The Charlemagne Pursuit

  “We need those boxes I brought,” he said. “They were in the kitchen closet.”

  “I saw them.”

  Interesting how danger stimulated desire. This man, a navy captain with good looks, modest brains, and few guts, attracted her. Why were weak men so desirable? Her husband was a nothing who allowed her to do as she pleased.

  Most of her lovers were similar.

  She propped the shotgun against a tree.

  And kissed Wilkerson again.

  “WHAT KIND OF PROOF?” MALONE ASKED.

  “You look tired,” Christl said.

  “I am, and hungry.”

  “Then let’s get something to eat.”

  He’d had enough of women jerking his chain, and if not for his father’s involvement he would have told her, like her sister, to stuff it. But he actually wanted to know more.

  “All right. But you’re buying.”

  They left the hotel and walked in falling snow to a café a few blocks away in one of Garmisch’s pedestrian-only zones.

  Inside, he ordered a slab of roasted pork and fried potatoes. Christl Falk asked for soup and bread.

  “Ever heard of the Deutsche Antarktische Expedition ?” she asked.

  The German Antarctic Expedition.

  “It left Hamburg in December 1938,” she said. “The public purpose was to secure a spot in Antarctica for a German whaling station, as part of a plan to increase Germany’s fat production. Can you imagine? People actually bought that story.”

  “Actually, I can. Whale oil was then the most important raw material for making margarine and soap. Germany was a huge purchaser of Norwegian whale oil. About to go to war and dependent on foreign sources for something that important? Could have been a problem.”

  “I see you’re informed.”

  “I’ve read about Nazis in Antarctica. The Schwabenland, a freighter capable of catapulting aircraft, went with what—

  sixty people? Norway had recently claimed a chunk of Antarctica they called Queen Maud Land, but the Nazis charted the same region and renamed it Neuschwabenland. They took a lot of pictures and dropped steel-barbed German flags all over the place from the air. Must have been quite a sight. Little swastikas in the snow.”

  “Grandfather was on that 1938 expedition. Though one-fifth of Antarctica was mapped, its real purpose was to see if what Einhard had written in the book I showed you was true.”

  He recalled the stones from the abbey. “And he brought back rocks with the same symbols on them as in the book.”

  “You’ve been to the abbey?”

  “At your sister’s invitation. But why do I get the feeling you already knew that?” She did not reply, so he asked, “So what’s the verdict? What did your grandfather find?”

  “That’s the problem. We don’t know. After the war the Ahnenerbe’s papers were confiscated by the Allies or destroyed.

  Grandfather had been denounced by Hitler at a party rally in 1939. Hitler didn’t agree with some of his views, especially his feminist slants, which asserted that ancient Aryan society may have been ruled by priestesses and female seers.”

  “A far cry from the baby machines Hitler believed women to be.”

  She nodded. “So Hermann Oberhauser was silenced, his ideas banned. He was forbidden from publishing or giving lectures. Ten years later his mind began to fail him, and he lived the last years of his life senile.”

  “Amazing Hitler didn’t simply kill him.”

  “Hitler needed our factories, oil refinery, and newspapers. Keeping Grandfather alive was a means to have legitimate control over those. And unfortunately, all he ever wanted to do was please Adolf Hitler, so he willingly made all those available.” She removed the book from her coat pocket and freed it from the plastic bag. “There are many questions raised by this text. Ones I’ve been unable to answer. I was hoping you’d help me solve the riddle.”

  “The Charlemagne pursuit?”

  “I see you and Dorothea did have a long talk. Ja. Da Karl der Große Verfolgung. ”

  She handed him the book. His Latin was okay, so he could roughly decipher the words, but she noticed his struggle.

  “May I?” she asked.

  He hesitated.

  “You might find it interesting. I know I did.”

  TWENTY

  JACKSONVILLE, FLORIDA

  5:30 PM

  STEPHANIE STUDIED THE OLDER MAN WHO OPENED THE DOOR TOthe modest brick home on the city’s

  south side. He was short and overweight, with a bulbous, fiery-hued nose that reminded her of Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer. According to his service record, Zachary Alexander should be pushing seventy—and he looked it. She listened as Edwin Davis explained who they were and why they’d come.

  “What do you think I can tell you?” Alexander asked. “I’ve been out of the navy almost thirty years.”

  “Twenty-six, actually,” Davis said.

  Alexander leveled a pudgy finger at them. “I don’t like wastin’ my time.”

  She heard a television playing in another room. Some game show. And noticed that the house was immaculate, the inside reeking of antiseptic.

  “We only need a few minutes,” Davis said. “After all, I did come from the White House.”

  Stephanie wondered about the lie, but said nothing.

  “I didn’t even vote for Daniels.”

  She smiled. “A lot of us are in that category, but could we have just a few minutes?”

  Alexander finally relented and led them into a den, where he switched off the television and offered them a seat.

  “I served in the navy a long time,” Alexander said. “But I have to tell you, I don’t have fond memories of it.”

  She’d read his service record. Alexander had made it to commander but was twice passed over for further promotion.

  He’d eventually opted out and retired with full benefits.

  “They didn’t think I was good enough for them.”

  “You were good enough to command Holden. ”

  Crinkly eyes narrowed. “That and a few other ships.”

  “We came,” Davis said, “because of the mission Holden completed to Antarctica.”

  Alexander said nothing. Stephanie wondered if his silence was calculated or cautionary.

  “I actually was excited about those orders,” Alexander finally said. “I wanted to see the ice. But later, I always thought that trip had some-thin’ to do with me being passed over.”

  Davis leaned forward. “We need to hear about it.”

  “For what?” Alexander spat out. “The whole thing’s classified. May still be. They told me to keep my mouth shut.”

  “I’m a deputy national security adviser. She’s the head of a government intelligence agency. We can hear what you have to say.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Is there any reason you have to be so hostile?” she asked.

  “Besides that I hate the navy?” he asked. “Or besides you two are fishin’ and I don’t want to be bait.”

  Alexander relaxed in his recliner. She imagined that he’d sat there for years thinking about what was running through his mind at this moment. “I did what I was ordered to do, and I did it well. I always followed orders. But it’s been a long time, so what do you want to know?”

  She said, “We know Holden was ordered to the Antarctic in November 1971. You went looking for a submarine.”

  A puzzled look came to Alexander’s face. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “We’ve read the court of inquiry report on the sinking of Blazek, or NR-1A, whatever you want to call the thing. It specifically mentions you and Holden going to search.”

  Alexander gazed at them with a mixture of curiosity and enmity. “My orders were to proceed to the Weddell Sea, take sonar readings, and be alert for anomalies. I had three passengers on board and was told to accommodate their needs, without question. That’s what I did.”

  “No submarine?” she asked.

  He
shook his head. “Nothin’ close.”

  “What did you find?” Davis asked.

  “Not a damn thing. Spent two weeks freezin’ my ass off.”

  An oxygen bottle rested beside Alexander’s chair. Stephanie wondered about its presence, along with an assortment of medical treatises that lined a bookcase across the room. Alexander didn’t appear in poor health, and his breathing seemed normal.

  “I don’t know anythin’ about a submarine,” he repeated. “I recall, at the time, that one sank in the North Atlantic. And it was Blazek, that’s right. I remember. But my mission had nothing to do with that. We were cruisin’ the southern Pacific, rerouted to South America, where we picked up those three passengers. Then we headed due south.”

  “What was the ice like?” Davis asked.

  “Even though it was nearly summertime, that place is tough sailing. Cold as a freezer, bergs everywhere. But one beautiful spot—that I will say.”

  “You learned nothing while you were there?” she asked.

  “I’m not the one to ask about that.” His countenance had softened, as if he’d concluded they might not be the enemy.

  “Those reports you read didn’t mention three passengers?”

  Davis shook his head. “Not a word. Only you.”

  “Typical friggin’ navy.” His face lost its impassive look. “My orders were to take those three wherever they wanted to go. They went ashore several times, but when they came back they’d say nothin’.”

  “Take any gear with them?”

  Alexander nodded. “Cold-water diving suits and tanks. After the fourth time they went ashore, they said we could leave.”

  “None of your men went with them?”

  Alexander shook his head. “No way. Not allowed. Those three lieutenants did it all. Whatever that was.”

  Stephanie considered the oddity, but in the military strange things occurred on a daily basis. Still, she needed to ask the million-dollar question. “Who were they?”

  She saw consternation grip the old man. “You know I’ve never spoken of this before.” He seemed unable to submerge his depression. “I wanted to be a captain. I deserved it, but the navy disagreed.”

  “It was a long time ago,” Davis said. “There’s not much we can do to repair the past.”

  She wondered if Davis meant Alexander’s situation or his own.

  “This must be important,” the old man said.

  “Enough that we came here today.”

  “One was a guy named Nick Sayers. Another, Herbert Rowland. Both cocky, like most lieutenants.”

  She silently agreed.

  “And the third?” Davis asked.

  “The cockiest of ’em all. I hated that prick. Trouble is he went on and got his captain’s bars. Then gold stars. Ramsey was his name. Lang-ford Ramsey.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  The clouds invite me and a mist summons. The course of the stars hasten me and the winds cause me to fly and lift me upward into heaven. I draw to a wall built of crystal and I am surrounded by tongues of ice. I draw to a temple built of stone and the walls are like a tessellated floor made of stone. Its ceiling is like the path of the stars. Heat generates from the walls, fear covers me, and a trembling takes hold. I fall upon my face and see a lofty throne, its appearance is as crystalline as the shining sun. The High Adviser sits and his raiment shines more brightly than the sun and is whiter than any snow. The High Adviser says to me, “Einhard, thou scribe of righteousness, approach hither and hear my voice.” He speaks to me in my language, which is surprising. “As He hath created and given to man the power of understanding the word of wisdom, so hath He created me also. Welcome to our land. I am told you are a man of learning. If that be so then you can see the secrets of the winds, how they are divided to blow over the earth, and the secrets of the clouds and dew. We can teach you of the sun and moon, whence they proceed and whither they come again, and their glorious return, and how one is superior to the other, and their stately orbit, and how they do not leave their orbit, and they add nothing to their orbit and they take nothing from it, and they keep faith with each other in accordance with the oath by which they are bound together.”

  Malone listened as Christl translated the Latin text, then asked, “That was written when?”

  “Between 814, when Charlemagne died, and 840, when Einhard died.”

  “That’s impossible. It talks of orbits of the sun and moon and how they’re bound to each other. Those astronomical concepts had yet to be developed. Those would have been heresy then.”

  “I agree, for men living in western Europe. But for men living elsewhere on this planet, who were not constricted by the church, the situation was different.”

  He was still skeptical.

  “Let me place this in a historical context,” she said. “Charlemagne’s two elder sons both died before him. His third son, Louis the Pious, inherited the Carolingian empire. Louis’ sons fought with their father, and among themselves. Einhard served Louis faithfully, as he’d served Charlemagne, but was so sickened by the infighting that he withdrew from court and spent the rest of his days at an abbey Charlemagne had given him. It was during this time that he wrote his biography of Charlemagne and”—she held up the ancient tome—“this book.”

  “Recounting a great journey?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “Who’s to say that’s real? Sounds like pure fantasy.”

  She shook her head. “His Life of Charlemagne is one of the most renowned works of all time. Still in print today. He was not known for crafting fiction, and he went to a great deal of trouble to conceal these words.”

  He still wasn’t convinced.

  “We know a lot about Charlemagne’s deeds,” she said, “but little about his inner beliefs. Nothing reliable describing those has survived. We do know that he loved ancient histories and epics. Before his time, myths were preserved orally.

  He was the first to order them written down. We know Einhard supervised that effort. But Louis, after inheriting the throne, destroyed all of those texts for their pagan content. The destruction of those writings would have disgusted Einhard, so he made sure this book survived.”

  “By writing it partially in a language no one could understand?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I’ve read accounts that say Einhard may not have even written his Charlemagne biography. Nobody knows anything for sure.”

  “Mr. Malone—”

  “Why don’t you call me Cotton? You’re making me feel old.”

  “Interesting name.”

  “I like it.”

  She smiled. “I can explain all of this in much more detail. My grandfather and father spent years researching. There are things I need to show you, things I need to explain. Once you see and hear those, I think you’ll agree that our fathers did not die in vain.”

  Though her eyes suggested a readiness to take on all his arguments, she was playing her trump card and they both knew it.

  “My father was the captain of a submarine,” he said. “Your father was a passenger on that sub. Granted, I have no idea what either one of them was doing in the Antarctic, but they still died in vain.”

  And no one gave a damn, he silently added.

  She pushed her soup away. “Will you help us?”

  “Who’s us ?”

  “Me. My father. Yours.”

  He caught the sound of rebellion, but needed time to hear from Stephanie. “How about this. Let me sleep on it, and tomorrow you can show me what you want.”

  Her eyes softened. “That’s fair. It is getting late.”

  They left the café and followed the snowy pavement back toward the Posthotel. Christmas was two weeks away, and Garmisch seemed ready. Holiday time, for him, was a mixed blessing. He’d spent the past two with Henrik Thorvaldsen at Christiangade, and this year would probably be the same. He wondered about Christl Falk and her Christmas

  traditions. A melancholiness seemed to dominate her,
and she made little effort to disguise it. She appeared intelligent and determined—not all that different from her sister—but the two women were unknowns who demanded caution.

  They crossed the street. Many of the windows in the gaily frescoed Posthotel were lit to the night. His room, on the second floor, above the restaurant and lobby, had four windows on one side, another three facing the front. He’d left the lamps burning and movement behind one of the windows caught his attention.