The Fellowship (32 page)

Wewelsburg Castle

Wolf, Lang and nine other young Ahnenerbe paramilitary soldiers stood in a neat row atop the Wewelsburg Castle’s North Tower.  A light snow had dusted the castle and the surrounding forest the preceding night. Wolf’s nose, which had been running earlier, had frozen solid. He rocked back and forth on the soles of his feet to avoid losing the feeling in his toes.

He
peered through the notches between the tower battlements and saw the movements of the prison workers on the distant hillside. Had Nagel been truthful when he had said they could go free at any time, if only they would renounce their beliefs and fight in the army? If so, the conviction of their beliefs was remarkable. They were doing what millions of Germans did not have the courage to do.

The
noisy stomp of Nagel’s jackboots echoed up the stone staircase, then fell quiet as he reached the freshly powdered tower landing. All right arms stiffened in a salute. Nagel prowled behind them for several moments without speaking. He had not seen any of them since they had deployed to France, yet he did not offer them a general greeting.

“Wolf!”
Nagel suddenly barked. “Step forward.”

His mind exploded with possible infractions. Perhaps someone had seen him at the BMW plant, using his uniform to gain access to Father Kruger.
Or with Father Kruger at Ratskellar. Or perhaps it had been the way he had chastised the Hitler Youth patrol as they harassed the girl in Marienplatz. First among the Reich’s Ten Commandments would surely be Show No Pity.

He
took one step, careful not to lose his footing on the icy flagstone. He felt Nagel pace behind him, and then saw him circle in front. His expression was grave.

“During the operation in Paris,”
Nagel announced, “Mr. Wolf showed extreme bravery. Even while wounded, he exacted lethal force to facilitate the reichs
führer
’s escape from a hostile environment.” Nagel opened his right fist, revealing an oval-shaped slice of black German steel. The design featured a swastika-emblazoned helmet with two swords crossed behind it. “It is with great pleasure that I now present him with the War Wound badge.”

Wolf did not breathe as
Nagel unbuttoned his coat and pinned the decoration to the left breast of his tunic. He watched as the commandant stepped backwards robotically and shouted “Heil Hitler!” The unit echoed the sentiment by repeating in unison.

He had only twitched when
Nagel said, “Stay where you are.”

Now he
paced slowly in front of the unit. “But why was Wolf wounded at all?” he said, glowering at each of them. “Why were three of his fellow unit members killed in action? Why was the object we were to retrieve snatched out from under us?” Nagel looped behind them. “Lang? How about you? Can you tell us?”

“No sir,” Lang responded with uncertainty in his voice. 

“Because the enemy was waiting for us, my boys. They knew precisely when we would arrive.”

The morning silence returned for an instant. A frozen wind blew, carrying the voices of the prison workers at the bottom of the castle.
And then it was overshadowed by a light gurgling sound. A gasp. The irregular rhythm of shuffling feet.  

The body of Matthias Ulrich fell out of line, collapsing face-first against the
thinly dusted brickwork. The snow around him grew red and then began to melt as the hot blood rushed from Ulrich’s jugular. Nagel stepped over his body. His dagger hung loosely from his left glove, shimmering with Ulrich’s fluids.

The castle commandant
turned and let the boys sweat for several moments. “Would Ulrich’s partner in crime care to confess now? I promise to forgo summary execution, and recommend a fair trial.”

There were no utterances from the ranks. Only the flapping of a swastika banner that hung from one of the battlements.

*

Matthias Ulrich was the only cadet to die atop the North Tower that morning. While the other eight surviving members of their unit were escorted downstairs, Wolf and Lang were quietly led inside the North Tower’s upper room. It had been off-limits to the unit during their six-week training, and the shaken soldiers were surprised to find a lecture hall with modern amenities. A professor presented to an audience of civilian and military Ahnenerbe leadership.

Wolf and Lang
stood in the back. Cold and traumatized as they were, they were captivated by a large projection screen showing the faces of two men, an adult woman and a baby. The woman had the letters OO typed beneath her face. The men were labeled A and AB. A question mark loomed below the baby’s face.

Dr.
Gustav Hahn, a plump, balding 63-year-old with a bushy, silver mustache, spoke at the podium. Wolf remembered Hahn from a conference his father had hosted at the University of Munich in 1937. He was the professor of Racial Studies at the University of Leipzig, and also headed the Society for Blood Group Research.

“In this case,” he said
as he pointed a fat finger at the screen, “a question of paternity between a Jewish male and an Aryan male left some question as to whether the child could be considered German.

“Three years ago, our former colleague, Karl Landsteiner, published a paper confirming the presence of the Rh factor in all known human blood.
This past summer we were able to infuse Landsteiner’s research with our own findings and determine paternity, confirming German citizenship for the child.”

The audience clapped enthusiastically. 
But who was Karl Landsteiner? Wolf had never heard of him.

A man in a gr
ay suit stood and began talking about the implications of the study on government legislation. As Hahn listened, smoke rolled off the Leitz Parvo 100, a slide projector like the one Wolf himself had operated at the Reich School. Professor Hahn quickly unplugged the projector, bent over it and blew. Hahn’s breath hardly cooled the lamp – the shiny, heavy, black machine suddenly burst into flames. The audience roared with laughter as Hahn tore off his suit jacket and used it to smother the fire.

Heinrich
Himmler stood, raising his arms above his head to restore order. Wolf had not noticed the reichs
führer
sitting in the front row. “Professor Hahn,” he said, “The case study is almost as impressive as your firefighting.”

The aud
ience laughed again, which Himmler tolerated for a moment before renewing his call for silence. “Professor, does this mean that we can now conclusively determine racial identity through blood testing?”

Hahn
removed a handkerchief from his pocket and used it to wipe sweat from his neck and forehead. “Herr Himmler, I can always count on you to get to the heart of the matter. Under the right conditions, we can now identify some genetic traits commonly associated with race at about 72 percent certainty.”

“You seem very sure of your figures.”

The professor nodded. “Last year we performed a double-blind study in which we exhumed the bodies of 200 deceased prisoners. Through an examination of the bodies and interviews with those who knew them, we documented hair color and eye color. At the same time, we gave a research team only dried blood samples from the prisoners for examination, keeping them ignorant of any other information. Using the techniques we developed, the team was able to properly identify nearly all the blue-eyed prisoners and most of the green-eyed prisoners. They also properly determined hair color in a minority of the prisoners.”

The audience seemed to stop breathing as they awaited Himmler’s response.
Although it was quite cold in the building, large pools of perspiration-soaked fabric were growing under the arms of Hahn’s shirt. 

“
While I am pleased to hear of progress,” Himmler conceded finally, “We must do better. We must strive for 100 percent capability. I ask that you conceive of an accelerated plan and submit it to my office by the end of January.”

“Yes,
Reichsführer.”

“And one other thing. We are never to speak of Karl Landsteiner in public again. Please make a note of it.”

Wolf leaned to whisper in his friend’s ear. “Who is Landsteiner?”

Lang shrugged. “Does it matter? We’ll never hear his name mentioned again.”

Attendants with white gloves pushed the room’s massive double doors open
. While Himmler was ushered away to more pressing business, Professor Hahn collected the burned Parvo 100 and carried it offstage. Non-Ahnenerbe personnel were summarily dismissed from the room, reducing the head count to Wolf, Lang, Nagel and a handful of academics who had worn their SS dress uniforms for the occasion.

“
Mr. Wolf
,
” a voice intoned. He turned and saw Dr. Seiler, whom he had last seen fleeing Notre Dame with the reliquary of the Holy Crown. He looked less impressive in his ill-fitting tunic. “Sebastian Wolf, isn’t it?”

“Yes sir.”

“I see congratulations are in order.” He pointed to the Wound Badge pinned to Wolf’s tunic. “Your mother will be proud.”

“Indeed,” Wolf
said agreeably, although the truth was exactly the opposite. His mother had sacrificed everything – including her principles – to get him into the Reich School so that he might sit out the war within the safe confines of an Ahnenerbe research lab. He would have to hide the badge on his next trip home.

Waiters rolled in a pair of wheeled tables bearing hot coffee and an assortment of sausages and pastries. At the professor’s urging, Wolf populated a plate with a few items, but could not force himself to eat. There had been far too much blood this morning – talk of it
, and spilling of it – to whet his appetite.

“
You are no doubt wondering about the fate of the so-called Holy Crown,” Seiler began, speaking between bites. In his obsession with the Holy Ossuary, Wolf had nearly forgotten about the priceless relic that had been taken from Notre Dame. “It was immediately taken to the University of Leipzig for analysis. It has been determined that the thrushes were of the species known as Zizyphus Spine Christi, which is native to the Palestine region and is found in Jerusalem itself. The plant produces crooked branches, with thorns growing in pairs. The Zizyphus strain was actually mentioned in the second century references to the Crown, when it was purportedly kept at Mount Zion. Incidentally, this also matches the strain from a thorn that was retrieved from Trier Cathedral. From an anthropological perspective, the prospect of reuniting the Holy Crown with its original thorns is quite thrilling.”

Wolf had to admit that
there was something thrilling about this. The notion of using science to learn more knowledge about the life and death of Jesus was actually quite breathtaking. But he was equally distraught at the prospect of a spiritual object being analyzed in Seiler’s laboratory. And he liked the thought of the crown ending up in Himmler’s private museum even less.

*

Nagel
ordered the staff to seal the doors. All chatter abruptly ended. The commandant climbed the steps to the stage, went to the wall and slid back a piece of wood paneling, revealing an enormous map of Western Europe. The occupied countries – Austria, Poland, France, Norway, Finland, Morocco, Tunisia, Romania, Belgium and many others – were colored with a swastika background.

“
Please make yourself comfortable,” Nagel announced. “First, we will start with introductions.” He turned to his left and regarded a lanky, bearded SS officer with three silver pips on his collar.  “Our esteemed colleague,
Hauptsturmführer
Bruno Fleischer.”

Dr.
Fleischer needed no introduction. He was the most famous racial anthropologist in Germany. He was an excellent marksman, and had filled half of Berlin’s Ethnology Museum with taxidermy and pelts from his own gun. More recently, he had become a leading authority in the identification of ethnic groups through cranial examination.

Next
, Nagel pointed to a rumpled-looking man in a brown bow tie. “And this is Paul Ritter, Dr. Hahn’s colleague from the university. He is a partner in the Germany Society for Blood Group Research.”

Nagel
then gestured to Seiler, who was still grazing at a refreshment table, stuffing himself with Bavarian sausage. “I think we all know the Professor. Although the broadness of Dr. Seiler’s expertise boggles the mind, he serves us here today as an expert in Christian antiquities and belief systems.”

“And last but not least,”
Nagel said, nodding in the direction of the front row, “These two fresh-faced squad leaders are Wolf and Lang. They both participated in the liberation of the Holy Crown at Notre Dame. And despite their rank, they have witnessed firsthand what happens to those who do not keep state secrets in confidence. We can therefore speak freely in front of them. Professor Seiler, would you please frame our discussion?”

Dr.
Seiler swallowed his last bite and emitted a small burp before straightening himself to address the others. “This concerns national security at the highest level. The genesis of this mission was four years ago, when my companion and I uncovered evidence of a possible rift in the ancient Roman Empire between the descendants of Romans of Nordic descent and local Semites.”