Wolf: Agreed. They don’t understand. The rules that apply to most men don’t apply to you. That is the nature of leadership.
Wolf: That you were chosen to lead. You cannot be bound by the same rules as those who are destined to follow.
NEXT 18 MINUTES RECORDING: BLANK
UPDATE TO FILE 62-43899-7789
RE: Sebastian Wolf
BY: Special Agent Will Hollis
June 28, 2003
This document summarizes an inquiry into a private estate, owned by Sebastian Wolf (aka “The Shepherd”), commonly called Eden and located at 9012 River Rd, Rockville MD.
The inciting incident for the investigation was the publication of an article in Inside Washington magazine titled “The Country Club Cult that Rules Washington,” written by Mr. Nathan Drucker.
BACKGROUND
Prev. file on Wolf closed in 1946, at which time domestic surveillance ceased. From 1946 to 1952 Mr. Wolf was granted amnesty in the United States and provided ad hoc consulting services to the War Department/OSS/CIG/CIA regarding post-war occupation in Germany. Wolf was instrumental in helping to establish several covert scientific research projects staffed with former German scientists, and served as the unofficial primary liaison between the Federal government and the community. The result of these initiatives was the widescale import of German knowledge and talent into select American agencies.
After this period Wolf became a U.S. citizen. He entered the Episcopalian priesthood and was thought to have gradually assimilated into mainstream life.
However, the aforementioned article written by Mr. Nathan Drucker of Silver Springs, Maryland, alleges that Wolf currently exerts undue influence over a number of prominent American politicians and resulting domestic & foreign policy, possibly extending to government funding of technology research in the private sector.
I conducted one in-person interview and one follow-up call with Drucker.
Drucker is a career journalist. He seemed highly agitated and exhibited paranoid behavior during both interviews. Claimed he had lost “editorial approval” over the article bearing his name but that it was “basically factual.” Also indicated that he was conducting a personal investigation of Mr. Wolf’s personal empire, which he claimed exerted influence over leaders in several foreign countries including China, the UK, Germany, Italy and various African nations.
Drucker alluded to threats to his personal safety as a result of the article’s publication.
Drucker’s vehicle smelled of marijuana. A subsequent examination of his Silver Springs residence revealed large quantities of anti-anxiety medication clozapine, which is used to treat a variety of disorders, including schizophrenia.
SUMMARY
Not a credible threat to domestic security.
No further action planned at this time.
PART IV
Palazzo Della Rovere
Rome
Blake Carver set the tablet computer aside and stood. The sun had set hours ago. He had finished Drucker’s manuscript, as well as the associated classified documents Speers had sent him, in one long sitting. His feet were tingly. His eyes hurt. He was famished.
He went to the window, forcing himself to look at distant objects so as to retrain his vision. He focused his gaze on the dome of St Peter’s Basilica, and then on the lights of the Royal Palace. At night, the palace was an arresting vision of power and majesty.
He tried to imagine how it would have looked in January 1943, when Sebastian Wolf had been imprisoned there. So much was unchanged. The architecture. The uniforms of the clergy and the Swiss Guard. But he would have also seen Italian police on horseback and plumes of steam rising from the animals’ mouths. And although the official occupation of Rome would not begin until later that year, he would have seen plenty of German patrols in the streets. The Nazis must have thought it only a matter of time before the long red and black swastika banners hung from the palace façade. Given, how quickly every prior nation had bent to their will, how could they not have imagined coming and going from the Vatican gates as they pleased? How could they not have imagined decorating their homes with art looted from the Vatican museums?
A true monarchy operating for nearly two thousand uninterrupted years, with borderless influence over one billion followers worldwide. There had never been another earthly reign like it. And after reading a few chapters of Drucker’s manuscript, Carver was convinced that Preston’s killers meant to ensure it would endure for another two millennia.
He went to Nico’s room, where his sidekick had fallen asleep with the lights on. “Wake up,” he said twice, but Nico didn’t stir. He picked up a glass of water on the nightstand and splashed it across Nico’s face.
He shot up. “Dude, what is your problem?”
“We have new information,” he said. “We need to regroup.”
Nico flopped back down and pulled the covers over his head. “I need to sleep.”
“The guy we got the information from died trying to give it to us.”
Nico sat up. “Died? As in, he was murdered?”
“Yes.” Carver didn’t want to get into Nathan Drucker’s life story, or how Ellis and Speers had managed to get their hands on his manuscript. There was no time for that.
“Fine. Consider me up.”
Carver retreated to his room at the far end of the suite and sat on the edge of the bed to reflect further on what he had learned. While digesting Drucker’s manuscript, he had grown increasingly suspicious of Father Thomas Callahan. It was now obvious that the priest’s contact in Vatican Intelligence, and the one who had asked him to find Sebastian Wolf, was none other than Wolf’s childhood frenemy, Heinz Lang.
In a professional sense, Lang’s career arc was practically unrivaled. Like Pope Benedict himself, Lang had risen from the Hitler Youth and the ashes of a failed Thousand Year Reich to lead the Jesuits, one of the world’s most influential and long-running religious orders, before stepping down to run Vatican Intelligence.
But just because Lang had headed up “God’s Marines” didn’t necessarily mean he was involved with a modern-day incarnation of the Black Order. But one thing was for sure. If he had asked Callahan to find Wolf, he was somehow connected.
The question was, was Lang’s mission to seek and destroy, or to assist?
As important as finding the answer to that question was, Carver knew that he had to be careful in handling Callahan. It was too early to reveal that he knew about Wolf and Lang’s association, and certainly premature to reveal anything further about Preston, Gish, Borst and the others.
But there was one burning question that had to be answered before all others. He picked up his phone and dialed Father Callahan.
The priest answered on the first ring. He heard the faint pitch of a teakettle simmering in the background.
“I was hoping you’d get in touch,” Callahan began. “How’s our fair city treating you?”
“Fine, thank you. But this isn’t a personal call. I wanted to update you on that name you gave me. Sebastian Wolf?”
“Ah, yes. What’d you find out?”
“We checked out that address,” Carver continued, knowing he had to give the priest something. “I can see why you’re having trouble tracking the fellow down. The estate is completely deserted.”
He heard the disappointment in Callahan’s voice. “Surely you’re not giving up, though. Anyone moving out of a place that big is sure to leave a few breadcrumbs.”
“Don’t worry. You know how tenacious I am. But in the meantime, I’ve got a question for you, Father. Was anything stolen from the Vatican recently?”
“Stolen?” the priest repeated. “You mean from the Vatican Museums?”
“No. Something from the red zones,” Carver said, meaning non-public areas of Vatican City.
“Come to think of it, yes.”
The kettle
whistle grew louder. “Would you mind moving that off the burner?” Carver asked.
“Sorry.” The racket faded before Callahan spoke again. “As to your question, as a matter of fact, a painting was stolen from the Royal Palace.”
“What sort of painting?”
“An obscure work by…hold on a minute…” It sounded as if he was shuffling through newspapers. “Ah yes. Benvenuto Tisi.”
“When?”
“September 21. As it was explained to me, the pope was away for his last gasp of vacation at Castel Gandolfo, and of course most of the Swiss Guard was away with him, so security was relatively light at the palace. The working theory is that the thieves came and went through a laundry truck, but word is that they’re not entirely sure. Obviously, security in the palace has been heightened massively ever since. Never seen it so high, as a matter of fact.”
“I’ll bet. I take it the investigators were not Italian police?”
“Indeed. Internal Vatican investigation. The Swiss Guard apartments are within the city walls, and the Rome police have no jurisdiction here.”
Carver let forth a grunt of skepticism.
The priest sipped his tea audibly. “Something not sitting right with you?”
Even at face value, the story was implausible. Tisi, also known as Il Garofalo, had been among the most prolific Renaissance painters. According to historians, he had worked constantly, and had lived to be very old. During his lifetime, just about every church in Italy was said to have possessed at least one of his paintings.
But unlike the elite artists such as Rafael, Garofalo was without a signature piece. His work was often criticized for being frigid, both in expression and color. If the thieves had wanted a Garofalo, or several, they could have gotten them in hundreds of places where security was relatively light. Even with the pope away on summer retreat, the palace remained one of the most heavily fortified places in the world.
Carver did not doubt that there had been a robbery that had triggered such a massive increase in security. But he was willing to bet that what had been taken was far more valuable than a painting by a second-tier Renaissance artist. If his theory was right, Sebastian Wolf had finally completed the mission Heinrich Himmler had sent him on in 1943. He had found the ossuary.
Haborview Trauma Center
Seattle
This time, Ellis woke. Really woke. She had been in and out of sleep for the past 36 hours. The back of her head was impossibly heavy and sore. She sat up, reached around and probed her skull gingerly. Based on the size of her headache, she expected to feel an appendage the size of a grapefruit. But her fingertips found only a cushioned bandage that was sore to the touch.
“The swelling’s way down,” a voice said. She looked up and saw a nurse at the foot of the bed. A Latino guy with a handsome face.
Her right side stung. She winced, shutting her eyes as the memory of the Taser prongs lancing her skin came flooding forth. The nurse was suddenly at her side, lifting the gown to take a look. The scabbed-over wounds resembled the bite marks of some enormous snake. “I can give you something for the pain,” the nurse said.
Ellis started to turn and was immediately thwarted by crushing lower back pain. She now remembered being hit. And she remembered the man with the beard. The flaming beard. Had his face seriously been on fire? She didn’t know. But he had hit her with something big. A plank, maybe. She couldn’t remember what.
“Easy,” the nurse said. “It might not feel like it right now, but you’re lucky. Your mama must’ve fed you plenty of milk when you were a kid, cuz you’ve got no broken bones.”
“I don’t feel lucky,” Ellis moaned.
“Shhh. Your boss is still sleeping.”
“Boss?”
The nurse motioned to the second bed. “He’s been snoozing over there for about an hour now, thank God. He’s been asking us all kinds of questions, driving the staff crazy”
Ellis swiveled her neck slowly until she could see the second bed. The visitor was asleep on his back, snoring lightly. Wrinkled gray suit. Paunch-belly. Curly black head of hair. Salt-and-pepper goatee.
“Julian,” she said in recognition.
Palazzo Della Rovere
The inbound call on Carver’s phone appeared as IDENTITY BLOCKED for less than a second, then transformed as the DNI cloud database unscrambled it. The call was coming from SIS Headquarters in London.
Carver sighed. It had been days since he had heard anything from Legoland. Maybe they had finally found something useful.
He answered provisionally, requesting, as a security precaution, video chat prior to accepting audio. Carver was surprised when not one, but three faces popped up on the phone. The DNI’s facial recognition software was slow to respond. It had to sync with its database of intelligence profiles, but it did, gradually, confirm the identity of each of the three faces onscreen: Sam Prichard, SIS Chief Brice Carlisle and the stunning Seven Mansfield.
“Is it my birthday?” Carver said. “I don’t like surprise parties.”
“Apologies for the gang bang,” Carlisle replied dryly. “Unfortunately, I had no choice but to call Director Speers a short while ago to alert him about another sad chapter in this saga. He suggested we notify you straight away.”
“I supposed I’ll have to fly to London for the juicy details?”
The comment raised eyebrows, but Carver didn’t regret it. He was still pissed about the waste – both in time and budget – incurred in flying to London because of Sir Brice’s paranoia. There was nothing worse than abandoning an already cooling blood trail for the sake of bureaucracy.
Prichard and Seven held their breath until Carlisle spoke. “Now that you’ve got that bit off your chest, Agent Carver, would you mind turning on the BBC?”
Carver walked to the suite’s master bedroom and switched on the television. He turned to BBC World and was immediately faced with a red ticker sliding across the bottom of the screen.
UN ENVOY SUK KENYATTA MURDERED IN GENEVA
Kenyatta was a former Kenyan prime minister and UN secretary general. He was not quite a household name in the States, but that was only because most Americans didn’t follow international politics. Outside the U.S., Kenyatta had more name recognition than Sir Gish, Senator Preston and under-secretary-general Borst put together. He had been in the international news a great deal lately, as he had been appointed the UN envoy in charge of negotiating peace in central Africa.
Carver turned the TV volume down. “What happened?”
“We only learned about this 45 minutes ago,” Carlisle replied. “All we know is that he was abducted from his car around lunchtime, and was found hanging, having been rope-tortured like the other victims, in his Geneva hotel. A piece of octagonal-shaped, striped fabric was stuffed into his mouth.”
Sebastian Wolf had seen to it that his new religion was stocked to the rafters with influential scientists and politicians.
And so too will the world’s great leaders join the Shepherd in Fellowship, so that they may be in place when the time comes to usher in the new Rule of Light. And those leaders were now paying the ultimate price for membership.
“What was Kenyatta doing in Europe?” Carver asked.
“Geneva had been selected as neutral territory for negotiations. You can imagine how this will derail talks now. Each side will blame the other for his death.”
A global war. Without state. Without end. Carver had seen Brother Melfi’s handwritten proclamation in the evidence files Speers had uploaded from Seattle. The prophecy was coming true. Borst and Kenyatta did not even represent individual nations. They represented the United Nations.
“We’re dispatching a unit to investigate the crime scene,” Carlisle continued.
“Why bother?” Carver asked, although he was venting more than making a recommendation. “We know that Kenyatta was connected to Sebastian Wolf. They wouldn’t have targeted him otherwise.”
Judging by the puzzled faces onscreen, Carver
realized the extent of the information gap that had been created in the past few days. There was so much to explain.
“I’ve got a lot of stuff to catch you up on,” Carver continued. “For now, I feel confident in saying that the Black Order has returned, and that they are targeting senior members of the Fellowship World Initiative.”
“Hold it,” Prichard said. “In London, you said the Black Order had been dissolved centuries ago.”
“Which was consistent with historical records,” Carver agreed with appreciation in his voice. If he had been forced to fly to London to discuss something that could have been done remotely, at least Prichard had bothered to listen. “But we are witnessing the work of a highly organized, talented and sustained effort that is obviously well-funded and enjoys considerable reach. Only an organization with the maturity and impeccable intelligence of the Black Order could have known the secret relationship shared by Gish, Preston, Vera Borst and Suk Kenyatta.”
Carlisle looked uncomfortable. “If I understand you correctly, you’re saying the Vatican is behind this?”
Carver shook his head. “No. That would be like saying that the government of Saudi Arabia endorsed Al Qaeda because a few terrorists once lived there.”
“Certain conspiracy theorists have said as much.”
“And they were wrong about that. Did the Black Order once exist to defend and preserve the Catholic Church and the interests of the pope? Yes. But this level of extreme sadism and brutality would never be tolerated by the Holy See, at least not in its modern form. Odds are that the Black Order is today an autonomous order with no official ties to the Vatican.”
The Fellowship Page 34
