Shadow Ritual (10 page)

Croatia gained its independence, and her father became a respectable businessman who specialized in international tourism. But in the background, he stayed close to many former members of Ustaše. He made frequent trips to Germany for business and politics. Croatia maintained strong ties with Germany, and the Germans, in fact, had secretly underwritten the heavy artillery that the Croatians used against the more powerful Serbs.

Joana’s father had connections in a number of far-right groups in addition to Ustaše, and he introduced her to powerful people, initiates who had revealed to him both political and sacred secrets. The Orden brotherhood had for centuries guarded the secrets of Thule, the cradle of the pure Aryan race. Joana knew why fate had chosen her. Revenge and violence were nothing, compared with the feelings of potency and control they conveyed.

Joana headed toward the showers. An intense sensation spread over her skin under the burning-hot water, as if she were fusing with some incandescent wave. The heat relaxed her muscles, and a welcome feeling of languor took over.

Just as she was about to succumb to the sensation, she turned the faucet to cold, and icy water chased away the calming heat. Her body began to tremble. Her arteries and veins constricted.

She cut the flow and stepped out of the shower, glowing.

She picked up a rough terry towel to dry herself off, and her mind drifted back to Sophie Dawes’s execution. She slipped her hand between her thighs, then stopped. No, she wouldn’t allow herself that pleasure until she had gotten the documents.

Her next destination: Paris. Her next prey: Sophie Dawes’s friend.

22

Zewinski stood in Darsan’s office, feeling encouraged by the meeting. Finally: a ministry official who didn’t beat around the bush and took full responsibility. He had perfectly understood her pain and had put her in charge of the investigation, which meant that Marcas would work for her. His role would be limited to shedding light on the Masonic issues—if the murder was at all related to that world—and smoothing relations with the police if it was necessary.

“I’m not a Freemason, if that reassures you,” Darsan said, looking her in the eye for a long moment. “There will be no pressure.”

Zewinski had carte blanche for a month. She would get an office in the seventeenth arrondissement, along with an assistant from special ops who was used to working off the grid.

“Show Marcas in,” Darsan said.

She stepped into the hall and moitioned to Marcas.

~ ~ ~

Zewinski had been right. His boss had called, cutting his vacation short and ordering him to lend a hand. He hadn’t known how to react. The specific nature of the murder was the only reason he was involved. So here he was, heading into the office of an important ministry official—technically his boss’s boss’s boss, or something like that. He wasn’t entirely sure of the hierarchy.

He didn’t find Zewinski’s grin at all reassuring—it was more of a threat. He closed the door behind him.

Pierre Darsan was fingering a metal ruler.

“Inspector, I’m going to get straight to the point. We need to solve this case quickly and quietly. This embassy murder raises two important issues. The first, and the most important, is the breach in security in one of our diplomatic posts. We can’t have just anybody getting into an embassy and doing what they please. It can’t happen again. Because this is an issue of diplomatic security, Special Agent Jade Zewinski, the embassy security chief, will lead the investigation.”

Darsan was watching Marcas for a reaction, but the inspector remained impassive.

“And what is the second issue?” he asked.

“It turns out that the victim worked for the Grand Orient, and one theory, as you know, is that her elimination may have been related to your group.”

Darsan had carefully articulated each word. “That’s where you come in. You’ll have a twofold role: cop and Freemason. Being a Freemason is nothing out of the ordinary. There are at least five just like you working in the offices here and as many in every other department. That doesn’t bother me, as long as it doesn’t interfere with business as usual. Do you follow me, Inspector?”

Marcas knew where the judge was going with this.

“No, sir, I don’t.”

Darsan pursed his lips until there was almost nothing left of his mouth.

“Don’t play the wise guy, Marcas. I’m expecting you to conduct a serious investigation and to tell me everything. Your duty as a police officer comes above and beyond your commitment to freemasonry. I’m sure your group is doing its own investigation. I don’t want the lines blurred. Is that clear?”

Darsan was quiet for a long moment. “You will be working under Special Agent Zewinski. That’s an order. I expect you to cooperate with her, advise her, and provide anything she needs for the investigation.” Darsan gave him a pleasant smile.

The man’s expression could change in a flash, Marcas thought. Threatening one second, friendly the next.

“Between us, Inspector, let’s forget freemasonry for a moment. We are both members of the national police force. Ms. Zewinski received her training in the army. Sure, she’s from the elite forces, but she’s still a military officer—disciplined but not particularly adept at subtlety and nuance. You’re skilled in those areas. I think you’ll be able to smooth the way for her.”

Marcas didn’t like Darsan’s insinuations or his attitude but remained impassive.

Darsan smiled. “Perfect. We understand each other. You will keep me in the loop. Now let’s get the others in here for a briefing.” He picked up the phone. “Send them in.”

Marcas turned to the door. Zewinski and a man he hadn’t seen in months walked in—Anselme de Mareuil, special envoy from the Grand Orient Lodge.

Darsan began. “Let me introduce Mr. de Mareuil, the ministry’s Freemason liaison. Mr. Mareuil, this is Special Agent Jade Zewinski, who’s leading the investigation, and I believe you know Inspector Antoine Marcas, who’s with the police.”

There were nods all around, and everyone took a seat at Darsan’s worktable. Darsan turned to Mareuil.

“So, Mr. Grand Envoy—is that what I’m supposed to call you?—can you explain what your employee was doing in Rome?”

Anselme de Mareuil’s face was drawn. He looked at both men at the table before locking eyes with Jade. “Sophie Dawes worked in the Grand Orient’s archives. She was on a research assignment and stopped in Rome to see her friend at the embassy, Ms. Zewinski.”

“What was the nature of her research?” Darsan asked.

Marcas watched Mareuil size up Darsan. He knew that Darsan wasn’t especially receptive to Masonic ideas.

“Just something related to Masonic history,” Mareuil said. “Tell me, did anyone find the documents she was carrying? They are the property of the Grand Orient.”

Marcas shot a look at Zewinski.

Darsan ignored the question. “Tell me more,” he said.

Mareuil rubbed his face and began. “In June 1940, the Nazis pillaged French Freemason temples, particularly in Paris and seized tons of archives. Truckloads were sent to Berlin to be studied in detail. At the end of the war, the Soviets made off with the documents. Two years ago, we recovered the last of our archives, which had been in Moscow since 1945.”

“Why were the Germans so interested in Masonic history?” Darsan asked, smoothing his moustache.

“First, they wanted to know the extent of Freemason influence. The Nazis thought Freemason and Jewish schemes were behind every bad turn of events. They wanted names and addresses. And they wanted information on so-called subversive activities.”

Mareuil paused and looked at Darsan. “They had the same kind of paranoia about the Masons as you see today.”

Darsan scowled. “We’re not here to judge.”

Mareuil continued. “Their second motivation was more esoteric. It was related to occult influences in Nazi ideology.”

Zewinski cleared her throat. “I’m lost here.”

“Do you know where Hitler got the idea to use the swastika as a symbol? From a racist secret society called the Thule Gesellschaft, which used it as its emblem,” Mareuil said.

“The Thule what?”

“It was a sect that existed before Hitler joined the National Socialist Party, and it grew in power with the rise of the Nazis. The Thule originated in 1918 in Bavaria. It was started by a faux aristocrat named Rudolf von Sebottendorf. After World War I, the organization drew from the ranks of German intellectuals, industrialists, and the army. Its members went through initiations, met secretly, and used special signs of recognition.”

Zewinski sneered. “That sounds just like the Freemasons.”

Mareuil ignored her. “The Thule wanted to build a pure Germanic society devoid of Judaism and Christianity and heir to the ancient kingdom of Thule. That was the mythical cradle of the Aryan race somewhere in the icy North. It was said to have disappeared after a natural disaster.”

“Something like the legend of Atlantis,” Marcas interjected.

“Yes, an Atlantis composed of fervent anti-Semites with blond hair and blue eyes.”

“That’s grotesque,” Darsan said.

“Yes. We all know what that led to. Many dignitaries and influential people in Hitler’s circle belonged to the Thule, including Himmler, the head of the SS; Deputy Führer Rudolf Hess; and Alfred Rosenberg, who was the party’s theoretician. In fact, Rosenberg was the man who had our archives pillaged. He was after our esoteric documents.”

“I’ve heard that name before,” Marcas said. “Wasn’t he condemned at the Nuremberg Trials?”

“Yes, sentenced to death and executed. He was a crank who wanted to wipe out the three major Abrahamic faiths. He was convinced that the Aryan race had the Tables of the Law—the commandments given to Moses. This divine revelation wasn’t intended for Christians, Jews, or Muslims, but instead for the Aryans and was meant to ensure their supremacy over all other races and religions.”

“I don’t see the connection with freemasonry,” Marcas said.

“For the Thule, the stakes were high. They wanted to reestablish Nordic paganism.”

“So they were wackos,” Zewinski said. “I don’t see the connection either.”

“The Thule latched onto a long-standing fantasy about Freemasons—that they were responsible for the French Revolution. As far as the Thule was concerned, the Freemasons were the first to hack away at Christianity once it had become dominant in Europe.”

Zewinski sat back and crossed her arms. “Still lost here.”

“To make a long story short, they thought the Freemasons held some absolute secret.”

“A secret?”

“Yes, and those fanatics believed it enough to pillage Masonic temples all over Europe. They took everything back to Germany to be studied.”

Darsan stood up and walked to the window. “Okay. So what? The Nazis were dangerous madmen, and the craziest ones belonged to the Thule. What good does that do us? We have a murder to solve.”

Marcas leaned forward. “So Dawes was working on the recovered archives?”

“Yes,” Mareuil said, looking directly at Marcas.

Marcas knew there was more. He turned to Darsan, who had walked over to his desk.

“We have Sophie Dawes’s documents,” Darsan said. “If that’s what the killer was after, she failed in her mission. To be honest, I read them. They’re completely incomprehensible. We’ll get them back to you when the investigation is over. You’re lucky. Marcas is, well, one of yours.”

Mareuil stood up. The others followed suit.

“Before you go,” Darsan said, “Inspector Marcas, you noted that Ms. Dawes’s murder had some Freemason implications.”

“She was struck three times: on the shoulder blade, on the neck, and on the forehead,” Marcas said.

“Hiram’s death,” Mareuil said in barely a whisper.

Darsan opened the door for them. “We got a report from our ambassador in Jerusalem. There was an unusual slaying in an archeological institute. The victim, a scholar, had been beaten. He had taken blows to the shoulder, neck, and forehead.”

The blood drained from Mareuil’s face.

“Didn’t you say that Ms. Dawes was headed abroad?” Darsan asked.

“Israel was not on her itinerary,” Mareuil said.

“It’s a strange murder. But there’s something that makes it even stranger,” Darsan said. “The researcher in Jerusalem was killed the same night as Sophie Dawes. I wish you a good day, Mr. Mareuil. Marcas, Zewinski, keep me updated.”

23

Once in the hallway, Marcas made plans to meet with Zewinski in the morning. Then he caught up with Mareuil.

“Anselme, it’s been a while,” he said. “What a surprise to see you here.”

“Yes, it comes with my duties as special envoy,” Mareuil said. They had known each other for years.

“Do your duties include withholding information?”

“What makes you ask that, Antoine?” Mareuil said as the two of them neared the front entrance. “It looks like you’ll have your hands full with that woman partner of yours.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m just saying. You never know. Maybe you could soften her up. She’s a looker, and you need to get over that damned divorce.”

Marcas glared at him. “Where was Dawes going? She was headed to Jerusalem, wasn’t she?”

Mareuil stopped walking and turned to Marcas. He was silent for a moment and then cleared his throat. “Let’s grab a bite to eat,” he said. “I’ll explain.”

“I suggest we go to the Left Bank. I know a place.”

They exited the building and started walking toward the Rue de l’Ancienne-Comédie. Marcas liked to frequent a Catalan restaurant there. From the outside, it looked like a bookstore.

“Good choice,” Mareuil said shortly after they were seated at their table. Factoids on the history of Catalonia were printed on the paper tablecloth. “I’ve never been here before.”

Marcas dispensed with pleasantries and got straight to the point. “So, Anselme, tell me what you know,” he said.

“Do you come here often?” Mareuil asked, apparently in no hurry to answer. He opened the menu.

“Every so often. Excellent tapas. You should try the blood sausage too.”

“Was your father Catalan?”