Maxim Jakubowski - Paris Noir

‘Where are we?’ enquired Lapointe, still in a whisper.

‘If I am not mistaken, my old friend,’ answered the Englishman, ‘we are somewhere in the Bavarian mountains. Probably near a place called Berchtesgaden. Either that, or my nose deceives me!’

‘So we were right!’ Bardot exclaimed. ‘Mrs Persson is working for the German insurgents!’

‘That, Inspector Bardot,’ responded Begg, ‘remains to be discovered.’

Soon the ground began to slope upward and they heard the sound of voices, almost drowning that of the mysterious balance. They were unmistakeably speaking German and the loudest of them had a distinct Austrian accent.

Sir Seaton doused his lamp. But he did not return his revolver to his pocket.

The unseen Austrian’s voice rose with excitement. ‘Victory is in our grasp, my friends. Almost our entire army is passing through the Eagle Gate as we speak, to assemble in the Great Siegfried Cavern, awaiting our signal. Those degenerate fools thought they had defeated us, reduced us to a mere rabble. But they reckoned without our heritage, the ancient Nordic secrets locked deep within our Bavarian homeland. The Hollow Earth theory has been proven a scientific fact. You have done well, Frau Persson, by voluntarily showing us this road. We should have been sad if you were to become the subject of the next set of pictures sold in Paris by Herr Caron. By next Saturday the course of history will be changed forever. We shall strike a blow against the Jewish race from which it will never recover. If you continue to cooperate, you shall witness my becoming world leader, master of time and space. You will make a fitting consort. We shall rule the universe together!’

They heard only a murmured reply. But the Austrian, evidently Colonel Hitler, continued his monologue unchecked. He hardly understood the nature of his own situation, so blinded was he by petty dreams of power and banal notions of his own superiority. A typical megalomaniac. Yet why on earth would a woman of Una Persson’s intelligence and integrity lend herself to such evil folly?

Using the ancient columns as cover, the four crept closer. Now, in a circle of light, they could make out the figures of a short fat man, a squat military type with a hideously disfigured face, another with gaunt, almost skeletal features, a black medical boot. To one side of these stood a tall, lugubrious-looking individual and another man of medium height with a lock of greasy hair falling over one eye and a short, dark Charlie Chaplin moustache. They recognised them at once from the ‘Wanted’ posters. Here was the entire upper hierarchy of the Hitler insurgents. Now all four detectives drew their revolvers and advanced. This was their chance to capture all the leaders of the German insurgency at once.

Mrs Persson, seated at ease on a chair to one side of the main group, was the first to notice them.

‘Raise your hands!’ Begg barked in German, motioning with his Webley. ‘You are all under arrest.’

’Thunder and lightning!’ The tall man, whom they recognised as Captain Hess, one of Hitler’s closest co-conspirators, made a movement to his belt. But Lapointe crossed quickly and placed his hand on the man’s arm.

Colonel Hitler glowered, his tiny blue eyes points of almost insane range. ‘How did you-?’

’Cross from one plane of the multiverse to another? The same way Mrs Persson did. Indeed, she led us to you…’

’But only a few of us knew the secret!’ Herman Goering, the fat Nazi, looked rapidly from face to face. ‘Zenith swore-’

’So Zenith is in league with you!’ Lapointe looked almost disappointed. ‘Well, he will be arrested in good time.’

’But I am surprised, Mrs Persson, that you should associate yourself with such scum. Enemies of all that is civilised…’ Begg shook his head.

Una Persson stood up. Her beautiful face was a mask of coldness and her eyes showed no expression. ‘Ah, Sir Seaton.’ Her voice mocked him. ‘So you are, like so many of your kind, the sole arbiter of what is civilised.’

‘Englishman, we are the ones who will save everything valuable in civilisation!’The gaunt man with the medical boot was Herr Goebbels, the journalist. ‘There would be no civilisation if there were no Germany. No music, no art, no poetry. All that is best in your own country is the creation of the Nordic soul. And that threatens you, from without and within, is also Jewish. By saving Europe from the Jews, we shall establish a new Golden Age across our Continent. Even the Slavs will welcome this renaissance and willingly join in. Soon we shall be able to manipulate the very stuff of creation.’

Unthinkingly, a furious Taffy Sinclair took a step closer to the crazed creature. ‘I find you unconvincing, Colonel Hitler. How would you establish this new civilisation by blowing up innocents and throwing the whole of our world into turmoil?’

The hideously scarred soldier, Captain Erich Röhm, laughed in Sinclair’s face. ‘Only through blood and iron will Europe be cleansed. I am a soldier. I know only the art of battle. But even I understand how the Jews continue to corrupt political and cultural life! Martin Luther warned us. So, too, have a succession of popes and bishops. Not only do Jews refuse the true Messiah, they wish to wipe all trace of Jesus Christ from the world! Once the warriors of Europe rose up to save Christendom from destruction. Now we rise again to mount our great crusade against the sons of Shem. By working against us, gentlemen, you are making a terrible mistake. Join us! The Holy Grail itself will soon be in our hands. He who holds the Grail controls the Balance and therefore the universe itself!’

’You are as mad as I understood you to be, Messieurs.’ Lapointe drew a set of handcuffs from his overcoat pocket and advanced towards the glowering Hitler. ‘Now, if you will kindly-’

And then a shot rang out from the shadows and the revolver went spinning from Lapointe’s grasp. Another shot and Bardot clutched his right shoulder. Blood began to seep through his fingers.

‘Drop your weapons!’ came a cold commanding voice. ‘Drop them or you shall all die immediately.’

And strolling out into the circle of light came a tall, stiff-backed man wearing a black domino obscuring the upper half of his face. He was dressed in perfect evening clothes. In his right hand was a smoking 9mm Sabatini automatic.

Begg recognised him immediately. ‘So it was a true,’ he murmured. ‘I have been guilty of underestimating you, mein Herr. I knew that if Monsieur Zenith was not helping this gang, it had to be someone as knowledgeable in the ways of the multiverse.’

The newcomer’s thin lips formed a mocking smile of triumph. ‘You had thought me defeated, Sir Seaton, in the matter of the Corsican Collar. Then your life was saved by my old enemy, your cousin, who calls himself Zenith. But you knew I would return to continue with my quest.’

Lowering his revolver, Begg turned at once to Colonel Hitler. ‘Believe me, if you think to link your interests with this creature’s you are mistaken. He will betray you as he has betrayed every other man, woman or spirit whom he has persuaded to act in his interest. You might know him by another name, but I can tell you his real identity, for he is the master of lies. His name is Johannes Klosterheim. Some believe him a fallen angel expelled from Hell itself. I do know that he was once a member of the Society of Jesus, before he was expelled not only from that order, but excommunicated by the Pope himself.’

‘Klosterheim!’ Captain Goering’s plum features shook with amusement. ‘What nonsense! This is Herr Johan Cornelius. You would have us believe that we have linked our fortunes with a figure from folklore – the infamous Gaynor the Damned!’