s voice through the phone.
‘…and Hirohito. And I will use the NASA website to calculate where the planets were when these people were born. And then?’
Ludochovic listened to Zenyalena’s detailed instructions, making notes with his pencil, and trying not to reveal any surprise in his ever-calm voice.
‘I will do that, Ms Androvky. But I request that you send through to me all that I should look for,’ he asked.
Zenyalena’s single word response – ‘Da’ – was enough for him to start work. He accepted he was there to follow orders, however bizarre those orders may sound.
Forty-Six
US Army Garrison Garmisch, aka ‘Hotel Edelwiess’
Garmisch-Partikirchen, Southern Germany
9.17pm CET (8.17pm GMT)
* * *
Myles’ eyes were drawn to a public information notice on the back of the cubicle door. Under the title ‘Far From Home?’ was the silhouette of an American soldier with a rifle on his shoulder and a phone to his ear. The phone line led to a woman and two children standing beneath the stars and stripes. A sinister figure in a balaclava loomed nearby, planning some sort of ambush. ‘If you tell them,’ ran the strapline, ‘you could put them in danger.’
‘Myles!’ Helen was shouting at him from the computer screen. ‘Are you still there?’
‘Sure, I’m here,’ said Myles pulling himself back into view of the video feed.
‘Come on,’ she complained. ‘Tell me who else is looking for Stolz’s secret.’
Myles scratched his head. ‘We don’t know exactly. In Berlin, the Frenchman in our team was murdered and had to be replaced. Then in Vienna there was a suspicious fire, and in Munich we were trapped in an underground cavern. It wasn’t an accident.’
Helen was momentarily silenced, shaking her head while she absorbed the facts. After a long pause, she asked, ‘You sure you want to continue with this?’
Myles was sure. ‘Yes,’ he said, firmly. ‘I have to - it’s too important.’
‘Don’t tell me you’re still trying to clear your name.’
Myles shook his head. ‘
I don’t care about that. It’s that Stolz’s papers could explain why Hitler took some really dumb decisions, like invade Russia,’ Myles explained. ‘The dictator could have been following bad advice from an astrologer, who told him he could win...’
Myles could see Helen was beginning to understand why it was so important to him.
‘…And then there’s the other possibility,’ he added. ‘Even more important – that somehow planets really do influence people. If that’s true, Stolz’s work could change everything we know – more, even, than the discoveries of the greatest scientists.’
Helen looked sceptical again. ‘Really? Even more than, say, Isaac Newton?’
‘Isaac Newton also did lots of work on astrology himself – he was convinced there was something in it,’ remembered Myles. ‘When Halley – the man who discovered the comet – mocked Newton for it, Newton famously replied ‘Sir, I have studied the matter’.’
Myles pondered for a few more moments as a thought struck him. ‘I wonder what happened to his research?’ he mused. Then he lightened up. ‘Hey - remember Corporal Bradley? From the papers we read in the hospital? Well, Helen, he was right. If all this stuff – all these unexplained facts – get buried, or just given to a bureaucrat, they’ll be wasted. Like Bradley, I think there’s something here, and it could change science for ever.’
‘I tracked the Corporal down,’ announced Helen.
Myles laughed. ‘Ha - I knew you would.’
‘He went to live in Alaska after the war, where he worked in a government job. He got married, and settled near Mount St Helens – quite close to where the volcano was in 1980. It destroyed his house, and he would have died, but he sold up several months before.’
‘So he’s still alive?’
Helen shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not. He died, back in 1980, aged 62.’
‘Old age?’
‘No – a road traffic accident. In the same week his house was buried by volcano lava, his car was crushed by a truck.’
Myles raised his eyebrows. Bradley’s death was several decades ago, but it was still sad to hear of the man’s demise. ‘I guess, when it’s your time to go, it’s time to go.’
Then Myles thought some more. ‘Hey - did you find out why Bradley left his house? Did he know the volcano was going to erupt before anybody else? It’s like he knew something huge was going to crush him, so he tried to escape, but fate still got him anyway. It just happened to be a truck rather than a volcano.’
Helen shrugged. ‘That was all I could find out. But I could keep looking. I might be able to persuade my editor there’s a news item here. A human interest story, at least… We could link it with Stolz, if that’s not too secret. Where are you going next? I could meet you there.’
Myles slumped. ‘We don’t know where we’re going next,’ he admitted. ‘Stolz’s next clue is ‘500 metres south of the railway carriage, close to where he swapped his vision but didn’t serve.’’
Helen frowned. ‘Who’s ‘He’?’
‘Probably Hitler – it’s been Hitler in the other clues so far,’ explained Myles.
‘Who do you think Stolz left these clues for?’ asked Helen.
Myles paused before he answered. ‘For Nazis, I think,’ he suggested. ‘Clue One referred to Hitler’s friend at school, the second to where the dictator wrote Mein Kampf. It’s as if the old man Stolz tried to code his secret so only a true Nazi would be able to follow.’
‘Except, you’ve followed him so far,’ said Helen. ‘So Stolz did a bad job.’
Myles nodded – either Stolz had done his job badly, or there was something else the team hadn’t worked out yet.
‘Or,’ added Helen, ‘you’re on the wrong track…’
Track…. The word triggered Myles’ memory. He recalled a newsreel of the dictator in 1940, cocky and triumphant – in a railway carriage in France. Hitler’s railway carriage… ‘It’s the special train – in eastern France,’ he announced.
Helen asked him to explain, so Myles told her about Hitler’s theatrical show of vengeance after his first proper Blitzkrieg. ‘In June 1940, Hitler made the French sign their surrender in a railway carriage. It was the same carriage used by the Germans for their surrender in 1918, which ended World War One.’
Helen was impressed. ‘That has to be the railway carriage in the clue. Where is it now?’
‘Nobody knows – it was destroyed in 1945,’ conceded Myles. ‘It could have been lost in an air raid, or the Nazis might have blown it up, afraid they might be forced to sign another German surrender inside,’ explained Myles. ‘But there’s a replica. In a museum, in France. I suppose the next clue must be 500 metres south of it.’
Helen was nodding, impressed by Myles’ puzzle-solving skills. ‘That all makes sense. But what about the ‘vision swapping’ thing?’
Myles put on his guessing face. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said. ‘But I know Hitler was blinded in a gas attack on the Western Front. It could have been nearby. He lost his sight for several weeks. According to Mein Kampf, it was also when he was in the trenches that he discovered his vision for a ‘New Germany’.’
‘You mean, when Stolz said Hitler ‘swapped his vision’, he was trying to be funny?’
‘It’s the best I can think of,’ admitted Myles.
Helen smiled. ‘Well, you’ve convinced me,’ she said. ‘The most important thing is that you stay safe, OK?’ Her eyebrows were furrowed in concern.
‘You too, Helen. Seriously – don’t get involved in this. It could put you in danger.’
Helen seemed to dismiss the threat. ‘I love you, Myles,’ she said, blowing him another kiss.
‘I mean it, Helen,’ he insisted. ‘Whoever’s been sabotaging our team, if they find out you’re researching this too…’
‘Tell me you love me.’ she interrupted.
‘You know I do,’ he said. He winked at her through the video-feed. ‘And let’s make sure we’re together again soon.’
She nodded, smiled, then leaned forward to turn off her laptop.
‘Stay safe,’ repeated Myles, but Helen’s image had already disappeared.
‘Er, you finished in there?’ called an American accent. Myles spun round to see an acne-faced serviceman poking his head into the cubicle. ‘It’s just, I’ve got this one booked,’ explained the young soldier.
‘Sorry, yes,’ Myles apologised. He checked he hadn’t left anything behind, and vacated the small room. The soldier thanked him.
Back in the underground corridor, Myles hobbled back up to the main part of the garrison complex, looking for the rest of the team. It was almost deserted. The gift shop had closed, the big children’s TV was switched off, and the only people in the large reception area were a burly soldier and an infant asleep in a pram.
Myles tried to find the medical area, hoping to check up on Pascal. But instead, he only found part of the base which was off-limits. He was politely but firmly told he couldn’t enter.
He retreated to the restaurant, where, although they were closing up, the female manager took pity on him. She made sure he had all-American T-bone steak with fries and milkshake. Myles ate gratefully – alone, but with the restaurant manager popping by several times to ask if he needed anything.
Back at reception he found he had been allocated a room – one of the largest, and with a mountain view, the receptionist explained. She also pointed him towards the ‘elevator’, noting that English people usually called it a lift. He limped into it, found his room, and swiftly went to bed.
But he found it hard to sleep. He was unnerved, and couldn’t expel the last image of Helen from his mind. She was now as intrigued as he was. She’d take risks to find out more. That meant she might be targeted, too.
His call to check she was safe had, in fact, made her less safe. Just like Corporal Bradley, it seemed Helen’s fate was to be in danger. And what Myles had done to try to avoid that fate had only made it more certain.
Forty-Seven
Heritage Hotel
Oxford, England
10.05pm GMT
* * *
Father Samuel double-locked his hotel door, and pulled the laptop from his bag. It took a few moments to turn on – time for Father Samuel to calm himself in silence. He pulled out the flyer from the ‘War and the Natural World’ event, and laid it next to the keyboard, hoping the technology would work.
Exactly as Dieter had shown him, he double-clicked on his ‘CCTV’ icon, then, when the prompt came up, filled in the time, date and location of the event. The computer programme began to search, then came back with:
Frank Wellesley, speaking to Oxford Astrology Association,
(Hosted by University of Oxford)?
Samuel clicked ‘Yes’, and the machine began to search some more.
A few moments later, four images came up, each showing a different CCTV image related to the event. Screenshots One, Three and Four were all from outside – either of people entering the venue, or the street outside. But Screenshot Two was perfect: a recording from inside the room. The camera was even centred on the main stage. And, just as he had hoped, there was a green tick in the corner beside the words ‘Audio Available.’ Father Samuel clicked on the image, and prepared to watch the show. He would have to thank Dieter for this.
To his dismay, the audience was not made up of the hippies and mystics he had expected. Instead, all the people looked respectable, intelligent and engaged. At the designated start time, the room was almost full.
‘…Our speaker has already made news by explaining how celestial bodies impact on human affairs,’ explained a blond woman, who seemed to be introducing the event. ‘Indeed, his recent exhibition is in danger of making astrology respectable….’ More laughter. ‘…So, Ladies and Gentlemen, let’s welcome the curator of the Imperial War Museum, Frank Wellesley.’