Eagle of Darkness

by Christopher Wright

  Wilhelm Silber began to shake. "We must hide him."

  Heinrich went to the door to switch off the light. With the curtains open, any passing man in authority could insist on entry for contravention of the blackout. And how would they explain a dead Gestapo officer with a hole in his head? Yesterday a young man from Goebbels' ministry had called here unexpectedly. He had been most friendly. The cylinder, some ancient Egyptian trophy, was to be a present for the Führer himself. And why would Herr Hitler want such an old fossil? Heinrich List had not been given the answer to that question. The young man informed him he would be wise to keep his nose out of such things and just make the plinth with the best craftsmanship possible. And guard it.

  Guard it with his life.

  Which he hadn't done.

  The yellow light flicked across the face of the Einbrecher. "I think I have some explaining to do, Heinrich."

  "I think so too, my friend. This is most unfortunate. You break into my house with a member of the Gestapo, smash the Führer's present, and then leave me with a corpse."

  "You have a cellar, Heinrich?"

  The flashlight beam flickered across the dead figure in the black coat, before the battery finally succumbed. "What are you thinking, Wilhelm? You think we can conceal the crime?"

  "I have never seen this man before tonight. He met me in a bar not more than an hour ago. I did not know why, but he had my name in his notebook. Like you, I have not been entirely sympathetic to the Nazi movement. We talked about my family, and about my friends. He wanted to know about you."

  "About me?"

  "I was unable to stop myself telling him that I know where you keep your papers, and your diaries with your bitter opinions on Hitler. He made an instant decision to come here, Heinrich. His superiors will not know of his movements tonight. Do you understand? No one saw. No one knows. There is nothing to connect the man with your house. You have a cellar, ja?"

  "It is strange that Goebbels' staff do not know what each of them is doing. In daylight the young Captain Horst comes here to entrust me with work for the Führer, and at night another comes to investigate my allegiance. They are fools. We must hope you are right, and they do not know this man's movements."

  He paused, and looked up the stairs as he heard a small creak from the floorboards on the landing. He held his breath but heard nothing more. "We must be quiet or my granddaughter Heidi will wake."

  Fifteen minutes later the hated symbol of oppression in the black coat was on his way to the cellar, the blond blood-stained head banging from stair to stair as the two elderly men dragged the body down into the blackness.

  "Tomorrow I will start to dig the hole," said Heinrich, making his way to the kitchen tap. "There is no hurry. The cellar is cold." His hands, although free of blood, felt infected with the essence of Nazism.

  "Heinrich, old comrade, we must pretend that this night never existed." Wilhelm's eyes looked wet with tears. "Somehow the cylinder must be mounted and delivered on time. I know of a man who restores art. Make sure the curtains are tightly closed, and we can turn on the light. I know a man who can join these pieces with an invisible glue."

  Heinrich returned from the window to put the pieces of pottery safely on the embroidered cloth that covered the walnut dining table. "If there was an invisible glue, we cabinet makers would be using it every day. Invisible glue. You believe in fairy tales, Wilhelm!"

  "The man has done much work for the Party. He is in the army now, in Norway, but he is currently on leave in Berlin. Does Schleswig Cathedral mean anything to you?"

  Heinrich checked the heavy curtains. "The restorers found turkeys there."

  "Ah, the turkeys." Wilhelm Silber smiled. With his lined features lit from below by the table lamp he seemed almost sinister, though the smile was genuine. "Do pictures of turkeys found on a thirteenth century wall prove that our worthy Aryan ancestors reached the Americas before Columbus?"

  "That is what the Party says." Heinrich shrugged his shoulders. "And you know the man responsible?"

  "The man responsible for the Cathedral restoration? Ja."

  "And he restores ancient pottery?"

  "He owes me a favor. I can put pressure on a man who has been party to some clever faking during his restoration."

  "The turkeys?"

  Wilhelm examined the pieces of terra cotta clay under the lamp. "We will try to glue the pieces back together, but if it cannot be repaired successfully, I know a man with a kiln. He can make a clay blank, then Lothar can copy these hieroglyphics before it is baked."

  "And make everything look old?"

  "Yes, Heinrich, and make everything look old, by rubbing dirt into the finished cylinder."

  "Lothar, you say? Lothar Malskat, the famous assistant of the Fey partnership? He is here in Berlin on leave from the army?" Heinrich took a section of the broken pottery. I will try to mend it tonight, but if I am not successful you must wake the man up before breakfast. There are many tiny figures painted on the clay. Each one will have to be copied faithfully. Use any pressure necessary to persuade Lothar to comply. If my attempts at reconstruction tonight are not good enough, our lives will depend on the success of the reproduction."

  "And no one will know, apart from the two of us."

  Wilhelm smiled. "The Führer will not be disappointed. We will see to it, my friend."

  Heinrich List switched off the table lamp and peeped through the curtains. Outside in the street there was total darkness. The soldiers and workmen had long gone. He twisted his head in an attempt to see the sky, fearful of British bombers. "You came here and entered my house because they made you do it. I understand that, Wilhelm. These are hard times, and we all obey the voice of fear."

  "I appreciate your understanding," said Wilhelm, relief in his voice. "We must work as a team now. One does not lightly destroy or remake gifts for the glorious Führer."

  Heinrich shook his head. "I shall have to tell Captain Horst. He is coming tomorrow to watch me make the plinth."

  "You must put him off."

  "You expect me to tell Goebbels' man not to come to my house?"

  "Then we shoot him too."

  Heinrich raised a hand. "Not so fast, my friend. Captain Horst seems extremely interested in my granddaughter Heidi. I think perhaps that is why he chose me to make the plinth, to enable him to see my granddaughter again. I have sometimes seen them walking in the park. And yesterday I caught them talking in the kitchen."

  "What are we to do?" Wilhelm wrung his hands.

  "I shall tell Captain Horst everything. I believe him to be a man of honor."

  "And also a man who dreams of Heidi," added Wilhelm.

  Heinrich laughed. "Every man has his flaw. However faithful the copy, we have to make sure the new cylinder is kept away from the prying eyes of the museum experts who have already validated the original. Their certificate of validation will stay with our reproduction. Captain Horst must hand everything to Hitler personally."

  Chapter 15

  September 4, 1940

  "IT CAME FROM our embassy in Cairo, my Führer."

  Josef Horst felt sick as he repeated the carefully prepared lie. The Josef who should be here making this presentation was Josef Goebbels, Reiehsminister fur Volkserklarung und Propaganda, not one of his minions. It was as though the great man knew about the switch and was staying out of sight to protect his reputation -- even his life -- if the deception should fail.

  Adolf Hitler's face broke into a smile. "Your name is Horst, did you say? I have heard much about you in the Ministry."

  The intense interest shown by Hitler helped Horst keep his head. He was doing this for Heidi, not for her grandfather. "Thank you, my Führer. This ancient object came from our embassy in Cairo, along with the reports on Mussolini's activities in Libya."

  For a moment the smile faded. "Mussolini? That man wants two more years before he is ready with his obsolete air force and navy. But we will show him who calls the tunes, Horst." The glow on the face
returned as Hitler carefully examined the cylinder on its polished wooden plinth. "And this is really for me?"

  "Yes, my Führer. The clay cylinder contains an ancient Egyptian prophecy that the ambassador thought appropriate. He believes you are the man destined to fulfill the words."

  "Then you must read it to me. I have been too busy lately to learn to decipher hieroglyphics." It was almost certainly a joke, but Horst thought it best to return the smile cautiously, without comment.

  An official photographer stepped forward and Horst stared at the camera as he held his head erect. He would give a copy of the photograph to Heidi List when he took her to the cinema on Saturday night. She really fancied him. He knew it for sure. Never before had such a beautiful girl thrown herself so willingly into his arms.

  "You may read it for me, Horst." Just a hint of impatience.

  Josef Horst quickly returned to earth. "I have a written translation here, my Führer. The experts in the Berlin Museum of Antiquities confirm the translation that accompanied it from Cairo. It says, Aten speaks. When the shadow of the Eagle falls across the land, the Man of Power in the West will rule the nations of the world. The nations of the North, the East and the South will bow down before him. Listen, O doubters. Listen to me. Aten is speaking."

  Josef Horst glanced up, expecting a nod of approval. Instead, he witnessed the smile vanish from the great face.

  "The Man of Power in the West will rule the nations of the world? Does this mean America?"

  Horst realized he should have prepared the ground better. "To an Egyptian, my Führer, Germany would be to the west. And Russia is to their north."

  Slowly, slowly, the smile began to return. "I like it, Horst. Yes, I like it. A prophecy for today. The Nation of the North will bow down. Russia? Indeed that could be true. And the East? Japan? The shadow of the Eagle. Der Adlerangriffe? Our planned attacks on England? Or is it to be victory through Egypt?"

  "I am only a captain, my Führer." The tension was appalling.

  "Maybe not just a captain for long, Horst." The Führer's smile had fully returned. "And this was really painted by the ancients?"

  "Undoubtedly, my Führer. Here is the certificate of authenticity from the experts at the Berlin museum." The conspiracy seemed to be running to plan. At least the paint was dry.

  "And the embassy intended it for my hands?"

  Horst could not bring himself to look up. "Of course, my Führer."

  "Excellent. I will thank my ambassador in Cairo personally. I now have to address the people at the rally, while it is still light. We cannot put our people in danger from the Air Pirates. The Winterhilfe campaign is a necessary part of our love and care for the people. Come, Horst, you may sit near me on the platform as a reward for excellent service. See how my people respond to my words. Mussolini is an ill-prepared fool, but soon he will dance to my tune. Already the British are busy setting up defenses in the desert."

  A party official nodded, indicating that the German leader should take his place.

  Josef Horst watched as the Führer of the Third Reich turned the plinth holding the fragile cylinder in his hands. The clay looked old, and the recently painted symbols -- the hieroglyphic text -- seemed to the untrained eye as ancient as the early history of civilized man. The man of power in Germany handed the object back to Horst for safe keeping, then slowly and deliberately drew himself to attention, obviously preparing mentally for the speech ahead. Then he looked down. "If the Man of Power in the West is to fulfill this prophecy, it seems he must perhaps start in Egypt. What do you say, young Horst."

  The young captain was too wise to offer an opinion.

  What Josef Horst could witness from first hand was the way the Führer reached the hearts of the masses crammed into the Berlin Sportpalast. Most had probably only come out of duty, for to snub the Winterhilfe Campaign was to risk one's livelihood. But when the leader of the Third Reich spoke, even the cynical became hushed and attentive.

  The speech turned to the promised invasion of Britain. A tremendous humor flowed through the Führer's delivery. "In England they are filled with curiosity and keep asking, 'Why doesn't he come? Why doesn't he come?' Be calm. Be calm. He's coming! He's coming!"

  The crowd became ecstatic, the women especially so. But the Führer's mind was on a promise from the past. The Man of Power in the West. His invasion of England, Operation Sea Lion, was unlikely to succeed. Nor did it need to. As a student of prophecy and the occult, he recognized that there was a better way to achieve world domination. According to the prophecy on the clay cylinder, the answer lay in Egypt.

  Four weeks later he ordered Rommel into North Africa.

  The Present

  Chapter 16

  Berlin

  November

  "JOSEF DIED in April nineteen forty-five, three weeks before we were to be married," said Heidi List. "The Russians overran his post fifty kilometers to the east of here."

  Sam could feel the three glasses of Berlin Persiko eating away at the back of his nose as well as into his stomach lining. "What happened to the Gestapo officer?"

  "I went downstairs early the next morning. There were feathers from a cushion in the hall, and the door to the cellar was locked. That is how I knew it was not a bad dream."

  "What did your grandfather say?"

  "Perhaps he suspected I knew, but it stayed an unspoken secret. We had many such unspoken secrets in the war. It was the only way for families to protect themselves."

  "I've booked into a hotel nearby," said Sam. "I ought to be going soon." As he got to his feet he felt unsteady.

  Heidi List laughed gently. "Too many Schnapps I think. If you go outside into the cold air you will probably fall over."

  "Then..."

  "You will stay here with me, Sam."

  He felt himself nod in hazy agreement. "Is this the house where it happened?"

  Heidi List shook her head slowly. "The house is only two streets away. It is empty now. Next month the builders are due to begin renovating it. There is much building work taking place in Berlin. Everyone wants luxury apartments now." She laughed more loudly this time. "Fifteen years ago we only wanted apartments. Now we all want opulence."

  He gripped the edge of the chair to stop the room swaying. Heidi List must have been quick off the mark with her shopping when the Wall came down. This apartment was surely more luxurious than most over in the western half of the city.

  "We will go to the house early tomorrow morning. If we go in daylight we will not attract attention."

  His brain still felt alert, in spite of the liquor. "Attention?"

  "Wilhelm and my grandfather had the cylinder repaired, but they quickly judged it not to be good enough to fool the Führer that it was found in that condition. Someone from the Cairo embassy might have seen it and tell Hitler that it was not broken when it was sent. Many years later, my grandfather told me he wrapped it in oilskin and buried it with the Gestapo man. When we find it, you can take it back to England as proof that this is the genuine cylinder, which will prove that the one at the Institute of Egyptologists is a fake. That is when I will be able to find peace from the years of anxiety we all suffered."

  "So what are we planning to do?"

  "You are going to dig up the body. Surely that is why you are here."

  Cheltenham, England

  CLOUDS OF SPRAY gusted from the large trucks in an opaque deluge, making driving slow and hazardous on the M4 and M5 freeways from Heathrow in the west of London. Motorways they called them over here. Admiral Grant Spaxley remembered attending several press briefings in London, but the weather had always been fine, apparently untypical of the English climate. Well, if this was regular British weather, they could keep it.

  According to the sign a mile back this was Golden Valley, but he was unable to see either the gold or the valley in the dark. He tried to remember who had told him that this was a part of old England not to be missed. Virginia at its worst was never as somber as this stronghol
d of the wealthy English.

  The divided highway ran past the unattractive buildings of GCHQ, brightly lit behind high security fencing. The place looked more like a wartime army camp than a state of the art surveillance center, in spite of the new glass palace commonly known as the Doughnut. Somewhere ahead lay the Regency spa town of Cheltenham.

  At the large traffic circle he checked carefully in the rearview mirror as he made two slow circuits. Kramer had given a strong warning about the dangers of being tailed, and he'd taken it as a bit of an insult. Although he'd never been involved in true surveillance work when he'd worked at Langley, he'd read plenty. Even a rookie knew not to pick up a tail.

  "There's a booking for me," he told the hotel receptionist at the old, privately run hotel on the edge of town. "The name is Grant. Mr. S. Grant." The change-about of name was a precaution of his own making. He never felt sure he'd answer quickly enough if someone called out a totally fictitious name. This way, hearing Grant or Spaxley, he'd always make an instant, unsuspicious response.

  "The other gentlemen are already in the reserved dining room, Mr. Grant," said the elderly woman at reception. He'd bet all the staff here were as old as her. All probably as old as the building. "I'll show you to your room," she said with a smile, not attempting to pick up his luggage. Fortunately there was an elevator. "While you're getting ready, I'll let the others know you've arrived."

  Fifteen minutes later Spaxley had unpacked, showered and joined his associates. A mere quarter of an hour to get ready. Not bad for a retired White House press man.

  "This is the Admiral."

  Spaxley nodded to each of the four in turn. The self-confident American doing the introductions was Endermann, a big bully of a man with dark curly hair and a bushy mustache who had put on at least twenty pounds since they'd last met. Endermann was a contract operator for the Company. Spaxley knew him from his White House days, and still found it hard to tolerate him. The man was trying to manipulate the press in England, and making a mess of it -- according to the hints Kramer had dropped.