Jurgen was hurt, but like a wounded big cat it made him more cautious, but no less dangerous. Jamie was unaware of the savage delight that etched his face and sent a shudder of concern through his enemy. He had tasted blood and he wanted more. He darted in a second time, hoping to take advantage of Jurgen’s shock, but the big man knew how close he had come and retreated into a defensive crouch. They fell into a rhythm of move and counter-move, thrust and counter-thrust. The minutes passed and Jamie felt his arm beginning to tire. Once more, he created what he thought was the killer opening, but this time Jurgen was ready and as Jamie swerved away his hand flicked out like a striking viper. The knife point scored Jamie’s left cheekbone and his vision disintegrated into a fiery cauldron. He knew Jurgen would be coming for him and he slashed blindly with his blade. But when his sight cleared Jurgen was standing back with the grin restored to his face. He reached up to touch the scar on his own cheek.
‘Schlager,’ he laughed.
Jamie knew a schlager was the heavy sword used in years past by German students to inflict scars of honour during fencing contests. But those were tests of skill, not fights to the death. That was when he understood this was a battle he could never win.
Frederick barked an order to continue, and Jurgen moved in for the kill. They resumed their circling, Jamie reduced to trying to stay alive and seeking an opening that seemed increasingly less likely to come, and Jurgen, his confidence restored, now doing the probing and dancing. Another near miss opened Jamie’s left breast just above the nipple and that galvanized him into a new attack, but he could feel the fatigue eating at him. He had to finish it now. Or die.
Feigning a slip, he allowed his feet to go out from under him at the same time praying that Jurgen would see his opening and go for the kill. It was a risk, but a calculated one, because if he was quick, the way he had fallen would carry him under the knife and into the killing zone. The downside was that if Jurgen was quicker, Jamie would be at his mercy for the vital split second it would take to plunge the blade into his body. As he hit the plastic he heard a crash as the door slammed back and a shrill voice that shouted, ‘Hande hoch.’ Inexplicably, Jurgen froze and his knife arm dropped. Jamie was already rolling beneath his opponent’s guard and he came up in a fluid movement that brought the skinning knife in below Jurgen’s breastbone. He sensed the moment it broke the skin and entered the sucking embrace of the flesh, and the instant it pierced the frantically beating heart. Jurgen screamed and screamed again, but Jamie kept forcing the blade up and up, deeper and deeper. He felt an elemental, visceral joy that men in battle must have shared through the ages. Death-bringer. Survivor. Victor. More alive than he’d ever felt before. Until the next war, the next battle or the next fight. The German’s mouth opened and closed and his eyes bulged. Blood sprayed from his nostrils into Jamie’s face and a flood of warmth covered his knife arm. As he twisted the knife and pulled it free he heard the sharp chatter of a machine gun and the thud of a body falling. Jurgen’s shuddering body crumpled into the widening pool of blood at his feet. When Jamie looked up, the men who had made up the circle behind Jurgen stood with their mouths open and their hands above their shoulders. He turned with the knife still in a death grip ready to kill and kill again. It was puzzling that the audience had been increased by four figures dressed in ski masks and black overalls who now stood inside the doorway covering the room with cocked Heckler & Koch machine pistols. Against one wall, eyes wide open and a string of ragged holes stitching his chest, lay the pony-tailed stormtrooper with the sub-machine gun. Frederick stood beside him, his face a mask of fury.
Jamie advanced on the Vril’s paramilitary leader until a soft hand touched his shoulder.
‘It’s all right, Jamie, we’re safe now.’
XXII
DANNY FISHER HAD never witnessed anything more magnificent and she had a sense of the feral, animalistic delight experienced by a spectator in a Roman amphitheatre.
She knew the memory of the knife fight and the knowledge that its end meant her certain death would return to haunt her, but it was the look of savage certainty on Jamie Saintclair’s face she would remember for ever. He couldn’t win. He had known that. Even if he had somehow managed to disable the giant German, Frederick would have had him killed. Yet he had fought, and the spirit that had sustained him had helped to sustain her. She knew that if Jamie had died and they had come for her, she would have fought them with her feet and her teeth until they killed her. When Jamie fell she had believed it was the end for him, and for her.
Then the miracle had happened.
The door had burst back and two slim figures in black jump suits and ski masks had appeared with the barrels of their machine pistols threatening every man in the room and shouting at them to raise their hands up. After the initial shock most of the Germans had dropped their guns and raised their hands, but the fool with the machine gun had made one move too many. The figure on the left had switched aim a fraction and fired a short burst that threw him back against the wall.
Within seconds, the two gun-toting figures at the door were joined by two more and one of them cut Danny free with nimble, delicate fingers that surprised her when she felt them against her skin.
‘We’re safe now,’ she repeated, leading Jamie back to the chair.
The words penetrated, but they didn’t have any meaning. He seemed to be caught somewhere between two worlds. A moment earlier he had been at the centre of a blaze of light and anything had seemed possible. Now the light was fading and he suddenly felt very tired. Slowly, he began to dress, his hands automatically doing the right things, even though his mind was still in another place. He was aware of putting on his shirt over skin tacky with Jurgen’s still-damp blood. Danny helped him with his socks and shoes, then draped his jacket over his shoulders.
‘Hände auf den Kopf. Legen Sie Ihre Waffen auf den Boden und Rücken gegen die Wand. Irgendwelche Tricks und du bist tot wie dein Freund.’
A woman’s voice, but a woman who had proved she was prepared to back up her words with bullets. The surviving Nazis, including Frederick, did as they were ordered and retreated until their backs were against the wall where a gesture from the machine pistol forced them to their knees. Another of the masked saviours kicked the abandoned weapons into a heap near the door. She started to put them in a rucksack, but, before she’d completed the job, Danny Fisher selected one and cocked it.
‘We must go now,’ the leader said.
Jamie stared at her. He had no idea what was going on, only that he and Danny had been about to die and these people had saved them. He heard Frederick’s voice as he moved towards the door. Despite his defeat it was thick with menace.
‘This is not the end, Saintclair. We do not forget. You will be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your short life.’
Danny didn’t move. ‘Just one more thing. You, up!’
She pointed the pistol at Frederick, who rose to his feet with a sneer of contempt on his face.
‘Whore,’ he spat.
Jamie winced as he saw Danny smile. She had positioned herself perfectly. Her foot swung in an arc to land directly between Frederick’s legs. The Vril’s leader doubled over with a choked groan and before he could recover she smashed her knee into his face and brought the butt of the pistol down on the back of his neck so he collapsed to the floor as if he’d been shot.
‘For the record,’ she held the gun carelessly against her thigh as she surveyed the rest of the men, ‘I am a detective with the New York Police Department. If anyone else wants to call me a whore, now’s your chance.’
They drove from the warehouse in a Mercedes van with blacked-out windows. Two more of the Vril lay by the doorway, left unconscious when the assault team – that’s how Jamie now thought of it, he’d only seen a more professional infiltration in an SAS demonstration – had broken in with Taser shock devices and gas grenades.
They were well away from the warehouse when the front passenger, the woman wh
o had led the assault, removed her ski mask and shook her dark hair free. She was older than the speed of her actions had led Jamie to expect. Startling green eyes shone from a face that had known suffering and disappointment, but still retained a fine-boned beauty that reminded him of a Modigliani portrait and hinted at an origin in southern Germany or the Alps. Jamie expected the others, there were five of them altogether, to follow suit, but they made no effort to imitate their leader.
She saw his puzzlement. ‘It would be preferable if you remained unaware of the identity of my sisters. Also that you keep any questions you may have until we reach our destination.’
He looked at Danny and she nodded. ‘Of course.’
Suddenly Jamie felt very sleepy and his eyelids began to droop. Danny dabbed at his brow with something damp. He reflected muzzily that it seemed to be the role of the women in his life to wash other people’s blood from his face. Maybe there was a message there?
By the time he woke they were parked in front of some kind of remote country house; three substantial floors of white stucco with a red tile roof and a garden screened off from the surrounding farmland by bushes and trees. They got out and the van drove off without a backward glance from the other passengers. Inside the house, their hostess showed them upstairs to a large bedroom, with a window that looked out over trees and fields.
‘You will find your personal effects from the hotel here. I thought it sensible that you did not return there, Germany is not safe for you now. It will also give you a chance to change your clothes, Herr Saintclair.’ She said it politely, but the words contained steel. He realized for the first time that he stank of sweat and fear and was still stained with another man’s blood. ‘The washroom is through the second door on the left.’ He opened his mouth to thank her, but she wasn’t finished. ‘Of course, you will have many questions. When you are rested, perhaps you will join me downstairs in, shall we say, one hour?’
Jamie nodded, reflecting that this was one formidable lady, but Danny hadn’t been brought up to be quite that polite.
‘We’d just like to express our gratitude for rescuing us. I believe you saved our lives back there.’ The other woman nodded graciously. ‘May we be allowed to know your name?’
She smiled, and, in that instant, looked ageless. ‘I have many names, Detective Fisher,’ she said enigmatically, ‘but you may call me Athena.’
Exactly an hour later a maid ushered them into the main room where Athena waited for them by a drinks cabinet.
‘May I offer you wine, or perhaps you would prefer something a little stronger after your … adventures?’
Danny accepted a glass of wine, but Jamie opted for whisky, which came large, over ice and, unless his nose mistook him, was some sort of well-aged single malt. Athena took a seat by the window. She had switched her black jumpsuit for jeans and a designer sweater that set off her trim figure to good advantage. She waited until they were comfortable.
‘Where do I begin?’
Jamie took a sip of his whisky and exchanged glances with Danny Fisher. She nodded.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you’d care to tell us how you managed to be at the warehouse at just the right time to save our necks. I’m assuming that the two young ladies who followed us on our arrival in Berlin were your people, but the fact that you were able to do what you did, when you did, speaks of not just good intelligence, but first-class resources and exceptional organization.’
Athena nodded thoughtfully. ‘You speak like a soldier, Mr Saintclair, but I suppose that is not surprising given your background.’ Jamie raised his eyebrows at that. ‘Oh yes, we know a great deal about you, but not about you, Detective.’ Fisher acknowledged the smile. ‘Our influence in the New World is not yet so extensive. We had information about your investigation, which was of interest to us, and we were able to gain access to your travel plans. You were followed, and we were happy that you knew you were followed, because we wished you to be aware that we were no threat. But when a genuine threat appeared in the guise of our Neanderthal Nazi friends, the decision was taken to make the surveillance more covert. That was how we were able to follow you after your abduction and how we had the time to draw together the necessary resources and to make our timely intervention.’
Jamie saw the hook being dangled, but for the moment he decided to ignore it. Danny was about to ask a question. She picked up his warning glance and relaxed back into her chair.
‘And for that we have to again thank you. You saved our lives.’
‘I am not so certain that we did, Mr Saintclair.’ Athena said solemnly. ‘Anyone who saw you overcome the large gentleman with the knife would have been very foolish to take your defeat for granted. You reminded me of one of the warriors of old; wrathful, certain, dangerous and without fear. A Zealot of Josephus’s time, perhaps, or a gladiator who stood with Spartacus. A man who does not fear death is a man to be feared.’
Jamie accepted the compliment with a shrug. ‘But a man just the same, and all it takes to kill a man, however wrathful, is a single bullet.’
‘A man to be feared just the same,’ she admonished. ‘I, for one, am glad that we were on time, but I would warn you not to overestimate our capabilities. It was very fortunate for you that we were in Berlin, where we could count on the aid of suitably qualified friends. We will help you when we can, but it will not always be like that.’
‘Maybe I’m speaking out of turn here, ma’am, but who is “we”?’ Athena turned to face Danny, and for the first time, Jamie saw uncertainty on her face.
‘How much to tell? Tell all and you would think me mad. Not enough and you will think me a mere fantasist …’
‘We have seen enough of the reality of who you are to believe whatever you tell us,’ Danny insisted.
‘All, then.’ Athena nodded. ‘We are The Sisterhood, or more correctly The Sisters of Isis.’ She paused to allow the impact of her words to register. For a moment it seemed to Jamie that all the air had been sucked out of the room. ‘The history of our Order goes back much further than the cult of the Othergod, whose face was the Nazarene, Christ, and whose disciples first courted then betrayed us. They seduced the god-emperors of Rome and poisoned their minds, so that we, who were foremost and eldest, were reduced to worshipping in the darkness. We worship in the darkness still, but still we worship.’ She waited to allow some reaction to this heresy, but Jamie Saintclair and Danny Fisher had seen enough of God’s handiwork to be suspicious of His motive, if not his existence. ‘Isis is the Mothergod,’ Athena continued, ‘who gave birth to heaven and earth and will nurture them till darkness falls or she is driven from the minds of man. She is the divine womb of all mankind. She is The Lady, greatest and most illustrious Queen of Egypt. Without Isis,’ her eyes flicked to Danny, ‘woman would forever have been the chattel of man, a mere vessel, and of no more import than the cows in the field. Once, our temples were the glory of the world, now they lie in ruins or are crumbled to dust. All but one. Her influence and her grace spread across the civilized world, but her grace was too gentle, and she was supplanted. She can never return, but she survives, and her influence can once again be felt upon the fabric of our world.’
Danny kept her face expressionless as she registered the significance of Athena’s reference to The Lady. Jamie had his own questions, but it was Danny who had the stage. She said: ‘Then this is about the Crown, or the Eye.’
‘That is correct, Detective.’ Athena acknowledged the truth with an aristocratic inclination of the head. ‘But the Crown and the Eye are one. Without the Eye there is no Crown of Isis. Two hundred generations ago, when Rome was still a swamp beside the Tiber, a great civilization thrived on the black earth flood plains of the Nile. Even then, Isis was very ancient. She was revered among men and women alike, and they believed it was the tears of The Lady that provoked the great inundations that each year were the source of Egypt’s prosperity and power. Thousands, led by the Pharaoh and his court, flocked to worship her a
t the great temple of Abu-Sir, and the focal points of the year were the two great festivals: the one for the annual rebirth of the world, and the other to celebrate the resurrection of Osiris.’
She paused, staring into the far distance and Jamie had the odd feeling that their surroundings had disappeared. It was as if he was listening to some priestess of ancients talking matter-of-factly of her own time, and that time was now. Then Athena’s eyes focused and her habitual serenity was replaced by a grimace of pain.
‘The centrepiece of every ritual was the Crown of Isis, forged in Memphis in ages past by Osiris’s greatest craftsmen from Nubian gold, and at its heart the Eye, the gift of the stars, placed in The Lady’s hand by Ra himself. The Crown was invested with the power of the goddess and under her benign influence Egypt never suffered the traditional blights of plague or famine. While Isis was strong, no widow went without, there was justice for the poor and shelter for the weak. Egypt prospered and her Pharaohs amassed great wealth. But prosperity and wealth provoke envy. Such was their faith in The Lady that the Pharaohs became convinced of their own invulnerability. They neglected the strength of arms that had protected them for generations, and became fixated on art and culture. They became weak and indolent. And beyond their shores another power was growing: a sea people, hardy and cruel, too lazy to amass their own wealth, but greedy for the wealth of others. They attacked without warning and swept through the Delta, leaving all in flames. The temple burned. The Crown of Isis was taken.’
The Isis Covenant Page 15
