The Sphinx a5-4

by Robert Doherty

  Von Seeckt graced her with the ghost of a smile. “I believe so. The name he used for this phase of his life was Guido von List. He first came to notice as a member of Austrian Alp Society, which used the ‘heil’ greeting, which had roots in early German paganism. List claimed to be a channel, a man with a connection to an ancient group of German shamans called the Armanen. The emblem of List’s group was the swastika. And their written language was one of runes.”

  “Jesus,” Duncan muttered.

  “You can find these facts in many history books,” von Seeckt said. “They are not secret anymore. But until the Airlia came to light, it was thought an odd historical footnote, and it has been too soon for stodgy historians in their ivory towers to catch up to recent events. To reevaluate all this information, which is now much more important than anyone gave it credence.

  “List even wrote a book about runes in 1908. He extensively quoted a Roman historian, Tacitus, who lived in the first century A.D., yet didn’t attribute the material to a source document in his bibliography. How could he do that?”

  Duncan felt overwhelmed. “Was Tacitus also Domeka?”

  “Perhaps. List was interested in many objects of the occult. The Spear, certainly. But also the Holy Grail. The Ark of the Covenant. Someone who was close to Hitler in those early days in Vienna said that Hitler told him that List conducted strange rituals and that Hitler himself was the subject of one of them. A rite of purification. Purification of the race, of the blood. That was when Hitler really changed.”

  “What did List do to him?”

  Von Seeckt ignored her. “Do you know how Nabinger found me here? Found us? He got my SS dagger from an Egyptian… a Watcher… at the Great Pyramid. On one side was my name. On the other the word ‘Thule.’

  “Thule was the cover name in the 1930s for the secret societies of the occult in Germany. For List’s followers. For Hitler’s. The Society of Thule brought Hitler to power. There was even an expose book written about it in 1933, called Bevor Hitler Kam… Before Hitler Came. Of course, the author was assassinated, and all copies of the book seized and destroyed by the SS.

  “The Society of Thule believed in Atlantis… ah, they were not so foolish now that we know what we know about the Airlia base there, eh? They believed that the original inhabitants of Atlantis looked very much like the statues on the island of Rapa Nui… Easter Island. Ever more remarkable, is this not?”

  “How did they have this knowledge?”

  “After the war such ramblings were considered the ravings of crackpots. But these crackpots brought Hitler into power. Thule’s inner circle was dedicated to communicating with a nonhuman, more powerful intelligence.”

  “The Airlia?” Duncan felt as if her head were spinning. “A guardian computer? Was there one in Germany? How many guardians are there?”

  Von Seeckt’s frail shoulders moved under the hospital gown in what might have been a shrug. “I do not know. Have you ever heard of the Ahnerbe?”

  Duncan shook her head. She didn’t have time for this. “Where is the Spear now?”

  Von Seeckt ignored her question. “Not many people have heard of the Ahnerbe. It was the Nazi Ancestral Research branch. It was the core of forming the SS, the Schutzstafeel… what you called me when you walked in. The secret to that group was they were very, very interested in genetics.

  “I was sent to the Great Pyramid, the Pyramid of Khufu on the Plateau of Giza, to search for the black box, which we found. There were other SS groups sent to search for things that the Fuhrer wanted. For the Grail. The Ark. Other relics of legend.” Von Seeckt was silent for a few moments before speaking again. “It would all have been folly. The muttering of madmen, except for the forty-seven million people who died in the war Hitler began.”

  Von Seeckt slumped back in the bed, his face drawn.

  Duncan stood. “Tell me more. Tell me about the Spear!”

  “I am tired,” von Seeckt muttered. “I must sleep now.”

  Duncan didn’t care how the old man felt. “The spear from the library… was it really the Spear of Destiny?”

  “Do you think such a powerful thing would be left on display in a library?” von Seeckt asked in turn. He looked out the window. “The Night of the Long Knives,” von Seeckt said. “June thirtieth, 1934. Hitler purged his own party, the SA, and shifted allegiance to the SS. Two months later, he proclaims himself Fuhrer and all the military are to swear personal allegiance to him… not to the country, but to a man. Remarkable, isn’t it?”

  Duncan was growing frustrated by von Seeckt’s refusal to answer the all-important question of where the Spear was now. “I need to know… ” she began, but the old man cut her off with a wave of his frail hand.

  “Yes, yes, the Spear. In 1938, when Hitler annexed Austria, the very first day, he went to the Hofmuseum and took the so-called Spear of Destiny. He had it shipped to Nuremberg, which the Thule group believed was the spiritual capital of Nazi Germany.”

  “But that wasn’t the real Spear of Destiny.” Duncan had focused on von Seeckt’s use of “so-called.”

  “No, but by having a public one, he could hide the real one,” von Seeckt said. “The farce continues to this day. According to legend, it is the spear of the Roman centurion Gaius Cassius Longinus which was thrust into the side of Jesus when he was on the cross. There are four different objects that are claimed to be the Spear. One is supposed to have been sent from the Ottoman Sultan Bajazet the Second to Pope Innocent the Eighth in 1492 and was placed in one of the columns supporting the dome of Saint Peter’s Basilica. Another is supposed to be in Paris, brought there by Saint Louis following his return from the Crusades in the thirteenth century. The third… which I have seen… is in Cracow in Poland, but it is a copy of the last one which most believe to be the real Spear located in Vienna… the one Hitler saw in the library. This one has a long and strange history.”

  “And it’s in Russia now?” Duncan asked.

  “No. That one is back in the library. The real Spear of Destiny is none of those four, but rather an Airlia artifact. It looks like a spear, though, so perhaps that is how it was mixed up with the Longinus spear story. Who knows?”

  Duncan felt her heart race. “You’ve seen it?”

  Von Seeckt nodded. “We had it with us when we went to the Great Pyramid in 1942.”

  Duncan waited for him to continue.

  “I don’t know where Hitler got it,” von Seeckt said. “I saw it only once. The patrol leader, an SS major, carried it. He never let it out of his hands. I think they knew it was a key, they just didn’t know what it was a key to. They thought maybe a door in the Great Pyramid. So we had it. Of course, it was not for there. We had to break through the wall to find the bomb.”

  “What did it look like?”

  “In a black case. Metal… some kind of Airlia metal, but not the black like the skin of the mothership. It was silver. Very sharp. Perhaps sixty or seventy centimeters long by ten wide. Like a spearhead. It had a point on one end and a hole for a staff on the other.”

  “What happened to it?”

  “When we were ambushed by the British commandos, the patrol leader escaped into the darkness. I never heard of the Spear again. Either he made it back to Germany with it, or the Arabs caught him in the desert and took it. It is most likely the former.”

  Duncan grabbed the edge of the bed. “If he made it back to Germany, where would it be now?”

  “The Russians.” Von Seeckt’s voice was a whisper now, his energy drained. “They took everything after the Great War. Everything.”

  Mike, Duncan thought. He was in the right place, just looking for the wrong thing. “And if the Arabs got it?”

  “The Watcher of Giza. Kaji. It would probably end up in his hands.” Von Seeckt’s eyes closed. “I must sleep now.”

  Duncan stood and strode out of the room. As soon as she was in the hallway, she pulled out her SATPhone and punched in the code for Turcotte’s phone.

  CHAPT
ER 17

  Lubyanka Square, Moscow

  D — 18 Hours

  “Many of my countrymen have entered that building and never come out,” Yakov said. “The sky over our heads is the last bit of freedom they ever saw.”

  Turcotte was impressed with Lubyanka. In the center of downtown Moscow, it dominated the square that had the same name. Seven stories high, the building was covered with yellow brick, giving it a dour facade. It had taken Yakov several frustrating hours to track down exactly where Lyoncheka’s office was and to set up a meeting. Turcotte had felt every minute of those hours pass by with a sense of impending doom, as if he were in the midst of a high-altitude jump but he had no parachute and the ground was approaching with inevitable disaster.

  “There is Dyetsky Mir.” Katyenka nodded toward the large building on the opposite side of Lubyanka Square. “Children’s World. It is the largest toy store in the world. I always thought the contrast of the two buildings facing each other was quite interesting. What is the word… ah, yes, ironic… that is it?”

  The three were seated at a small bistro on the south side of the square. The shop was a pathetic attempt to imitate European coffeehouses. Whatever was in his cup, Turcotte doubted a coffee bean had had anything to do with it.

  “They even give tours now in the building behind the main one you see,” Katyenka said. “They have a KGB museum there. There is a disco in Lubyanka itself, on the first floor, part of a club for retired KGB. There used to be a statue of Felix Dzerzhinsky… the founder of the Cheka, the first communist secret police… in the middle of the square, but that was taken down in August 1991, when we became enlightened.”

  Yakov laughed at that last statement. “‘Enlightened’?” He turned to Turcotte. “I have tried to explain something to you that I do not think can be explained.” He tapped the side of his head. “The Russian mind. It is a very strange place. We lived for so long under the Czars, then the Communists. That was bad enough. But add on top of that the threat from the outside world. The invasions over the centuries. From Napoleon to Hitler.

  “You Americans have no idea what we have suffered. You did not even suffer a million casualties in your two-front battles in the Second World War. We don’t know how many of our people died. Some say twenty-seven million. One out of every four men, women, and children. With such threats the desire for power here is different than in your country. You have a Donald Trump… we come up with a Stalin. Money is not an end here, but a means to an end. The end that powerful men in Russia desire is to be able to defeat one’s enemies. To crush them.”

  Yakov pointed a long finger at Lubyanka. “When I go in there, remember that.” A waiter passed by, and Yakov barked at him in Russian. Seconds later, there were three vodkas on the table. “Drink,” Yakov said. He lifted his glass and downed it. He nodded at Katyenka. “I will see you later.”

  “And you also,” Katyenka said. She stood and walked off, disappearing into the crowd in the square.

  Yakov placed a hand on Turcotte’s shoulder. “If I am not back in… let us say an hour, I recommend you go home.”

  “What is Katyenka doing?”

  “She is checking in with her boss. Remember, she doesn’t work for me and she has to keep up the illusion that she works for the GRU.”

  “Make sure you get back here in an hour,” Turcotte said. “I don’t want to have to go in there after you.”

  “You go in there after me, that makes two of us not coming out,” Yakov said.

  “I’m not leaving without you.”

  “Easy to say now,” Yakov said. “You might feel differently in an hour.”

  Turcotte checked his watch. “We have eighteen hours. Exactly.” His SATPhone buzzed. He flipped it open.

  “Yes?”

  “Mike, the key is known as the Spear of Destiny. Either the Russians got it from the Germans at the end of the Second World War or it’s in Egypt. You need to turn around and go back to Russia.”

  Turcotte digested that information, before responding. “I’m still in Russia, Lisa. Downtown Moscow to be exact. And if the Russians have it, Yakov and I are on the right trail.”

  “Good. I’m going to Egypt to check that possibility out.” She relayed the information she’d gotten from von Seeckt about the Spear and what it looked like.

  Yakov was staring at Turcotte across the table, his bushy eyebrows arched in question.

  “Be careful,” Turcotte warned.

  “You too.”

  Turcotte turned slightly away from Yakov. “I mean it. Be careful.”

  There was a slight pause. “I know you do. And you know I meant it also. I’ve got to get going. Out here.”

  The phone went dead. Turcotte turned to Yakov and relayed Duncan’s information.

  Yakov stood. “The KGB must have the Spear. I will find out.”

  “Remember what I said,” Turcotte reminded him.

  “I will.” Yakov walked off.

  Turcotte flipped open the SATPhone and punched in a new number.

  “Billam here.”

  “It’s Turcotte. I’m sitting across the square from Lubyanka. Yakov is going in.”

  “This guy Quinn is pretty good,” Billam said. “He got us floor plans for Lubyanka. We could land the bouncer right on the roof and work our way down. Any idea what floor you’ll be on?”

  “By the time you get there, if I need you, I’ll know.”

  “We’re locked and loaded,” Billam said. “We can be airborne in thirty seconds and the pilot of the bouncer says he can get us there in thirty-six minutes.”

  “Let’s hope you don’t need to come,” Turcotte said. “I want you to keep on top of Dr. Duncan also. Out here.” He closed the phone and put it in his pocket, then checked his watch.

  Area 51

  D — 17 Hours, 40 Minutes

  Major Quinn walked up to Professor Mualama. “How’s the translation going?”

  “Most interesting,” Mualama said. He reached into his backpack and pulled out the scepter. “I now know where this goes.”

  Quinn stared at the artifact. “That’s Airlia.”

  “Yes. I found it in the coffin.”

  “Goddamn!” Quinn exploded. “When the hell were you going to tell us you had that?”

  “When I knew what it was,” Mualama said.

  “We’ve been searching for the key to Qian-Ling and… ”

  “It is not the key to Qian-Ling,” Mualama interrupted him. “I knew that from the very beginning. But what I didn’t have to know is where it was the key to and if I could trust you.”

  Quinn had seen this before, in the dark days under Majestic. Information was compartmentalized… in this case the threat from Lexina… so much that those who had pertinent information weren’t aware it was pertinent. Secrecy was sometimes a necessity, but always with a cost.

  “And you know where it goes?” Quinn asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t move.” Quinn pulled out his SATPhone and called Duncan.

  Lubyanka, Moscow

  D — 17 Hours, 30 Minutes

  “We have cooperated with United Nations Alien Oversight Committee as directed by our president and parliament,” the man seated across from Yakov said. His name was Lyoncheka and he wore a very expensive suit, something that was not unusual here in the halls of the FSB headquarters these days. Yakov knew that the reason Lyoncheka could afford such clothes was that he had strong ties with the Mafia here in Moscow. It was the new way.

  “It is your organization,” Lyoncheka continued, “that was penetrated. It was your facility that was destroyed. Why do you come to me?”

  “Because I believe the KGB withheld alien material and records from Section Four. Material recovered at the end of the Great Patriotic War.”

  Lyoncheka leaned back in his deep leather chair. His desk was huge, made of expensive wood. The windows behind him opened onto Lubyanka Square. It was on the third floor, which Yakov knew meant much prestige, because the office of
the head of the KGB, now the FSB, was on the same floor, just three doors away.

  The KGB had changed its name to FSB, but Lyoncheka had the same look Yakov had always associated with the KGB. A thick, solid body that did not fit well inside the tailored suit, heavy-lidded eyes that rarely made direct contact, and a total lack of anything remotely resembling happiness in his features. The sort of man that would choke his own mother to death if it would advance his position and increase his power.

  “The KGB no longer exists,” Lyoncheka said.

  “You have all the records from… ”

  “No, we don’t,” Lyoncheka interrupted. “Much was destroyed in the change of power from communism. We are a free country now. As such we cannot maintain the type of records the KGB used to have. And”… Lyoncheka smiled without any humor… “there were many incriminating records that could not stand the light of day so the individuals who were mentioned in them spent many a late night shredding and burning.”

  Yakov was impressed that Lyoncheka could say that without the slightest hint of sarcasm in his voice. Yakov realized it was time to switch his approach. Appealing to Lyoncheka as a member of the government was obviously futile. He would have to approach the man’s more basic side, the part that worked hand in hand with the Mafia.

  As with any other country, there had always been crime in the Soviet Union, and there was crime now in the new Russia. Yakov knew that under the Communists, the top criminals had been in bed with the government, their actions controlled. If anything, since the change, it was now the government that was in bed with the criminals.

  In the decade following the fall of communism, the Mafia had grown to the point where it rivaled the government for control of the country. Those who were smart… and ruthless… like Lyoncheka had seen the handwriting on the wall very early on. The previous year Russia had taken in a total of $60 billion in Western goods; over half of that had been imported illegally by the Mafia. Yakov knew that in the streets of Moscow, the murder rate was standing at approximately a hundred Mafia-related killings a day. And no one was being arrested for those crimes.