Von Heißen nodded approvingly.
‘Now, before we break for lunch, we have time to take one or two questions.’
A tall flaxen-haired major rose to attention. ‘What do you think is the greatest problem facing Germany today, Herr Reichsführer?’
‘Identify yourself.’
‘Sturmbannführer Austerlitz, Herr Reichsführer.’
‘That is an excellent question,’ Himmler said, coming out from behind the lectern. The SS major sat down, beaming at the compliment.
‘Quite apart from the need for Lebensraum – more land for the Third Reich to reach its potential,’ Himmler responded, ‘we must recapture the lost world of the Nordic race. We must restore das Herrenvolk, the master race, to its position of pre-eminence, and to provide a foundation for that, we have to reconstruct the lost history of the Aryans. With that in mind, we are shortly launching several archaeological expeditions to prove the origins and influence of the master race, including one to the highland jungles of Guatemala. Hauptsturmführer von Heißen, who has now joined us, will be leading this expedition. Perhaps you might like to comment on your mission, von Heißen.’
‘Certainly, Herr Reichsführer. The source of the pure Aryan race is crucially important, gentlemen,’ von Heißen explained, unfazed by the more senior ranks in the room. ‘Why? Because ancient Germanic tribes demonstrated far greater intellect and creativity than any other civilisation of their time. If our research can recover this knowledge, it will help the Third Reich to once again excel in science, medicine, agriculture and every other field of human endeavour. The German Nordic race is at the apex of humankind, while races like the Jews, the African Bushmen and the Australian Aborigines are at the very bottom.’
Himmler beamed at his young protégé. ‘For the moment, the Africans and the Australians don’t concern us, but the Jews, together with gypsies and homosexuals, are quite another matter. The Führer will very shortly introduce the Law for the Prevention of Hereditarily Diseased Offspring. This will enable us to sterilise the mentally retarded, the blind, the deaf, the schizophrenic – anyone who is likely to impede our glorious progress. The Jews will require special attention, of course.’ Reichsführer Himmler nodded to Obersturmbannführer Manfred von Knobelsdorff, the commandant of the new SS Nordic Academy, indicating to the colonel that it was time for lunch.
Levi Weizman perused Der Angriff. The paper was, he knew, sponsored by the Nazis’ Minister for Enlightenment and Propaganda, Joseph Goebbels, but it was the only one in his room. To his surprise Levi found a story on Catholics, but his surprise at it appearing in a Nazi paper turned to excitement:
Archbishop of Paris Crowns Our Lady of Hope
* * *
THE CATHOLIC ARCHBISHOP of Paris, Cardinal Jean Verdier, has crowned a statue of the Virgin Mary at Pontmain in the north of France. The Virgin Mary appeared to two children in Pontmain on 17 January 1871, during the Franco–Prussian war. The war ended in a crushing victory for the German and Prussian forces, which saw the unification of the German Empire under King Wilhelm I, and the total destruction of the French Empire.
Levi now understood why the article had been approved for publication. The detestable little Goebbels never missed a chance to trumpet a German victory.
In a message to the children at Pontmain, the Blessed Mother asked them to pray, giving the war-torn community hope, and the Armistice was signed a few days later in Versailles. The Cardinal Secretary of State, Eugenio Pacelli, in a decree issued from St Peter’s Basilica in Rome, has affirmed the veneration of ‘Our Lady of Hope’ of Pontmain, as the appearance has become known, and declared that her statue be honoured with a crown of gold.
Cardinal Verdier crowned the statue of the Blessed Mother in the presence of other bishops and priests. There have been several verified appearances of the Virgin Mary, the most famous of which was at Fátima, Portugal in 1917. Watched by a crowd of several thousand, many of whom confirmed the sightings, the Blessed Mother appeared at Fátima a total of six times, on the thirteenth day of each month, from May until October.
Levi took a deep breath, recalling the stela he’d discovered in Pyramid V in Tikal. Although the Maya had not specified an exact year, the ancient hieroglyphics had indicated that such a series of events would occur on the thirteenth day of each month from May until October – events that would be of great consequence to humankind. Was there a connection between the warnings the Virgin had delivered at Fátima and the Maya Codex, Levi wondered. Could that explain the Vatican’s interest in the ancient civilisation and the presence of a Catholic priest in Tikal? How could the ancient Maya have known these appearances would occur? And what might it have to do with 2012? Levi shook his head. So many questions, but, as yet, so few answers. Levi was convinced there was a great deal more to the ancient Maya than even he had previously thought.
Levi had been taken aback by his host’s genial charm. It hadn’t been long, though, before the façade of bonhomie had completely vanished. The study room in the Wewelsburg Castle north tower was sombrely decorated with swastikas and runes, matching Himmler’s change in mood. It was already clear to Levi that his participation in the Tikal expedition would not be voluntary.
‘Are you familiar with craniometry and the cephalic index, Professor?’
Levi nodded without commenting. He had long believed the Nazis’ philosophy of using ‘head shape’ and ‘nose shape’ as measures of racial categorisation to be a dark stain on the social science of anthropology.
‘Then you will not need reminding of the importance I attach to the collection of Mayan skulls. They are to be brought back to Wewelsburg for examination and classification. It will be in your own interest to give us your full cooperation,’ Himmler added, before turning to his young protégé. ‘Hauptsturmführer von Heißen will be in charge of the expedition, although you will, of course, direct the archaeological exploration, so we will need your lists of supplies as soon as possible. Von Heißen will ensure that the necessary officers are on hand to assist you.’
Levi nodded, Ramona’s warnings ringing in his ears. Himmler got up from the table and walked over to a small stone aperture overlooking the village.
‘In time this castle will represent the zenith of racial science,’ he said, leaning on the stone ledge. ‘The village of Wewelsburg will be an SS city, and this castle will be the Vatican of the world. I wish you a pleasant stay, Professor,’ Himmler said, dismissing Levi with a curt nod.
‘I want you to depart as soon as possible,’ Himmler ordered von Heißen.
‘Jawohl, Herr Reichsführer. We’ve already started assembling the stores, and I’ve made contact with our embassy in Guatemala City. They’re doing everything possible to clear the diplomatic hurdles.’
‘Excellent! Generaloberst Göring has assured me that an aircraft and crew will be made available for the duration of your time in Guatemala. In the meantime watch Weizman carefully, von Heißen. The Jew is as cunning as a sewer rat and is never to be trusted.’
‘There was no one else, Herr Reichsführer?’
‘No one with the necessary skills in reading the Mayan hieroglyphics, no. But we can dispense with him once the expedition is successful. More importantly, I’ve also met with the papal envoy, Signor Alberto Felici, who plans to visit the expedition. Felici’s arranged substantial sponsorship from Vatican finances, so he’s to be treated well. In return, he’s asked for a Father Ehrlichmann to join the expedition in an official capacity. Amongst other things, Ehrlichmann is an expert on craniometry, so he’ll undoubtedly be useful, but he’s to be trusted no more than Weizman or Felici.’
‘There is another agenda, Herr Reichsführer?’
‘Perhaps. The Vatican only shows an interest in archaeological digs when they fear what might be found. You’ve seen the cable from our ambassador in Guatemala raising the possibility of a missing codex purported to contain a catastrophic warning for the human race. As to the precise nature of that warning, Weizman and the Vati
can will both have their theories … We shall see. But if the codex does exist, the Jew can lead us to it.’
4
TIKAL, GUATEMALA 1938
Levi Weizman glanced into the cockpit of the Luftwaffe Junkers Ju 52. The pilot had started his descent and the co-pilot was leaning forward. His leather helmet obscured the instrument panel, but he appeared to be tapping on one of the fuel gauges.
Levi turned in his seat and looked out of the big square window of the Junkers. Nearly 5000 feet below, wispy grey clouds drifted amongst the thick jungle of the Guatemalan highlands. The Junkers was slow, cruising at only 160 miles per hour, and it was cramped: there were just twelve seats, six either side of the centre aisle. The flight had taken a bum-numbing ten days from Berlin. Having finally crossed the Gulf of Mexico and landed at Mérida, the bustling, wealthy capital of Mexico’s Yucatán Peninsula, it would be ironic, Levi thought, if they were to have a fuel problem now. He glanced at von Heißen sitting opposite, but the arrogant German, whom Himmler had promoted to major, seemed unperturbed.
‘Tikal seems a remote place to establish a city, Herr Professor.’ von Heißen said.
‘It might seem that way today, but the Maya chose their sites very carefully. Tikal was built on top of a continental divide, astride one of their most important trading routes, one that linked the Gulf of Mexico and the Usumacinta River in the west with the rivers that flow into the Caribbean in the east. So the inhabitants of Tikal, under kings like Great Jaguar Claw, had control over international trade.’
‘Reminiscent of the way the Aryans would do things?’
‘As an archaeologist, I’m always careful to ensure there is concrete evidence before reaching any firm conclusions, Sturmbannführer.’
Von Heißen scrutinised Levi’s map of the ancient city. ‘There seems to be a great many ruins,’ he observed.
‘Construction took place over many centuries. By the middle of the sixth century, we know that Tikal covered some thirty square kilometres and was inhabited by over 100 000 Maya. It was a huge city.’
‘And the pyramids?’
‘The stepped pyramids were constructed in the form of the Witz, the sacred mountain of the Maya,’ Levi replied. ‘Other structures served as palaces for the royal families, and as tombs.’ He chose his words carefully, not wishing to reveal his theories on the Maya architects’ employment of Φ, the golden mean, or their use of the Fibonacci sequence. Levi was now convinced the construction and alignment of the pyramids were linked to the missing figurines and the Maya Codex itself.
Further conversation was cut short by an abrupt spluttering from the port engine. A trail of smoke poured from the cowling.
‘Everything will be okay. We have two other good engines,’ von Heißen observed with a throaty laugh, but the starboard engine, and then the nose engine coughed, and Levi felt a pang of fear in the depths of his gut. The pilots were working frantically to restart the engines, and the radio operator was furiously tapping out an SOS in morse. Levi knew that in this part of the world, radio communications were tenuous at best.
‘Befestigen Sie Ihre Sicherheitsgurte! Fasten your seatbelts!’ the engineer yelled as the aircraft began a steep descent towards the jungle below.
Levi fastened his belt and silently began the Shema Yisrael, the prayer from Deuteronomy that all God-fearing Jews recited in the morning and at night:
Sh’ma Yis’ra’eil Adonai Eloheinu Adonai echad …
Hear, Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One …
Barukh sheim k’vod malkhuto I’olam va’ed …
Blessed be the Name of His glorious kingdom for ever and ever …
The wind tore at the stationary propellers and whistled over the corrugated wings and fuselage. The aircraft shook violently. In the cockpit, the two pilots worked feverishly at the controls, but all three engines were dead.
‘All three gauges are showing empty now!’ Leutnant Müller, the young Luftwaffe co-pilot, yelled.
The pilot, Colonel Hans Krueger, motioned to the younger man to remain calm. Oberst Krueger had seen service flying Fokker biplanes with Göring in the Great War, and had been shot down three times. He’d been awarded the Iron Cross First Class, and Generaloberst Göring had personally selected his old friend for ‘Operation Maya’.
‘I can’t see the airfield, so we’ll have to land on top of the trees,’ Krueger observed matter-of-factly, peering out of the windscreen. ‘Airspeed?’
Müller, white-faced, glanced at the airspeed indicator. ‘One hundred and five miles an hour.’
‘Flaps, ten degrees,’ Krueger ordered.
‘That exceeds the limit, Herr Oberst,’ Müller replied nervously.
Krueger smiled and turned to his young co-pilot. ‘It would be most helpful, Leutnant Müller, if you could forget about what they taught you in flying school and give me ten degrees of flap. I don’t fancy hitting the trees any faster than is necessary.’
Müller nodded and reached for the flap lever. The aircraft slowed, although Krueger knew their airspeed was still way too fast.
‘What was the forecast wind direction this morning?’ Krueger already knew the answer, but he also knew this was the young man’s first forced landing, and he was subtly teaching him what every good pilot needed in a crisis: an ice-cool calm and a methodical, ordered approach.
‘Fifteen miles an hour, from the north-east.’
Krueger pulled back on the big control column and gently turned the wooden flight wheel, his foot lightly on the rudder pedal.
‘Flaps, twenty-five degrees.’
Müller moved the flap lever instantly and the aircraft slowed further, the wind whistling eerily past the cockpit.
Levi Weizman stared out the window at the jungle rushing towards them, still silently mouthing the Shema.
‘Two o’clock! Two miles! The airstrip!’ Leutnant Müller shouted and pointed through the windscreen.
‘I see it,’ Krueger replied calmly, altering the falling aircraft’s course slightly towards the break in the jungle. ‘Airspeed?’
‘Ninety miles an hour.’
Krueger grunted. It would be touch and go. On the one hand, he’d need around forty degrees of flap to land, but applying that much flap at anything above seventy-five miles an hour might tear the wings from the airframe. On the other hand, he needed to maintain speed to make the clearing, and if he allowed the Junkers’ speed to fall below sixty miles an hour with flaps down, they would stall and head nose first into the trees.
‘More flap, Herr Oberst?’ Müller queried anxiously, his hand on the flap lever.
‘Wait.’ Oberst Krueger mentally fixed the glide path and adjusted the aircraft’s heading. ‘Wait,’ he commanded again, sensing the young co-pilot’s nervousness. ‘Now!’
Müller immediately adjusted the lever and the aircraft shook violently as the big flaps bit hard.
‘Scheisse!’ Krueger swore as the aircraft’s nose came up too fast. He pushed the control column forward to maintain airspeed and aimed at a point just beyond the trees at the start of the clearing. At the last moment he pulled back on the column and flared the aircraft. It shuddered as the tailplane clipped the top of a big ceiba tree. Krueger braced himself as the aircraft slammed onto the makeshift airstrip and bounced. He calmly kept the control column forward and they bounced twice more before he could bring the Junkers to a halt near the end of the dirt strip.
‘Everyone okay?’ Krueger asked, turning in his seat to look into the cabin.
Von Heißen turned and made a quick check of the cabin. ‘Alles gut, Herr Oberst!’ he replied.
Levi said a silent prayer of thanks and followed von Heißen down the steps propped against the ribbed fuselage. A Catholic priest was waiting to meet them.
‘Welcome to Tikal, Sturmbannführer von Heißen.’
‘Father Ehrlichmann, how good to see you again. And this is Professor Weizman. Father Ehrlichmann is an expert on craniometry and the cephalic index,’ von Heißen explained
to Levi. ‘He’ll be in charge of the preliminary classification of any skulls before they’re shipped back to Wewelsburg.’
‘Guten Tag, Herr Professor.’
‘Guten Tag, Father Ehrlichmann.’ Levi shook hands, immediately wary.
The next morning Levi woke just before dawn. He dressed in a light safari suit and quietly pulled back the dirty brown canvas tent flap. The expedition tent lines had been pitched along the eastern side of the airstrip, and Levi’s tent was just two down from von Heißen’s.
The stars were fading as Levi made his way towards the thick jungle at the north-west corner of the airstrip. He knew from his previous visits that the narrow jungle-track led to the Central Acropolis, the sacred heart of the great Mayan city. The air was cool, and already the jungle was coming alive in the soft pre-dawn light. Suddenly, a series of enraged roars pierced the foliage. Levi looked up to see a group of howler monkeys, the biggest nearly a metre tall, their squat black faces staring down at him from the tops of massive, buttressed strangler figs. The killer trees started life as a tiny seed. Eventually, the seed’s tendrils wrapped around a host tree, strangling it, as the crown of the fig tree soared above the canopy. Figs were a favourite of the howler monkey. The troop moved on, noisily alerting the rest of the jungle to Levi’s presence. Further into the rainforest, Levi spotted two keel-billed toucans, croaking and barking in the half-light, their bright-yellow hooked beaks contrasting with their jet-black feathers, but it was the large paw marks and droppings nearby that made him proceed more cautiously. Levi recognised them instantly; a jaguar was on the prowl. He moved silently on the forest floor of decaying leaves, peering through the low-lying ferns, orchids and mosses that grew in abundance alongside the balsa, chicle and myriad other trees and vines growing thickly around the ancient city.
THE MAYA CODEX Page 4
