Chapter 26 #3
Bes, who changed into a cream button-up and dark brown pants since I last saw him, looks at me carefully over the rims of his glasses.
His gaze roves over my thighs, my hips, then drags up my waist, my chest, and my face, until he reaches my hair, which I now remember I loosened from its normal braid.
The heat behind his eyes strips me bare, heating my core. I recall how he had me pinned down in the training room, how we might’ve kissed if not for that damned instructor…
“I do,” he says finally.
She nods at me. “Good.”
Then she turns to speak to the others as if I’m not there.
“If you remember, in April of last year, one of the twelve oak panels from Jan van Eyck’s painting, Adoration of the Mystic Lamb, was stolen from Saint Bavo Cathedral by the God Men.
We still don’t know where it’s being kept.
But there’s a rumor it recently passed through the hands of the Third Reich art dealer Hildebrand Gurlitt, who traffics in art stolen from mostly Jewish collectors.
” She glances at me. “I’ve also heard he has a special interest in Egyptian artifacts. ”
A special interest in Egyptian artifacts? Maybe he’s the reason the God Men came after me.
“He’s staying in Liechtenstein for the next few days before heading back to Germany,” she finishes.
Bes crosses his arms over his chest. “I thought we determined there’s no real significance to the Adoration of the Mystic Lamb.”
She shoots him a look. “We were wrong. Gurlitt is telling anyone who will listen that he found the map to The Holy Grail on the back.”
“Shit,” Bes swears, right as Cec exclaims, “Bollocks.”
“The Holy Grail?” I practically yell. It echoes brashly through the Archive, but I press on. “The Holy Grail? The one Jesus Christ drank from at the Last Supper and was later used to collect his blood when they crucified him?”
All four of them stare at me. Though I hate remembering all of the biblical bullshit that the priests drilled into my head as a child, at least it’s given me context for this astonishing nugget of information.
People have been searching for the Holy Grail for centuries, some because of its historical and scriptural significance, others because it claims to give immortal life to whomever drinks from it.
I don’t have to guess why the God Men—and subsequently Hitler himself—might want something like that.
Bes nods, his attention on me cooled. “The very same. It’s one of the many items the Third Reich has been searching for, for some time now.
The painting was one of the items taken from the German people in the Treaty of Versailles, and he believes restoring it back to the Germans will be a kind of retribution—a symbol of taking back their culture.
“But this is the reason he shares with the public,” Nonna Alessa claims, “not the one he believes in his heart.”
“And which reason is that?”
She continues, “The map in code on the back of the twelve-panel oak painting not only shows where the Holy Grail is, but the other two Arma Christi as well—the instruments of Christ’s Passion: the Holy Grail, the Crown of Thorns placed on his head, and the Spear of Destiny which pierced him while he hung on the cross.
Hitler believes the person who possesses all three Arma Christi will gain”—she searches for the words—“supernatural powers.”
I scoff. “That’s ridiculous.”
“More ridiculous than magic leaves choosing your fate?” Cec asks.
I purse my lips to stop myself from saying something I’ll regret. It’s all still too fantastical to truly believe.
“And you’re certain about this?” Anders asks Nonna Alessa.
“As much as anyone can be in these dark times.”
She holds up her hand when Bes opens his mouth to ask another question.
“There’s one more thing. A little more than a month ago, the newly-appointed head of Hitler’s SS division, Heinrich Himmler, ordered the creation of a new research group called the Ahnenerbe.”
She pronounces it on-en-air-bu, which sounds off-putting outside its native tongue.
“In reality, he’s simply provided the God Men with government funding and called it something else. Though I haven’t been able to gather much more information on them, I have confirmed that the fascists you ran into in Egypt are a part of this group.”
I vaguely recall Cec mentioning that the information the Maestro passed on to him was that the German Third Reich is now employing the God Men in an official capacity to search for known mythic artifacts.
But he also mentioned something else… something worse is on the horizon—something we’ve been anticipating since the end of the Great War.
Now, I wonder what that is.
Cec nods. “In other words, this is not the first paranormal item the Nazis will try to get their hands on, nor the last.”
I place my hand on the other end of the table to steady myself, my mind reeling.
To give the God Men access to the weapons and intel the Third Reich has means that they’ll be unstoppable in their quest to obtain the Amulet of Amun.
They’ll be able to find me no matter what I do or where I go, even all the way back to the States.
I can never go home.
My heart pounds hard inside my chest and I’m having trouble breathing.
I already knew that, but hearing it practically confirmed guts me.
I may have no choice now but to join the order, especially if they’re the only way to stop this madness.
If I help them destroy the God Men, the Third Reich, all of it… perhaps then I can finally go home?
Maybe not even then. Hopelessness envelops me.
I didn’t notice him move, but suddenly Bes is at my side. He places his arm around my shoulder, holding me to him without saying a word. Tears prick painfully behind my eyes. His thoughtfulness means more to me than I can say.
Cec taps his cane absentmindedly against the leg of the table; I barely hear him over the ringing in my ears. “I can confirm this. The Maestro at the club in the Port of Civitavecchia relayed similar information.”
“Your father must’ve forgotten to tell me,” Nonna Alessa mutters.
I endeavor to put some strength behind my next words. “What can be done about all this? Even if it does seem far-fetched to me, Hitler cannot be allowed to inherit any paranormal abilities by having all three Arma Christi in his possession. And the God Men…”
I take in an unsteady breath. The image of Ingrid finding us in Messina and then again in Civitavecchia fills my mind, poisoning it with fear.
Bes shifts his hand up along my shoulder, his thumb stroking achingly close to my neck.
“I won’t let them hurt you,” he murmurs softly, nearly pressing his lips into my hair. Louder, he asks, “What is being done?”
“The God Men, we can do nothing about. Not yet, anyway,” Nonna Alessa says, turning her eyes on me. “I’m sorry.”
I nod wordlessly. Bes tightens his hand on my shoulder before removing it.
She continues. “Ansaldo is putting together a team to intercept this German art dealer in three-days’ time to find out what he knows, before he can pass on the information to the God Men or anyone else.”
“But you’re still going to allow him to tell the Third Reich about the map,” I glean from her tone. “Why? If this man is the only one who’s decoded it, shouldn’t he be killed?”
Cec laughs mordantly. “Despite what you’ve seen of us so far, we’re not normally in the business of killing people.”
I glance at Bes, seeing in my mind’s eye when he shot Ingrid’s unarmed brother outside the back door of the Egyptian Museum of Antiquities.
Even now, if you were to ask me what I thought the order was in the business of, I’d say they have a kill-first-ask-questions-later policy. Maybe that’s just Bes’s policy.
“All of this is assuming he’s been the only person to ever decode it,” I argue.
“We would know about it if anyone else had,” Bes claims.
Cec leans his hip into the table. “If the map does exist and Gurlitt’s already decoded it, then we can make him tell us where the items are first, and get to them before the God Men do.”
I know I’m going to regret the answer to this question before I ask it. “And how do you intend to make him tell you?”
Cec sighs. “Hawkins, you’ve witnessed merely a fraction of what we’re capable of.”
I have no doubts about that.
“That’s enough excitement for me. I’m going to find something to eat,” Nonna Alessa announces unceremoniously. She smiles warmly and surprises me by walking up to me and cupping my cheeks with her hands. “Don’t take any puttanata from these boys, huh? Especially Cecilio.”
“Aye,” he complains half-heartedly.
I manage a grin, placing one hand over hers. “Ti prometto.” I promise.
Once she disappears into the stacks, Anders lunges for a mound of papers. What’s gotten into him? Moving them to the side, he grabs a gold cylinder from beneath.
I eye it strangely. “Is that a Bazeries cylinder?”
Bes taps the cypher, propped up horizontally on a stone stand. “Close. It’s the Egyptian equivalent, recovered from the Library of Alexandria after Caesar set fire to part of it. It’s believed to have been crafted by a scholar during Seti the First’s time.”
My pulse jumps. “Does that mean…?”
“Could be.” Cec looks near Anders with his milky gaze. “Let’s find out, shall we.”