by G S Eli
Strauss’s blood began to boil at the mention of this. “That option is lost because the Garade must be willing, and you had his little cousin murdered before his eyes! He will never trust us again!” he snapped.
“The boy would not have witnessed that if you’d hired some competent security,” Father Leichman retorted. “Not that it matters. He’s dead by now, isn’t he?”
“Yes, that was a mistake, and I assure you that it will not be repeated. I’ve assembled the finest assault team to protect the castle.” Strauss turned away to hide his smirk. “And, of course, he is dead. I sent my best arsonist,” he said. “Not a trace left, just as you ordered.” He quickly changed the subject. “We shouldn’t be discussing this in front of Castor. You don’t reveal your whole battle plan to a foot soldier.”
The priest gave Strauss a scolding look. He ignored it as he strolled to the center of the room to examine the chains that hung from the ceiling and anchored in the lower seal.
“You worry too much. He has lost his twin brother to this cause. I think he’s earned the right to know these things,” Father Leichman replied.
Strauss’s demeanor softened a little. He stepped over to Castor from the center of the room. “You should know that after tonight your loyalty will pay off. You will truly have all you desire. I will be in a position to give you all the riches of the world,” Strauss said proudly.
“Ahh, be careful, my son. He who offers the riches of the world so quickly is only days away from losing it himself. Have you not read your Bible?” the priest cunningly interjected.
“Matthew, chapter four, verse nine,” Castor replied with glee.
“Very good, my child,” Father Leichman replied, beaming with pride.
Strauss gave them both an unhappy stare. Castor paced around the seal, analyzing it. “I still don’t understand how this works,” Castor said. “It’s all so confusing.”
“No, it’s not. Let me explain,” Father Leichman said.
This elicited a frown from Strauss. The priest wasn’t listening to him. He began to wonder if Father Leichman knew who was really in charge here.
“Himmler was the first to realize it,” Father Leichman went on. “We built this vault based on designs from a golden tomb in the mountains of Romania. At the time, the Führer was convinced that he could use this to give some of the nail’s powers to his soldiers, turning them into unstoppable human weapons. He thought the project failed, but we knew better.”
He gave Strauss a knowing glance. Strauss nodded back while stepping toward the ceremonial table. It was eerie how the priest’s mind was on the very same memory that had troubled him just minutes ago.
“You see, he never realized how it worked. When the nail was sealed, Himmler noticed the Chancellor couldn’t see. Do you understand?”
Castor pondered that for a moment. Then he announced, “Mustard gas! The Führer was blinded by mustard gas in the trenches during the First World War.”
Father Leichman smiled. “And the nail healed him, but when the nail was placed in the chamber with a potential übermensch, his sight disappeared again.” He sat up a bit straighter, rocked himself forward a couple of times, and then stood up. Once he was sure footed, he stepped closer to the seal and pointed down to it. “This tomb can separate the nail’s power from its owner as completely as if they’d never had the nail to begin with.”
“How do you know that for sure, master? Just because he lost his sight while the nail was in the tomb?” asked Castor.
“There was a Gypsy hag in Munich who the Führer captured and tortured. She was the one who informed the Führer of the nail’s powers,” responded Father Leichman. “She also revealed that if the owner of the nail seals the artifact in the tomb with an innocent human, that human will manifest evil powers.”
“What powers, master?”
“Ahhh, super human strength, youth, and God knows what else. The important thing is that they would be loyal and obedient to the possessor of the nail.”
“Wait a minute, if the nail gave him everlasting youth, then how did the Führer die?” Castor asked as that realization dawned on him. “You told me once he didn’t really commit suicide, but you never explained what happened.”
“You were always the clever one,” Father Leichman said with a smile. “You’re familiar with Operation Valkyrie, the assassination attempt on the Führer?”
“Of course,” Castor said.
“Such a waste. We planned for so long and risked so much to retrieve the nail from the Führer. When the bomb went off, it knocked the nail from the Führer’s grip and sent it flying out the window and into the streets of Berlin. Our plan was to recover it, but…”
Father Leichman looked down at the floor. Strauss knew that after all these years this failure still haunted him, filling the priest’s mind with frustration and regret.
“The resistance caught wind of our plot and sent a Garade Gypsy to steal the nail. Once the Nazi high command realized that the nail was back in the hands of the guardians of evil, all hope was lost. Even I don’t know exactly how the Gypsy did it—many of the extraordinary gifts of the Magi are still a mystery us—but once he had the nail, the Führer was a shadow of his former self. His powers grew weaker by the day, and the war went no better. We knew defeat was imminent. Himmler tried to surrender to the Allies, and the others either committed suicide or fled the country. And the Chancellor—well, he did not see the nail again until that Gypsy returned to the bunker and plunged it into his heart… Now go, my son. Place the candles along the top pillars and light them so we may proceed,” Father Leichman ordered.
Castor looked more confused. However, he obeyed and retrieved twelve large candlesticks. He smirked as he noted a slight bend in one of them. He’d used it to knock the American girl out cold while the professor had her distracted. As he proceeded to place the candles on top of the pillars and light them, he posed another question for Father Leichman.
“I’m sorry, Your Grace, but I am still confused,” Castor said. “How the hell did the Gypsy break into the Führer’s bunker? It was the most secure place in Berlin. And if the Führer was murdered, why did everyone think it was suicide?”
“Ahh, you are wise for asking such questions,” Father Leichman said. “After all, you can’t believe what they teach you in the history books. The guardians of evil can be quite clever. You see, the Gypsy did not break into anywhere. He walked right into the bunker. The Führer was planning to flee to his mountain stronghold, the Eagle’s Nest, but not before marrying his mistress, Eva Braun. He called for a priest, an old seminary friend of mine, to perform the ceremony. The Garade disguised himself as the priest’s altar boy, smuggled the nail inside, and killed the Führer with it.”
Strauss swallowed hard. As Father Leichman spoke, the memories of that day came rushing back to him. He could once again feel the terror he felt as the Gypsy killed their master. I feared that Gypsy would kill me, too. Instead, he scampered off like the rat he was, he thought.
“At that point, the bunker was in chaos,” Father Leichman went on. “Everyone was scrambling to get out before the Soviets arrived. How exactly the Garade escaped, I don’t know. Evidently, he never took the nail out of the bunker. He probably hid it, fearing what would happen if it fell into the hands of the Communists.”
Castor finished lighting the last twelve candles. Father Leichman began to rant on, as old men are prone to do. “I had to help cover up the murder. I’d already sacrificed so much to keep the nail a secret. We burned the bodies, called it a suicide, and no one questioned it. The world was so happy knowing that a murderous dictator was dead they didn’t bother to question his death—or his life, for that matter.”
Strauss noticed Father Leichman catch his breath and was a bit angry as he proceeded on with his opinion of Hitler’s reign. “The world is so naive that even the highest holy priest of the Vatican co
uld not connect the dots,” he said. “Only a man armed with the power of Lucifer himself can start from nothing and gain such absolute power over so many. Only the devil’s charm can convince so many people to hate so much,” Father Leichman droned on.
By then, Strauss’s patience had worn out. He didn’t care to hear this story again. He already knew it. He had lived it! “Enough!” Strauss shouted. He detected a bit of rage as the old priest stopped short and looked up at him. “Let’s get this over with,” he demanded.
“Just a moment,” Father Leichman said. “We must wait for the painting.”
He cast off his black outer robe. Underneath he wore his SS chaplain’s uniform, complete with a service Luger and Hitler Youth knife.
Strauss was surprised and found something rather comical about seeing the frail priest in a uniform he hadn’t worn since he was a young man. “What’s this? Feeling nostalgic?”
“I wanted to salute you properly when you become our supreme leader,” Leichman said as he bowed his head slightly.
Something about that didn’t ring true to Strauss. Father Leichman almost sounded sarcastic. He suspected there was another meaning behind that pristine uniform, but before he got the chance to question further, his security banged on the door.
“We have a delivery from the Berlin Museum,” a TNC operative said from the other side of the door.
Castor left his post, unlocked the door, and proceeded to let in two security guards. They carried a large painting covered in brown paper and an easel. They set everything up near the ceremonial table where Strauss was standing. Once the painting was placed on the easel, Father Leichman asked the guards to leave and to let no one in until he called for them. Strauss glared at the priest as his men stepped out into the long hallway. Stop ordering my men around! he thought.
Once the guards were gone, Castor locked the door from the inside.
“Castor, open the tomb,” Father Leichman ordered.
Strauss proceeded to rip the paper off, revealing The Proclamation, the original painting, in all its glory. His eyes traced the contours of the painting, stopping on the scepter, where he could see the final inscription painted as clear as day. That inscription held the binding incantation, the one that had been filed off centuries ago. Even experts like Hermann and Father Leichman weren’t exactly sure what the binding did, but their studies led them to believe that it permanently bound the nail to its master. They were convinced that once bound, the master would be invincible, safe even from the powers of the Magi’s bloodline.
Strauss could not help himself, realizing that even he was becoming fascinated as he stared at the painting. He became so enthralled that he didn’t notice Castor throwing a switch near the door. A grinding sound echoed through the chamber, and for a minute Strauss came out of his semi-trance, worried that the old machine would give out. The chains jerked and finally began to lift the marble disk into the air. At last, the gilded tomb was revealed. Beneath the seal was a solid-gold box about the size and shape of a casket. As the seal rose higher, it revealed an underside also made of gold. The air inside had a faint scent of frankincense and myrrh. For a moment, Strauss just stared into the glistening gold of the vault. He deeply inhaled to smell the sweet incense. Even that spectacular display couldn’t keep his attention away from the painting for long. It seemed to call to him, and once again he gazed at The Proclamation.
“You know what to do,” Father Leichman said to Castor.
Castor nodded. He picked up Casey with ease and roughly dropped her into the tomb. He sprinkled myrrh on top of her, then he retrieved some small grains of frankincense from a pouch within his pocket and placed them under her nose. The girl began to scream like a wild animal. Her cries were utterly inhuman as she struggled against her bonds.
Strauss covered his ears, turning away from the painting, his reverie broken. “Close it,” he ordered. “I can’t stand another second of that squealing!”
Castor threw the switch again, and the seal slowly began to lower. It descended toward Casey inch by inch as she screamed and struggled with pure rage. Her cries continued until the moment the stone slab closed over her, sealing her inside.
Father Leichman and Strauss both hesitated for a minute. They stood on either side of the ceremonial table, each a few paces away from the nail. There was tension in the air as they stared at each other. Then Strauss looked away. He had to steal one last glance at the painting. He gazed on it for a few moments, fighting its spellbinding power; at last, he forced himself to stop gawking.
When he turned back to the ceremonial table, he realized that Father Leichman had moved closer. But he still had some agility left in his old bones, unlike the priest. He rushed over as Father Leichman began to reach for the golden box that held the nail. They both snatched at the box and ended up knocking it onto the floor. The lid came open, and the nail fell out, rolling across the gray marble.
Strauss rushed for the nail, but it was too late. Drago casually trotted over to the scepter and picked it up in his mouth. The dog looked up at Strauss with his ears back and let out a low growl.
Click!
With a slow turn, Strauss faced Father Leichman again and was not surprised to see the priest had drawn his Luger and aimed it at him. As the two men stared each other down, Castor drew a pistol of his own and aimed it at Strauss for good measure. “Don’t move!” Castor ordered.
“I’m not used to taking orders,” Strauss answered. He moved toward Leichman. Castor forcefully raised his pistol, and the dog growled louder.
With no hope of overpowering two armed men, as well as a vicious German Shepherd, Strauss relented and stood very still. He stared daggers at Father Leichman as the old man whistled for Drago. The loyal dog trotted over to him. Father Leichman smiled down at the canine and collected the nail from his jaws.
“I’m warning you—put your hands up,” Castor told Strauss.
“I knew you’d betray me, just like the Führer betrayed Paul,” Strauss announced while lifting his hands to chest level.
“Then you’re a fool,” Father Leichman sneered back.
Strauss turned to Castor. I need to stall, he thought. If I can just reach my coat pocket without them noticing …
“He’ll do the same to you!” Strauss shouted to the scarred henchman. “I’m a very powerful man, Castor. You’re making a very big mistake. Trust me—you don’t want to betray me or the True Nationalist Coalition.”
Castor just laughed at the threat.
“That won’t work, Victor,” Father Leichman said. “Castor is loyal to me, not your political party. I’ve taught him truths you still can’t even fathom.”
“What truths are those, old man?” Strauss scoffed.
“I’m not sure why you never understood it, Victor,” Father Leichman began, his voice almost sympathetic. “Maybe it’s the sort of thing a politician can’t understand. Maybe you’re too naive, or you didn’t want to believe it. Or maybe you were just too stupid. This scepter was not just a supernatural means to an end for the Führer. The war was not about building some thousand-year utopia. All that nonsense about racial purity—you really believe in that, don’t you, with your True Nationalist Party? Those were lies he told to ensnare the downtrodden people of Germany and convince them to commit atrocities unseen since the Middle Ages.
“The war was a holy war. The purpose of the Final Solution was to exterminate the descendants of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob in defiance of their God. The same is true for the Magi and their kin the Gypsies. The Second World War was a war against Jehovah, waged to show that the beautiful one who reigns below is the rightful master of the earth.” Father Leichman cast a reverent gaze to the floor and stayed silent a moment. “And now, that war will finally be won,” he announced, gesturing to the painting. “I’ll be bound to the nail, and nothing will stop me.”
“You’re out of your mind,” Str
auss snapped.
“You’re a fool,” Father Leichman countered, “and when I make you my slave, I’ll remind you of that every day.”
Father Leichman placed his finger on the sharp point of the nail, distracted for a moment. That was Strauss’s chance. He slid his hand along the outside of his pocket, found the outline of his key fob, and pressed the button as discreetly as possible. The device would summon his guards. It might be too late, he thought.
Meanwhile, Father Leichman applied the slightest pressure, and the thorny spike pierced his frail skin. “I’ve waited so long for you, my Lord!” he cried.
Strauss watched as the old man closed his eyes, lips gently moving as he whispered the incantation. They all waited. Father Leichman shut his eyes tighter. A few drops of blood fell from his finger. Nothing seemed to be happening. Finally, Father Leichman opened his eyes with a look of confusion and disappointment.
“I don’t think it worked,” Strauss mocked him. “You don’t look any stronger.”
Father Leichman drew his Hitler Youth knife, scowling furiously at Strauss. “We’ll just need to test it,” the priest said as he took a menacing step toward him. “I’ll try your blood first. If that doesn’t work, I can surely use the profess—”
As Father Leichman closed within arm’s reach, the doors burst open, and a TNC squad charged inside. Strauss ducked out of the way as Father Leichman stood in stunned surprise. Castor barely had time to raise his pistol before a round struck him in the chest. He went down firing wildly. Drago, just as loyal as Castor, growled and leapt for the nearest guard, but he was immediately cut down by rifle fire.
Father Leichman dropped the knife and reached for his Luger again, but not before he was shot in the stomach. The armed neo-Nazi advanced and pointed a rifle at the priest’s head.
“No!” Strauss shouted as he stepped closer. “Not yet.”
He snatched the nail from Father Leichman and took his Luger as well. He leaned in a few inches from Leichman’s face. “Who’s the fool now, old man?” Strauss hissed. Then he stood to address his men.