The 34th Degree

112

Von Berg was back behind the desk in his study on the eve of Hitler’s secret weapons conference, looking over the final report on the Maranatha text that he would present to Hitler at Obersalzberg the next morning. When he finished, he leaned back and looked up to see the wretched face of Dr. Xaptz, anxious with anticipation.

Von Berg said, “So, Professor, you don’t believe it was the apostle Paul who penned the Maranatha text?”

“It could have been, or one of his disciples taking his dictation.” Dr. Xaptz shrugged. “It’s difficult to say who the author really is.”

“But you don’t think it’s Paul.”

“No,” said Dr. Xaptz. “I think someone was pretending to be the apostle, to dupe the early church in Thessaloniki. Perhaps to further discredit the new Christian faith that threatened Rome.”

“What makes you so sure?” asked von Berg.

“As I said in the report, several things,” the professor said. “First, the emphasis on one’s good deeds rather than faith in Jesus Christ for one’s eternal salvation is anathema to Paul’s gospel. Indeed, in another letter to the Galatians, the apostle said that if he or anybody else should preach a different gospel, that person should be eternally condemned.”

“‘Eternally condemned’?” Von Berg smiled. “Sounds like something Himmler would say to instill more discipline within the ranks of his Black Order.”

“Paul was one of the most ambitious of men,” Dr. Xaptz explained. “As Nietzsche said, his superstition was equaled only by his cunning. He was a much tortured, much-to-be-pitied man, an exceedingly unpleasant person both to himself and to others.”

“Much like yourself, Herr Professor,” von Berg mumbled as he flipped through the text. “In addition to exhortations that contradict everything the apostle believed in, I see you note some linguistic inconsistencies. You also mention the glaring omission of his personal signature at the end of the text.” Von Berg looked up at Dr. Xaptz. “What does that mean?”

“Paul often dictated his letters to a secretary, such as Silas or Timothy,” Dr. Xaptz said. “At the end of the text, he would take over from his secretary and write in his own hand. That was the distinguishing mark of all his letters-his seal of authenticity, if you will. The Maranatha text, or at least the fragment in our possession, has no such distinction.”

Frowning, von Berg flipped toward the back of the report. “This is your translation of the Maranatha text?”

“A rough translation that will need further refinements,” Dr. Xaptz cautioned.

Von Berg looked over the German. “These are strong warnings of God’s wrath,” he commented. “I wonder if anybody listened.”

Dr. Xaptz nodded. “It would help explain why so many Thessalonians, anticipating the return of Christ, quit their jobs and hid in caves, awaiting the end of the world. That, in turn, prompted Paul to write them his letter telling them to work with their hands and be productive members of society.”

“Unlike yourself, of course, Dr. Xaptz.” Von Berg pointed to the underlined portion of the translation. “And this is the date when the world will end?”

“According to the alphanumeric code I extracted from the text. I had to convert the date from the Jewish to our Gregorian calendar.”

“Interesting.” Von Berg drummed his fingers on the desk. “So soon and yet so far away.”

“Yes, General von Berg. That was my impression.”

Von Berg closed the report and placed it on the table. “It’s pure fantasy, you realize. The text speaks of a nation of Israel, and your calculations presuppose its existence. Why, there hasn’t been a Jewish state for two thousand years.”

“I admit it’s a difficult concept to fathom.”

“Come, now, Dr. Xaptz, it’s impossible. You know as well as Dr. Stein did that when this war is over, there won’t be a Jew left on the planet, let alone a Jewish state. Not with maniacs like Himmler, Streicher, and you floating about.”

Dr. Xaptz bit his tongue in fear.

“No matter,” von Berg continued, pressing a buzzer beneath his desk. “At least your description of the differences between the text here and the one represented on the intercepted microfilm is precise and convincing. There can be no question that the microfilm is a plant by the Allies to dupe the Fuhrer.”

The bookcase began to part, revealing Franz in the secret doorway. Dr. Xatpz’s jaw dropped, and von Berg smiled.

“Franz, now that this quack has served his purpose, please escort him to his new cell in the lower level.”

The blood drained from the professor’s face. “Cell? But why?”

“Because I don’t like you, Dr. Xaptz, that’s why,” said von Berg. “Besides, if Paul didn’t pen this text, then all the rumors about encoded doomsday dates or formulas for unlocking the Fuhrer’s precious Greek Fire are groundless.”

“On the contrary,” Dr. Xaptz insisted, with resourceful enthusiasm, “there is the distinct possibility that the author of this text was unconscious of what he was writing. You of all people should appreciate this, considering your family heritage.”

Von Berg went cold. “My heritage, Dr. Xaptz?”

“Reichsfuhrer Himmler told me that the godmother who raised your father was none other than the countess Paumgarten. She was a so-called writing medium of note. It was said she had the ability of writing automatically, that her hand was guided by spirits while she fell into a dreamlike somnambulistic state. When asked questions, she would write down the answers given by the ‘spirits.’”

“Hardly anybody but old maids took her seriously,” von Berg said, maintaining his poise.

“According to the Reichsfuhrer, Empress Elizabeth of Austria did,” Dr. Xaptz said. “I understand that she and the countess were in touch for years, that Elizabeth used her stays in Munich for ‘sessions’ and sent written inquiries to the countess whenever she encountered problems in her life.”

Those sessions were only a cover for Elizabeth’s visits with her son, my father, von Berg realized. He felt a cold shudder pass through him but was able to keep it hidden from the heinous little professor, who was using the ploy to bargain for his life.

“Indeed,” Dr. Xaptz continued, “according to very confidential reports the Reichsfuhrer has obtained, it seems Chancellor Otto von Bismarck himself was concerned that the countess was using the empress’s spiritualistic interests to exert political influence over her.”

“And isn’t that what you and the Reichsfuhrer have been attempting to do with Hitler in recent months?” asked von Berg.

Dr. Xaptz was relaxed now, apparently confident that von Berg had appreciated the allusions to Empress Elizabeth.

Von Berg pressed, “What are you getting at?”

“Merely that, like the countess Paumgarten, the author of the Maranatha text may not have been aware of what he was truly writing even if his attempt was to deceive the early Church. Perhaps fate chose him as a channel through which to reveal the secret of Greek Fire in codes unknown to us until now.”

“All of which gives me an interesting idea, Herr Professor.” Von Berg rose from his chair and removed the portrait of King Ludwig II to reveal the wall safe. He opened it and pulled out his briefcase, which contained all the documents he had hidden in the library safe at the Vasilis estate. “I believe you’re right. There are codes in this infernal text. Furthermore, I believe we’ve found them.” Von Berg produced the Niels Bohr report on atomistics.

Dr. Xaptz looked through the report. “These are formulas from the world of nuclear physics.”

“Come, now, Professor,” said von Berg. “You think God doesn’t understand physics?”

Dr. Xaptz looked puzzled. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s very simple, really,” said von Berg. “You are to insert these atomic formulas into the report you handed me and make it appear as if they were deciphered from the Maranatha text.”

“Impossible!” cried Dr. Xaptz. “How will I prove it?”

“You’ll find a way,” said von Berg. “From what you’ve shown me, you can draw pretty much anything you want to out of the Maranatha text.”

“Only a madman would believe atomic formulas could be found in a first-century text.”

“Precisely,” replied von Berg, “and the Fuhrer is such a man. Now, you’ll do it from your cell, or you’ll die. Oh, Franz? When you’re through with him, tell Kapitanleutnant Myers I’ll be down in the Omega room soon.”