by G S Eli
Hermann stepped back from the ornate, regal armor and took a moment to admire its mesmerizing brilliance. Unfortunately, he was pulled out of his mediations by the sound of that horrid alarm and emergency lights.
As he looked around the beautifully restored room, he began to fear that it might all come crashing down. Father Leichman has it all under control, he thought desperately, trying to convince himself. Every time I’ve ever doubted him, he’s proved me wrong.
Hermann thought back to when Leichman first promised him that he would be the curator of Wewelsburg Castle. He had doubted that promise. However, to his surprise, the gracious leader had pulled it off. All Hermann had to do in return was help reconstruct the chamber room and secret passages to Leichman’s exact instructions. And with that comforting thought, his fears began to subside and he felt reassured that somehow his master would save his beloved fortress.
“He will save my castle,” Hermann whispered, still trying to convince himself.
He turned from the suit of armor, exited the banquet room, and headed toward the main entrance. As he began to walk through the hall, he realized that the structure was breaking apart. Cracks appeared in the plaster walls, and stones and wooden beams came loose from the ceiling. He started to walk faster, trying to avoid the falling debris that was turning the historical site into a dangerous maze. He could hear violent winds howling just outside the stone walls.
As he reached the main hall, a large chunk of stone, seemingly from the dome of the ritual room, came crashing into the main foyer, leaving a gigantic gaping hole where the ceiling once stood. Gale-force winds swept in through the gap, knocking Hermann off his feet. He struggled to get out through the force of the maelstrom as it sent debris flying about the room. He slowly began to realize that there was little chance left of saving the castle.
Pushing himself through the strange wind, he emerged into the courtyard. He found some of the workers trying to remove a museum van, which blocked the moat bridge. As the workers pushed with all their might, Hermann slowly turned around to see his beloved castle in ruins.
“No!” he shouted in horror.
He looked back as the last of the staff pushed the truck through the archway. They ran over the bridge to the parking lot for safety. Hermann looked up at the north tower, holding his left hand over his mouth to avoid inhaling the clouds of dust kicked up by the mystical weather. He saw that a huge part of the structure had blown away. His thoughts drifted to the priest, for he knew he was in the chamber room, and with that realization, the wind suddenly stopped as if someone ordered it to do so. Before he had time to assess the damage, he heard a familiar voice calling him in the distance.
Could that be? he thought.
He turned toward the sound, and his eyes fell on a metal grate. Any layman would think the grate was little more than a storm drain, but Hermann knew better. He bent down to the grate and listened.
“Come, my son. I am wounded!” the voice cried.
“No!” Hermann cried.
There was no mistaking it. Father Leichman was down there. The professor tore the grate free. Sure enough, Father Leichman lay in the escape tunnel below. He must have crawled all the way from the ritual room. Hermann reached down and frantically pulled the priest out of the hole.
“Solomon…” Father Leichman gasped.
Hermann leaned in close, tears in his eyes. He supported the priest’s head, cradling it in his hand. “You’re alive!” he cried. “Thank the Beautiful One. Don’t move. Please save your strength.”
“I told you this passage would come in handy,” Father Leichman said. He raised a feeble, trembling hand and placed it on Hermann’s cheek. “You were always so loyal,” he said. “Mengele was wise to have bred you. He knew you’d serve us well.”
Hermann put his hand on Father Leichman’s and looked lovingly into his eyes as tears ran down his cheeks. Despite the fact that Hermann was a grown man, he still felt like a small child whenever the father was in his presence. The priest has been the closest thing he’d ever had to a real father. He loved the priest immensely; after all, he’d kept him safe from exposure. If his true identity had ever come out, the entire planet would scrutinize his life forever. The father protected him from that horrible existence.
All these years, no one had ever found out that Professor Solomon Hermann was in fact one of Dr. Mengele’s last experiments. Mengele was known for performing unspeakably horrific experiments on prisoners at Auschwitz. That was how he earned his nickname, Doctor Death. What no one knew was that among his most twisted projects was personally fathering a child with an unwilling Garade woman. The priest kept Solomon’s birth at the concentration camp a secret. The generous man had even found him an Austrian family to raise him and provide for his expensive education. Having the power to keep such a secret from the entire world was nothing short of a miracle.
“I’m going to get you out of here,” Hermann said. “I’m going to save you!”
“Yes, Solomon, yes, you are,” Father Leichman agreed in a strange tone.
He suddenly drove his knife into Hermann’s neck. Blood poured from the wound, staining his suit. Confused and in shock, the professor began to shake and convulse.
“Shhhh … shhh …” Father Leichman said. “This is necessary. Garade blood is the most powerful medicine of all, even if it’s only half Garade.”
The professor began to feel disoriented and collapsed onto the ground, weakened to the point of paralysis. He saw Father Leichman place his mouth to his throat. Unable to move, he watched in horror as his beloved priest took away his life. He felt his blood rush out of his veins; he heard his heart beat louder and louder as it slowed until the very last thump.
XXXII
The Übermensche
Things were still a little fuzzy for Mila. The warm light of the sun streamed in through the missing half of the north tower. The blue skies and the sound of chirping birds were in stark contrast to the crumbling stone around them.
“We need to get out of here,” Deborah insisted as she ran toward Morton, who lay on the floor, barely conscious. “Jack, get over here,” she demanded.
Jack rushed over. He and Deborah stood on either side of Morton, placed their arms around him, and heaved him onto his feet. Casey took a hold of Mila. Pain once again shot through his ribs as they climbed to their feet.
They all made their way out of the crumbling chamber room and headed down the southeast corridor toward the main exit. They did their best to ignore the dead guards scattered about the halls.
As they made their way to the entrance hall, they couldn’t help but notice the pure devastation the historic structure had suffered. The plaster walls were cracking, and dust covered the floors. Ornate statues were tipped over and broken. Even the grand staircase was battered and covered in chunks of stone.
Mila was badly hurt, but Morton was almost lifeless. His feet began to drag on the floor as Jack and Deborah struggled to move him forward.
“Put me down,” Morton asked in a feeble plea.
Deborah ignored him, pushing forward toward the exit.
“Please, Deborah, I’m not going to make it out,” he insisted.
Deborah kneeled down and placed Morton on the marble floor next to the regal staircase. Sad, but refusing to shed a tear, she obeyed the order. Casey didn’t recognize the man, but he clearly meant something to Deborah.
“We met him in Paderborn. He was her partner or something,” Mila whispered to Casey.
“We’ll get you out. Just a few more steps,” Deborah said to Morton.
With his last bit of strength, he reached into one of his cargo pockets and retrieved a small black device and handed it over to Deborah. She gently took it from his bloody hand and opened the black casing, revealing a small keypad and screen.
“Send a message home,” Morton said. “Let them know we pulled it off a
fter all these years.”
The unusual request left the teens puzzled, but Deborah seemed to understand. Morton lovingly looked over to Deborah, trying to reassure her, and then he gently nodded his head.
She typed out a short message. It simply read: “Victor Strauss is dead. Agent 999 is KIA.”
She held it out for Morton to see. He nodded with approval. “Send it,” he said.
Deborah stared into Morton’s eyes, her sorrow beginning to show through her stern expression.
“It’s OK,” Morton whispered with a weak smile. “Mission accomplished.”
And there, on the base of the opulent staircase, in the once regal hall of Wewelsburg Castle, the loyal secret agent of the Mossad took his last breath. A single tear dropped from Deborah’s cheek onto his lifeless body.
“Oh God, Deborah, I’m so sorry,” Jack said. “He was your partner, wasn’t he?”
“More than that…” Deborah whispered.
“You should not tear up, my dear. You’ll be joining him soon,” a sinister voice said.
A man walked through the main doors toward them. He had a pale handsome face, framed by golden blond hair, but his blue eyes were as cold as ice. The black Nazi chaplain’s uniform gave him a ghostly appearance.
“My dream…” Casey whispered. “It’s t-t-he soldier from my d-dream. H-He was beating the m-man in t-the square…” she said in a frenzied stutter.
As the man approached, Casey glanced at Deborah and saw the same look of recognition. “This is impossible,” Deborah whispered.
“Who the hell are you?” Mila demanded.
The young man’s face split into an evil grin.
“Really, Mila, you don’t recognize the man who baptized you?” he asked.
Mila noticed the series of burn scars along the stranger’s right hand. “Father…” he whispered in despair.
“Very good,” Father Leichman said.
“How’s this possible?” Casey asked.
“The chamber, of course,” Father Leichman said. “I knew it worked when we sealed you in there. If only I’d gotten some blood before Victor interfered, we could have avoided this whole mess. No matter. Now I have the power of vigor, youth, strength, immortality—it’s all mine.”
Deborah stood up and stepped forward, blocking the path between her and the teens. Leichman didn’t slow his advance. When he got near, she attempted to grab him, using one of her many well-trained maneuvers, but with one swift move he deflected her and threw her across the hallway, sending her crashing into a mural-painted wall. Deborah writhed on the ground, dizzy, with the wind knocked out of her. This struck fear deep into Casey’s heart. She’d never seen anyone yet who could defeat Deborah in a fight, let alone someone who could throw her around like a rag doll.
The teens all started to take steps back up the collapsing staircase. Leichman turned toward them and took a step in their direction. “This is just the beginning,” he declared. “I’ll have all the powers soon.”
With no hope of fighting, they fled all the way up to the top. Father Leichman followed at a relaxed, confident pace.
They arrived at the top of the stairs, only to find the upstairs hallway blocked by a collapsed ceiling, leaving them trapped. With nowhere to turn, both Mila and Jack blocked Casey like two guards protecting their queen.
“We don’t have it anymore!” Jack yelled. “You’re wasting your time.”
“I know that, you foolish boy,” Leichman said. “I’ll retrieve the nail from the crypt—once she’s dead, that is.”
Acting on pure rage, Jack jumped from the top of the stairs and on top of Leichman, sending them both tumbling down the stairway. Casey and Mila ran down after them, neither having a better plan than Jack’s desperate attack.
Holding on to each other, Jack and Leichman reached the bottom, slamming onto the marble floor. The rejuvenated priest easily pinned Jack down. Casey and Mila looked on in horror as he opened his mouth to reveal a row of razor-sharp teeth like those of a shark.
“I think you will make a fine soldier of darkness,” Leichman seductively whispered in Jack’s ear.
Jack struggled, fearing he had no chance of escape. He then closed his eyes and shouted the only thing that came to his lips. “Jesus!” Jack called.
Wham!
Everyone looked up to see Leichman clutching the back of his head. Behind him stood an old gardener with a shovel in his hand. The priest spun around, leaving Jack lying flat on the cold marble. He jumped up and seized the groundskeeper by the throat, staring deep into his eyes. The gardener dropped his key ring while he was lifted into the air.
Suddenly, there was a flutter of wings. As if in a dream, a white bird swooped into the room, retrieving the keys from the floor. The pigeon carried the keys toward Mila and dropped them at his feet.
The old man, almost out of breath, pointed to the key ring as the life was being squeezed out of him. Mila looked at the key ring, which had a very odd piece of decaying wood attached to it. Instantly, he knew this was the weapon that had appeared in his dream days earlier. It looked like a spike of some sort, about four inches long. But Mila saw more than just an old piece of wood; he saw purpose. He picked it up and held it like a switchblade. Casey watched as he fearlessly approached Leichman from behind, gripping the piece of wood tightly with his hand.
The priest let go of the old man, and he fell limp onto the floor. No one was sure if he was alive or dead.
Mila lunged forward, driving the dagger into Leichman’s back and then pulling it out. Leichman howled in pain as if he’d been scalded with a hot iron. He turned to face Mila, grimacing in agony, and they both stared each other down for what felt like an eternity.
Mila felt powerful. For those few brief seconds, all the pain from his wounds mysteriously disappeared. He looked deep within Leichman’s eyes with great intensity and no fear, and there within those pale-blue eyes he saw his ancestors before him, killing dark soldiers throughout history. The spilling of evil blood throughout the centuries went through him within mere seconds. Among the countless wicked people, he saw Hitler’s terrified face in the bunker, a mustachioed warrior on horseback impaled with a spear, and an old man in a white tunic dying in a marble room. In that moment, it all became clear to him. He knew now that the person before him was pure evil. As he looked down at the wooden stake, he saw the wooden cross that held Jesus.
Instantly, he snapped out of his vision. Leichman stared back at Mila in desperation and fear, as if he had just met his judge and jury. Mila then took one step toward him with no apprehension.
“Forgive…” the priest pleaded in fear.
“This is for Korey,” Mila replied, and he drove the wooden stake into Leichman’s heart.
The priest gasped and went stiff as a board. Then he dropped to the ground, limp and lifeless.
Mila stared down at his former teacher like a hunter that had killed its prey. Casey and Jack watched in horror as Leichman’s young body morphed, returning to its old, fragile state. Casey pressed against Jack’s chest to cover her eyes from the horrid site.
Jack and Mila looked at each other. Jack, not knowing what to say, again uttered the first thing that came to his lips.
“It is you,” Jack said. “You’re the guardian.”
The words felt right deep inside Mila. He heard those same words again. But this time they came from the gardener who was dying on floor. “G-guardian,” he called.
Mila rushed over to the brave old man. Casey, Jack, and Deborah joined him. The man clutched Mila’s hand. Blood dripped from his mouth. It was clear that he did not have long. He tried to speak again, but all he could manage was pitiful coughing.
“You need first aid,” Deborah said.
But the old man waved his hand in refusal, struggling to get the words out. Finally, he managed to say, “Sa-sa-save me, Guardian.”
“How?” Mila asked.
“Forgive me,” he requested.
Mila wiped the dripping blood from the old man’s cheeks and, without knowing where the words were coming from, he answered, “You are forgiven, Paul Stoker.”
A single tear of joy fell from the man’s eyes. Somehow Mila knew who this man was. It must have been the intuition Nasta had always spoken of. This was Paul Stoker, the man who had kept the paintings hidden from Strauss and Leichman. He had been at the castle all along, waiting for the guardian to release him.
Stoker then glanced at Casey and became afraid. He grabbed Mila even tighter. “Evil!” he shouted. “It’s here.”
“Be calm,” Mila said. “You can go in peace. It’s over. The nail is guarded,” he assured him.
Stoker calmed at Mila’s words and gently smiled at him, but pulled him closer so he could whisper into Mila’s ear. “You must seek out the dead undead,” Stoker whispered.
The words made no sense to him. But he knew the man was dying, so Mila nodded in agreement. And then Stoker closed his eyes as sirens began to wail in the distance.
Deborah checked for a pulse, then said, “He’s gone.”
“What did he say to you?” Casey asked Mila.
“Nothing that made sense,” Mila answered.
“You better get out of here, Mila,” Jack urged him. “The police will be here soon.”
Mila paused, then looked at Deborah and Casey.
“Go on, get out of here,” Deborah said. “They’ll be fine. Casey’s uncle is a powerful man. He’ll be here soon to help.”
Jack handed the keys from Sabina’s car to Mila. “It’s out back. Sabina is at the Paderborn hospital.”
Mila turned and began to make his way out of the castle. Just as he was about to step out of the gaping hole in the wall that revealed the vigorous sunlight, Casey shouted to him, “Mila!”
