by C. M. Palov
‘Sod you.’ With bells on.
Glancing down, Cædmon noticed a plastic shopping bag on top of the cluttered coffee table. Although the flat was an untidy wreck, books stacked on the floor, newspapers lying about, the bag was unfamiliar to him. Eyes narrowed, he examined its contents. A bottle of bleach. Toilet paper. A bag of sugar. A ball of string. Loose wine corks. And a green metal box of Twinings tea. All-in-all, a strange assortment of sundry items.
Damn the man. He’d made himself right at home.
Still sneering, McGuire tossed a key in his direction; Cædmon caught it in his left hand.
‘I returned your Vespa. It’s parked out back.’
Without missing a beat, Cædmon tossed the key right back at him. ‘Then rev up and fuck off.’
‘I’m not going anywhere until you give me the Grail.’
‘Small problem with that, old boy –’ grimacing, he lowered himself into his upholstered club chair – ‘I don’t have the blasted Grail.’
‘But you did find it, right?’
Wondering at the bastard’s interest, Cædmon nodded warily. ‘However, soon after I uncovered the Grail, an armed thug arrived on the scene. Unless I’m greatly mistaken, the Seven Research Foundation is now in possession of the ancient relic.’
‘Ah, shit!’ A look of abject desperation flashed across the commando’s unshaven face. ‘Uhlemann abducted Kate.’
‘Good God!’
Stunned, Cædmon slumped ingloriously in the chair.
Neither of them spoke, the only sound the incessant ticking of the wall clock.
‘Is she still alive?’ he finally asked, emotionally steeling himself for the reply.
‘Yeah, I think so. If they wanted her dead, they would’ve killed her at the cemetery.’ Then, with the fierce vigour of the Spartan three hundred, McGuire said, ‘I will find her!’
‘Any idea where the Seven might be holding her?’
‘Well, I know where they’re not holding her. Their headquarters at Grande Arche is deserted and no one is home at Uhlemann’s Paris apartment.’
Cædmon ran possible scenarios through his head. His sweet Rosa Mundi, in the monster’s clutch. What a bloody nightmare!
‘If we’re to find her, I need you to brief me in full detail. Leave nothing out. No stone unturned, understood?’
McGuire nodded his agreement. ‘I’ll hurl every rock I’ve got. But I’ll tell ya right now, you’re not gonna like what you’re about to hear.’
I already don’t like it.
How could it possibly get any worse?
71
Seven Research Laboratory
1945 hours
Quid pro quo. This for that.
The only reason Kate was still alive.
Earlier, at Père Lachaise cemetery, she’d stopped Finn from killing Dr Uhlemann. In return, Dr Uhlemann had commuted her sentence. At least for the time being.
She glanced at the clock mounted on the wall. Ten hours and forty-five minutes until the heliacal rising of Sirius. Still plenty of time for him to rescind the stay of execution.
Although not a lot of time to stop a mad man from changing world history.
Nearly fourteen hours ago, she’d been brought to the Seven Research Foundation’s laboratory. She had no idea where the facility was located other than the fact that it was somewhere in Paris; when they left the Obelisk at Place de la Concorde, she’d been blindfolded. Upon arriving, she was ushered to a small annex adjacent to a library. The room was comfortable enough with a sofa, a writing desk and a flat-screen television. While she had access to the library, she was forbidden from leaving her two-room prison. The intimidating bald-headed chauffeur, who currently had guard duty, ensured her cooperation.
Needing to stretch her legs, Kate picked up her dinner tray. Not a big Beaufort cheese fan, she’d forced herself to eat four bites of the sandwich and drink the carton of orange juice. If for no other reason than to maintain her strength.
Tray in hand, she stepped into the library. In the middle of the book-lined room there was a table with two upholstered chairs. Dolf, hunched over a laptop computer, sat at the table.
Kate assumed an amiable expression. No easy feat given that, three days ago, the sullen-faced chauffeur had tried very hard to kill her. In the last hour, they’d not spoken ten words to one another.
‘Hello, Dolf. The sandwich was delicious,’ she said with forced civility. She knew that in an abduction scenario, it was vitally important for the prisoner to make a human connection to her captor. As difficult and distasteful as that might be.
Dolf simply grunted, not even bothering to glance up from his computer. With his battered, grotesque nose and enormous build, he put her in mind of a latter-day Quasimodo. A disheartened Esmeralda, she deposited her dinner tray on the table and returned to the annex.
Plopping down on the sofa, she stared morosely at the clock on the wall.
How apropos.
We look at a clock, we count the minutes and we foolishly think that we understand the concept of Time. It follows a linear progression. A straight line from yesterday to today to tomorrow. But Dr Uhlemann and his research team had figured out how to alter time so that, rather than being linear, the two ends of the line connect, forming a closed loop. A circle of time rather than a straight line. And that loop would enable them to travel back through time.
The fact that Dr Uhlemann had the Lapis Exillis and would now be able to generate the Vril force was worrisome. However, it was what he intended to do with the Vril force that was truly terrifying. How many millions of lives would be affected if he could actually change the outcome of the Second World War? What would become of Europe? The Middle East? Africa? Even America? The mere thought of Hitler’s brutal regime rising from the ashes incited a dread terror. Even now, six decades after the war’s end, the Third Reich was the monster that could not be killed – the reason why a swastika was still a chilling sight.
‘Doctor Bauer?’
Hearing her name spoken, Kate glanced up, surprised to see Dr Uhlemann standing in the doorway. She didn’t know who scared her more: the monstrous chauffeur or the malevolent scientist.
‘Excuse me. I was lost in thought,’ she mumbled.
‘Plotting your escape, were you?’
‘Um, actually, I was trying to figure out how … how you can use light to bend the space–time continuum,’ she said haltingly, hoping to engage him in a civil conversation for the same reason she’d earlier tried to converse with his minion.
‘You have an inquisitive mind. That’s what I most admire about you. My daughter, alas, has no interest in science.’
‘I didn’t know that you had a – oh!’ Kate’s eyes opened wide, startled by the belated realization. ‘Angelika is your daughter, isn’t she?’
‘Conceived in a moment of rash passion with a woman I barely knew. Paris can have that effect on a man.’ Lips twisted in an ugly sneer, he cackled. An instant later, his expression sobered. ‘Would you like me to give you a tour of the laboratory?’
‘Oh, yes … Thank you.’ Surprised by the unexpected offer, she scrambled to her feet.
Smoothing a hand over her unkempt hair, Kate followed Dr Uhlemann into the library. Although she didn’t have a clue how she could stop the Vril force from being generated, she needed to gather as much intelligence as possible. Find out everything she could about the laboratory. Then maybe she could devise a plan of action.
‘Dolf, go home and see to your mother,’ Dr Uhlemann ordered with a wave of the hand. ‘I won’t require your services until six o’clock tomorrow morning.’
‘Yes, Herr Doktor Uhlemann.’ The chauffeur respectfully bowed his head before taking his leave.
Playing the gentleman, Dr Uhlemann politely held the door open for Kate. Equally polite, she thanked him as she stepped across the threshold. Just outside the door was a walkway that overlooked a magnificent three-storey atrium, the library located on the third floor. Although there were no win
dows, banks of frosted glass created the impression of a light-filled space. With the exception of an armed guard standing sentry at the end of the walkway, the atrium was deserted.
Dr Uhlemann escorted her to an unmarked door. He then brushed his right index finger against his lab coat before placing it on a scanner affixed to the doorframe.
A few seconds later, the bolt on the biometric security system popped open. Again, Dr Uhlemann politely gestured for Kate to precede him through the doorway. Admittedly intrigued, she quickly surveyed the laboratory.
‘Sterile’ and ‘industrial’ were the first two words that came to mind. And while most of the apparatus set out on stainless-steel work stations was unfamiliar to her – instrumentation panels and high-tech gadgets galore – Kate ascertained that Dr Uhlemann ran a state-of-the-art facility. In the middle of the lab was a large glass enclosure. Inside the enclosure were four matte-black columns inset with mirrors. The columns were of equal length, approximately six feet high. Evenly spaced three feet apart, they formed a square.
‘Is this the laboratory where the Vril force will be generated?’ she enquired.
‘No. Das Groß Versuch will take place in a specially designed chamber. If you behave yourself, I might be persuaded to show it to you.’
Kate made no comment, unsure why he was even taking her on this tour. She suspected that it might have something to do with his immense ego. It wasn’t enough to gloat about having the Lapis Exillis. Dr Uhlemann wanted to rub her face in it.
As if to prove that very point, Dr Uhlemann, triumphantly smiling, gestured to the glass enclosure. ‘What you see contained within this hermetically sealed structure is our CTC device.’
CTC. A physics acronym for ‘closed time-like curve’.
‘And these are my father’s mathematical calculations that prove the gravitational effects of light.’ Dr Uhlemann next directed her attention to an indecipherable equation that filled two entire chalkboards. ‘Embedded in that elegant equation is the secret to exploring the boundaries of time.’
72
L’Equinoxe Bookstore
2015 hours
‘Time-travelling Nazis! It’s a plot straight out of a penny dreadful!’
Leaning back in his club chair, Cædmon stared, slack-jawed; McGuire’s update was mind-boggling.
‘If the Nazis had invaded the oil-rich Middle East instead of the Soviet Union, it would have been damned dreadful,’ the commando declared, his voice raw with emotion. ‘Ivo Uhlemann has had more than sixty years to devise a winning strategy. Trust me. If they go with the new, improved plan, Germany will win the Second World War.’
‘Assuming the Seven Research Foundation can actually perform their fantastical experiment.’
Seated opposite him on the tufted leather sofa, McGuire reached for the chipped teapot on the Edwardian table. As he spoke, he refilled both their cups. ‘Uhlemann is convinced that Einstein’s Theory of General Relativity is the key to time travel. While he didn’t go into specifics, evidently it can be done using gravity and the blue light emitted from the Vril force. Once he opens his tunnel in the space–time continuum, he’s gonna party like it’s 1941.’
Cædmon ran a hand over his unshaven jaw. The Universe, for all its marvels, was an intrinsically dangerous place. He’d never doubted that the Vril force could be generated; but it was what the Seven Research Foundation intended to do with it that staggered him.
Still grappling with the idea of time travel, he raised the teacup to his lips. Grimacing, he took a few sips of McGuire’s potent Irish brew. Were it not for the fact that he needed to keep his wits about him, he would have opted for a G&T. The headache powder that he’d mixed earlier was doing little to dull the throbbing pain radiating from his skull down his cervical vertebrae to his right arm.
McGuire snatched the carton of milk and poured a dollop into his teacup. ‘If I don’t take out these bastards, we’re talking doomsday scenario.’
‘If we don’t take out these bastards,’ Cædmon stated matter-of-factly, having thrown in his lot with Finnegan McGuire the instant he learned Kate had been abducted. He glanced at his wristwatch. ‘The heliacal rising of Sirius will take place in ten hours and thirteen minutes. At six thirty sharp. While rescuing Kate is a priority, we must also prevent Doctor Uhlemann from creating the Vril force. From what you’ve told me, it’s the linchpin in his time-travel experiment.’
‘That isn’t a helluva lot of time. Particularly since we don’t know where their hidey-hole is located.’
‘I assume that Dr Uhlemann has a laboratory somewhere in Paris.’
‘Makes sense.’
‘As with any laboratory, it would require electricity to operate.’ Leaning towards the coffee table, Cædmon unthinkingly reached for his laptop computer with both hands, his right triceps painfully protesting the rash move. He bit back a groan. ‘I’m going to contact my old group leader at Five and have him pull the utility records for the Seven Research Foundation.’
One dark brow quizzically raised, the commando was clearly surprised. ‘Your guy can do that?’
Pulling up his email account, Cædmon quickly typed a missive. ‘In the grand scheme, it’s a rather low-level request for MI5. Information is to spooks what bullets are to commandos.’
‘Indispensable ammunition.’
‘Precisely. Hopefully, our digital shot across the bow will hit a target.’ He hit the ‘send’ button.
‘Better blow it out of the water or we’re fucked.’
Cædmon made no comment. He and the commando were tentatively dancing around the ring, pugilists sizing up the opponent. Except they were no longer opponents. They were now, for better or worse, mismatched allies. Soldier and spy. Each had a strength and expertise that the other lacked. As long as they acknowledged that, their unlikely partnership should hold.
Shrugging off his fatigue, Cædmon set the laptop on the coffee table. ‘Knowledge is all about the connections between seemingly disparate elements. Once you make those connections, knowledge becomes a powerful tool. That said, is there anything else which Doctor Uhlemann disclosed that you haven’t told me?’
Scowling, as though annoyed by the request, McGuire said, ‘Don’t know if it’s important, but he mentioned that the original Seven came into possession of an ancient Egyptian manuscript that contains step-by-step instructions for generating the Vril force.’
‘How fascinating.’
‘Yeah, I was real enthralled,’ McGuire deadpanned. ‘I think he called it the Ghayat al-Hakim.’
‘The Ghayat al-Hakim … Yes! That makes perfect sense.’ The pieces starting to fall into place, Cædmon got up and walked over to the floor-to-ceiling bookcase that lined the back wall of the ‘drawing room’. Dragging the wheeled library ladder to the middle case, he gingerly climbed several rungs to reach a book on the top shelf.
As he walked back to his club chair, he blew a puff of dust from the gilded edge of the leather-bound volume.
‘This is a corrupted version of the Ghayat al-Hakim,’ he said, retaking his seat. ‘Entitled Picatrix, it’s a fifteenth-century Hermetic grimoire that was translated into Latin by the Florentine scholar Marcilio Ficino for his patron Lorenzo de Medici.’
‘Does the Latin version mention anything about the Vril force?’ McGuire asked, cutting to the chase.
‘Not specifically. As I said, it’s a corrupted version of the Arabic original. Nonetheless, encoded within the text’s magical incantations are instructions for manipulating astral energy.’ Cædmon idly flipped through several pages, momentarily distracted by a lavish illustration of a knight, astride a griffin, a sword in one hand and an enemy’s head in the other. ‘I’m going out on a limb here, but I suspect that, like the Seven, the Knights Templar also had a copy of the original Ghayat al-Hakim. It would explain how the Templars devised their blueprint for the Axe Historique in Paris.’
‘According to Uhlemann, a shady Cairo bookseller gave a copy of the original Arabic text to the Na
zis,’ McGuire informed him. ‘How the hell did the Templars get their copy of the Ghayat al-Hakim?’
‘When the Knights Templar were arrested en masse in 1307, the Grand Inquisitor accused the Templars of being in league with the agents of Islam.’
‘A charge that will land you on a waterboard in Guantanamo these days.’
‘And on the rack in the fourteenth century,’ Cædmon countered, the torture tactics of the Dominicans far more brutal than those used by the CIA. ‘Unlike most of the charges brought against the order, this one actually had merit. During their tenure in the Holy Land, the Knights Templar did maintain a secret affiliation with Rashid ad-Din Sinan. Better known by his guerre de nom, the Old Man in the Mountain, Rashid led a group of Syrian warriors called the Assassins.’
‘Those were the dudes who smoked hash before they went into battle, right?’
Cædmon nodded. ‘The hashish induced a psychoactive response, the effects of which turned the Assassins into raving berserkers on the battlefield. Invincible warriors who knew no fear.’
‘You mean warriors who scared the crap out of the enemy,’ the commando affirmed with earthy aplomb.
‘Which mightily impressed the Knights Templar. Although they hailed from different religions and different cultures, the Templars and the Assassins were nearly identical in one regard: both belonged to a brotherhood of warriors who believed that dying bravely in battle was the only means of achieving glory in heaven. As such, they immediately recognized one another as kindred spirits.’
‘I’m a soldier so, yeah, I get it. The Templars wouldn’t have had much in common with dandified European knights trying to impress their lady loves at a jousting match,’ McGuire sagely observed. ‘But they’d be on the same wavelength with the fedayeen.’
‘Those who redeem themselves by sacrificing themselves,’ Cædmon reflected, having always thought that the fedayeen, a.k.a. the Assassins, were a class of warriors unto themselves.
