Black Order

by James Rollins

  Silence settled throughout the cabin.

  Anna shook her head. “Experiments with the fuel source for the Bell—the Xerum 525—hinted at the possible use of zero point energy as a weapon. But we never pursued that avenue with any real intent.”

  “But somebody else did,” Painter said. He pictured the dead, ice blond assassin.

  Anna turned to Painter, her face etched with horror and utter violation. “We have to stop them.”

  “But who? Who are they?”

  Lisa stirred. “I think we may find out.” She pointed out the starboard side.

  Over the edge of a neighboring peak, a trio of helicopters appeared, camouflaged in white against the glaciered peaks. They spread out and swept toward the lone A-Star.

  Painter knew enough of aerial combat to recognize the pattern.

  Attack formation.

  9:32 A.M.

  WEWELSBURG, GERMANY

  “The North Tower is this way,” Dr. Ulmstrom said.

  The museum director led Gray, Monk, and Fiona out the back of the main hall. Ryan had left a moment earlier with a slim woman dressed in tweed, a museum archivist. They were off to make copies of Hugo Hirszfeld’s letter and anything else pertaining to his great-grandfather’s research. Gray sensed he was close to discerning some answers, but he needed more information.

  To that end, he had agreed to the director’s personal tour of Himmler’s castle. It was here where Hugo had begun his connection with the Nazis. Gray sensed that to move forward he would need as much background as possible—and who better to supply that information than the museum curator?

  “To truly understand the Nazis,” Ulmstrom said, leading the way, “you have to stop considering them as a political party. They called themselves Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei—the National Socialist German Workers’ Party—but in reality, they were really a cult.”

  “A cult?” Gray asked.

  “They bore all the trappings, ja? A spiritual leader who could not be questioned, disciples who wore matching clothes, rituals and blood oaths performed in secret, and most important of all, the creation of a potent totem to worship. The Hakenkreuz. The Broken Cross, also called the swastika. A symbol to supplant the crucifix and the Star of David.”

  “Hari krishnas on steroids,” Monk mumbled.

  “Do not joke. The Nazis understood the inherent power of ideas. A power greater than any gun or rocket. They used it to subjugate and brainwash an entire nation.”

  Lightning cracked, brightening the hall behind them. Thunder followed on its heels, booming, felt in the gut. The lights flickered.

  They all stopped in the hall.

  “One squeaking bat,” Monk whispered. “Even a small one…”

  The lights flared brighter, then steadied. They continued onward. The short hall ended at a barred glass door. A larger room lay beyond.

  “The Obergruppenführersaal.” Ulmstrom pulled out a weighty set of keys and unlocked the door. “The inner sanctum to the castle. This is restricted from regular visitors, but I think you might appreciate it.”

  He held the door for them to enter.

  They trailed inside. Rain pelted against the ring of windows that surrounded the circular chamber.

  “Himmler built this room to mirror King Arthur’s in Camelot. He even had a massive oaken round table placed in the middle of the room and gathered his twelve leading officers of his Black Order for meetings and rituals here.”

  “What’s this Black Order?” Monk asked.

  “It was another name for Himmler’s SS. But more accurately, the Schwarze Auftrag—the Black Order—was a name given to Himmler’s inner circle, a secret cabal that traced its roots back to the occult Thule Society.”

  Gray’s attention focused. The Thule Society again. Himmler was a member of the group, so was Ryan’s great-grandfather. He pondered the connection. An inner cabal of occultists and scientists who believed that a master race once ruled the world—and would again.

  The director continued his tour. “Himmler believed this room and its tower to be the spiritual and geographic center of the new Aryan world.”

  “Why here?” Gray asked.

  Ulmstrom shrugged and walked to the middle of the room. “This region is where the Teutons defeated the Romans, a pivotal battle in Germanic history.”

  Gray had heard a similar story from Ryan’s father.

  “But the reasons may be multiple. Legends are ripe here. Nearby stands an old Stonehenge-like set of prehistoric monoliths, called Externsteine. Some claim the roots of the Norse World Tree, Yggdrasil, lie below it. And then, of course, there were the witches.”

  “The ones killed here,” Gray said.

  “Himmler believed, and perhaps rightly so, that the women were slain because they were pagans, practicing Nordic rites and rituals. In his eyes, the fact that their blood was spilt at this castle only succeeded in consecrating these grounds.”

  “So then it’s like the real estate agents say,” Monk mumbled. “It’s all about location, location, location.”

  Ulmstrom frowned but continued. “Whatever the reason, here is the ultimate purpose of Wewelsburg.” He pointed down to the floor.

  In the gloom, a pattern had been done in dark green tiles against a white background. It looked like a sun, radiating twelve lightning bolts.

  “The Schwarze Sonne. The Black Sun.” Ulmstrom stalked around its circumference. “This symbol also has roots in many myths. But to the Nazis it represented the land from which the All-Father descended. A land that went by many names. Thule, Hyperborea, Agartha. Ultimately the symbol represents the sun under which the Aryan race would be reborn.”

  “Returning again to the All-Father,” Gray said, picturing the Mensch rune.

  “That was the ultimate goal of the Nazis…or at least for Himmler and his Black Order. To advance the German people back to their godlike status. It was why Himmler chose this symbol to represent his Black Order.”

  Gray began to sense what research Hugo might have been involved with. A biologist with roots at Wewelsburg. Could he have been involved with a twisted form of the Lebensborn project, some type of eugenics program? But why would people kill over such a program today? What had Hugo discovered that he felt needed to be kept so secret, burying it in code in his family’s books?

  Gray remembered Ryan’s recitation of his great-grandfather’s letter to his daughter, shortly before his death. He hinted at a secret that was too beautiful to let die and too monstrous to set free. What had he discovered? What had he wanted kept secret from his Nazi superiors?

  Lightning crackled again, shining through all the windows. The symbol of the Black Sun shone brilliantly. Electric lights trembled as the thunder reverberated throughout the hilltop castle. Not the best place to be in an electrical storm.

  Confirming this, the lights flared again—then went dark.

  Blackout.

  Still, enough murky illumination came through the windows to see.

  Voices shouted in the distance.

  A loud clang rang out closer at hand.

  All eyes turned.

  The door to the chamber had slammed closed. Gray reached for the butt of his gun, holstered under his sweater.

  “Security lockdown,” Ulmstrom assured them. “Nothing to fear. Backup generators should—”

  Lights flickered, then ignited again.

  Ulmstrom nodded. “Ah, there we go. Es tut mir leid,” he apologized. “This way.”

  He led them back through the security door, but rather than heading toward the main hall, he aimed for a set of stairs to the side. Apparently the tour was not over.

  “I think you might find this next chamber of particular interest as you’ll see the Mensch rune from the Bible depicted there.”

  Footsteps approached down the hall, coming fast.

  Gray turned, realizing his hand still rested on his gun. But there was no need to unholster it. Ryan hurried toward them, a stuffed manila envelope clu
tched in his hand.

  He joined them, slightly out of breath. His eyes darted a bit, plainly spooked by the brief blackout. “Ich glaube…” He cleared his throat. “I have all the paperwork, including the letter to my great-aunt Tola.”

  Monk took the envelope. “Now we can get our butts out of here.”

  Maybe they should. Gray glanced to Dr. Ulmstrom. He stood at the head of stairs leading down.

  The curator stepped toward them. “If you’re in a hurry…”

  “No, bitte. What were you saying about the Mensch rune?” It would be foolish to leave without exploring this fully.

  Ulmstrom lifted an arm and motioned toward the stairs. “Below lies the only chamber in the entire castle where the Mensch rune can be found. Of course, the rune’s presence only makes sense considering…”

  “Considering what?”

  Ulmstrom sighed, checked his watch. “Come. I’ll have to make this quick anyway.” He turned and strode to the staircase and headed down.

  Gray waved Fiona and Ryan to follow. Monk rolled his eyes at Gray as he passed. “Spooky castle…time to go…”

  Gray understood Monk’s itchiness to leave. He felt it, too. First the false alarm with the Mercedes, then the blackout. But nothing untoward had happened. And Gray hated to pass up a chance to learn more about the Bible’s rune and its history here.

  Ulmstrom’s voice carried up to Gray. The others had reached the landing below. “This chamber lies immediately below the Obergruppenführersaal.”

  Gray joined them while the curator unlocked a matching door to the one above, also barred and sealed with thick glass. He held it open for them, then stepped in after them.

  Beyond lay another circular chamber. This one windowless, lit gloomily by a few wall sconces. Twelve granite columns circled the space, holding up a domed roof. In the center of the ceiling, a twisted swastika symbol had been painted.

  “This is the castle’s crypt,” Ulmstrom said. “Note the well in the center of the room. It is where the coat of arms of fallen SS officers would be burned ceremonially.”

  Gray had already spotted the stone well, directly below the swastika in the ceiling.

  “If you stand near the well, and look at the walls, you’ll see the Mensch runes depicted here.”

  Gray stepped closer and followed his directions. At the cardinal points, the runes had been engraved in the stone walls. Now Gray understood Ulmstrom’s remark. The rune’s presence only makes sense considering…

  The Mensch runes were all upside down.

  Toten-runes.

  Death runes.

  A loud clang, a match to the one a moment ago, resounded across the chamber. Only this time there had been no blackout. Gray swung around, realizing his mistake. Curiosity had lessened his guard. Dr. Ulmstrom had never moved far from the door.

  The curator now stood outside it, clicking the lock.

  He called through the thick glass, doubtless bulletproof. “Now you’ll understand the true meaning of the toten-rune.”

  A loud pop sounded next. All the lamps went dark. With no windows, the chamber sank into complete darkness.

  In the shocked silence, a new sound intruded: a fierce hissing.

  But it came from no snake or serpent.

  Gray tasted it on the back of his tongue.

  Gas.

  1:49 P.M.

  HIMALAYAS

  The trio of helicopters fanned out for an attack run.

  Painter studied the approach of the choppers through a set of binoculars. He had unbelted and crawled into the copilot seat. He recognized the enemy crafts: Eurocopter Tigers, medium-weight, outfitted with air-to-air gun pods and missiles.

  “Do you have any weapons equipped on the helo?” Painter asked Gunther.

  He shook his head. “Nein.”

  Gunther worked the rudder pedals to bring them around, swinging away from their adversaries. Pitching the helo forward, he accelerated away. It was their only real countermeasure: speed.

  The A-Star, lighter and unburdened of armaments, was quicker and more maneuverable. But even that advantage had its limitations.

  Painter knew the direction in which Gunther was headed now, forced by the others. Painter had thoroughly studied the region’s terrain maps. The Chinese border lay only thirty miles away.

  If the attack choppers didn’t eliminate them, invading Chinese airspace would. And with the current tensions between the Nepalese government and the Maoist rebels, the border was closely watched. They were literally between a rock and a hard place.

  Anna yelled from the backseat, head craned to watch their rear. “Missile launch!”

  Even before her warning ended, a screaming streak of smoke and fire shot past their port side, missing by mere yards. The missile slammed into the ice-encrusted ridgeline ahead. Fire and rock shot high. A large chunk of cliff broke off and slid away, like a glacier calving.

  Gunther tipped their helo on its side and sped clear of the rain of debris.

  He darted their craft down and raced between two ridges of rock. They were temporarily out of the direct line of fire.

  “If we put down,” Anna said. “Fast. Flee on foot.”

  Painter shook his head, shouting to be heard above the engine. “I know these Tigers. They have infrared. Our heat signatures would just give us away. Then there’d be no escaping their guns or rockets.”

  “Then what do we do?”

  Painter’s head still spasmed with white-hot bursts. His vision had constricted to a laser focus.

  Lisa answered, leaning forward from the backseat, her eyes on the compass. “Everest,” she said.

  “What?”

  She nodded to the compass. “We’re heading right toward Everest. What if we landed over there, got lost in the mass of climbers.”

  Painter considered her plan. To hide in plain sight.

  “The storm’s backlogged the mountain,” she continued loudly. “Some two hundred people were waiting to ascend when I left. Including some Nepalese soldiers. Might even be more after the monastery burned down.”

  Lisa glanced over to Anna. Painter read her expression. They were fighting for their lives alongside the very enemy who had burned down that monastery. But a greater adversary threatened all. While Anna had made brutal, unforgivable choices, this other faction had triggered the necessity for her actions, setting in motion the chain of events that led them all here.

  And Painter knew it wouldn’t stop here. This was just the beginning, a feint meant to misdirect. Something monstrous was afoot. Anna’s words echoed in his pounding head.

  We must stop them.

  Lisa finished, “With so many satellite phones and video feeds broadcasting from Base Camp, they’d dare not attack.”

  “Or so we hope,” Painter said. “If they don’t back off, we’d be jeopardizing many lives.”

  Lisa leaned back, digesting his words. Painter knew her brother was among those at Base Camp. She met his eyes.

  “It’s too important,” she said, coming to the same conclusion he had a moment ago. “We have to risk it. Word must get out!”

  Painter glanced around the cabin.

  Anna said, “It will be shorter to go over the shoulder of Everest to get to the other side, rather than taking the longer route around.” She pointed to the wall of mountain ahead of them.

  “So we head for the Base Camp?” Painter said.

  They were all in agreement.

  Others were not.

  A helicopter roared over the ridgeline, its skids passing directly over their rotors. The intruder seemed startled to come across them. The Tiger twisted and climbed in a surprised pirouette.

  But they’d been found.

  Painter prayed the others were spread out in a wide search pattern—then again, one Tiger was enough.

  Their unarmed A-Star shot out of the trough into a wider couloir, a bowl-shaped gully full of snow and ice. No cover. The Tiger’s pilot responded quickly, plunging toward them.

&nbs
p; Gunther throttled up the engine speed and increased the blade pitch, attempting a full-out sprint. They might outrun the heavier Tiger, but not its missiles.

  To punctuate this, the diving Tiger opened fire with its gun pods, spitting flames, and chewing through the snow.

  “Forget outrunning the bastard!” Painter yelled and jerked his thumb straight up. “Take the race that way.”

  Gunther glanced at him, heavy brows knit tight.

  “He’s heavier,” Painter explained, motioning with his hands. “We can climb to a higher elevation. Where he can’t follow.”

  Gunther nodded and pulled back on the collective, turning forward motion into vertical. Like riding an express elevator, the helo shot upward.

  The Tiger was taken aback by the sudden change of direction and took an extra moment to follow, spiraling up after them.

  Painter watched the altimeter. The world record for elevation reached by a helicopter had been set by a stripped-down A-Star. It had landed on the summit of Everest. They didn’t need to climb that far. The armament-heavy Tiger was already petering out as they went above the twenty-two-thousand-foot mark, its rotors churning uselessly in the rarefied air, making it difficult to maintain yaw and roll, confounding an attack pitch in which to employ its missiles.

  For now, their craft continued to sail upward into safety.

  But they could not stay up here forever.

  What went up eventually had to come down.

  And like a circling shark, the attack helicopter waited below. All it had to do was track them. Painter spotted the two other Tigers winging in their direction, called into the hunt, a pack closing in on its wounded prey.

  “Get above the chopper,” Painter said, pantomiming with one palm over the other.

  Gunther’s frown never wavered, but he obeyed.

  Painter twisted around to Anna and Lisa. “Both of you, look out your side windows. Let me know when that Tiger is directly below us.”

  Nods answered him.