The Blood Gospel

by Rebecca Cantrell James Rollins

  “Forgive me for not tidying up,” the young monk said, adjusting his glasses. “And for not making a proper introduction. You are Sergeant Jordan Stone, yes?”

  “That’s right.” Jordan offered his hand.

  Brother Leopold grasped it in both of his, pumping it up and down. “Wilkommen. Welcome to Ettal Abbey.”

  “Thanks.” Jordan gave the monk a genuine smile.

  Brother Leopold returned it, his expression as enthusiastic as his handshake.

  After making her own introductions, Erin decided the monk seemed far more human than either Rhun or Bernard. True, his hand felt as cold as theirs when she shook it, but it was still friendlier than the usual stiff and formal gloved handshake of the others.

  Maybe he was simply younger than his centuries-old elders.

  Brother Leopold turned with a dramatic sweep of his arm over the chaos of his office. “The collection and I are at your disposal, Professor Granger. I understand you have some artifact that you wish to gain some further insight about.”

  “That’s right.” She reached under her long duster to her pants pocket and pulled out the Nazi medal. She held it out toward the monk. “What can you tell us about this?”

  He held it between his pudgy finger and thumb, eyeballing it with and without his glasses. He flipped the coin over several times, finally drifting toward his desk, where he placed the medal under a fixed magnifying lens.

  He read the writing along the edge of the medallion. “Ahnenerbe. No surprise to find one of their calling cards buried in the sands of the Holy Land. That group spent decades scouring tombs, caves, and ruins there.”

  He tapped the symbol on the back. “But this is interesting. An Odal rune.” He glanced at Erin. “Where exactly was this found?”

  “In the mummified hand of a girl murdered in the Israeli desert. We are looking for something, an artifact, that might have been stolen from her by the Ahnenerbe.”

  One of the monk’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. He looked to them for further explanation, but when none came he simply sighed and concluded, “The Nazis’ evil ranged far.”

  Erin felt guilty for not being more open with the enthusiastic monk. She knew Brother Leopold had been told nothing about the search for the Blood Gospel, only that they needed help with the medallion found in the desert.

  “Do you think you can figure out whom the medal might have once belonged to?” she asked. “If we knew that, we might know where to continue our search.”

  “That may be difficult. I see no identifying marks.”

  She tried not to look crestfallen, but how could she not?

  Jordan must have caught her tone because he squeezed her shoulder and changed the subject. He read a few of the titles off the maps, pronouncing the German names correctly.

  “You speak German?” she asked.

  “A little,” Jordan said. “And a little Arabic. And a little English.”

  Rhun shifted, drawing Erin’s attention to him. She wondered how many languages he spoke.

  Jordan faced Brother Leopold. “How did you come upon such a comprehensive collection of maps?”

  “Some have been in my possession since they were drawn.” The monk stroked wooden rosary beads hanging from his belt. “I am ashamed to say that I was a member of the National Socialist Party, when I was human.”

  Jordan’s eyes widened. “You—”

  Equally surprised, Erin tried to picture the round monk with the open face as a Nazi.

  Rhun interrupted. “Perhaps we should turn our attention to the Ahnenerbe?”

  “Of course.” Brother Leopold sat on his creaky leather chair. “I merely wish your two companions to understand that my knowledge of such matters is not esoteric. Since becoming a Sanguinist, I have learned more about the activities of the Nazis and have dedicated my continuing existence and my studies to the undoing of their evil and to ensure that such malevolence never rises again.”

  “To that end,” Rhun asked, “have you seen any medallions like this before?”

  “I’ve seen similar.” Brother Leopold rummaged through a desk drawer and pulled out a tiny wooden box with a glass lid. “Here are some badges of the Ahnenerbe. Most of these were collected by Father Piers, a mentor of mine and the priest who converted me to the cloth. He knew far more about the Nazi occult practices than anyone—probably more than the Germans knew themselves.”

  Erin remembered Cardinal Bernard mentioning the deceased priest’s name back in Jerusalem. Over the centuries, many famous historians had died, taking their undocumented knowledge with them to the grave. That kind of tragedy was not limited to human scholars.

  The monk directed her attention back to the display box. “I think you’ll appreciate the shape of the medal in the center.”

  He tapped the glass over a pewter badge in the shape of the Odal rune, with a swastika in the middle and two legs extending out from the bottom like tiny feet.

  She read the words that marched around its edges. “Volk. Sippe.”

  “‘Folk’ and ‘tribe,’” he translated. “The Ahnenerbe believed that Germans descended from the Aryan race, a people that they believed settled Atlantis before moving north.”

  “Atlantis?” Jordan shook his head.

  Erin’s eye caught on another pin in the case. The emblem appeared to be a pedestal holding up an open book. “What’s this one?”

  “Ah, that one represents the importance of Ahnenerbe in documenting Aryan history and heritage, but there are some who say it represents a great mystery, some occult book of deep power held by them.”

  Erin matched glances with Rhun.

  Could this be some hint of their possession of the Blood Gospel?

  The monk shoved aside a stack of Nazi-era documents to reveal a modern keyboard. He began typing, and the wall of glass beside his desk bloomed to light, revealing it to be a giant computer monitor. Across the large screen, data scrolled at startling speeds. It appeared the Sanguinists had their share of both ancient and modern toys.

  “If you’re looking for a lost Ahnenerbe artifact,” Leopold said as his fingers flew over the keyboard, “this is a map of Germany. I’ve been working on it for the better part of sixty years. The red arrows you see represent suspected Nazi bunkers and repositories. Green ones have been cleared.” He sighed. “Sadly there are more red arrows than green.”

  Erin felt a sinking in her gut. Barely an inch of the map didn’t contain an arrow.

  And yes, most were depressingly red.

  “If all these are not cleared,” Erin said, “how come you know they’re even there? What do you mean by suspected Nazi bunkers?”

  “We hear stories of them. Local folklore. Sometimes we can guess from half-destroyed Nazi documents.”

  Jordan squinted at the screen. “But that’s not the only way you’re pinpointing these places, is it?” He nodded to the crowded screen. “From the sophistication of this survey, I’m guessing you must be using satellite telemetry and ground-penetrating radar to identify hidden, underground structures.”

  Brother Leopold smiled. “It almost feels like cheating. But in the end, all that wonderful technology has only succeeded in adding more red arrows to the screen. The only way to know if there’s anything really there—or if those hidden structures contain anything significant—is to search them in person, one by one.”

  Rhun’s eyes flicked from side to side as he scanned the map from top to bottom. “What we seek could be in any of those hundreds of locations.”

  Brother Leopold pushed back his chair and crossed his legs. “I’m sorry I don’t have a better answer for you.”

  Rhun twitched. Erin sensed his impatience. The Belial were on the trail of the book as avidly as she and Jordan and Rhun were. Every minute mattered.

  Jordan tapped one of the red arrows. “Then it’s grunt work from here, guys. We go through the sites and assign them high and low probabilities and work through them. Use a grid pattern. It won’t be quick, but it’ll be th
orough.”

  His idea sounded logical—but it felt wrong.

  3:42 A.M.

  Jordan watched Erin step to the desk and remove the medallion from under the magnifying lens. He could tell she was frustrated from the pinch of her brows and the stiffness of her back. He didn’t like the idea of searching hundreds of sites either, but what other choice did they have?

  As Erin turned in his direction, a light flickered deep in her eyes. That usually meant things were about to change, not always for the better.

  He touched her shoulder. “Erin, you got something?”

  “I don’t know.” She rubbed the rune on the back of the medal with her thumbs.

  Rhun cocked his head, his eyes fixed on Erin with an intensity that somehow rankled Jordan; as if that gaze would consume her.

  Jordan shifted to stand between them. “Talk it out,” he said. “Maybe we can help.”

  Erin’s brown eyes remained far away. “Symbols were crucial to the Ahnenerbe. Why that symbol on the stolen badge?”

  Leopold’s chair creaked. “The Odal rune indicates inheritance. If the Odal rune was written next to a person’s name or an object, it meant ownership.”

  “Like writing your name on your sneakers,” Jordan said. He looked over at the badge with the swastika in the center of the rune. “So does that emblem mean the Ahnenerbe owned the Nazis?”

  He knew he probably sounded like an idiot to the scholars, but sometimes an idiot’s perspective ended up getting more things done.

  “I think it’s more like the Ahnenerbe thought they owned the Third Reich,” Erin clarified. “They believed they were the true protectors of Aryan heritage.”

  “But what does that signify?” Rhun pressed her, leaning toward her as if trying to draw the answer from her physically.

  Erin leaned back. “I’m not sure, but at the end of the war, Berlin was being bombed. The Third Reich was on the run.” Her words came out slowly, as if she searched for words to a once-familiar story. “And the Ahnenerbe scientists would have known that the war was over long before the formal surrender.”

  Leopold nodded. “They would have. But they thought in terms of centuries. To them, the present was a pale thing of little importance. They were interested in the history of the Aryan race going back ten thousand years—and forward the same number of millennia.”

  “To the Fourth Reich!” Erin said, her eyes lighting up. “That group would have been planning for the long term. They would have wanted to keep their most important objects hidden until the coming of the Fourth Reich.”

  “Which means that they would have hidden them somewhere unknown to the leaders of the Third Reich,” Leopold said, swinging back to his deck. “So we can eliminate any bunkers documented by the Nazi government.”

  The monk tapped hurriedly at his keyboard and half the red arrows vanished.

  “That helped,” Jordan said.

  “There are still too many,” Erin concluded, and began to pace the small office, plainly trying to discharge nervous energy and stay focused.

  Rhun did not move, but he tracked her with his eyes.

  Erin pointed at the screen but didn’t glance at it. “Where would they hide their more precious artifacts to ensure that some future Aryan scientists could find them?”

  “How about Atlantis?” Jordan asked with a roll of his eyes. “With the mermaids?”

  She slapped her forehead with her palm. “Of course!”

  All three men looked at her as if she were mad.

  “Erin,” Rhun warned, his voice gentle. “I must remind you that the Nazis did not know the location of Atlantis.”

  She waved such details aside. “Legend has it that the Fourth Reich would rise like Atlantis from the sea, returning the Aryan race to supremacy.” She faced Leopold. “What if the last of the Ahnenerbe tried to hedge that bet, to force the prophecy to be true?”

  Rhun stirred next to Jordan, as if something Erin said had disturbed him.

  Erin forged on. “To match that legend, they might have hidden their most important and significant artifacts near water. Trapped and surrounded by Allied forces, the last of the Ahnenerbe couldn’t reach the sea at the end of the war—and they would’ve wanted to keep their treasures buried in the soil of the Fatherland anyway. So they might have sought the next best thing.”

  Leopold’s voice grew hushed. “A German body of water.”

  “A lake,” Erin said.

  Leopold typed in a command and all but a dozen red arrows disappeared, marking unexplored lakeside bunkers.

  Jordan’s fist tightened with excitement.

  Even Rhun came dangerously close to smiling.

  “Let me bring up a satellite view of each one,” Leopold said.

  In a few minutes, a checkerboard of images filled the large screen, displaying ground-penetrating images of each of the suspected bunkers.

  “Mein Gott in Himmel,” Leopold swore, reverting to his native tongue in shock.

  They all moved closer to the screen. They all saw it.

  In the lower right checkerboard, one of the outlines of the subterranean bunkers was in the exact shape of the Odal rune.

  And this particular one wasn’t just next to a lake.

  It lay sunken underwater.

  Just like Atlantis.

  31

  October 27, 3:55 A.M., CET

  Ettal, Germany

  In front of the computer screen, Rhun stood near enough to Erin to smell the simple soap Bernard stocked at his Jerusalem apartments. Her long hair left a trace of warmth in the air when she swung it away from her face.

  Jordan stepped between them, blocking his view of her again. Rhun knew it was done on purpose. The soldier kept his hands out at his sides, ready for anything, including a fight.

  Irritation flashed through Rhun, but he forced it away. Jordan was correct to enforce a space between him and this young woman. Erin Granger, with her sharp mind and compassionate heart, was a very dangerous woman indeed. And Rhun needed all the distance he could muster.

  Rhun turned his attention to Brother Leopold and to the task at hand. “Is there a triad in residence?”

  “Natürlich.” The monk’s rosary clacked against the desk when he rose. “Nadia, Emmanuel, and Christian are here. Shall I fetch them?”

  “Nadia and Emmanuel only,” Rhun said. “I will be the third.”

  “What’s a triad?” Jordan asked, eavesdropping on their conversation.

  Leopold lifted the receiver of a black telephone and explained. “Sanguinist warriors often work in groups of three. It is a holy number.”

  And a perfect fighting unit, Rhun added silently.

  Aloud, he said, “I will go with two others to this bunker and search it.”

  Erin crossed her arms. “I’m going, too.”

  “We’re a package deal,” Jordan added. “Isn’t that what the Cardinal said?”

  Rhun drew himself up straight. “Your orders were to aid me in the search, which you have done. If we are successful, we will return here with the artifact.”

  Jordan gave an unconvincing smile. “I believe the Cardinal said that we were the trio. Woman, warrior, and knight. I’m all for getting reinforcements, but not replacements.”

  Brother Leopold dialed four numbers and spoke into the receiver—but his eyes had locked on to the soldier. He had heard what was spoken, knew what it meant, understood now what they sought.

  “Rhun,” Erin said. “If the … artifact is in this bunker, my help led you there, and maybe you’ll need my help once you’re inside, too.”

  “I have survived for centuries without your help, Dr. Granger.”

  She didn’t back down. “If the Cardinal is correct about the prophecy, this is no time for pride. From any of us.”

  Rhun blinked. She had blithely named his greatest fault.

  Pride.

  Such a fault had once brought him low—he would not let it happen again. She was right. He might very well need their help, and h
e could not be too proud to accept it.

  “We must all do what we were called to do,” Erin said, echoing something the Cardinal had told him.

  We must each humbly bow to our own destinies.

  Erin added, “The book demands no less.”

  Rhun cast his eyes down. If the fulfillment of the prophecy had begun, the three of them together must seek the book. As much as he wanted to, he could not leave Erin behind.

  Not even for her own safety.

  Or for his.

  4:02 A.M.

  A new map covered the large computer screen, a modern road map of the mountainous terrain of Garmisch-Partenkirchen. The lake and its hidden bunker lay about forty miles into that rough terrain. On the glowing monitor, Erin traced the thin white line that threaded between dark green hills and ended at the small alpine tarn.

  “Is that a road?” she asked.

  “An old dirt track,” Brother Leopold said. “The vehicle you arrived in cannot navigate it. But—”

  The office door clicked open behind them.

  Jordan’s hand went to the butt of his submachine gun.

  Rhun flowed back into a ready stance.

  Erin simply turned. Were the others right to be so on edge, even here, where she had felt safe? At that moment she sensed her inadequacy to deal with the dangers ahead.

  Two black-cloaked figures swept into the room like an icy wind: swift, relentless, and cold. Only when they stopped moving did Erin recognize them as Sanguinists.

  The first, surprisingly, was a woman, outfitted in tailored leather armor, similar to Rhun’s—except she wore a thin silver belt that looked like it was made of chain. She had braided her shiny black hair and pinned it up in a bun. Her severe face was darker-complected than Rhun’s, but equally implacable. She rested a gloved hand on the hilt of a dagger that was strapped to her thigh.

  Her eyes swept the room, then she offered the slightest bow of her head to Erin and Jordan. “I am Nadia.”

  The other, a man, stood two steps behind the woman.

  “And I am Emmanuel,” he said, his accent Spanish.

  He wore a black cassock, unbuttoned down the front, revealing leather armor beneath and a silvery hint of hidden weapons. Blond hair hung loose past his shoulders, far too long for a priest, and a pink scar ran down one chiseled cheekbone.