by Glenn Cooper
Cal produced Irene’s sketch and Franz’s own photo of the tattooed skinhead.
‘The Knights of Longinus, yes,’ he said.
Cal had to speak. ‘You’ve heard of them?’
Franz snapped back, ‘From this photograph that is labeled so. I remember it, of course. I remember every item I have collected. It is the only reference to this group in my archive. However, I have a letter, a rare letter that I acquired at great expense from the wife of a dead Nazi general, a bastard who was on Himmler’s staff. The horrid woman knew it was valuable and knew I would pay. The letter was an oddity. I paid.’
Cal waited for the old man to elaborate but he seemed lost in thought, seething at the memory of the Nazi’s wife.
‘What was in the letter?’ Irene asked gently.
‘Himmler is writing to Hitler about the Holy Lance and other relics of the crucifixion of Christ. He notes some fantastical claims made by a curious figure named Otto Rahn.’
‘We know who Rahn is,’ Irene said, openly showing her excitement.
‘He must have been a fantasist or a lunatic. The claims he made!’
Cal was jumping out of his skin and was about to open his mouth when Irene shot him down with her eyes and asked deferentially, ‘Might it be possible to see the letter?’
He used his cane to rise and went to a large desk. He had apparently already retrieved it from his archive and had placed it in a folder.
‘It is very fragile. It is a carbon copy on onionskin. Please come here and read it flat on the desk. Do you read German?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ she said.
Cal said, ‘I do.’
Franz seemed disappointed that Irene had to take a subsidiary role to the American but the two of them sat together and talked about her brother while Cal studied the brittle letter, its type so faded and indistinct that he worried the onionskin might disintegrate before his eyes.
Heinrich Himmler
Reichsführer-SS und Chef der Deutschen Polizei
7 Dezember 1935
An den
Adolf Hitler
Führer und Reichskanzler
Mein Führer!
We, at the Deutsches Ahnenerbe, have made a discovery of great importance concerning the extraordinary power of certain historical artifacts associated with the crucifixion of Jesus Christ. In short, it may be possible to create a weapon of unimaginable power that the Reich might use to change the course of human events. In this report I shall endeavor to describe our findings along with a proposed plan of action.
Cal read it carefully, aware of the growing lump in his throat. By the time he got to the last paragraph, his legs had liquefied and he had to pull out the desk chair and sit to make it to Himmler’s signature.
And so, my Führer, you can readily appreciate the importance of Herr Rahn’s findings. While we in the Ahnenerbe have taken a keen interest in obtaining the so-called Holy Relics of Christendom for their obvious propaganda value, we had no inkling that they would have a highly important practical use. Rahn has rather mystical tendencies but, given the evidence he has brought forward, we must be inclined to pay his views careful attention. He speculates that the three artifacts – the Lance of Longinus, the thorns that composed the crown of thorns and the crucifixion nails – possess a special power, because they all pierced the flesh of Jesus Christ, who only a short time later would undergo the transformation of resurrection. Clearly, if this tenet of Christian belief is to be believed, then supernatural forces were manifest. Now, almost two thousand years after the crucifixion, when these three relics are placed in proximity to one another they seem to unleash a powerful force, the release of a massive burst of destructive energy. A wing of the Imperial Treasury in Vienna was destroyed when only a tiny fragment of a nail was placed beside a thorn and the lance. Imagine for a moment what destructive powers might be summoned if an entire nail were employed. Would the destruction claim an entire district? A city? A country? Would the Reich not be the most potent power on earth if we possessed such a weapon? This is what I propose: we have the second thorn stored safely in a vault in Berlin. The lance is still in Vienna and when the time is right, we must seize it and secure it. I will provide Rahn with the resources he requires and dispatch him on a quest to find more of these thorn relics, if more exist, and one or more of the nails. Nothing should be more important to the Reich than obtaining a Holy Nail of Christ.
Cal rubbed his eyes and turned his head toward Irene and Franz.
Irene must have read the shock on his face because there was fear in her voice when she asked, ‘Cal, what is it?’
‘I know why they took Giovanni,’ he said.
‘Whom do you believe took him?’ Franz asked.
‘I don’t know who they are but I’d wager that they call themselves the Knights of Longinus.’
‘Do you actually believe the nonsense in the letter?’ Franz asked.
‘I’m afraid I do.’
‘Overactive American imagination, if you ask me,’ Kranz said.
Cal ignored the comment and asked, ‘Can I make a copy?’
‘I do not have a copier machine and you may not remove it from this house.’
‘May I take a photo of it?’
Franz immediately denied the request.
Irene asked Cal, ‘Will it help find Giovanni?’
‘It could.’
‘Please, Herr Kranz. You were only a boy when your uncle was taken. There was nothing you could do to save him. Please help me save my brother.’
They were outside the gate of Franz’s mansion waiting for the taxi.
‘The photos came out well?’ Irene asked.
He took out his mobile and showed her one. The typeface was smudgy but legible.
‘Well enough,’ he said.
‘What now?’
He pulled something from his shoulder bag. It was the business card of Lieutenant Colonel Cecchi. ‘Time to see if the Carabinieri are worth their salt.’
At the same moment, they saw the taxi coming they heard a muffled ringtone from Irene’s purse. She answered and shot Cal a puzzled glance.
‘Yes, Lieutenant Colonel Cecchi, I was just this moment talking about you with Professor Donovan.’
She listened some more and cried, ‘Oh my God! Please don’t tell me this. Not mama!’
TWENTY-FIVE
As the taxi took them back to their hotel, Cal got the gist of what had happened by listening to Irene’s end of the call.
She was crying, emotional, demanding to know what was being done to find her mother, her aunt, her nephew. He could tell she wasn’t getting any answers.
‘Let me talk to him,’ he said, when it was clear the conversation was nearing its frustrating end. When he took the phone from her, she turned away and slumped against the taxi window.
‘Lieutenant Colonel, this is Calvin Donovan. I need to tell you about certain information we’ve uncovered that might help your investigation. You might find some of it difficult to believe but I’d like you to listen objectively.’
Cecchi replied. ‘I am happy to listen to you, professor. There is nothing simple or straightforward about these matters.’
Cal asked Cecchi to hold on for a moment and, while continuing in Italian, he asked the driver whether he understood what he was saying. The German kept his eyes on the road and didn’t seem to realize that Cal was talking to him.
‘All right,’ Cal said to Cecchi. ‘Here’s what we know.’
He opened his kimono, laying it all out. Everything. Cecchi remained so silent that Cal had to ask periodically whether he was still on the line. What was he doing during? Taking notes? Checking emails? Playing Minesweeper?
Cal had nearly finished by the time the taxi arrived at the hotel. Irene got out and stood on the sidewalk in a terrible state. She was no longer crying but her eyes didn’t seem to be focusing. Cal paid the driver and while bringing his phone call to a close, he ushered Irene into the lobby with an arm around her waist.
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‘That’s it,’ Cal said to Cecchi. ‘I know it’s a lot to swallow.’
Cal heard the officer loudly exhale. It wasn’t a sympathetic sound.
‘I’m a police officer,’ he began. ‘I deal in motive, opportunity, intelligence, witness statements, crime-scene evidence. You’re asking me to take seriously something quite different. What you’re describing is more in the realm of spiritualism or the supernatural. You want me to believe that Giovanni Berardino is somewhere in coastal Spain because you had a hallucination about a water bottle with Spanish writing. You want me to believe that some unknown group has kidnapped him because they want a Holy Relic that has the power to destroy. I really don’t know how to properly respond.’
‘Look, I understand and fully expected your skepticism. But I have to ask you: now that you’ve conducted your own evaluation of the circumstances of Giovanni’s abduction and now that the other family members have been taken – have you developed a coherent theory? Has there been a ransom demand? Has any group issued a political or religious tract? Why has this priest and his family been targeted?’
The connection was so clear he could hear the officer swallow.
‘To be perfectly honest, professor, I have no operational theory. The case is not behaving like a criminal one with a profit motive and it does not have the hallmarks of a terrorist kidnapping for financial gain or political aims.’
‘Then listen to me. Please. What do you have to lose?’
‘Only my reputation.’
‘Just look at the evidence we’ve gathered. Meet with us in person.’
‘When are you returning to Italy?’
‘Tomorrow morning. We’re flying to Rome.’
‘Then come to my offices when you arrive. I’ll try to keep an open mind. That’s the best I can offer.’
Cal was reluctant to leave Irene on her own but she wanted to go to her room and told him she would skip dinner. Her doctor had given her a prescription for tranquilizers when Giovanni was kidnapped but she hadn’t taken any. Tonight she would.
‘Diazepam and the hotel bible. That’s all I want tonight,’ she said.
Cal spent the evening reviewing the disparate pieces of information they had uncovered. He tried to get into the head of a policeman and organize a presentation that would spur Cecchi into some kind of action. And while he was doing this, he was setting up and knocking down the little mini-fridge liquor bottles as if they were bowling pins.
At one a.m. the phone rang. Irene had been in a tranquilized sleep. She fumbled for the receiver and answered.
‘Madam, it is the front desk. I am sorry to bother you so late but we have a plumbing leak in the room above you and need to make an emergency inspection. May we send a technician?’
‘To my room?’
‘Yes.’
Her voice was slurred. ‘How long will it take?’
‘Not long, I assure you. Only a quick check is required.’
Cal was dreaming and in the dream, his grad student, Joe Murphy, was telling him in his thick brogue to answer the goddamn phone. He was surprised when he awoke to find the receiver in his hand and Irene speaking to him.
‘Cal, it’s Irene. Could you come to my room?’
He squinted at the clock on the cable box.
‘Are you ok?’
‘Yes, I’m ok but I need to talk to you.’
‘You don’t sound ok. Has anything happened?’
‘No, but I think we need to talk.’
Swinging his feet over the bed he said, ‘I’ll be right down.’
He pulled on some clothes and stuck his bare feet into his shoes before hopping on the elevator. Her door was open a crack as if she’d wanted him to come right in. Still, he knocked.
‘Irene?’
When there was no reply he gently pushed the door open and took a few steps inside.
‘Irene? You ok?’
Gerhardt stepped into view with a pistol in his gloved hand. He put a finger to his lips. The shhhh that came out was like hissing steam.
‘Close the door,’ he said. ‘Quietly.’
Cal had been a little drunk. The sight of a hulking man with a gun sobered him up fast. He called for Irene again.
She sounded far away. ‘I’m here.’
Gerhardt motioned for Cal to come forward and as he did, the German backed into the room.
Irene was sitting on the bed in her nightgown with plastic ties around her ankles and wrists.
‘Who are you? What do you want?’ Cal angrily asked.
‘Professor Donovan,’ Gerhardt said, gesturing with the suppressor screwed onto the barrel of his gun. ‘Sit down just there.’
‘You know me?’ he asked.
‘We know who you are.’
Cal locked eyes on Irene, silently ordering her to keep looking at him, to stay courageous. He sat on the desk chair that had been pulled out for his arrival, leaning forward on the balls of his feet, ready to take on this guy if he saw an opening.
‘Who’s us?’ Cal said, without looking at the man.
Gerhardt didn’t answer so Cal answered for him.
‘I’m guessing you call yourself the Knights of Longinus, right?’
Cal turned his head to see the man’s expression. There was little in the way of a reaction, although Cal thought he detected a flicker of amusement.
‘Got one of those tattoos? The one with the lance and the SS shit?’
Gerhardt reached into a pocket and tossed long plastic ties onto Cal’s lap.
‘Your ankles first, to the chair legs. Tight. Then your wrists to the chair arms. Loose at first. Make one tight with your opposite hand then the other tight with your teeth.’
‘Could you repeat that? I’m only a Harvard professor.’
Gerhardt pointed the gun at Irene.
‘I’ll do it,’ Cal said. ‘No sense of humor. Noted.’
When he had bound himself to the chair, Gerhardt holstered the gun inside his jacket and picked up Irene’s Our Lady of Lourdes statuette standing on the desk.
Cal watched him inspect it and use his fingernail to wiggle out a plastic plug at its base. He looked inside then shook it hard until a piece of cloth was visible. He pinched at it and pulled. A sausage-shaped wad came out. Then with a flourish befitting a magician doing a reveal, Gerhardt unrolled the cloth and something dropped into his outstretched, gloved palm.
An iron spike.
A Holy Nail.
‘You see?’ Gerhardt said. ‘It doesn’t look like much but I understand it is quite important.’
It was black as night and was missing half of its flat head.
‘My God! Giovanni hid it there,’ Irene said. ‘We had it with us all the time.’
‘Jesus,’ Cal whispered.
Irene began to cry. ‘He wouldn’t tell me where Giovanni is, or mama, Aunt Carla, Federico.’
‘You’ve got what you want,’ Cal told the man. ‘You don’t need hostages anymore.’
‘You are telling me my business?’ Gerhardt asked.
‘I’m just stating the obvious. Take the nail and get the hell out of here.’
‘I will leave soon.’
Gerhardt had a small workman’s bag, the kind used to carry hand tools. He put the relic into a pocket on the inside of the bag and removed the other contents, a curious mixture of items: candles, candleholders, neckties and a very large bottle of vodka.
He began placing candles around the room, lighting them and turning off the lights.
‘For a nice mood,’ Gerhardt said.
‘What are you doing, pal?’ Cal asked.
‘I want you to relax,’ he replied, unscrewing the top of the bottle. ‘I want you to have something to drink. Then I will go.’
‘I don’t want to drink,’ Irene said.
‘No, I insist,’ Gerhardt said, approaching her with the bottle.
As he got close to her lips, Cal tried to stand but attached to the chair, it fell over on its side.
‘Sto
p it!’ Cal yelled from the floor.
‘Quiet now,’ Gerhardt warned. ‘I assure you if you shout again, I will hurt her quite badly. Will you stay quiet?’
Cal seethed, ‘Yes.’
‘Good.’
Gerhardt pressed the bottle to Irene’s unwilling lips and told her to drink.
‘I don’t like it. I won’t drink it.’
‘Would you like me to shoot him in the head? I will, you know. It will make no sound but it will make a big mess. Will you drink?’
She nodded. He put the bottle an inch into her mouth and began pouring.
She gulped and swallowed, then gagged. He stepped back to give her time to compose herself.
‘More,’ he said, bringing the bottle into play again.
As Cal struggled against his ties, Gerhardt repeated the cycle – pour, swallow, gag, wait – until Irene’s neck was too limp to hold her head up straight and she was no longer talking.
‘She gets drunk quite easily,’ Gerhardt said. ‘An inexpensive date, I think.’
He put the bottle down and righted Cal’s chair with surprisingly little effort.
‘Your turn. I think you need one, am I right?’
He put the bottle to Cal’s lips and poured. Cal swallowed easily. It wasn’t a brand he would have ever bought and it wasn’t cold, but it was vodka, mother’s milk. He got several swigs and then several more.
‘We’ll let that soak in a little,’ Gerhardt said, moving to his tool bag and then the bed.
He used a wire cutter to snap Irene’s plastic ties and while Cal watched in horror, he ripped and removed her nightgown from her limp body and laid her out naked.
‘I’ll kill you!’ Cal shouted. ‘You fucking bastard. I’ll kill you.’
‘If you don’t shut your mouth you’ll watch me screwing her. That I can promise. Ok?’
Cal gritted his teeth.
‘Time to drink some more,’ Gerhardt said, waving the vodka bottle.
