by G S Eli
“Tie him properly,” Hermann warned.
There’s no getting anything past this guy, Jack thought as he fixed the knot. Then he pulled up a chair and took a seat. The adrenaline was still flowing as Jack racked his brain for ideas to get out of this mess. He began to look around the room at the ancient artifacts. Even in a crisis, he couldn’t suppress his curiosity with everything historical. “What are all these?” Jack asked, genuinely wanting to know and hoping he could calm his nerves with some conversation.
“These are important documents associated with the castle,” Hermann replied. “Now, stay quiet.”
They sat a moment without saying anything. Then the intercom crackled, breaking the silence. “Achtung, der Perimeter wurd beeinträchtigt! Alle Kräfte zurückhalten um das Ritual Raum zu verteidigen!” a voice shouted.
“Tut mir leid, Professor, ich muss gehen,” the guard stated as he rushed off.
Jack could only pick up a few words of German, but Ritual Raum was pretty clear. He and Hermann stared each other down for what seemed like forever, both of them waiting for something. Suddenly, they heard gunfire echoing in the distance, and both instinctively rose to their feet. The noise distracted the professor for a moment, causing him to look away. Seeing his chance, Jack reached for a sword slung about the waist of a suit of armor. The weapon slid free and, to Jack’s surprise, appeared to be razor sharp. He menacingly pointed the sword at Hermann. Wolfy leaped to his feet, barking, snarling, and straining against the leash. The professor raised his hands and slowly backed away.
“Stop right there!” Jack ordered as he advanced closer.
But Hermann kept backing up, never letting his eyes off Jack. At first, Jack thought he was about to escape out the other door and warn the guards. Then he unexpectedly came to a stop next to the other suit of armor and drew a sword from its scabbard.
“Wrong move, young man,” Hermann said.
Jack began to step backward as Hermann slowly advanced. Suddenly, the professor lunged forward, covering a seemingly impossible distance. Jack stumbled back, trying to parry as best he could. The tip of Hermann’s sword came within an inch of Jack’s face. Jack knocked it away with a frantic block. As the blades clashed, he knew Hermann was just toying with him. If he wanted, he could have speared Jack through the eye.
“I can tell you are little more than a beginner,” Hermann mocked. He stepped back and returned to a fencing stance, then made a few feints, thrusting his sword toward Jack. The boy flinched every time. Then he struck Jack’s blade, knocking it aside with a beat. The weapon was much heavier than the foil Jack was used to, and it took him a moment to raise it again to defend himself. Again, if Hermann had wanted, he could have gone in for the kill. Wolfy frantically barked and struggled to get closer, nearly choking himself on the leash.
“You should consider surrendering. I fenced in the Munich Olympics,” Hermann bragged, “and I was undefeated at Oxford.”
“That’s cool,” Jack replied, not knowing what to say. He bumped into the wall next to the suit of armor. There was nowhere to run. His adrenaline-fueled thrill had turned into pure fear.
Seeing this, Hermann dropped into a low fencing stance, conjuring Errol Flynn or Zorro. But instead of lunging at Jack and taking him out, he began to spin his blade in an arc, clearly showing off. Jack glanced over at Wolfy, who continued to bark frantically, looking like he wanted to tear Hermann apart.
“En garde!” the professor shouted.
“En garde … really?” Jack asked, trying not to laugh.
Hermann didn’t like that one bit. He scowled menacingly. “We’ll see how funny you think it is when I split you in half!” he said.
Jack took one more step back. He glanced at the suit of armor that was just a sword’s thrust away from him. He almost felt sorry for the old fool. “Yeah, good luck with that,” he said.
Jack lifted his sword above his head, but instead of lunging at Hermann, he swung the blade straight down, severing Wolfy’s leash. Hermann’s eyes went wide, and he shrieked in terror as the dog lunged at him, clamping down on his arm. He dropped his sword and fell to the ground as he tried to pull away. He managed to wrench his arm free, only to have Wolfy bite down on his foot instead. He screamed in terror as Jack stepped forward and pulled the nearest suit of armor down on top of him, trapping him underneath.
Wolfy climbed on top of the armor and got face to face with Professor Hermann, growling. The helpless scholar whimpered at the site of the bloodthirsty dog.
“Wolfy! Come!” Jack ordered.
The dog looked at Jack, then continued to scowl at Hermann. “Come on, boy, we’ve got to find Mila and Casey,” Jack insisted.
That got the dog’s attention. He trotted off to join Jack in his search for the ritual room.
XXVI
Together Again
Things felt far too familiar for Deborah as she placed her eye in the viewfinder of her sniper rifle. Unfortunately, there was no time for nostalgia. The flimsy roof of the abandoned barn creaked as she shifted her weight. It may have been a decrepit structure, but the vantage point was almost perfect. As she lay prone on the roof, she could see all the way from the south wing to the north tower, where she believed Casey was being held. She eyed the castle through the scope, swinging the lens of the powerful weapon along the various narrow windows of the tower.
As she zoomed her lens closer to the first-floor windows of the ritual room, she noticed that it was difficult to see inside due to the way the windows were constructed. All she could see was a brick shaft that slanted downward. The design let light in but made it impossible to see the room itself. From outside, Deborah couldn’t even tell how deep down the chamber was, and the vague sketches they had retrieved from Morton’s files didn’t help much, either. Maybe this vantage point isn’t so perfect after all, she thought. No, the only way to get a clear view would be to climb up to that window and perch on the ledge.
“That wouldn’t be conspicuous,” she muttered sarcastically.
She checked her watch; it was about eight o’clock. Morton should have finished hacking their network and would be back any minute. Her focus drifted back to the perimeter guards. One stood near the parking area, just in case someone ignored the roadblock. Another stood near the main gate underneath the shade of the archway. An additional pair of guards patrolled the grounds, walking through the moat garden and along the woods. As Deborah watched the perimeter patrol make their way to the far side of the castle, she noticed a large dog tied to a bench near the main door. A guard dog? She wondered. Maybe it’s that animal Jack was speaking of earlier. What was his name—Wolfy? Deborah hoped that when Morton got back his intel would shed some light on the subject.
As if on cue, Morton approached. He announced his presence by imitating the sound of a bird. Deborah whistled back, giving him the “all clear” to approach. Morton climbed to the top of the barn and crawled across the roof, staying low until he arrived next to her.
“Together again, eh?” he asked. Once in position, he pulled out his binoculars.
“What did you find out?” Deborah asked, ignoring the nostalgic comment.
Morton opened a laptop and switched it on. It showed a live feed of a hallway inside the castle. Several guards were on watch there with rifles in hand. He tapped the screen, flipping through the feeds of different surveillance cameras that showed both interior and exterior views.
“They’ve got cameras everywhere but the ritual room,” Morton explained. “I was able to hack in. As you can see, it gives us a pretty good view inside.”
“Any sign of Casey?”
“According to their transmissions, they’ll be putting her in the vault. It’s all part of some ritual, which means she’s alive.”
Deborah did not respond. She just stared through her scope at the castle.
“She’s fine, I promise you,” Morton assured
her. “I set up the wireless jamming devices. We can blind them any time we want. They won’t see us coming, not this time.”
Deborah allowed herself to smirk ever so slightly. “Remember,” she said, “we extract Casey first. We don’t go after Victor until she’s safe.”
Morton nodded as Deborah put her eye back to the scope. He pulled out his binoculars and scanned the area, as well. They turned their attention to the security officer in the parking area. The man kept fidgeting, shifting his weight back and forth from one leg to the other. He seemed to be waiting for something. It soon became clear what he was waiting for. A white cargo van marked Berlin Museum pulled up to the roadblock. The guard pulled the wooden barricade aside and let the van through. Then he replaced the barricade and jogged off into the forest. No doubt he’d been waiting for the van to arrive before he could relieve himself. The van continued right up to the moat bridge and pulled slowly into the courtyard.
“Have you found a good point of entry?” Morton asked.
“It’s either the window or the front door. The perimeter guard is pretty light.”
“There are a lot more inside patrolling the major hallways. I count at least twenty,” Morton informed her. “But the ritual room should only have a handful. I’m thinking one of us should approach from the forest and breach through the windows, and the other covers from here.”
“That works. You cover,” Deborah insisted.
“I was actually thinking I’d go in and you’d cover me.”
“Morton, you’ve got too much at stake to go in there,” Deborah warned. “My employer doesn’t care what I do as long as I bring his niece back. He can buy me out of any trouble I might be in. I’ve got nothing to lose.”
She surveyed the moat path, seeing if there were any other ways in. She noticed a small hatch behind some shrubs. It looked like a maintenance tunnel. No, she thought, there’s no telling where it leads. She checked the path again to see if the guards had moved. “Oh crap!” she exclaimed.
“What?”
“Damn teenagers never listen!” she ranted.
Through her scope she could see Jack untying the dog. She followed the path down to the parking lot and trained the scope there just in time to see the guard emerge from the forest. Don’t see him, come on, don’t see him, Deborah prayed. No luck—the guard turned to his left and spotted Jack. Deborah watched as he approached the teen, who remained blissfully unaware.
“Come on, Jack, get out of there,” she whispered.
Morton looked through his binoculars. The guard was just a few paces behind Jack as he stepped onto the bridge. Jack suddenly turned as the guard began to yell at him. The second watchman emerged from under the archway, trapping Jack on the bridge.
“Easy,” Morton said. “Hopefully, they’ll just eject him from the grounds. This could be the diversion we ne—”
Before he could finish, the dog took an aggressive stance, barking and growling viciously at one of the guards. In response, the guard drew his rifle, raised it to his shoulder, and looked down the sights at the dog.
Deborah had him in her crosshairs and could see his finger moving toward the trigger. Pffft! Her silenced rifle made little more than a squeak. The guard dropped to the ground. Without a second thought, she chambered another round and pulled the trigger. Pffft! The other man fell dead.
“What are you doing?” Morton demanded.
“Kill the surveillance,” Deborah ordered.
“What?”
“Do it now!”
Morton hit a few keys on his tablet. The camera feeds all turned to static.
“He was about to fire. It would have put the whole place on alert,” Deborah explained. She quickly scanned the castle grounds for the perimeter guards. They walked as casually as ever. No call had gone out. Not yet.
“Get your rifle out,” Deborah commanded him. Morton knew better than to argue and got his rifle.
“I’ve got the one on the left,” she said.
“The other one’s in my sights,” Morton replied.
Pffft! Pffft! They fired almost simultaneously, eliminating the guards. At times, Morton and Deborah worked perfectly in sync. It was a welcome change from their equally frequent dysfunction.
“How long will your jammers last?” she asked.
“Hours, but while they’re active we’re just as blind as they are,” Morton replied.
Deborah racked her brain trying to come up with an answer. They didn’t have long. Someone could spot the bodies of the slain guards at any moment. And Jack was in the courtyard—he could put the whole place on alert. Her gut told her to just move in, mount an all-out assault on the ritual room, and get Casey out before the TNC knew what hit them. That’s what her instincts said. Or is it just wishful thinking? she wondered.
“What do we do? It’s your call,” Morton asked.
“We go in,” Deborah said at last as she stowed the sniper rifle in a camouflage case. “You head in the front and secure the boy. I’ll scale the side of the north tower and breach through the window and get Casey.” She drew a submachine gun from the case and loaded a magazine. “Once you secure Jack, create a diversion for me.”
“How the hell am I going to create a diversion?”
Deborah threw on a tactical vest. “I have no idea! Whatever you can do. Blow something up! Now move out.”
XXVII
The Gilded Tomb
The feel of the soft black robe reminded Victor Strauss of his youth. Even its musty smell took him back in time, and with that fleeting memory he looked upward to gaze on the brick dome of the crypt. The impressive round room gleamed with pale light from its elevated windows. Beneath those windows stood twelve short stone pedestals.
Strauss could almost see the SS guards standing on each pillar dressed in the vestments of the Thule Society chanting, “Sieg Heil! Sieg Heil! Sieg Heil!” He paused a moment more to admire the stone swastika seal that adorned the center of the floor and mirrored its counterpart in the ceiling. A set of chains that hung from openings at each quadrant of the upper swastika were anchored at four points on the seal. The chains fed into an antiquated motorized winch in the room above. It had taken years and millions of euros from his shady foundations to return that stone tile-and-pulley system to its rightful place, to say nothing of what lay beneath.
The sight of the chains brought Strauss back to the last time he’d been in the tomb. He had been green with envy that day. It was the spring of 1944, and Strauss had just been informed that his peer, Paul—not he, himself—had been chosen to be the first of the übermensch: the ultra-men, warriors of the new master race. Strauss remembered how the guards in their black robes had frightened him as a child. Their silence made him tremble. He only became more anxious as the Führer himself entered with Leichman to his left and Heinrich Himmler, the head of the SS, to his right.
“No!” Strauss whispered now, chasing the painful memories from his mind. I can’t indulge such memories, he thought as he placed the morbid black robe over his head, feeling the velvety cloth brush his cheeks. Those are weak memories. Paul was weak. That’s why he left us. That’s why he’s dead now, Strauss reminded himself as he slipped on the pointed cowl of the robe. Wearing the ceremonial vestments, he was the spitting image of the SS guards that terrified him as a child.
With his mind back in the present, Strauss looked down to a small ceremonial table. On the table between two candlesticks lay a golden box, and inside that lay the nail. Nothing can stop me now, he thought. I won’t just be an übermensch. I’ll be their master, their king, their God.
A groaning sound interrupted Strauss’s fantasies. He glanced to his right where the American girl lay. She wasn’t quite out cold—more dazed, weak perhaps, but not completely out. Castor, Father Leichman’s loyal henchman, was hard at work binding her hands and feet behind her back. Strauss noted the bandages on Ca
stor’s arm and the bruising all over his face. However, the swollen lip and the missing tooth were the more unsightly new features. The man seemed unaffected by these wounds as he finished restraining the girl and dragged her into the center of the room, leaving her lying face down with the seal in front of her.
“Castor, are you sure the motor to raise the seal is in working order?” Father Leichman called from the chamber’s only doorway. He entered, dressed in his usual priestly robes with Drago walking faithfully at his heels.
“Yes, Your Grace,” Castor replied.
There was a hint of sadness in his voice, and Strauss could guess why. Pollux, Castor’s twin brother, was dead, killed by the American girl’s hound. Strauss watched Father Leichman approach his disciple and place a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I miss him, too, Castor,” the father assured him as he took a seat on one of the pedestals. Once he was comfortable, he reached into his pocket and gave Drago a treat. “When this ritual is done, we may be able to bring him back. We don’t know exactly what the nail is capable of.”
“You can’t imagine how badly I want to kill her right now,” Castor said.
“I know, my son, but this is the only way,” Father Leichman explained. “You could stab her a dozen times with the nail or a knife or a sword. You could shoot her in the head again and again. This will stun her for a time, but she will not die.”
“What if I cut off her head and completely burned her?”
Father Leichman snickered at the thought. “Trust me, my son, that would work out very badly for you,” he warned. “We know of only three ways to kill the master of the nail. The first is this chamber. The second is a pure Garade wielding the nail itself. Unfortunately, that option is lost to us.”