The Sword of Moses (18 page)

Smiling briefly, she got up and walked over to the sideboard. She poured a cup of hot coffee from a heavy black thermos, and put it down beside Ava.

Flicking the large glass screen back on, she began to scroll through a number of images. “Look at these.”

Ava watched as pictures flashed across the glass panel. They were all of men, dressed in what looked like pale grey Nazi uniforms.

Looking more closely, she could see their dark green collar flashes had the three lions
passant
of England, and a small ribbon wrapped around the tunic’s second button was the red, white, and blue of the British flag.

As her eye moved down the pictures, she noted the cuffs of the left sleeves were encircled with a white-bordered black tape embroidered in bold white Gothic lettering with the words: ‘BRITISCHES FREIKORPS’.

She did a double take. But she was not mistaken.

More extraordinary still, above the cuff-tape was a black-bordered shield of the British Union Jack—or Union Flag, as some of the more pedantic people in the Firm used to remind unwary newcomers.

She frowned.

Just as oddly, on the right sleeve she could see a band with an upside down silver-edged black pentagram. Underneath it, she read the single embroidered word: ‘THELEMA’.

Ava was momentarily lost. These were Second World War German military uniforms, but it was quite obvious the photos were not sixty-eight years old. In one, a man pressed a slim black mobile phone to his ear. In another, a group of them were huddled around a sleek flat-screen computer monitor.

“Who are they?” Ava asked DeVere, baffled.

“I hate Nazis,” DeVere muttered. “Especially ones like these.”

“Nazis?” Ava repeated. “Does anyone still take all that seriously?”

“Very much so,” Prince cut in.

“So who are they?” Ava asked.

“In the Second World War, the SS didn’t just take the cream of German society, those with ancestry going back to 1750 on both sides of the family. They also had the clever idea of recruiting abroad, from among non-German populations.” Prince pointed to the lettering on their left sleeves. “They called these foreign units the
Freikorps
, or Free Corps. What you are looking at is the uniform of the SS British Free Corps.”

Ava was having trouble taking this in. “Excuse me?”

“You heard,” Prince answered. “British units of the Nazi
Waffen-SS
.”

Ava was stunned. “Did British men actually fight, for the enemy?”

Prince nodded. “But not against the British. That was part of the deal. Most of them belonged to the British Union of Fascists, and joined the SS
Freikorps
to fight the common enemy—the communists on the eastern front.”

DeVere shook his head in bewilderment. “But wasn’t the SS supposed to be the cream of Germany’s Aryan supermen?
Blut und Boden
—Blood and Soil, and all that? Why did they let foreigners in?”

“For propaganda,” Prince replied. “For instance, the British
Freikorps
soldiers were regularly sent around the prisoner-of-war camps, telling British prisoners how wonderful life was in the SS. Some of them even tried to convert the hardened British escapees of Oflag IV-C Colditz—but they didn’t get far with that particular audience.”

“These photos are recent.” Ava observed, still reeling from the idea there had been British soldiers in the SS. “Are you telling me the
Freikorps
still exist?”

Prince stood and poured herself a coffee. “Yes and no. Many of the British
Freikorps
men were hanged for treason at the end of the war, and the SS was officially disbanded, although there have always been strong indications of continued activity in South America and elsewhere via the
ODESSA
. As far as we know, any stragglers of the original
Freikorps
were never organized enough to be dangerous. But these men today,” she paused, staring at the screen, “these men are quite different.”

“Look at the right sleeve, Dr Curzon,” Prince zoomed in on the photo as she spoke. “The pentagram, and word THELEMA are new. It indicates their creative spin on the SS ideal—their own special brand of nastiness.”

Prince stopped cycling through the photographs, and left the screen displaying a close-up image of a bald fleshy-faced stocky man wearing the same British
Freikorps
uniform as the others.

Ava recognized the cold sea-green eyes and hairless face immediately.

Malchus.

“I hadn’t noticed that before.” It was DeVere. He sounded intrigued. “He’s wearing the Knight’s Cross with oak leaves, swords, and diamonds.”

“What’s does that signify?” Ava asked. “And how on earth do you know about it?” She grinned at him.

“Oh—you pick these things up at school in England,” he answered lazily, “while gluing together models of tanks and aeroplanes. It’s a grand version of the Iron Cross—for very distinguished soldiers.”

“Can you zoom in on it?” Ava asked.

As Prince homed in on the medal and blew up the resolution, they could all see what Ava had spotted. In place of the usual silver embossed swastika at the centre of the medal, there was an upside down pentagram.

“His name is Malchus,” DeVere said. “He’s a former officer of the East German Stasi.”

DeVere clearly did not know that Hunter had told her about Malchus. She let him continue.

“He runs the Thelema order of British neo-Nazis. He’s not British, but he claims some Scottish blood, and that’s good enough for them. They value him mainly because he’s a nasty piece of work, is intensely into the occult, and has well-honed organizational skills from his long years with the Stasi. He’s the perfect leader for this organization.”

“So what are the pentagrams all about?” Ava asked, aware the five-pointed star was a universal symbol of the occult, but not quite seeing its relevance for a modern-day group of neo-Nazis.

“It’s hard to believe,” DeVere answered, “but Himmler and his senior SS officers were fascinated by the occult. Their interest is extremely well documented. Himmler even had a medieval castle in Germany remodelled so his ‘knights’ of the SS could re-enact twisted tales mixing Arthurian legends with blood-and-iron Nazi
völkisch
racism. Himmler was apparently obsessed by it all—the darker the better.”

“Which just leaves the reference to ‘Thelema’ on their sleeves,” Ava replied. “I know the Greek word means ‘the will’, but what’s the significance here?”

There was a long pause.

“To be honest, we don’t know.” Prince answered quietly. “This organization stays firmly off the radar. There are still a lot of blanks.” She put down the remote control. “Frankly, we’re lucky to have these images.”

There was an even longer pause. Ava could feel the tension in the room mounting.

She decided to break it. “Let me guess,” she ventured. “It’s something you want me to help with?”

The tall American nodded slowly. “We believe Malchus is after the Ark. In fact, we suspect he was the one who arranged for the RMF militia to steal it in the first place, before they double-crossed him and tried to use it for themselves.”

“And you figure I’ll help you because … .” Ava left the sentence hanging.

“We know you’re also after the Ark, Dr Curzon,” Prince replied curtly. “And we frankly have no reason to believe you’re about to stop any time soon. So why don’t we just help each other?”

“The Ark is not my main concern,” Ava replied truthfully.

I want Malchus
, she nearly added, but bit her tongue.

“Dr Curzon.” Prince was losing her patience, and making no attempt to hide it now. “We know you went to Dubai to bid on the Ark. And we know you walked into a messy scene out there. You’re fortunate to be alive. And frankly you’re damned lucky not to be cooking in a tin-roofed prison in the Dubai desert right now. It seems to me you could do with some help.”

Ava exhaled, thinking quickly. “Okay. Just tell me this. Was it … ,” she pointed to the image of the man on the screen “Malchus, who stole the Ark from Dubai? Was it his men who killed Yevchenko?”

Prince’s eyes narrowed, examining Ava minutely. After a pause, she answered slowly. “Again we don’t know. We were hoping you could help us with—”

DeVere cut in. “It would be a big help, Ava. We need to stop this man. But we stand no chance of doing that unless we understand what he wants. You know more about the Ark than anyone, and it seems you’re one of the few people to have taken on one of the Thelema and won.” He spread his hands in a gesture of openness. “There’s no one we can turn to with a better curriculum vitae for this job than you.”

Ava finished the coffee and put the cup down, lost in thought.

“Don’t decide now,” DeVere concluded. “Sleep on it. We’ll be in touch tomorrow.”

Prince got up. Ava was struck again by how tall she was, although there was nothing clumsy about her. Prince nodded to DeVere. “We’re done here for tonight.”

Needing no further prompting, DeVere headed for the door. “I’ll show you out, Ava—follow me.”

“Goodnight Dr Curzon,” Prince called over her shoulder, turning back to the folder of photographs on the coffee table. “Think about it. I hope you’ll see it as a good opportunity for us all to get what we want.”

What I want is personal
, Ava thought.
And I don’t need your or anyone else’s help.

Ava nodded goodnight to Prince, and slipped out of the door with DeVere.

“Get security to call you a cab,” he advised her as they headed down in the elevator. “See you tomorrow. Oh, and Ava—do try and keep out of trouble.”

As he walked out of the elevator, she waved goodbye, and he was gone.

She picked up her luggage from security, and ordered a cab.

When it arrived, she climbed in, pulled the heavy black door shut, and looked out of the window at the rainy London evening.

I really don’t miss all this
, she thought, watching the drenched figures scurrying under their umbrellas.

As the driver turned on the meter, she began to run back over the meeting in her head. She was pleased by the way it had gone—she had learnt a great deal.

Startled by a sudden knocking at the window on the far side of the car, she spun round to see a wet face peering in at her.

It took a second before she recognized it.

Prince.

“Mind if I get in?” the American asked, opening the door and climbing into the taxi without waiting for Ava’s reply.

Ava’s heart sank. This was unlikely to be a good development.

“Be my guest,” Ava answered with resignation. The jetlag was kicking in, and she had no desire to go another round with Prince right now.

“Look, we got off on the wrong foot,” Prince began. “I thought maybe we could have a less formal chat.”

Ava saw little point in protesting. They were stuck in a taxi together, although she was not in the mood for small talk.

“You’re a long way from home,” Prince began. “What’s really going on?”

“I could ask you exactly the same question.” Ava countered.

“London’s my second home,” Prince answered. “But you’re right. This business of the Ark has got everyone back in Washington and Virginia really running around. We’re very concerned about the military implications for Middle-Eastern security. I’ve been sent here to look after the European side of the operation.”

“How do DeVere and the Firm fit in?” Ava asked carefully.

“Oh, you know, the special relationship, and all that,” Prince answered. “But how come you left the Firm? Your file suggests you were a high flyer.”

“I don’t know about that.” Ava shrugged. “I suppose I stopped seeing the world the way they did. I no longer felt at home.”

“You developed a conscience?” Prince asked.

“Yes, but not the way you think,” Ava replied. “I didn’t suddenly start worrying about watching people, or listening to their calls, or putting agents into dangerous situations. I long ago realized that someone has to do all those things if the world is going to be kept safe.”

“Then what?” Prince asked.

“After 9/11, I thought people like me, who knew the Middle East well, could help our governments distinguish friend from foe.” She paused, biting her thumbnail absentmindedly. “But I underestimated people’s desire for simple solutions.”

She looked out of the window as the black taxi swept past the illuminated Houses of Parliament. Once upon a time she had believed the grand gothic gables and arches housed one of the most enviable institutions in the world—a bastion of experience and principled thinking, relatively free from corruption or self-interest.

But not any longer.

“No one really listened,” she continued. “When we invaded Iraq in 2003, hundreds of people in government, intelligence, the military, and think-tanks, knew definitively there was no link with al-Qa’eda and there were no weapons of mass destruction. Many of us made our views plain.” She paused, staring into the black night. “After a while, I realized I was not helping the government to see the problems. I
was
the problem. As long as people like me worked for the government, we gave the politicians a veneer of respectability in their Middle-Eastern affairs. We were being used as a smokescreen. As long as we were on the payroll, the government could claim to be working closely with experts.”

Prince was watching Ava closely.

“So you might say I looked around me, and no longer liked what I saw.”

Prince did not answer.

“But I’m learning people don’t just walk away from the Firm.” Ava ran a hand through her hair. “They wind up being sent to meet terrorists in Kazakhstan, and dragged into offices late at night to look at photos of neo-Nazis.”

Prince smiled ruefully.

“So what are you and DeVere doing about getting the Ark back?” Ava asked, changing the subject to something of more immediate concern to her.

Prince sighed. “We’re under orders to leave it at large for now, watch it, and see who surfaces.”

“But you think you should go in and get it?” Ava prompted.

“Sure, I do.” Prince looked unapologetic. “Better safe than sorry. Although what I think doesn’t officially count.”