by C. M. Palov
‘Given its ignominious provenance, I’m surprised that the Lapis Exillis would be deemed sacred,’ Kate said, twisting the lid on the water bottle. ‘And Finn raises a valid point: most people believe that the Grail is a chalice.’
Getting up from his chair, Cædmon walked over to the other side of the room and retrieved a water glass from the bedside table. ‘During the Middle Ages, there were three different Grail camps: those who believed the relic was a chalice; those who were convinced that it was a stone; and the peacekeepers who, through a convoluted twisting of both tales, declared that the Grail had been a stone that became a chalice.’ Reseating himself, he handed the glass to Kate. ‘Although what’s not in dispute is the fact that the Grail, whether it be stone or chalice, has miraculous power. And what is power if not energy?’
‘So you’re thinking that the Grail has something to do with the Axe Historique and the Vril force,’ Kate said, quick to catch his drift.
‘Depictions of the Grail often render it shrouded in a brilliant burst of light.’ Vexed, Cædmon shook his head. He had a gut feeling that the Lapis Exillis was connected to the Paris axis, but not a shred of evidence to prove it. ‘Mind you, this is mere speculation, but it could be that the Grail is some sort of transducer that can convert one type of energy into another.’
‘How do the Cathars fit into the Grail story?’ Kate poured herself a glass of water, then, holding the bottle aloft, silently enquired if he cared for some.
‘Difficult to say,’ Cædmon replied, politely shaking his head, water no substitute for alcohol. ‘The Cathars were dualists who believed that there were two gods, not one. The god whom they referred to as Rex Mundi, the king of the world, they associated with Lucifer who ruled the material realm. Conversely, the good god was the Light that illuminated the heavenly sphere. How the Cathars came to be in possession of a uniquely Christian relic is anyone’s guess.’ He paused, well aware that the conversation was about to veer off course. ‘Although it’s abundantly clear from the Latin inscription on the Montségur Medallion that the Cathars were the Grail Guardians.’
‘But I always thought that the Cathars were a Christian sect.’ Kate’s brow furrowed, having jumped to the same erroneous conclusion that most people made.
‘While the Cathars thought of themselves as upright Christians, their rituals did not include the traditional Catholic sacraments. And, of course, there was that heretical business about Jesus being a divinely inspired prophet rather than the divine Son of God.’
One side of McGuire’s mouth quirked in a wry half-grin. ‘Reason enough for Sister Michael Patrick to pull out a box of Diamond matches and light a pyre.’
‘How strange that you should make reference to the Inquisitors’ funeral pyre since I’m about to throw caution aside and leap into the fire. After due deliberation …’ Cædmon paused, on the cusp of a decision that could well change his life. ‘I’ve decided to search for the Grail.’
44
‘Jesus H!’ Finn’s shoulders jack-knifed off the back of the chair. ‘You are off your freakin’ English rocker if you think you can find the Holy Grail!’
‘Thank you for that resounding vote of confidence,’ Aisquith deadpanned, unfazed by the criticism.
‘Finding the Grail is like putting toothpaste back in the tube. It ain’t gonna happen. And didn’t you see the movie? Indiana Jones already beat you to it,’ Finn taunted, beginning to think the Brit needed to be knocked on the head with a 2 x 4. Drastic? Maybe. But he didn’t know what else besides a wood kiss would knock sense into the guy.
‘Do you have any idea what these people are capable of?’ Folding his arms over his chest, Aisquith patronizingly looked down his nose. Like he was the school master and Finn the class dunce.
‘They butchered two good buddies of mine, so, yeah, I think I know what I’m up against.’ Raising the beer can to his lips, Finn polished it off.
‘And before that, they butchered as many as seventeen million innocent people.’
‘Cædmon, have you really thought this through?’ Kate enquired in concern, having remained silent up to this point. Probably in a state of shock. ‘The Seven Research Foundation could easily target you.’
‘If memory serves correctly, they already have.’ He glanced down at the spot on his chest where he’d almost taken a bullet to the heart. ‘Although not to worry. I’m well armed. Fortis est veritas.’
Kate smiled wistfully; the phrase obviously meaning something to her. ‘And just as truth is strength, scientia potentia est.’
‘Knowledge is power,’ Aisquith replied.
‘Hey, excuse me. I didn’t get to go to Awxford. I got my education at Boot Camp U. So, can we all stick to English?’
‘Very well. Here is a fact that requires no translation: the Ahnenerbe was obsessed with finding the Holy Grail. Their descendents seem no less fanatical. While I don’t know the foundation’s reason for coveting the relic, I’m certain that it pertains to the Axe Historique and the creation of the Vril force.’ Doing a fair imitation of a traffic cop, Aisquith held up his right hand. ‘And please spare me the stale refrain about flying saucers and Nazi ray guns.’
‘Fine,’ Finn muttered, having been two seconds shy of throwing a zinger. ‘But do you actually expect me to believe that a bunch of Nazi descendants are planning a comeback? There’s nothing left of the Third Reich. My great-uncle Seamus and all the other men who kicked Nazi ass sixty some years ago saw to that.’ Point made, he reached for another beer.
‘And my grandfather, who was a prosecuting attorney at the Nuremberg trials, was appalled that the high-ranking members of the Nazi Party considered themselves avatars, gods in the making. Indeed, he said on more than one occasion that it was impossible to reason with them. It’s naive to think that the evil was completely eradicated at war’s end. We must assume that the Ahnenerbe’s spawn have been indoctrinated in this dark belief system.’
Finn lifted a disinterested shoulder. ‘That was then, this is now.’
‘Is it?’ For several long seconds Aisquith stared at him, grim-faced. ‘Many of the same global crises that gave rise to National Socialism in the 1930s again threaten to cripple world governments. This is a movement that thrives on despair and discontent. Pick up any newspaper; there’s plenty of that to go around.’
‘As a cultural anthropologist, I can attest to the fact that Western Europe and America are both in the midst of a social upheaval,’ Kate remarked, throwing in her lot with Aisquith. ‘Xenophobia and religious intolerance are rampant and could easily reach a dangerous tipping point. It’s happened before. It could happen again.’ Lips slightly quivering, her voice dropped to a husky whisper. ‘Although a proud American citizen, my grandfather was forcibly imprisoned in a Japanese internment camp.’
Jesus. I had no idea. Finn stared at his beer can, wanting to give comfort, but uncertain how to act on the impulse.
‘Lest we forget,’ Aisquith said consolingly, reaching across the desk to squeeze Kate’s hand. Then, his voice more strident, ‘My aim is to destroy the enemy’s arsenal. And, yes, I believe that the Vril force, if harnessed, could be used as a weapon. Had Nazi physicists been successful in their quest to weaponize the Vril, there would have been a far different outcome to the Second World War.’
‘Hey, I can’t get bogged down by something that didn’t happen. If it doesn’t relate to my mission op tomorrow at the Grande Arche, I’m not interested.’ Beer can in hand, Finn jabbed it in Aisquith’s direction. ‘And don’t get any funny ideas in your head about borrowing the medallion. That sucker is the only bargaining chip I have to get the Dark Angel.’
‘A digital photo of the Montségur Medallion will suffice. If you would be so kind.’
‘Whatever.’ Unzipping his Go Bag, Finn extracted the medallion and handed it over, figuring it was the quickest way to get rid of the other man.
The Brit wasted no time whipping out his BlackBerry, Kate getting up from her chair to play photographer’s as
sistant. Annoyed that they kept making goo-goo eyes at each other, Finn stood up and walked over to the French doors, almost stumbling on the bed’s footboard en route. The damned thing was enormous and, try as he might, there was no escaping it.
Opening the set of doors, he purposefully turned his back on the king-size mattress with the silky royal blue spread. While women needed a reason to have sex, men just needed a place. A bed. The back of a truck. A concrete floor. Didn’t much matter. Although the floor was probably where he’d end up spending the night while Kate, sacked out on that huge mattress, dreamed about the Scarlet Pimpernel.
In a foul mood, Finn scanned the streetscape below, on the look-out for unfriendlies, cops or the Dark Angel, his enemies fast mounting. Aisquith had assured him that the hotel was secure, but his trust only went so far. Which was the reason why he had the floor plan for all five storeys of the hotel committed to memory and had checked out all of the exits before making his beer run.
Ignoring the murmured conversation taking place behind him, Finn watched as a grey Peugeot taxi sped down Rue de la Verrerie like it was in a Formula One time test. Not seeing anything suspicious, he closed the doors.
Still fuming, he headed back to the desk. Standing side-by-side, Aisquith and Kate were staring intently at the digital photos that they’d just taken of the medallion.
‘Do you think the encoded map is contained within the pictorial symbols or the inscription?’ Kate asked.
‘The clues to the Grail’s whereabouts could be embedded in the inscriptions as well as the symbols. A two-prong encryption code.’ As he spoke, Aisquith fingered the rim of the medallion. ‘Deciphering an esoteric mystery is akin to finding one’s way through a Georgian maze. You spend hours aimlessly wandering, hitting one dead-end after another, only to find yourself standing at the very spot where you began.’
‘Which begs the question: where are you going to begin the search?’
Not particularly interested in hearing Aisquith’s reply, Finn reseated himself at the desk. Forced to take a back seat, he took a swig of warm beer, wondering if there was anything he could do to get Aisquith out of the door – other than the time-honoured boot to the ass.
‘The legends state that the Cathars smuggled a treasure from their mountaintop citadel at Montségur several days before the fortress fell to the Pope’s army,’ Aisquith pontificated in his snooty Awxford accent. ‘Making Montségur the logical place to begin the hunt. That said … ?’
Finn watched as Aisquith looked expectantly over at Kate. A silent invitation.
One second slipped into the next, Finn’s hand tightening around the beer can.
‘It’s, um, probably best if I stay in Paris.’
Hearing that, the bottom half of him – that being the part between his hips – was relieved that Kate had rejected the Brit. But the top half – the part between his ears – was annoyed as hell. Kate Bauer was a complication. And a physical distraction. He had three irons in the fire. He didn’t need a fourth one scorching his pants.
Aisquith glanced at his watch. ‘I have just enough time to pack a bag and catch a southbound train.’ Turning towards Kate, he cupped her face between his hands and quickly kissed her on the lips.
‘Goodbye, Cædmon and … please be careful,’ Kate whispered, clearly upset by the other man’s imminent departure.
About to take another swig of his beer, Finn glanced at Aisquith. ‘Needle. Haystack,’ he said, summing up the crazy-ass, half-baked quest. ‘That said, good luck, Sir Prancelot. And may the Force be with you.’
Aisquith’s mouth contorted into a snide smile. ‘You do realize, don’t you, that if I find the Grail, your little gold trinket will be utterly worthless?’
45
Ivo Uhlemann raised the china cup to his lips and took a sip of green tea.
Without the tracking device, finding Finnegan McGuire in a city of two million inhabitants would be next to impossible. Particularly since they only had three days until the heliacal rising of Sirius. Although they had managed to track down McGuire’s cohort, Cædmon Aisquith, the owner of L’Equinoxe bookstore.
The day’s events having taken their toll, he’d sought his favourite sanctuary, the secluded alcove that overlooked the Seven’s research facility. Constructed underground, the installation was designed around a three-storey faux atrium. Multiple laboratories, work stations, a well-stocked library and several conference rooms lined the top two storeys. With its full-spectrum illumination, banks of frosted glass and lush plants, it was a visually appealing environment.
Cathedral-like, it was here that Ivo prayed daily to the gods of Galileo, Copernicus, Newton and Planck.
Peering over the railing, he was pleased to observe the researchers, scientists and scholars seated at various tables on the mezzanine level. In order to maintain secrecy, they endeavoured under the false belief that they were working on a covert government project. To further the deceit, they’d been forced to sign an ‘official’ confidentiality disclosure agreement. Should they reveal the nature of their work to anyone outside of the foundation, they would be hit with heavy monetary fines and possible imprisonment. Or so they believed. If, in fact, any of the researchers ever did violate the terms of the agreement, a far more severe penalty would be meted out. Administered by the Dark Angel.
The sight of so much industry, of virtuosi working for a common cause, was a soothing balm for Ivo’s frazzled nerves. An organized collective, all of the researchers at the Seven Research Foundation were in pursuit of the same primary objective – to analyze the effect of fusing astral and telluric energies to create the Vril force.
The Lost Science of the ancient world.
While they’d had great success engineering a special generator to create the Vril force, they were missing the unique integral component that would operate the device – the Lapis Exillis.
Once they found the Lapis Exillis, and they would find it, das Groß Versuch, the Great Experiment, could be conducted. In Stage One of the experiment, they would generate the Vril force. In the next stage, the Vril force would be used to do the unimaginable … to create a loop in the space–time continuum.
The ultimate physics experiment.
Glancing dismissively at his tepid cup of tea, Ivo hoped that he lived long enough to witness that history-altering event.
The pain having become more than he could bear, he gracelessly lumbered to his feet. The metastasized tumour in the back of his abdominal cavity pressed against his spine, creating near-constant pain. According to his oncologist, he had no more than four months to live. Even if he underwent the gruelling treatments, it would only add an extra two or three months to his life. Preferring pain to debilitating nausea and uncontrollable diarrhoea, he’d elected not to undergo the chemotherapy and radiation treatment. At least the pain could be managed.
Slowly shuffling to a locked door on the other side of the alcove, Ivo keyed a numeric code into the security pad, the door unlocking with a soft pong!
A private lavatory, it was painted and tiled in neutral shades of brown, the cabinetry stained a dark espresso. An elaborate dried floral arrangement, an upholstered high-backed chair and several pillar candles created a tasteful décor.
Ivo stepped over to the basin and washed his hands. Seating himself on the edge of the chair, he opened a drawer and removed a small bottle of white powder, a second bottle of sterile water, a tiny piece of cotton, an alcohol swab, a tourniquet, a wrapped syringe and a spoon. Hands shaking, he lit the nearby candle. He deemed it a bitter irony that his pain medication derived its name from the German word heroisch meaning ‘heroic’.
From his perspective, there was nothing heroic about dying from cancer or shooting up with heroin.
However, he’d long since got over the shame of the latter. For him, it was a matter of simple expedience; heroin crossed the blood–brain barrier faster than morphine and was a far more potent analgesic.
Removing the needle from his vein, Ivo leaned
back in the chair and closed his eyes, able to see a luminous fire burning in the dark void. An instant later, Wotan appeared, hanging from a gnarled oak tree.
Pain dissipating, Ivo softly cackled.
The fallacy of religion was that the Church Fathers adamantly asserted transcendental experiences proved the existence of God. How trite. One had only to inject a small amount of heroin into a vein to induce a spiritual euphoria.
Ivo savoured the bliss as the bright ball of fire travelled to his left breast, burning a hole through the middle of his tattoo.
Yes!
They would find the Lapis Exillis. He was certain of it. Then they would put his father’s theory to the ultimate test. Transform the past into the present. And when they did, they would restore das Dritte Reich … the Third Reign … one that would indeed last a thousand years.
How amazing to ponder that the course of all their lives could be dramatically altered by fusing different types of energy. Creating an invisible force that had no intelligence, no scent, no taste and made no sound.
Yet, despite all that, a force to be reckoned with.
46
What was the Grail if not the Mysterium cosmographicum? Cædmon silently mused.
Excited by the prospect of finding the ‘secret of the universe’, he had nonetheless taken the time to shave, shower and don fresh clothing. Keys in hand, he swung the leather tote bag on to his shoulder. For some inexplicable reason, he felt like a new man.
Ready to depart, he shut the bedroom door and headed into the flat’s cluttered sitting room. Opening the top drawer on the corner cabinet, he reluctantly deposited his holster. As he did, his gaze landed on a smudged glass with a finger’s measure of gin, in plain sight where he’d left it earlier that morning on top of the cabinet.