The Lance

CHAPTER TWELVE

In a secluded enclave outside of Washington, the Grand Master of the Council sat behind his desk. He took a deep breath of the heady aroma rising from a crystal snifter of Louis XIII cognac in his hand.

The light was fading. The French doors of the library were open. It was warm even though October was more than half gone. The sound of a fountain came from somewhere in the garden behind the house. The library was filled with books, many in German. Nietzsche, Heidegger, Marx, Engles, all were there. There was even a well-worn, autographed copy of Mein Kampf.

A glassed gun case of rifles and shotguns stood in one corner. Antique prints of European hunting scenes hung nearby. A painting of Frederick Barbarossa, the Holy Roman Emperor, stared out from the wall behind the desk. His expression was stern.

Photographs of the Grand Master with congressional figures, business leaders and Presidents covered one wall. In one photo a blond haired young man stood in cap and gown before the entrance to Yale University. A tall, brittle woman in a blue dress stood next to him.

The floor of the library was covered with thick Persian carpeting. A maroon Chesterfield couch with two matching chairs was placed near the garden doors. In the far corner, a mounted set of antique armor stood guard.

The Grand Master had the kind of face people trusted. No one could have guessed his real thoughts. No one would have believed them possible.

His encrypted phone rang.

"Yes?"

The voice on the other end spoke in German. It was exultant.

"The Spear has been found!"

The Grand Master felt a surge of adrenaline. At last! With the Lance recovered, success was certain

"Secured?"

"Not yet, but a unit has been activated."

"When will they arrive?"

"ETA six hours. Further transport tomorrow afternoon."

"Excellent. Arrange a conference for nine tomorrow evening."

"As you command."

The Grand Master set the phone down. He could barely contain his excitement. He went to the painting of Frederick Barbarossa, swung the picture away from the wall and opened a safe. He took out a cracked black leather binder embossed in gold with an eagle and swastika. The binder contained SS Reichsfuhrer Heinrich Himmler's long term plan for after the war.

PARSIFAL.

The Grand Master knew the contents by heart, but it always inspired him to read the vision of the Reichsfuhrer. He opened the binder. The pages were foxed and turning brown. The neat, ordered lines of type were still legible. He read for a few moments. He set the PARSIFAL documents aside and rested his hand on a thin booklet. The cover page was inscribed with the runic letters of the old Germanic tribes.

His father had been one of Himmler's inner circle. All through his childhood and early years, his father had taught him. Prepared him for the day when his father had shown him the binder and told him of PARSIFAL. Of the Grand Council. Then he'd talked about the ritual that had brought German success after success early in the war.

"I was having dinner with Himmler and Heydrich in the North Tower of the Reichsfuhrer's castle." His father had sighed, remembering when the swastika had flown over three continents.

"Heydrich said he had written down the words of the invocation. Himmler was Grand Master of the Council but it was always Heydrich who invoked the power of the Spear. After he was assassinated in '42, things turned against us."

"But the Fuhrer, father. Surely he could have carried it on, or the Reichsfuhrer."

His father had snorted in contempt. "The Fuhrer! In the beginning, he understood. He believed. He had learned. He did what was necessary. He followed the ritual. But he turned his back on the old ways. He forgot where his power came from and became caught in the illusion of his own will. You must never make that mistake.

"Himmler tried to continue, but the power is…difficult…to control. It will not respond unless conditions are perfect. The right day and time. The right setting. Everything must be exact."

His father had held up the booklet with the runes on the cover. "We will study this together. One day we will retrieve the Spear. On that day the Reich will be reborn. If I am gone, it will be your duty to speak these words. If your honor is pure, if your loyalty is true, you will prevail."

"Yes, Father."

He had never forgotten.

The final stages of PARSIFAL were unfolding. It couldn't be coincidence that the Holy Spear had been found just as the forces he'd set in motion were coming together. It was a sign from the gods, a sign he was favored. It was only right, his just due. The Grand Master raised his glass toward the painting of Barbarossa and smiled.