Tyranny of Coins (The Judas Chronicles) (Volume 5) Paperback (11 page)

“The Holocaust?” Alistair sought to confirm.

“Yes, the Holocaust,” said Roderick. “The Vatican has long known that Krontos actively supported the Nazis in many of their endeavors. Everything from the Final Solution’s strategic implementations to providing the Third Reich’s scientists with futuristic technology to ensure they conquered the world.”

“The same stuff you and I discussed the other night. Correct?” I preferred not to rehash everything in front of everyone else, and hoped we could keep things to the latest information from Benevento. “I don’t suppose the Vatican is ready to delve out more details about Krontos using his dimensional travel prowess to jump to the 1980s and pilfer the blueprints for the stealth bomber and other nifty toys and deliver them to the Nazis?”

“What?!
Run that by me again, Pops!”

Alistair’s surprise was echoed by the gals and Cedric, prompting a hostile glare directed at me from my druid buddy.

“If this is true, it seems the Germans would have won the war,” said Alistair, his tone irritated. Obviously, he considered this as another instance of immortal bullshit—nearly impossible to prove or disprove. “But they didn’t win.”

“They ran out of time to implement the plans on the stealth,” said Roderick, wearing a smug smile. It likely would have been a more somber look had my boy not responded like an ass. “There were other technological advances in the works as well, and yes, the Germans would have won the conflict in Europe and likely conquered the rest of the world by 1950. But according to a secret diary in the Vatican’s possession, a diary attributed to Heinrich Himmler, the Nazis’ betrayal of Krontos is what brought them down.”

I didn’t expect to hear a revelation like this. Neither did anyone else, after a quick scan of everyone’s expressions. Time for me to get the details I needed to fully understand the scope of this bombshell.

“So, Krontos is named in the journal you’re talking about?” I asked, for the moment ignoring the scrutinizing looks from Alistair, Amy, and Beatrice. “I’m surprised anything clandestine in some circles would be openly discussed elsewhere—especially in a Nazi’s personal memoir.”

“He’s not specifically named,” said Roderick, turning in his seat to face me fully. “Here’s what Benevento told me is written by Himmler. ‘We trusted the Hungarian madman, especially the Fuhrer. Most of us—meaning Hitler’s staff— followed blindly, and enthusiastically endorsed the madman’s insistence on ancient occult symbols to be added with those the Fuhrer already embraced. We were seduced by the power, the surprisingly accurate visions, and the ability to reach into the future and produce the advantage of prior knowledge and new inventions to ensure the ‘new age of world order’ flourished.”

I felt a chill pass over my shoulders and seize my spine. It certainly sounded like Krontos could very well be this Hungarian madman mentioned in the diary. But, something was missing still. The case for his involvement wasn’t airtight.

“It sounds like the writer—if it was Himmler—is lamenting the alignment, despite the advantages you listed,” I said, interrupting my son’s attempt to reproach Roderick for attributing something so vague to Krontos. Alistair shot me a disparaging look I ignored. “What changed the Nazis’ original enthusiasm?”

“I’m glad you asked, William,” said Roderick, more than willing to join me in ignoring Allistair’s remarks. “From what Benevento offered, the more telling remarks occur two entries later in the diary, near the end of the chronicle. ‘The Fuhrer has dissolved his relationship with the Hungarian. They parted enemies, as the madman accused us of not giving him what he wanted, insisting we had broken our promises. The demand to turn over a relic from the Jews was refused by Hitler, since the object appears to carry enough power to forge our independence from the Hungarian, and his forced allegiances to Japan and this foreigner’s homeland.’”

Cedric hit a patch of ice, distracting Roderick momentarily. Once Cedric slowed down to a safer speed and Roderick was assured we wouldn’t crash, he finished relating the diary’s entry.

“Himmler went on to say, ‘We expected a scornful response from the madman. But we were not prepared for his thorough betrayal. In early October, 1944, he began a campaign of revelations that turned the tide against us. All of our technology became known to England and the United States. Nearly every planned engagement was no longer secret. The Allies met us step for step, and the Soviets became bolder and fully assured in their aggressions. Everything has turned to shit, and news of our operations to cleanse Europe of undesirables has reached the west in much greater detail than we previously anticipated. We are in danger of losing the war and our dignity.”

Roderick turned to face the road, leaving us to wonder if he was finished, or not.

“Well? Is that it?” asked Alistair, his tone less scornful, as if he realized he was headed for a stern lecture from me later on.

“Yes, I’m finished…  for now,” Roderick advised.

“So, you are assuming the relic in question is the blood coin we’re after. Correct?” I asked, after the minivan settled into awkward silence. “I can see where the madman could be Krontos, though it remains a tenuous connection based on circumstantial evidence.”

“I believe it’s not so tenuous, William,” said Roderick. “While everyone else here can be forgiven for not understanding what a full dimensional shift looks, feels, and tastes like, you and I know better.”

“I fail to see where any of this proves Krontos is involved,” said Alistair, his protest seconded by an emphatic nod from Amy. “I can see him being interested in the coin now that it’s surfaced on the black market. But that’s a far cry from claiming this asshole single-handedly turned the tide of World War II.”

As much as I hated admitting the validity of Alistair’s point of view, he was right. There was a lot that couldn’t be proven. Hell, who’s to say the diary was even written by Himmler?

“It was written by him, Judas—you’re going to have to trust me, my brother,” said Roderick, responding to my thoughts, and drawing quizzical looks from Alistair and Amy. “Krontos was involved with the Nazis long before he heard of this latest coin—I’m sure of it. Once he saw the opportunity to complete his vile trinity, it overrode his passion to use the Nazis to purge the world of the race he hates above all others.
Your
race, my dear friend.”

“Do you believe this is true, Pops?”

Unfortunately, I did. Knew it first hand from the suffering delivered to Roderick and me nearly six hundred years ago by Krontos Lazarevic, when he had no compassion for Jews, Gypsies, and a pair of immortals who tragically crossed his path.

“Yes,” I said, focusing my attention mostly on Beatrice. The look on her face announced her faith in my point of view. Amy and Alistair? Not so much. “I do, Ali.”

Another ‘humpf’ from my kid, followed by an amused chuckle.

“Okay, Pops,” he said, gesturing he was giving up the argument. “We’ll just have to wait to see where this bullshit trail ends, huh?”

I wasn’t sure how to respond, feeling the familiar urge to bend him over my knee and wear his butt out. Fortunately, the debate session was over, and we soon reached Auschwitz.

The initial impression was more profound than the day before. Not that any concentration camp doesn’t carry a feeling of gloom and the lasting essence of evil. But those aspects hit us harder. Maybe it was the frigid conditions, or it had something to do with the forged iron sign above the entrance.

Arbeit macht frei

For those unaware, it means “Work for your freedom.”

The Nazis were masters at deceit and unabashed cruelty. I have often heard observers comment on the Jewish naivety to allow themselves to be easily led to slaughter. But such comments are born from ignorance on a number of levels. For one thing, not everyone who ended up in such places was of Israelite heritage. Gypsies, gays, intellectuals, POWs and freedom fighters, and often the elite in countries offering resistance to German takeover could just as easily end up in a place like this. Although, the worse horrors of Auschwitz were generally reserved for the Jews, and children of any race that ended up under Dr, Josef Mengele’s ‘supervision’.

I mentioned deceit and cruelty. Forgive me if you’ve heard this before, but for those who either skimmed over this ugly period of modern history in school, or who flat out disbelieve anything like the Holocaust could happen, I will give a quick synopsis of what life was like here. Prisoners were transported by train, stuffed in cattle cars to the point of suffocation. No food, water, or any other basic human need during transportation. Forced to sleep and relieve themselves while standing in tight quarters, some died in transport. And, for those prisoners foolishly believing death was not the ultimate goal in their being shipped to such a place as Auschwitz, that reality became crystal clear by the time they stepped off the train and were either herded to immediate slaughter in the gas chambers, or were moved to austere barracks overflowing with waiting victims whom the new arrivals would soon mimic in dress and physical condition.

Food was scarce and horrible, and yet the “Work for your freedom” edict was enforced as if the prisoners were fed to their hearts content. Eleven-hour workdays were expected, despite almost no food and stale water in limited amounts. Many died from the rigors, starvation, or were randomly killed to make a point. And for those who became too weak to meet their morning or evening roll call, an SS bayonet would either prod them out from their bunk or end their existence altogether. Severe sickness was rampant, and the gas chambers waited any and all who couldn’t hold their own in this horrific environment.

Why didn’t they turn and run, or allow themselves to be shot at the first sight of their oppressors? Shouldn’t they all have formed militias in the ghettos and fought to an honorable death? That certainly was my initial impression from America. It’s where the deceit comes in. The millions who perished have often been referred to as ‘frogs slowly boiled to death in a pot of water’, meaning the indignities came slow and steady, to where Jewish and other victims were slowly desensitized to their plight and what lay ahead—a process that started years before the full extent of the Nazi agenda was made known. By the time whole neighborhoods were rounded up and shipped to the concentration camps, it was too late. Parents continuously told their children everything would be fine, scarcely believing the indignities and danger could get any worse. Then, hearing a live orchestra upon their arrival at Auschwitz to go with a large sign telling them how they could one day be free… well, you get the point. It was the final blinder to the true reality they faced, their fated roles in the Final Solution.

I could go on, but this is not intended to be a history lesson. Roderick and I didn’t lecture Amy, Alistair, and Beatrice on any of this, as they quietly moved through the cold memorial-museum that is Auschwitz. Cedric had been here shortly after the Iron Curtain came down, and seemed ready to leave soon after we began our tour. This time, Roderick led the way, and I followed.

“What is that smell?” asked Amy, wiping at her nose as we moved to the row of barracks. Alistair’s response was similar.

“It’s the lingering residue from burnt hair and flesh,” offered Cedric, solemnly. “It was stronger the last time I was here, in 1996. It seems to get weaker over time, but sure as shit it’s still there, man. It’ll mess with your mind as you explore the grounds, realizing Nazi cruelty still lingers in the air seventy years after the war ended.”

Beatrice squeezed my hand, as if to remind me to stay close. I wrapped my arm around her shoulder to pull her against me, and I caught her grateful smile as she glanced up at my face. Alistair pulled Amy close, and we followed Cedric who picked up his pace to catch up with Roderick.

It wasn’t until we began moving through the third barrack that I noticed Roderick was silently crying. All of us were overwhelmed by sadness, but the initial tears at Stutthof softened the worse emotional blows from this place that saw more than a million victims lose their lives.

“Are you getting anything?” I asked him, gently.

He shook his head, and at first couldn’t respond verbally.

“How about you?” he whispered, once able.

“Nothing,” I said, pursing my lips in frustration. I had seen a slight blue glow in the second barracks, but that was it.

“They weren’t here long enough,” said Roderick, dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief. “I had the impression of surprise, and I think it might be from Simon Lieberman. I sense he was alone from the start, and his parents were taken immediately to the gas chambers…. He didn’t know what to do, and held on to the coin in fear of someone trying to take it from him—like the girl back in Stutthof.”

Roderick sniffed and swiftly moved to the barrack’s exit.

“What, are we leaving?” Alistair asked him, his tone surprisingly compassionate. “We haven’t seen one fourth of this place yet. Pops… well, are you going to stop him or not?”

“I’ll be right back,” I said, immediately pursuing Roderick.

I feared he might’ve run to where our rental was parked. But he hadn’t exited the camp yet.

“Do you wish to tell me what’s going on?”

“I can’t do this,” he said, softly. “I knew I should never come here again. I had no idea what could happen if I came here focused on one individual….”

“Simon Lieberman?” I carefully prodded, when he refused to go on, shaking his head defiantly as he gritted his teeth.