C. Palov - Templar's Quest

Their host handed each of them a dainty cup and saucer.

Having no friggin’ idea who Paracelsus was, Finn raised the cup to his nose and took a wary sniff. Unable to detect anything other than a faint lemony scent, he took a tentative sip.

‘I hope the scones aren’t too stale,’ the other man said as he extended a chipped plate in Kate’s direction.

‘Yummy. Cherry scones are my favourite. And I don’t care if they are stale.’

Smiling, Aisquith peered over his shoulder at Finn. ‘I vividly recall the first time that I set eyes on our fair Kate at Oxford. She was sitting in a medieval oriel reading Spinoza, backlit by the morning sun streaming through three-hundred-year-old glass.’

Stunned by the jaw-dropper, Finn shot Kate a questioning glance. ‘ You went to Oxford? ’

‘I was a, um, Rhodes Scholar,’ she demurred. As though embarrassed by the admission, she smiled nervously.

A Rhodes Scholar? Hell, he knew she was smart. He just didn’t know she was that smart. For some crazy-ass reason, it upped her appeal another notch. That he was even remotely attracted to Kate Bauer bothered the hell out of him. He was on a mission. He did not need a distraction. But there it was, all curled up in a wingback chair, nibbling on a cherry scone. The fact that he was attracted to Kate made him dislike Aisquith even more. Once upon a time, the two of them had had an intimate relationship. Something he only got to dream about.

Cup, saucer and scone in hand, Aisquith planted his ass in the vacant wingback. ‘So, how may I be of assistance?’

‘Actually, Kate and I are, um –’ In need of a quick lie, Finn glanced around the dusty shop. Inspired, he said ‘– collaborating on a book.’

One red brow noticeably lifted.

‘Yes! That’s right!’ Kate exclaimed, exuberantly latching on to the lie. ‘And during the course of our research we discovered some interesting symbols that we hoped you might be able to decipher.’

‘Indeed?’ The brow lowered as blood-shot eyes narrowed suspiciously. While he looked like a skewered shit kebob, the Brit didn’t miss a beat.

Stepping over to the tea table, Finn snagged a cherry scone off the plate. ‘According to my writing partner, you’re the go-to guy when it comes to symbols and myths. A real Oxford don.’

‘Ghosts of genius past,’ Aisquith mumbled as he took a sip of his tea. ‘And what, may I ask, is the topic of this joint literary effort?’

‘Like Kate said, we’re still in the research phase,’ Finn hedged. As he spoke, he shoved a hand into his left trouser pocket, retrieving his phone. Out of habit he always kept his cash and cell phone on the left side, freeing his right hand to reach for a weapon. Or to be used as a weapon if need be. ‘This is a digital photo of a tattoo. Don’t ask the name of the tattoo model; we never did get a positive ID.’ He passed his cell phone to Aisquith.

‘Mmmm … interesting. This tattoo is a Nazi design rooted in the esoteric,’ Aisquith intoned, setting the cell phone on top of the Chinese table. ‘While I get the odd request for books on esoteric Nazism, I refuse to stock them. Matter of principle. My grandfather was one of the prosecuting attorneys at Nuremberg.’

Finn spared a quick glance at his ‘writing partner’. Back in DC, Kate had made the same claim about the tattoo, thinking it might have something to do with the esoteric. He thought now what he did then – big crock of shit .

‘The horrific particulars of Nazi history are familiar enough,’ Aisquith continued. ‘In the aftermath of the First World War, the National Socialist Party rose to power, an embittered firebrand by the name of Adolf Hitler at the helm. The mustachioed Führer envisioned a new world order ruled by the Aryan master race. His egomaniacal ambitions led to the invasion of Europe; his demonization of the Jews led to the terrors of the Holocaust.’ As he spoke, Aisquith reached for the teapot and freshened Kate’s cup. ‘When all was said and done, the death toll stood at sixty million. But there is another chapter to the story, one frequently absent from the history books. And that pertains to the little-known fact that a good many of the Nazi top command were adherents of the occult.’

Hearing the word ‘occult’, Finn barely repressed a snicker. Time to roll out the aluminium foil.

‘Several years ago, I saw a documentary that claimed Hitler used a Foucault pendulum suspended over large maps to assist with military planning.’ Kate raised the delicate teacup to her lips and took a ladylike sip.

‘No surprise there. Hitler, Göring, Goebbels, Hess, they all had an obsession with the occult. Although none in the top echelon was as deeply devoted to the arcane mysteries as Heinrich Himmler.’ Holding the teapot aloft, Aisquith inclined his head in Finn’s direction.

Unimpressed with Paracelsus’s secret elixir, Finn shook his head, declining the refill. ‘You’re talking about the bespectacled dude who headed up the SS, right?’

One side of Aisquith’s mouth quirked upward in a blatant sneer. ‘Yes, that dude.’ Put-down issued, he turned his attention back to Kate, the sneer instantly reworking itself into a congenial smile. ‘The SS, as you undoubtedly know, was an elite organization within the Nazi hierarchy responsible for the internal security of the entire regime.’

‘And what the hell does any of this have to do with the tattoo?’ Finn snarled, wishing the Brit would stay on point.

‘As these symbols so vividly illustrate, Nazism is far more than a political doctrine.’ Aisquith picked up the cell phone from the table. ‘This symbol that dominates the centre of the design is unique to German occult beliefs. Known as the Schwarze Sonne , or Black Sun, it’s a sun wheel comprised of zigzag sig-runes. While it harkens to the star Sirius, it’s a mysterious orb often described in the esoteric literature as a prima materia mass.’

‘How utterly fascinating.’

‘Indeed.’

‘Glad we got that settled,’ Finn muttered under his breath. ‘What about the skull? Nothing mystical about that bad boy.’

‘On the contrary,’ Aisquith retorted. ‘The German totenkoph , or Death Head as it’s more familiarly called in English, connotes the willingness to lay down one’s life to defend one’s comrade. The totenkoph insignia always adorned the uniforms of the Schutzstaffel. ’

‘Just so I don’t feel like I wandered into a German language class, can we stick with the mother tongue?’

‘As you like,’ the other man replied, oblivious to the fact that he was annoying as hell.

‘So this tattoo has something to do with the SS. Is that right?’ Kate enquired.

‘The Ahnenerbe, to be precise; both the Death Head and the Black Sun emblem are significant to that organization. I suspect that this tattoo may have originally designated membership. That said, the individual in the digital photograph is obviously a twenty-first-century Nazi devotee.’ Aisquith turned his head, pointedly looking in Finn direction. ‘A personal acquaintance of yours?’

Finn’s back straightened, his hands involuntarily clenching into fists. About to ask the Brit if he wanted to take it outside, Kate beat him to the punch.

‘What’s the Ahnenerbe?’ she asked. Brows drawn together, her gaze dropped to Finn’s balled fists.

Recognizing that grey-blue gaze as a silent entreaty, Finn uncurled his hands.

‘All in all, the Ahnenerbe is a rather fascinating group,’ Aisquith replied. ‘After the Nazis seized power in 1933, Himmler subdivided the SS into numerous sections. The Ahnenerbe was the academic and scientific branch of the SS. What we today would refer to as a think tank. Unfortunately, the Ahnenerbe’s vast archive disappeared in the waning days of the war. Whether destroyed or hidden is anyone’s guess.’