The Force (The Kingdom Chronicles)

by Alexandra Swann

  The structure was massive and imposing—over thirty-five meters wide and thirty-three meters deep—carved from ancient Greek marble with a slight gray vein. The stairway alone was over twenty meters wide.

  “What you are seeing here is the reconstruction of the western side of the Altar. In antiquity the eastern side would have been the critical one because sacrifices were made facing east, but when the archaeologists began their excavation in 1878 at the acropolis of Pergamon in Turkey and removed the friezes to Germany, they either failed to understand or failed to appreciate the significance of the eastern side, and so they reconstructed only the western portion and used the friezes they had excavated on the base they constructed for it.”

  “It is a temple to Zeus,” Josef sounded bored, “The Germans who moved it were celebrating the discovery of an ancient archaeological find. The western piece with the staircase was the most impressive; naturally, they focused their efforts on that.” As he spoke these words, Helmick made his way up the marble staircase and admired the German reconstruction of the marble columns which supported the flat marble canopy atop the structure. It was a very impressive work of engineering.

  “It is not a temple,” Demetri corrected him. “It is an Altar, and it represents virtually all of the ancient Greek gods. The marble friezes,” he pointed to the friezes in high relief adorning the Altar, “tell the story of the Gigantomachy.”

  In his entire life, no one had ever dared to correct Josef. This was going to be a long trip. “If, as you say, it is an Altar to all deities, where was the temple? The structure originally sat alone on a hilltop. And if it is an Altar for all deities, why is it commonly referred to as the Altar of Zeus?” Josef snapped.

  Demetri ignored his harsh tone. “On another hilltop above it sat a temple to Athena. This altar is believed to have been an accompaniment to that. The Pergamon Altar was commissioned by King Eumenes II of Turkey. Probably, the work was done by various artists from ancient Athens and Rhodes. Since Zeus ruled over all the gods and was father to most of them, to say that it is an Altar to him is to recognize his lordship over the lesser deities.”

  Demetri motioned for Josef to return down the staircase so that he could point out some of the stories represented in the friezes at the base. “You see here the story of the Gigantomachy—an ancient race of giants who were born from Gaia the earth, the primordial goddess, who is also the grandmother of Zeus and ancestress of all the gods. Gaia became angry with her grandchildren living on Mount Olympus and encouraged the giants to rebel against them. In order to triumph over the giants, the gods had to enlist the help of a mortal, and they called on Hercules. It was the son of Hercules, Telephus, who in Greek mythology came to Pergamon and founded the city, so the Altar is as much a tribute to his life as to any of the gods.”

  Josef did not like art; he had never liked art. The only history and past relics with which Karl had been concerned had to do with the Third Reich. Karl had considered art, music and literature to be “feminine” pursuits for the weak-minded and soft-bodied, and Josef agreed. For more than one hundred years this display had been one of the premier sites in Berlin, and now, as he stared at it, he could not imagine why anyone, even someone living in the city, would bother to darken the door of this place.

  Josef had expected the experience to be more mystical than it was proving to be. Retrieving the Altar and returning it to Bergama had been Nikolai’s idea. Josef had cooperated only because of the Altar’s connection to the Third Reich. In 1934, the young Fuhrer had wanted a commanding visual for the National Socialist Party rallies in Nuremberg, and he had commissioned a young architect named Albert Speer to replicate the structure as an imposing backdrop for the Fuhrer’s speeches. Using the Pergamon Altar as inspiration, Speer had designed the Zeppelintribune at the Nuremberg Parade Grounds, and his creation quickly became one of the most famous visuals of World War II. Some of Hitler’s most powerful speeches were delivered from his pulpit strategically positioned at the center front of the massive edifice. Since most of the rallies were held at night; Speer had designed the Zeppelintribune with 150 lights which shone to the heavens, illuminating the structure as a “cathedral of light”. The goal was to create visuals that were intimidating to the opposition and awe-inspiring for the many true believers, so that the German people could accept and embrace their new Supreme Ruler—the new god who stood before them as a man but demanded all-consuming worship and sacrifice. From that stage, he summoned the Hitler Youth into service; from that pulpit, he introduced the Nuremberg laws of 1935 which stripped Jews of their German citizenship and rights as participants in German society. From that pulpit, he received the accolades of the people as he saluted and called out “Sieg Heil”—“Hail to Victory,”—while the German people cheered wildly. From that pulpit, he transformed Europe into a slave labor camp and successfully annihilated nine million people with little internal resistance.

  On his first trip to Germany, Josef had gone with Karl to the Nuremberg Parade grounds, and Karl had described to him what he had felt as he had stood there listening to Hitler’s speeches. At only ten years of age, Karl had committed his life, his abilities, his accomplishments and his efforts to the Third Reich—a complete renunciation of himself and subjugation of his will that he had never regretted. Karl had told Josef that one day Josef would be the new ruler of the world—one day, all the world would stand before him in adulation just as they had stood before the Fuhrer. Over and over he had watched Triumph of the Will, Hitler’s official propaganda movie showcasing his own triumph over all opposition in Germany. Even as a child, when Josef watched this film and the many other videos of Hitler’s Reich, he would mentally superimpose himself over the Fuhrer’s image and fantasize how it would feel to have the nations submitted to him in obeisance. When he visited Nuremberg and saw the ruins of the Zeppelintribune, he felt a connection to it, as if it were not history but the future calling to him from the ashes. He had assumed that he would experience something similar today.

  This, however…this ancient marble cathedral to mythological beings wrestling each other for control in an epic battle—far from finding this structure inspiring, Josef merely found it gaudy and boring. The experience was so…Mediterranean. Josef hated Mediterranean people; he found them vulgar and distasteful. As he examined the friezes and the priceless marble artwork, he felt a deep hatred for it. True, he needed a visual to ignite the mass hypnosis that he planned to induce with Labyrinth, and this one was world-famous, but he would not use this monstrosity as a permanent podium. One generation—that was all he needed. One generation of believers who would accept the New World Order and forget themselves and their own beliefs and values and superstitions. If he needed this decaying old structure to secure Nikolai’s full assistance and to ensure the world’s loyalty, then so be it. Unlike his aging accomplice, Josef would never age—he had the gift of immortality which had been passed on to him by his father. He would use this monument to superstition for one generation and then grind it into powder and drop it into the ocean. After that he would erect a forty-foot statue of himself—that would be the only visual he would need.

  “Breathtaking, is it not?” Demetri had been prattling on pointing out the various scenes from Greek mythology depicted in the friezes. The sound of his voice had been white noise for Josef’s thoughts; now he realized that the Greek must imagine that he was lost in private reverie. He elected not to disappoint his guide.

  “Exactly what I was just thinking. I wonder…I do not see a place for sacrifices. Where did the faithful sacrifice their gifts?”

  “The fire altar probably evolved over the centuries. Scholars believe that this structure was endowed between 170 B.C. and 159 B.C. Libations of all types, including wine, fruit and cakes would probably have been offered to the gods. Homer tells us that the ancients burned the legs and thighs of their animal sacrifices before the gods, and the remainder of the creature was enjoyed as a feast at the temple.”

  “Anima
ls only?” Josef raised an eyebrow. “I understood that mythological blood lust extended far beyond animals.”

  “Officially, the tales of frequent human sacrifice are just stories meant to excite the imagination, but the worshippers of Gaia, the earth goddess, will tell you that human sacrifice has always been the only kind the gods truly value. This Altar saw many such sacrifices; it was eventually reduced to ruins only because the sacrifices stopped. Come.” He motioned for Josef to follow him up the stairs.

  “The fire altar would probably have been positioned somewhere here,” he continued when they reached the top of the stairs. “It would have taken many forms over the centuries. In the first century A.D., it was in the form of a bronze bull. An Athenian metal worker, Perillos, designed it for the tyrant Phalaris. The bull was hollow and sealed on the outside except for a metal door. When the victim was sealed inside, a fire was lighted under the statue which cooked the sacrifice to perfection—it was said that the gleaming bones were sold as jewelry. The scent of burning flesh rose as a spicy incense to the gods and rulers. Perillos also constructed the Altar so that the screams of the victim were distorted through a series of lines and stops to emerge as the soft bellowing of a bull.

  “Since the victim’s tongue was normally severed before he was imprisoned inside the bull, he was incapable of calling out words, so only the screams and cries had to be muted. Unfortunately for Perillos, who expected a reward for his creation, Phalaris thanked him by shutting him up in his invention and very nearly roasting him alive.”

  “Ingenious,” now Josef was interested. Greek art and sculpture bored him, but all methods of torture fascinated him, and unlike Demetri, he had actually seen a brazen bull in action—in the dungeon of his own castle.

  “Indeed. Later Phalaris also perished in the bull. By the first century A.D. human sacrifices were almost completely confined to criminals and political prisoners. These sacrifices met the gods’ desire for blood while serving as a harsh reminder to the citizenry of the brutal cost of disobedience to their leaders. How long the bull served Zeus we cannot be sure, but it was still in use in the first century, when the Biblical book of Revelation alludes to the sacrifice of the leader of the church in Pergamon to Zeus. As an enemy of the state and the gods, he would have been sentenced to die in the bull. For at least two centuries A.D. the bull continued to consume those who stood in opposition to Zeus. But at length, the monotheistic religions, especially Christianity, destroyed the worship of the ancient gods and put men at odds with the earth.”

  “Christianity has been the bane of every society that has ever embraced it. Its adherents deserve to be roasted alive. On that we can agree,” Josef smiled.

  Demetri looked at his watch. “Our time here is ended. Be my guest for dinner. I took the liberty of making reservations for us at the Adlon Kempinski; they have prepared for us a table overlooking the Brandenburg Gate.” Dinner at one of Berlin’s oldest and finest restaurants was always a welcome experience, and Josef wanted to spend more time with Demetri; he was pleased, therefore, to accept the invitation. Together the men walked to the street and entered the armored car awaiting them.

  Chapter 28

  Three hours later Demetri and Josef were at the Adlon Kempinski seated at a table overlooking the Brandenburg Gate. The opulent old landmark had been rebuilt on its original site after World War II and had earned every inch of its reputation for exceptional food, service and atmosphere. Once a favorite dining spot for wealthy international tourists, the hotel had consistently upgraded its clientele as well as its menu so that now only the elite of the world’s elite could even get a reservation. Tonight, Josef and Demetri dined on the restaurant’s signature dish—red mullet with sea urchin sauce—as they enjoyed their extraordinary view.

  Demetri ordered an expensive bottle of wine but then surprised Josef by drinking only water.

  “You don’t drink wine?” Josef mocked. “And may I ask why not?”

  “I never drink when I am working. As the minister of cultural affairs for a Muslim nation, if I were to be seen enjoying a libation in public, I would offend those who employ me. I do my drinking at home.”

  “And where is home for you? Turkey or Greece?” Josef inquired.

  “Home for me is ‘the Labyrinth.’” Josef started visibly as Demetri uttered this final word, and he quickly looked at him to see if the Greek were toying with him. Demetri appeared to be looking out the window at their spectacular view, but in reality he was using the glass as a mirror to gauge Josef’s reaction.

  Labyrinth was a closely-held secret. Only Josef, Heinz and Nikolai Sokol knew of its existence, and only Josef and Heinz had access to it. If Sokol had told Demetri about the drug, this was a serious infraction of their relationship. Even with a man as powerful as Sokol, Josef could not overlook such a betrayal. He wanted to demand that Demetri explain what he knew, but his odd host continued gazing out the window.

  “I love Berlin; it is such a beautiful city. Do you not find it so?” Demetri appeared to be changing the subject as he turned back to Josef.

  “What is The Labyrinth?” Josef responded carefully, trying not to betray his surprise.

  “It is my own personal island in the Mediterranean. My family has made their home there for decades.”

  Josef relaxed a little. “Amazing. I don’t recall ever seeing it on a map.”

  “Nor will you,” Demetri answered. “Labyrinth is not on a map. It rose up out of the sea when my father was just a boy. He and his father were on a fishing boat after an earthquake. Suddenly, the waters began to move, nearly capsizing their boat. They thought it was a tidal wave or the beginnings of a tsunami, but as they watched, the island rose out of the sea. My grandfather did not think much of it. After he and my father bailed the water out of the boat and set themselves back on course, he seldom mentioned the island. My father, however, was convinced that the island was a gift to him personally—a sign from the heavens. When he had finished working with his father each day, he would often jump out of the boat and swim to the island. When he grew older and he could manage the boat himself, he visited the island several times a week.

  “It seemed to my father that the Labyrinth, which he named for the island in Greek mythology where the Minotaur was imprisoned, grew every time he visited it. Soon he began to believe that it concealed a treasure that would make him rich beyond his wildest dreams. Eventually, he proved to be right.”

  “He found a treasure…on an island…born from a storm?” Josef stared at Demetri.

  “Of a sort. One day when he was exploring the island, he heard a group land in a small boat. They were heroin dealers who had stopped to stash their shipment because they had learned that Interpol was waiting for them when they landed in Italy. My father thought about taking the drugs for himself, but he knew that this would be suicide. Instead, he left the stash untouched and waited—and watched. Over time, he discovered that the heroin dealers stopped there often.

  “Another day he was alone when a yacht drew up. My father was a beautiful young man, and he was sunbathing on his private beach. The proprietor of the yacht sent a servant in a skiff to ask my father to join him on board for a drink. The owner of the yacht was Nikolai Sokol; they became fast friends. My father was correct; though he was a young man with no formal education and limited skills from generations of poverty, the Labyrinth had brought him into contact with the means to make more money than he had ever imagined. He determined that it would always remain our family home.”

  “Your father was Ari Karras—an infamous man and yet admired by millions worldwide. You live on his island, but you no longer use his name. Why?”

  “As you said, my father was infamous. He had both powerful friends and powerful enemies; I was the last person to see him alive, and that made me something of a target. As I was an only child, when my mother died the following year, there was no reason to continue to use the family name. My exquisite cousin, who is now my exquisite wife, agreed with me that
we owe the Karras name nothing—it is a name belonging to the desperately poor in the fishing villages and to those who escape poverty by any means necessary. The name no longer suited our station, so we changed it.”

  “To the Greek word for ‘time’?” Josef pressed.

  “To the Greek word for ‘opportunity’,” Demetri explained. “Chronos is the word for time; kairos means ‘an opportune moment’. Kairos was the youngest son of Zeus and the god of opportunity. I, too, value opportunity. I covet opportune moments as some men covet money, or women, or fame, or honor. Opportune moments are the stuff from which life’s greatest treasures are born.”

  “So you are a god, then? No wonder you admire the friezes at the Pergamon Altar. They are family portraits,” Josef was openly mocking him, but Demetri did not seem to notice.

  “To read Homer is to discover that there is little difference between gods and mortals, except that the gods live longer. I am not bound to specific religions—they are tools for helping men process what the human consciousness can never fully understand. I am, however, very interested in the philosophies that attempt to define divinity. The names and attributes of the deities change with the seasons, but the philosophies drive mankind. I have studied them all so that I can travel among my many worlds. When I have business in Greece, I attend Mass with my Orthodox colleagues. In Turkey, I pray at the mosque every Friday. If men still sacrificed to Zeus and Athena, I would bring a libation of wine regularly. I am as comfortable in one place of worship as another.”

  “Your wife, though, is a worshiper of Gaia, is she not? Nikolai tells me she very beautiful, by the way—that she bears a close resemblance to you. Does she have the same remarkable gray eyes?”