“Catholics,” Himmler muttered to no one in particular, “have always understood the power of symbolism and fear.”
“Precisely,” Seiler said. “That’s why the church has survived two thousand years.”
Hoffman focused his attention on Wolf. “What are you waiting for? Check inside!”
Wolf pushed the front doors wide, revealing the most cavernous, grandiose structure he had ever laid eyes upon. Germany’s own Trier Cathedral did not begin to compare. Only the majesty of Munich’s urban palace even came close. Notre Dame’s vaulted ceiling was impossibly high for a building created some 800 years earlier. How had mere mortals done this?
There was no mass at this time of night, but the rear pews were nevertheless occupied by a handful of worshippers in silent meditation. Behind and above him, eight thousand massive organ pipes clustered before a circular spectacle of stained glass that seemed, with every step deeper into the cathedral, to fan out like the feathers of a magic peacock. He was overcome with emotion. With his superiors still outside, he quickly dropped to one knee and crossed himself, mouthing a Hail Mary. Only then did he compose himself and return to the entrance to give the all clear.
The Nazi presence in the cathedral was felt before it was seen. The half-dozen worshippers in the rear pews broke from prayer to turn and regard the invaders. Although the red armband bearing the swastika on Himmler’s sleeve was a well-known ancient Tibetan symbol. To the faithful in Notre Dame, the swastika was antagonistic – a twisted, deliberate perversion of the holy cross of Jesus.
Himmler removed his trench coat and handed it to Hoffman, revealing a new black dress uniform that Hugo Boss had personally designed for him. The uniform was both elegant and sinister, resurrecting the skull-and-crossbones imagery of the early 1920s German Worker’s Party uniforms. Black tie with swastika tiepin, twin death’s head patches on his cap, and a silver dagger on his belt. A fitting costume for the high priest of the Nazi religion.
Wolf noted a hooded figure on each side of the hall, lighting prayer candles. They were wearing the same style of brown robe he had seen on the cyclist on the street. Simple wooden crosses strung with strips of black leather hung from their necks. Perhaps they were monks.
He tightened the rifle against his shoulder and checked his weapon to ensure the safety was off. However confidential the nature of their mission, Wolf imagined that news of Himmler’s presence in Paris would travel quickly.
With the professor on his heels, Himmler stomped down the long center nave, looking for the priest on duty. An elderly clergyman emerged near the main altar. He was dressed in a white collar and a simple black cloak that reached the tops of his shoes. As the Nazi entourage approached, he pressed his fingertips against his chest, outlining the four points of the cross. It seemed to Wolf that he was steeling himself for unpleasant business.
The priest lifted his arm in a perfunctory sieg heil as he greeted them. Such a gesture would have been unheard of a year earlier. But that had been before the disappearance of hundreds of thousands of French citizens over the summer and fall. “I am Father LeFevre,” he said in passable German. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”
“Let’s talk in private,” Himmler said. He turned to Hoffman. “You have your orders.”
Father LeFevre pulled a heavy gas lamp from its wall fixture and led the other four Nazis – Himmler, Seiler, Wolf and Lang – across the choir ambulatory to a doorway in the far south corner. They soon came to a tightly wound stone staircase leading up to the south tower. Before ascending, Wolf turned back and observed Hoffman lingering by the high altar. He seemed to be examining it. What were his orders? Wolf wondered. Who were the others Himmler had been expecting?
Each stair step bore the deep grooves of centuries of use. The ascent proved to be a remarkably steep climb. By the third-floor landing, Himmler was breathing heavily from his mouth. The more athletic priest stopped and looked down at him, grinning. “It’s 387 steps to the tower,” the priest remarked. “Lucky for you, my quarters are on the next landing.”
They exited the staircase and came to a narrow hallway consisting of several closed doors. The priest’s lamp shed dim light on a row of humbly framed portraits illustrating a long succession of French clergy. A cold draft swept through the hallway. Notre Dame seemed even colder than Wewelsburg Castle. Wolf could see his breath.
The priest went through the first doorway on his right. He took a wooden match from his pocket, struck it against the wall and lit a second gas lantern. The room was quite large, and the walls were jammed with bookshelves from floor to ceiling, each of them bowing under the weight of thick manuscripts. LeFevre walked behind a large desk that was bare except for a magnifying glass, a pen and an ink well. He gestured for Himmler and Seiler to sit in the chairs opposite him.
“Guard the hallway,” Himmler told Lang. “Make sure no one gets past.” Lang shot Wolf a jealous glare as he exited and shut the door behind him, leaving his friend privy to the reichsführer’s private business with the Catholic Church.
The priest cleared his throat. “How can I be of help?”
“Let us get right to the point,” Himmler replied. “We are here for the Holy Relics.”
Father LeFevre managed a nervous smile. It was public knowledge that Notre Dame claimed to hold the true Holy Crown – the crown of thorns worn by Jesus during the Crucifixion – as well as a nail from the True Cross, a fragment of the Holy Sponge, and other treasures.
“The Relics of the Passion are on display for believers on the first Friday of each month,” he said. “But for you, of course, yes, we can arrange a private viewing. Tonight, if you wish.”
“You misunderstand,” Himmler said. “We are taking the relics, all of them, with us to Germany.”
The priest’s lips parted at the audacity of Himmler’s request. “That is…that is quite impossible.”
Had Wolf not seen the vast quantities of Christian antiquities Himmler had already acquired for his private museum at Wewelsburg Castle, he would not have believed the request himself. But now he knew what the priest did not. Himmler was not afraid of being labeled a heretic. He seemed to have no fear of God whatsoever.
Himmler smiled. “Was King Louis IX a heretic when he brought the Holy Relics to Paris from Constantinople?”
The priest could scarcely conceal his temper. “Saint Louis considered himself a lieutenant of God. Although he was King of France, when he delivered the relics he was but a humble servant. He wore no royal robes, no shoes even. He was a picture of humility.”
“Is it not true that this saint you speak of was, in fact, a wealthy crusader responsible for the mass slaughter of countless Islamists?”
“With all due respect, Herr Himmler, you are many things, but you are not an expert in French history.”
Seiler winced, seeming to brace himself for Himmler’s response. Wolf too feared for the priest’s life. On the morning Albert died, he had witnessed firsthand the speed with which Himmler solved his problems. If he would execute Beck in public for reckless negligence, he could only imagine what would be done to a belligerent French priest that did not want to hand over precious relics.
And yet Himmler remained calm. “We have nevertheless followed proper Vatican protocol.” He reached inside his jacket pocket, produced a sealed envelope and tossed it unceremoniously onto Father LeFevre’s desk.
The red wax seal was imprinted with the Fisherman’s Ring. “The mark of His Holiness,” LeFevre intoned as he ran his fingers over it slowly, as if cataloguing the moment in his mind.
Finally he broke the seal with a brass letter opener. Then he carefully unfolded the letter and read the concise note twice before resuming eye contact with his German adversary.
“Surely His Holiness did not know what he was signing.”
Himmler’s voice was calm, almost tranquil. “Is it really so unbelievable? As you must know, Pacelli is a longtime friend of the German people.”
It was well known tha
t Pacelli – who had taken the name Pius XII upon his election in 1939 – had seemingly done virtually everything in his power to establish friendly relations with Hitler. His submissive behavior had not been entirely unexpected, given that he had spent several years living in both Munich and Berlin as Papal Nuncio to Bavaria, and later, to all of Germany. Even after being called back to Rome to serve as Cardinal Secretary of State, he had helped broker the Reichskonkordat, the treaty that had supposedly guaranteed the rights of the Catholic Church in Germany. The pope had been widely criticized for not breaking the treaty despite widespread violations by the German government.
LeFevre leaned back in his chair. “What are you implying?”
“When Pacelli was ambassador, he hosted German leadership at his residence in Berlin on many occasions. And so, when the death of Pope XI was announced, we extended our influence within the Vatican to sway the conclave.”
“No. God chooses Popes. Cardinals are merely his instruments.”
“Believe what you wish,” Himmler said. “But I assure you that the pontiff remains not only a steadfast friend and supporter of the German people, but also one that longs for the historical bond between the Vatican and the Holy Roman Empire. Even now the Crown Jewels and the Spear of Longinus have been returned to their rightful place at Wewelsburg Castle.”
“Nobody has returned anything,” the priest spat. “They were stolen when your armies occupied Austria.”
Dr. Seiler sat forward. “Father LeFevre, as a civilian observer, I urge you to watch your tone. You speak as if you yourself are eager to become a martyr.”
Himmler held his hand up and smiled. “Professor, relax. I actually enjoy intellectual banter with men of the cloth. And even I am too superstitious to kill a priest in Notre Dame Cathedral.”
LeFevre’s face flushed. “Forgive me. I do not wish to be uncivil. But regardless of what His Holiness has authorized, the removal of artifacts from Notre Dame would be regarded as a cardinal sin.”
“Let those without sin be the first to cast stones, Father. When Napoleon sacked Rome, he brought the entirety of the Vatican archives with him to France. More than three thousand chests’ worth.”
“At least Napoleon was a Christian,” LeFevre shot back. “He wanted nothing more than to be closer to Jesus Christ. Hitler’s reputation is quite different.”
Himmler crossed his left leg over his right before he spoke. “Had you read the führer’s autobiography, you would know he was raised Catholic.”
“Judging by the way he has treated the Jews of France, I sincerely doubt that he can truly love Jesus Christ, who was himself a Jew.”
“Ah!” Himmler stood. “Yes. Precisely the problem. The matter of Jesus’ alleged race.”
LeFevre rose, wringing his hands. “There is no question of Jesus’ background, which is why your interest in possession of the relics confounds me.”
“I beg to differ. Scholars such as Dr. Seiler here have created new hope for Christianity in the Third Reich.”
“By what means? Dare I ask?”
“If I may,” Dr. Seiler interjected, clearing his throat. “Three years ago I embarked on an archeological expedition of the Middle East to discover whether Germanic people had served in the Roman army during biblical times. Significant evidence was found of Nordic influence, including a number of ancient sites where Germanic runes were present. And furthermore –”
“We’ve no time for lectures,” Himmler interrupted. He removed his eyeglasses, and with a handkerchief from his pocket, leisurely wiped spots from the lenses. “To make a very long story short, our scholars at the Ahnenerbe have determined that Jesus of Nazareth is likely of Aryan descent.”
LeFevre’s eyes bulged. “Apparently your scholars have not even read the Bible!”
“Be honest,” Himmler said. “Two thousand years of interpretations and translations. Substantial amounts of prophecy omitted or missing. Even you must admit scripture cannot be trusted word for word.”
LeFevre paced the other side of the room. “Church doctrine is very clear. Jesus was borne of immaculate conception in Mary’s womb.”
Himmler reached inside his jacket pocket. Wolf saw a glint of metal and feared the worst. Alas, it was only a black-faced Doxa pocket watch with large white numerals. “The matter of Jesus’ divinity is not in question. Those who know me realize that I am quite open to the paranormal.”
“Paranormal? Divinity is hardly part of the occult!”
The reichsführer did not raise his voice as he spoke and wound the watch. “You will admit that the Bible never specifically identifies Mary’s parents?” He gave the baffled priest only a moment to contemplate his question before continuing. “An expedition to Palestine revealed that German people were recruited into the Roman army a full century before Jesus’ birth. These divisions with high concentrations of Aryan soldiers occupied Nazareth and Galilee. Further, there is ample evidence that the non-Aryan populations were moved out of Nazareth and Galilee well before Mary’s birth. Do you follow me, priest?”
Father LeFevre’s hands were trembling. He bore the look of a man pushed to the edge of sanity. “I am trying.”
“The dissemination of genetic material, both willingly and by force, is an inevitable consequence of military occupation. Given the ethnic makeup of the Nazareth and Galilee, and the presence of young male soldiers in the vicinity, then Mary would be at least partially Aryan, if not fully Aryan.”
The priest shook his head. “What is the point of this conversation?”
“The point is that this war cannot last forever. Europe cannot sustain a protracted conflict. But imagine if the führer could be persuaded to turn to Christ?”
Wolf felt dizzy. What was it that Nagel had said on the train? The success of Ahnenerbe research and operations will be directly proportional to the cultural strength of the German people.
“Consider it,” Himmler said. “If the führer could embrace the notion of a Christian state, rooted in Germanic blood, the war could end tomorrow. Millions could be saved.”
Wolf struggled to contain his emotions. Until now he he’d had trouble reconciling Himmler’s passion for collecting Christian artifacts. He wondered if it was nothing less than a desire to bottle up the entire religion and lock it away. But now he realized that he had been wrong about that. Christianity was, in fact, central to the war strategy.
The priest brushed past Wolf. Despite the frigid temperatures within the room, he reeked of nervous perspiration. “Your slim theories about the rape and resettlement of the ancient Jews will prove nothing.”
“You underestimate German ambition. No one could have foreseen the invention of the V-2 rocket. A rocket that can reach London without a pilot! Just as our scientists have honed our powers of destruction, recent advancements in biological science may also expedite peace. For example, our researchers have studied nucleic acids called DNA for many decades. Are you familiar with the concept?”
“No.”
“DNA is nothing less than the genetic code with which living organisms are constructed.”
“Nonsense. God alone is the architect and creator.”
“Perhaps. But I am told that one day soon, the concept of using cranial measurements to determine ethnicity will be replaced by DNA examination of each individual. In the meantime, blood research is an acceptable intermediary step. Already, German physicians can determine paternity from simple blood tests. Our forensic investigators can determine guilt in murder cases with a growing degree of accuracy based on dried bloodstains. Even as we speak, a racial studies team at the University of Leipzig is working to harness the ability to perform blood and DNA tests on ancient bone fragments.”
Finally the priest could take no more. He opened a desk drawer and took a heavy set of keys from it. He took his lamp from the wall and opened the door. “You are wasting your time,” he sighed. “I will prove it to you.”
He went past Wolf and Lang toward a door at the far end of the landing.
“But the treasury is downstairs,” Dr. Seiler objected.
LeFevre shook his head as he inserted a key in the door. “The occupation has left France impoverished. Even the most devout Parisians may be far too hungry to ignore the treasury’s temptations.”
He entered the room and lit two additional lanterns, illuminating a windowless chamber crowded with glass enclosures displaying robes, various reliquaries, crucifixes, ancient Bibles and more. The collection was every bit as crowded as Himmler’s private museum – moreso, in fact – but had clearly been hastily assembled.
LeFevre set his lamp to the side and unlocked a large cabinet. He pulled from it an elaborate shrine constructed of bronze and glass that, judging by the grimace on the priest’s face, was quite heavy. It was 88 centimeters high, and the top was fashioned to resemble a royal crown encrusted with diamonds and other precious gems. The base was encircled by figurines, the most prominent of which was a likeness of St. Louis, sitting on a throne of lion’s head armrests, holding the Holy Crown in his hands. Himmler stood behind LeFevre as the priest first donned white gloves and then removed the top, setting it carefully aside. He reached inside and removed the transparent circular reliquary that held the braided holy thrushes. The thrushes were tied together with golden thread.
He turned and held it under the lantern’s illumination for Himmler and Seiler to examine. “As you can well see,” LeFevre said, “There are no thorns in the crown. It is a forgery. You have wasted your time, professor.”
Wolf and Lang shared a glance. The priest was clearly lying. The papal document that Himmler had brought with him, clearing the transfer of the relics to Germany, would not be enough to convince the priest to let them go without a fight.
The Fellowship Page 24
