The Templar's Quest

by C. M. Palov

‘Are you sure about that?’ Kate’s brow wrinkled. ‘I could’ve sworn that Einstein came out with that theory in 1915.’

  ‘1915 is when he first published his Theory of General Relativity. But the idea for it was here –’ Uhlemann pointed to his white-haired noggin – ‘in his head ten years earlier in 1905. The problem was that in order to disseminate this revolutionary scientific theory to the world, Einstein had to first learn tensor calculus.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll bite,’ Finn said, jumping back into the fray. ‘What the hell is tensor calculus?’

  When Uhlemann made no reply, Kate said, ‘Unlike the calculus that we learned in high school, which deals with change and motion in three-dimensional Euclidian space, tensor calculus deals with the same problems of change and motion, but in a curved space. In his Theory of General Relativity, Einstein stated that matter, or gravity, causes the space–time continuum to actually curve.’ As the daughter of an astrophysicist, Kate had a clear advantage in the science department. ‘The easiest way to think of it is to imagine a heavy bowling ball, which represents the Sun. If you put the bowling ball on a trampoline, which represents the space–time continuum, then –’

  ‘I get it,’ Finn interjected. ‘The bowling ball causes the trampoline to warp in the same way that matter creates a curve in the space–time continuum.’

  Physics lesson concluded, the German continued the history lesson. ‘In order for Einstein to scientifically explain what he had already conceived and perfectly understood in his mind, he had to spend ten years learning the mathematics that would enable him to publish his theory. The ancient Egyptians were no different. They had the science here.’ Again, Uhlemann pointed to his head.

  ‘And even if they had wanted to write down the equations, higher mathematics didn’t exist in ancient Egypt,’ Kate pointed out. ‘Euclid didn’t invent geometry until the third century BC and it wasn’t until the tenth century that the Arab polymath Alhazan made the link between algebra and geometry. Which then enabled Newton to invent calculus in the seventeenth century.’

  ‘How ironic that you should mention the great mathematician Alhazan. Did you know that Abu Ali Alhazan was a member of the Dar ul-Hikmat, the Egyptian House of Knowledge?’

  A bewildered look on her face, Kate shook her head. ‘Um, sorry, but I’m unfamiliar with that.’

  ‘Forcing me to retract what I earlier said about you being well informed,’ Uhlemann derided, proving, yet again, that he was a mean fuck. ‘A prestigious university, the Egyptian House of Knowledge was founded in the eleventh century by the Fatamid Caliphate as a centre for Arabic scholarship. More importantly, it housed a magnificent library with a vast collection of ancient texts. As fate would have it, a disreputable Cairo antiquarian hoping to curry favour with the Nazi high command gave the Seven one of the library’s most valuable manuscripts. Although scribed in the tenth century, it was based on ancient Egyptian texts that had been destroyed centuries before. To the Seven’s delight, the Ghayat al-Hakim proved to be the missing link that they so desperately sought.’

  Kate’s eyes opened wide. ‘Do you mean that the Ghayat al-Hakim contained a blueprint for the Sacred Axis at Thebes?’

  ‘My dear, your powers of deduction are truly remarkable.’

  ‘Can the sarcasm and answer the damned question,’ Finn impatiently growled, ready to grab the old dude by his scrawny neck and hurl him across the mausoleum.

  ‘In response to Doctor Bauer’s very clever query, yes, the Ghayat al-Hakim, or “Goal of the Wise”, was an instruction manual that detailed how the ancient Egyptians built their Vril Generator at Thebes using the Lapis Exillis.’

  ‘Okay. Now how about fast-forwarding to the part where Himmler Meister tries to use the Vril force to build weapons of mass destruction.’

  White brows drew together in an annoyed frown. ‘The Seven was never involved in weapons research.’

  Finn didn’t buy that for one instant. ‘If your old man wasn’t interested in weaponizing the Vril force, what the hell was he planning to do with it, make a big blue campfire?’

  ‘If you must know, my father theorized that the blue light associated with the Vril force could be used to create a closed time-like curve.’

  ‘A CTC!’ Like a snapped rubber band, Kate’s head instantly whipped in Uhlemann’s direction. ‘Do you actually mean that the Seven wanted to generate the Vril force so they could time travel?’

  64

  Père Lachaise Cemetery, Paris

  0321 hours

  ‘You needn’t look so shocked, Doctor Bauer. As you undoubtedly know, the existing laws of physics don’t preclude time travel.’

  Nonetheless, Kate was shocked. Within the physics community, time travel, or a closed time-like curve as it was commonly called, was a hotly debated topic. While many scientists believed it theoretically possible, none of them had successfully created a CTC.

  She opened her mouth to reply; Finn beat her to it.

  ‘Hey, Doctor Dufus! Get for real, will ya!’

  Unperturbed, Ivo Uhlemann shrugged and said, ‘Even the great one, Albert Einstein, claimed that time can be altered.’

  ‘Yeah, I read H. G. Wells’ The Time Machine, too,’ Finn scoffed. ‘But unlike some of us in the room, I knew it was a work of fiction.’

  ‘Allow me to draw your attention to the mausoleum’s funerary plaque.’ Raising his arm, Dr Uhlemann pointed to the French inscription carved above the door. ‘ “For he who can wait, everything comes in time,” ’ he obligingly translated. ‘Rabelais mistakenly assumed that time is not only linear, but that it moves in only one direction. Anyone who accepts that is a victim of out-dated Newtonian physics.’

  ‘And you’re being damned disrespectful to the guy who invented calculus. Not to mention gravity.’

  ‘As a theoretical physicist, I have the greatest respect for Sir Isaac. But what was innovative thinking in the seventeenth century has subsequently been proved invalid. While possessed of a great mind, Newton wrongly believed that space and time were not only separate, but absolute, conceptualizing time as an imaginary universal clock set in the heavens. Tick-tock, tick-tock. Always fixed. Never changing.’ Dr Uhlemann paused before delivering the punchline. ‘And, then, along came Einstein.’

  ‘Who proved that gravity wasn’t a force, as Newton had described it, but was, instead, the movement of matter in a unified space–time continuum.’ The bowling ball on the trampoline from her earlier example. But what did that have to do with time?

  ‘Einstein conclusively demonstrated that just as we can move backwards and forwards in space –’ Dr Uhlemann moved his index finger, first one way, then the other – ‘we can move forwards and backwards in time.’

  ‘Well, Finnegan’s Law says that you can only move forwards or backwards in time if you reset the clock.’

  ‘Pish-posh!’ Dr Uhlemann snorted. ‘Do you know why Einstein considered the Theory of General Relativity his greatest achievement?’

  ‘No. And I would have thought that the Special Theory of Relativity and E=mc2 would take top honours,’ Finn countered, proving that he knew more science than he let on.

  ‘A proud achievement, certainly. But Einstein understood the inherent possibilities that arise when matter curves space. That curving of space is what we call gravity. Since Einstein proved that space and time are a single unified continuum, one can also use gravity to curve time.’

  ‘While that’s a scientifically valid argument, you would need an enormous amount of matter,’ Kate pointed out. ‘Only an object as big as a planet can produce enough gravity to bend the space–time continuum.’

  ‘And you wrongly presume that only matter can create gravity. According to Einstein’s theory, light can also create gravity.’

  Suddenly, Kate realized where his argument was headed. ‘And since gravity can bend time –’

  ‘– light can also bend time,’ Dr Uhlemann finished. His lips curved in a gloating smile. ‘Light is how we can move backwards and forwa
rds on the space–time continuum. A beautiful and elegant theory that my father mathematically proved. Moreover, he was convinced that the light shed by the Vril’s “blue fire” would produce the necessary torque to bend time.’

  ‘It’s an intriguing theory, I’ll grant you that. But it can’t be tested without …’ Kate hesitated. Although loathe to broach the topic, she had to know. ‘Without some sort of time machine.’

  ‘Who said that we don’t have one?’ Dr Uhlemann replied smugly.

  ‘Shit! I don’t believe that I’m hearing this!’

  ‘Nor do I,’ Kate murmured, stunned.

  My God! No wonder Ivo Uhlemann is so obsessed with generating the Vril force. If the Seven Research Foundation had a working mechanism, they could theoretically open a tunnel in the space–time continuum.

  ‘My candour is not without motive,’ Dr Uhlemann confessed with a shrewd smile. ‘My hope is that, intrigued by the theory, you will wish to participate in our great scientific experiment.’

  Finn, hands on hips, sneered derisively. ‘So we give you the medallion; you find the Grail; and then what? You go back in time and the Nazis win the war? You guys couldn’t win the first time around. What makes you think the second time will be the charm?’

  ‘Because with hindsight, one has the gift of perfect vision,’ Dr Uhlemann replied, making no attempt to deny that he intended to change the course of a war that nearly destroyed the world. ‘The mistakes have been identified and corrections will be made. This time we will win.’

  Hearing that, Kate’s jaw nearly came unhinged.

  ‘Wake up and smell the sauerkraut, Ivo Meister. Having spent half my life as a soldier, I can attest that it takes a whole lot of oil to run a war,’ Finn argued, refusing to back down. ‘Without oil, your tanks and planes are worthless. That’s the reason why Hitler invaded Russia, so he could seize the oil fields in the Caucasus. But the Nazis didn’t even get close to the Caucasus. Invading Russia is what doomed the Reich. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe that eighty per cent of all German casualties happened as a result of the Russian invasion. That’s a lot of dead soldiers. No way can you get around that catastrophe.’

  ‘Oh, but we can,’ Dr Uhlemann asserted quietly.

  ‘Okay, I’ll play your little time-travel game. Let’s suppose that you go back in time and stop the German army from invading Mother Russia. That same army still needs oil.’

  Like the cat that swallowed the canary, the other man slyly grinned. ‘As I understand it, Sergeant McGuire, the largest oil fields in the world are located in Iraq, Iran and Saudi Arabia.’

  ‘Shit! You wily old bastard!’

  ‘I agree that it was a colossal blunder for the Führer to think he could conquer the Soviet Union. A poorly thought-out strategy, it was driven by an egomaniacal desire to enslave the Slavic race. Hitler thought the Germans had only to kick down the door and the whole Russian house would fall to pieces. A horrendous miscalculation. Instead, we will abide by the 1939 German–Soviet Non-aggression Pact.’ As though it were already a done deal, Dr Uhlemann then said blithely, ‘Peace with Stalin is a small price to pay for victory.’

  ‘And it’s a helluva long way from Berlin to Baghdad. Just how are you planning on getting there?’

  ‘Thanks to Italy’s dictator, Benito Mussolini, Greece was under German control. From the Greek Islands, we will invade Istanbul.’

  ‘The Turks are a tough bunch, but compared to the Ruskies, a soft target,’ Finn readily admitted. ‘Once Turkey falls, I assume that you’ll attack Iraq from the north.’

  Uhlemann confirmed with a nod. ‘At the same time, we will reinforce Field Marshal Rommel’s forces in North Africa so that he can invade Saudi Arabia from Egypt.’ A triumphant gleam in his watery blue eyes, Dr Uhlemann shoved the figurative blade a little deeper. ‘By the end of 1941, we will have secured the entire Middle East. That done, we can turn our attention to India while Japan secures Southeast Asia.’

  Noticeably subdued, Finn folded his arms over his chest. ‘I gotta admit, had you gone with that plan instead of invading Russia, the Axis of Evil would have conquered almost the entire non-English-speaking world.’

  ‘Before the Americans even entered the war, I might add.’

  Horrified by Uhlemann’s evil plan, Kate rose to her feet. Wrapping her arms around her waist, she walked over to the porthole. On the other side of the thick glass, charcoal shadows lent an other-worldly air to the dimly lit cemetery, the marble statues like mother-of-pearl ghosts.

  ‘My colleagues and I believe that war is a purifying force for good,’ Dr Uhlemann intoned.

  ‘It can be,’ Finn conceded. ‘It can also inflict unimaginable pain and misery. Just like National Socialism imparted a shitload of pain and misery on the whole of Europe.’

  ‘You say that because you are sadly misinformed about the ideology behind National Socialism.’ Ivo held up a blue-veined hand, forestalling Finn’s objection. ‘The slaughter of the Jews was a heinous crime. And one that will not be repeated. On that, you have my word. We have a mandate bequeathed to us by our fathers. We are committed to carrying it out.’

  Still peering through the porthole, Kate caught the bright flash of a headlight.

  ‘Someone just drove through the cemetery gate!’ she exclaimed, her heart forcefully slamming against her breastbone.

  Finn rushed over to the window, shouldering her out of the way.

  ‘We’ve got movement,’ he hissed, reaching for the gun shoved into the small of his back. ‘About seventy-five yards northwest of the mausoleum.’

  Dr Uhlemann cackled softly. ‘Oh, did I not mention that every vehicle in our fleet has a tracking device?’

  ‘You evil old fucker!’

  ‘If you want to leave here alive, you will give me the Montségur Medallion.’

  A murderous gleam in his eyes, Finn pointed the Mark 23 at Ivo Uhlemann’s left temple.

  ‘The only thing I’m giving you is a bullet to the brain.’

  65

  Mont de la Lune, The Languedoc

  0344 hours

  Sheep bells jangled in the distance.

  Normally a soothing sound, for some reason Cædmon found it jarring. In fact, he found the entire scenario unsettling. The pumpkin moon half hidden in the clouds. The night wind. The intermittent flashes of lightning that preceded the stentorian groans of thunder. And most disturbing of all, the brooding silhouette of Montségur on the northern horizon. Looming. Keeping silent vigil as it had for the last eight hundred years.

  I feel like a castaway from a damned Brontë novel.

  No sooner did that thought cross his mind than Cædmon tripped on a gnarled tree root that had burst free from the imprisoning terrain.

  ‘On second thoughts, maybe a screwball comedy,’ he muttered, managing to catch himself in mid-pratfall. Rather than hiking back to Montségur in the dead of night, he probably should have stayed in the mountaintop eyrie. But spurred by his staggering discovery, he was anxious to return to Paris post-haste.

  Certain that he heard a branch snap, his ears pricked. Thinking he might not be alone, he dodged behind a pitted boulder.

  Had he been followed to Mont de la Lune?

  Or was he simply overreacting to the Gothic shadows?

  Unnerved, Cædmon skimmed the torch beam across the ravine. Unable to detect any movement in the blotchy moonlight, he suspected the predator lurked only in his imagination and that what he’d heard had been nothing more than the wind bouncing off the granite crenellations.

  He glanced at his wristwatch. Three hours until daybreak. Worried that if he continued the trek the tangled matrix of loose rock and uneven terrain might get the better of him, he scoured the vicinity. The prudent course would be to catch a few hours sleep and hike back to the village of Montségur at first light. He could then collect his hire car, drive to Marseille and catch the northbound train for Paris. No sense wandering the moors like the poor bedevilled Heathcliff.

  Espying
a cantilevered overhang, Cædmon trudged in that direction, sidestepping a thicket of hawthorn bushes. He tucked the torch into his jacket pocket, freeing his hands so he could climb on to the stone slab.

  As good a bed as any, he decided. An alpine meadow would have been better but he didn’t relish sleeping with a mob of burly sheep. Slipping his rucksack off his shoulder, he carefully set it down, mindful of the precious cargo nestled in the bottom. Parched, he retrieved his water bottle. Down to my last quarter litre. When added to the hunk of stale bread and a wedge of warm cheese wrapped in a tea towel, it made for a meagre supper.

  Cædmon raised the water bottle to his lips. As he did, he heard the crunch of dried underbrush. Before his brain could process the meaning of that telltale sound, a bullet struck the side of his skull.

  He spun to the left. Hit with an excruciating burst of pain.

  The next bullet slammed into his upper arm. Hurling him up and over the ledge.

  He crash-landed in a hawthorn bush, the branches instantly clamping around him, like the sharp maw of a predatory beast.

  A torrent of warm blood flowed across his face, blurring his vision. Cædmon could taste it. Ash in the mouth. Certain death.

  ‘Poor Siegfried,’ the gunman jeered, standing at the edge of the stone slab. ‘The Valkyries await you at the gates of Valhalla.’

  With that, the bastard took his leave, the rucksack with the Lapis Exillis slung over his shoulder.

  Horrified, Cædmon railed against the death sentence. He tried to move, but couldn’t, his body shocked into paralysis. Trapped in the void between heaven and hell, the moon and stars whirled overhead in an off-kilter precession. No sun. Only dark of night.

  Lying in that thorny nest, his cheek slathered in his own blood, Cædmon could feel the life force leach from him. The branches of the hawthorn rustled violently, the wind squalling through the ravine; a requiem composed by the winged Zephyrus, accompanied by the harsh jangle of distant sheep bells.

  Send not to know for whom the bell tolls …