At Sword's Point (15 page)

As the car sped down the narrow road, Drummond remembered what it was like in a police car in hot pursuit. Driving really fast after a fleeing suspect was the most exciting thing you could do as a cop. Riding shotgun under the same circumstances was the most frightening. Drummond could recall the first time he was passenger in a speeding police car and wishing that he could hide in the glove box until the ride was over.

The Bugatti didn't have a glove box.

Von Liebenfalz finally pulled over to the side of the road and parked in the shade of an immense oak tree.

"Now, you drive back," he said. Stepping out of the car, he walked around the rear of the Bugatti and opened Drummond's door. "Come on, slide over behind the wheel."

"Oh, no. I really don't think…"

Drummond's protest died on his lips as von Liebenfalz pointed a small gold-plated Browning automatic at his head.

"Move over, and keep both hands on the wheel."

Drummond did as he was told, wondering if von Liebenfalz intended to shoot him here or back at the castle.

"Now, Chevalier Drummond, before we go any farther, I have a few questions that need answering." Von Liebenfalz kept the little pistol trained on Drummond's head as he slid into the passenger seat and closed die door.

"Shoot," Drummond said, instantly regretting his choice of words.

"I will, if I don't like your answers," von Liebenfalz replied. "Now, what is a knight of the Order of the Sword doing talking to the Mossad?"

For a moment Drummond was stunned by the question and groped for an answer he hoped von Liebenfalz would believe.

"Well?" The gold-plated automatic didn't waver from its intended target.

"To begin with, I don't know what you mean about being a knight of the Order of the Sword…"

"Don't lie, Chevalier. It is unbecoming of a knight," von Liebenfalz snapped.

"All right. As far as my meeting with the Mossad is concerned, they wanted to know what I was doing with a bunch of ex-Nazis, such as yourself." Drummond turned his head to look at the baron.

"Did they tell you what we are doing?" Von Liebenfalz' voice betrayed no emotion.

"No, they didn't. And frankly, Baron, I don't give a damn what you're up to, except that because of our meeting, the Mossad tried to kill me," Drummond stared into von Liebenfalz' eyes. "And now it seems that you intend to finish off the job they flubbed in Los Angeles."

Von Liebenfalz slowly lowered his pistol. "Drive back to the castle," he said.

A dark blue Mercedes-Benz limousine was parked out front of the castle, the back quarter of its roof neatly folded down like a convertible. The doors displayed a discreet coat of arms beneath a golden crown, and in place of the usual Mercedes emblem on the radiator cap was a special mascot: two arms brandishing a broadsword issuing out of a princely coronet.

Drummond parked the Bugatti near the Mercedes limousine and then, at von Liebenfalz' command, switched off the engine. His pistol trained on Drummond, von Liebenfalz slowly backed out of the car and then motioned for Drummond to climb out the same side. Only when Drummond was out of the car did von Liebenfalz speak.

"You will walk just ahead of me and do exactly what I say. Do you understand?"

"Do I put my hands up?" Drummond asked.

"If you do, I'll shoot off the little finger of your right hand," von Liebenfalz said. "Now, into the castle."

Joachim met them at the door, and seemed oblivious to von Liebenfalz' pistol and to Drummond's presence.

"Take me to the prince." Von Liebenfalz sounded as casual as a man asking his chauffeur to take him to the airport.

Joachim bowed and led them down the corridor and into the library of the castle.

Sunlight flooded into the room through a stone-mullioned window, splashing small pools of colored light onto the floor where it passed through stained glass coats of arms. Seated at an antique military desk in the center of the room was a distinguished looking man in his mid-fifties who seemed to be deeply engrossed in the report in front of him.

"You can put away your pistol, Anton," he said without looking up from the papers in front of him. "If Chevalier Drummond had wanted to kill me, he could have let the assassin on the plane do it weeks ago." He turned and looked at Drummond. "Hello, Captain. I never did thank you for saving my life."

Drummond instantly recognized the man.

"On the plane. You were the intended victim," he said.

"Yes, and I'm sorry if your clothes were ruined when they hacked off the assassin's hand." The man smiled. "Anton, we've met before, but perhaps you'd be kind enough to formally introduce us."

"Certainly, Your Highness. Allow me to present Captain John Drummond, a knight of the Order of the Sword." Von Liebenfalz turned to Drummond. "Chevalier Drummond, His Most Serene Highness, the Prince of Antioch."

The prince extended his hand and Drummond shook it, bowing awkwardly as he did.

"Your Highness," he said, and then straightened up to look him full in the face. "Just what the hell's going on here?"

"I suppose there are a hundred answers I could give you, Chevalier Drummond, but I hope you'll settle for just one: the truth." The prince closed the file folder in front of him and gestured for Drummond to sit. "All of the guests here at the castle are representatives of the various orders of chivalry that have pledged to restore the Kingdom of Jerusalem."

"The Kingdom of Jerusalem?" Drummond asked, easing into a chair that von Liebenfalz moved closer for him. "I'm sorry, Your Highness, but I don't quite follow."

"The Kingdom of Jerusalem was founded at the time of the First Crusade and existed until 1244, when Jerusalem fell to the Moslems. As Prince of Antioch, I represent the royal family of that kingdom—a kingdom we have tried to win back for the Christian world since the Moslems first desecrated our holy shrines in the thirteenth century.

"We would have recovered our rightful lands and throne six hundred and fifty years ago, if the king of France hadn't succeeded in destroying the Knights Templar," he went on. "The Templars had built an enormous fleet and had raised enough money to finance a century-long crusade. When the French king heard of our plans, he met with us in secret and demanded to be named King of Jerusalem and Emperor of the East. The council of knights turned him down, and in turn he set about ruining our plans by destroying the power and wealth of the Templars. You do know about the Templars?"

"I was in DeMolay in high school," Drummond said uncertainly.

"Ah, then you know at least a little of what I'm about to tell you. The Templars were suppressed and destroyed. During the next four hundred years, our fortunes rose and fell with the politics of Europe. After the expulsion of the Moslems from Spain at the end of the fifteenth century, we had looked to that country to help us regain the Holy Land. Instead, the greatest power in the world went into decadent decline, living off the wealth of its colonies in the New World.

"In the eighteenth century, we had hoped to prosper by supporting the house of Stuart in its bid to regain the throne of Scotland and England. Even the defeat of Prince Charles didn't dim our hopes; but when he turned down the crown of America offered to him by Benjamin Franklin in 1781, we knew those hopes were gone for good."

Drummond frowned at that, for he had never heard anything about an American crown, but he decided this was not the time to interrupt the prince.

"We have been meeting and planning—or, if you prefer, conspiring—since the time of the French Revolution," the prince continued. "We helped bring Napoleon to power in exchange for his promise to mount a crusade to regain the Holy Land. We would have done it, too, if the English hadn't feared what it would have meant to their trade monopoly in India.

"By the beginning of this century, it was obvious that to regain our lands there would have to be certain realignments in Europe. We entered into secret negotiations with the Kaiser, and if Germany had won the war—well, history is full of ifs, isn't it?"

He sat back a little from the desk and toyed with a pen beside the folder lying there.

"With the rise of Zionism we once again saw an opportunity, and again we entered into secret negotiations, this time with a member of the British royal family. It was agreed that after the war Palestine would be partitioned into three countries: Israel, Palestine, and the Kingdom of Jerusalem. Not as large as it once had been, but large enough to hold the balance of power in the Middle East."

The prince paused to glance out the window, and Drummond stirred a little uneasily, reeling with the sheer volume of the information the prince was imparting.

"So, what happened to your plans?" he asked.

A little wistful, the prince returned his attention to Drummond.

"The KGB uncovered our intentions, Chevalier, and decided that our kingdom would effectively prevent their postwar domination of the Middle East. In 1942, they succeeded in planting a bomb on the plane that was carrying the Duke of Kent to a strategic meeting with U.S. General Carl Spaatz. He was killed in the crash that resulted, and once again our plans came to naught."

"And you think you might have a chance today of regaining your kingdom?" Drummond couldn't tell if the prince was serious or mentally unbalanced.

"Certainly," the prince replied. "The timing couldn't be better. Look at the situation the Middle East is in right now. Why, think of how different it would be if the Israelis withdrew to the boundaries of 1947, and Palestine was given most of the occupied lands."

"You said 'most' of the occupied lands," Drummond said. "What happens to the rest?"

"Well, Jerusalem becomes an international city under my control as king," the prince replied. "And a small buffer state is created to protect the interests of both the Palestinians and the Israelis."

"I see," Drummond said, now nearly convinced that the prince was not well grounded in reality. "And just how do I fit in?"

"It's very simple, Chevalier. I would like you to convince the members of the Order of the Sword to support me in recovering my throne." The prince smiled at Drummond the same way an indulgent adult smiles at a less than bright child.

"And what makes you so certain that the Order of the Sword will want to support you?" Drummond asked, slightly annoyed at the patronizing attitude of the prince.

"The Order of the Sword was created by one of my ancestors as the bodyguards of the princes of Antioch. The order must join with me, or it will have violated its oath to serve and protect its prince." The prince stood up, indicating that the interview was at an end. "You'll see, Chevalier Drummond. Once you have told your Grand Master of my desire to have the Order of the Sword support me, they'll come."

Drummond had also gotten to his feet when the prince rose, and just then a gentle rapping sounded on the library door. Before von Liebenfalz could move to see who it was, the door opened and Baroness von Diels entered the room.

"I do apologize for the interruption, Your Highness, but I really think you need to consider the time. You have important guests this evening, and dinner is in an hour. You will all want to change, I'm sure." She gave Drummond a smile. "Isn't that right, Captain Drummond?"

"Far be it from me to delay anyone's dinner plans," Drummond replied, grateful for Maria's intervention.

"Well then, Chevalier Drummond, perhaps we shall continue our conversation after dinner." The prince turned to von Liebenfalz. "If I could have a word with you in private, Anton?"

Drummond and the baroness excused themselves from the library, closing the thick oak doors behind them.

"Thanks for the rescue," Drummond said, once they were out of earshot of the two men in the library.

"I was glad to do it, believe me," Maria said. "As soon as Joachim told me that Anton had marched you in at gunpoint, I decided that it was highly unlikely that you were part of the prince's little cabal."

"I'm still not sure I understand what he's up to," Drummond said, "and I've just spent the better part of an hour with him."

"Well, it really all seems very silly, except when Anton starts waving a gun about," Maria said. "Every year, for as long as I can remember, my grandfather used to invite the old prince and his friends—"

"The old prince?"

The uncle of the present prince," she explained. "Anyhow, for years they met here every autumn and discussed ways of recovering the throne of the prince of Antioch. I always thought it was harmless. You know—old men yearning for the days of their youth.

"Five years ago my grandfather died, but in his will he said that as long as the prince wanted to hold his annual meeting here, the castle was to be made available to him. Then, three years ago, the old prince died, and his nephew inherited the title."

They stopped outside of Drummond's room, and Maria placed her hand on his arm before he could reach for the doorknob.

"John, the prince is a dangerous man. I think he is involved with some sort of plot to recapture Jerusalem by force."

"Well, if he is, he'll have to do it without me. I'm not getting involved with him, that's for sure." Drummond gave her a smile as he spoke, hoping she'd believe him.

"That's a relief," she said, then glanced at her watch. "You had better hurry into your dinner clothes…"

"If you mean a tuxedo, I'm afraid I didn't bring one," Drummond said. "Maybe I'd better miss dinner."

"Don't you dare," she scolded. "I'll have Joachim see what he can find up in the attic. You might smell a bit like mothballs, but at least you'll be properly dressed. Now, get ready or my dinner party will be ruined." She gave Drummond a dazzling smile, then headed down the hall to find Joachim.

Drummond undressed and shaved while the huge tub in his bathroom filled with hot water. Sliding into the deep bath, he relaxed for a few minutes, idly wondering what sort of shot von Liebenfalz was with his tiny gold-plated automatic. Many of the so-called "experts" would scoff at that small a gun, but a well-placed shot from a .25 would kill you just as dead as a .44 magnum. And with a lot less noise. Drummond looked at the thin white scar on his left arm and decided that, having been shot once, he was glad he hadn't put the baron's marksmanship to the test.

What bothered Drummond even more than von Liebenfalz' well-armed drive into the country was the prince's knowledge of his involvement with the Order of the Sword. Either he was bluffing about Drummond's involvement with the order, based on Drummond's earlier inquiries of von Liebenfalz, or he had somehow found out about the events at the castle. And, as far as Drummond was concerned, if he knew about the castle he could have only learned about it from one of two people: Father Freise or Wilhelm Kluge.

A discreet tap at the door interrupted Drummond's thoughts.

"I've laid out your clothes, Kapitän." Drummond recognized Joachim's voice through the door. "The guests gather for drinks in twenty minutes."

Drummond pulled the plug and stood up to grab a thick white towel from the heated rack. After briskly drying off, he pulled on a pair of light blue boxer shorts and tossed the towel over the edge of the tub before going back into his bedroom.

Neatly laid out on his bed were several pairs of military trousers in varying lengths, along with a selection of high-collared uniform tunics, all of them black. Lined up in front of his wardrobe were three pairs of black boots, each with small gilt spurs set into the heels. Several collarless shirts were folded and stacked on the dresser, and next to them half a dozen collars lay coiled in a small leather case.

Drummond was trying to figure out what to wear when someone knocked at his door again.

"Come in," he said, picking up one of the shirts.

The door opened and von Liebenfalz started to enter the room.

"Oh, I do beg your pardon," he said, slightly embarrassed that Drummond wasn't dressed. "I'll come back later."

"It's all right," Drummond said. "What do you want?"

"Well," von Liebenfalz began, "I want to apologize for my behavior this afternoon in the car. I am afraid that in my desire to protect the prince I made a total ass of myself. I hope you're not upset?"

"Certainly. No hard feelings. I mean, you didn't shoot me, so how could I possibly be upset?" Drummond gave von Liebenfalz a hard look. "Is there anything else?"

The baron summoned a weak smile. "I'd like you to have this," he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a dark red leather case, which he handed to Drummond. "Open it. It's the insignia of the Order of the Sword that I got from Switzerland. I hope you'll accept it as a token of respect and friendship."

Drummond opened the case and carefully inspected the elegantly enamelled blue cross with golden sun wheels set between each of its arms. The cross was suspended from an ultramarine watered-silk ribbon with bright red edges, apparently intended to be worn around the neck.

"It's beautiful," Drummond said. "But I'm not sure…"

"Please," von Liebenfalz said. "You could wear it this evening with your uniform."

"All right. Thank you," Drummond said. "Just one thing. How does this attach to the uniform?"

"Oh, that's easy. See these two little loops, here on the ribbon?" he said, pointing them out. "They attach to two tiny hooks inside the collar. The cross and just a bit of the ribbon hang over the top button of the tunic, at the throat."

Drummond inspected the ribbon and one of the tunics. "Okay, I think I've got that figured out. Thanks. I haven't worn any of these before."

"I thought not," von Liebenfalz said, surveying the rest of what was laid out. "Ah—may I make a suggestion?"

"Sure, go ahead."

"Well, if you take a look at the overalls—" Von Liebenfalz noticed Drummond's slightly confused look. "The overalls are the uniform trousers. Anyhow, if you look at them, you will see that they are lined with chamois." He cleared his throat, slightly embarrassed. "The, uh, line of the overalls will be much more flattering if you don't wear—uh—that is to say, they are meant to be worn next to the skin, if you understand?"

Von Liebenfalz was blushing slightly.

"I understand, thank you," Drummond said.

"Ah, well," von Liebenfalz said, visibly relieved. "In that case, I shall excuse myself so you can finish dressing." With a slight bow he turned and retreated, closing the door behind him.

Drummond looked over the overalls before trying them on. There was a strap on the bottom of each leg that was obviously meant to button under the instep of the boot. They were cut very high in the waist, and the actual size was adjusted by a small half belt across the back. All three pairs seemed to be about the same size, with the only difference being the length of the legs.

"Looks simple enough," he said to himself.

After pulling off his underwear, he sat long enough to put on a pair of socks, then eased himself into the longest pair of overalls that Joachim had laid out for him. The fit seemed reasonably good.