Before leaving for the Bertesgarten, Himmler insisted on a status report from both Hoffman and Nachten.
‘Perhaps you will have some good news for me to pass on to our Fuhrer,’ he suggested, looking from one to the other.
Hoffman was too familiar with Himmler to be intimidated, but Nachten – he was pleased to see – shuffled uncomfortably. They were sitting at a large, round stone table in one of the anterooms. Nachten had brought a plentiful supply of notes and papers, books and folders which were stacked in front of him. Hoffman had his notebook.
When he judged that Nachten has squirmed enough, Hoffman replied. ‘As you know I have been researching the axe supposedly connected to the Black Forest. But, I am sorry to report, with little progress so far,’ Hoffman admitted. ‘I shall inform you both when I get a lead.’
He made a point of looking down at the notebook on the table in front of him. He saw to his surprise that while they had been talking he had drawn in the margin. Several small axe-heads. A few of the runic symbols. And a complex circular pattern, lines spiralling inwards to form paths – some blocked and some opening into other sections. It was a shape he had seen before, in his mind’s eye and in his dreams. He closed the notebook and looked up. ‘There are several possibilities I should like to follow up.’
Himmler nodded, and turned back to Nachten. ‘What of the third axe?’
‘I need to do more research myself. But I have discovered enough already to believe that my researches are pointed in the right direction.’
‘And what direction is that, if I may ask?’
‘Greek myths and legends. I believe the third axe-head is still in Greece.’
‘Explain, if you would.’ Himmler leaned forward, hands clasped together on the cold stone surface of the table. ‘Briefly,’ he added.
* * *
‘You two are looking very pleased with yourselves,’ Sarah said.
Leo was perched on the edge of Miss Manners’ desk, the two of them talking quietly. There was no one else in the office, and Sarah had heard Leo’s laughter from the stairs on her way up.
‘We think we may have tracked down our elusive axe,’ Leo explained.
‘Dr Wiles and Mrs Archer suggested Crete as a possible location,’ Miss Manners said. ‘But it was just a theory, based on a myth and Evans’ archaeological finds. Nothing very concrete to back it up.’
‘And now?’ Sarah asked.
‘Now it looks as if there may be a connection to the Labyrinth in Crete after all,’ Leo said.
‘The legend of Theseus and the Minotaur?’
‘That’s right,’ Leo told her. ‘The Palace of Knossos on Crete where the Labyrinth was supposedly built was also known as “The House of the Double Axe”.’
‘So there’s a connection.’
Leo sighed. ‘Well, sort of. It may not be as clear cut as it seems, because actually any Cretan palace was known as a house of the double-axe. That said, it keeps us in Crete. We, by which I mean archaeologists and classical academics, tend to associate the island with the bull.’
‘They had paintings and statues of bulls everywhere,’ Miss Manners added. ‘They sacrificed bulls, and of course there’s the Minotaur.’
‘Half man, half bull. However that happened,’ Sarah said, mainly to show she knew what they were talking about.
Leo had stood up from the desk and was pacing back and forth as he explained. ‘Well, keeping it brief, King Minos of Crete asked the god Poseidon to send him a snow-white bull from the sea as a symbol of support for his reign. Minos was supposed to sacrifice it, but the bull was so impressive he kept it and sacrificed a different one instead. As a punishment, the king’s wife was made to fall in love with the bull and, well, the result of this relationship was the Minotaur.’
‘That’s…’ Sarah struggled to find a word. ‘Disgusting,’ she decided.
‘Yes, well, there’s a lot of that sort of thing in Greek myth, I’m afraid. But anyway, apart from the prevalence of bulls in Minoan – Cretan – history, axes are also important.’
‘The Cretans sacrificed bulls,’ Miss Manners said, ‘using double-headed axes like the one we’re interested in, though rather larger of course. And remember the Thor legend?’
Sarah nodded. ‘Wasn’t the third axe supposed to belong to Thor?’
‘That’s right. Well, the Greek god Zeus used an axe to create storms, so there’s another similarity.’
‘And he’s often depicted holding an axe,’ Leo explained. ‘In fact,’ he went on, ‘the Greek for “lightning” literally translates as “star axe”.’
Miss Manners cleared her throat. ‘But getting back specifically to Crete, Minoan priestesses carried these double-headed axes on ceremonial occasions.’
‘So,’ Sarah said, ‘lots of connections.’
‘Too many for it to be a coincidence, now we’ve looked at it,’ Leo agreed. ‘Or so we believe.’
‘So, what next?’
‘Since we talked to Dr Wiles at Bletchley,’ Miss Manners told her, ‘he has managed to trace several UDT sightings and transmissions in the Mediterranean back to Crete. Of course there are a lot of other places on those same trajectories. But there are also suggested Ley lines that meet in Crete. All that taken together…’
‘Adds up to something worth investigating,’ Sarah agreed. ‘What about your friend Jane Roylston? Can she confirm or help with any of this, do you think?’
‘I wondered that,’ Miss Manners said. She was frowning behind her severe spectacles. ‘But I’ve not been able to contact her. She’s been out of touch for a while now. So long, in fact, that Guy and Colonel Brinkman are going to see Crowley. If nothing else, he may know something about occult connections to Crete which might help.’
* * *
The resentment was growing in him by the day. Ralph Rutherford felt he was being kept on a leash, like a dog. Crowley insisted he couldn’t even leave the house, and he felt like every moment he was being watched. He had never really liked Crowley. He certainly didn’t trust the man. And now, at any moment, he might decide to follow the advice of MI5 and stick a knife into Rutherford’s back.
A knife … Like the one now in Rutherford’s hand …
It was all Jane Roylston’s fault. Since the bizarre ritual down in the cellar with the grotesque creature, Rutherford hadn’t seen her. Jane was confined to her room – recovering, according to Crowley, though the way he said it made Rutherford sure the man was keeping something from him. He couldn’t get back at Crowley, not easily, not yet. But Jane …
There was no answer when he knocked on the door. So he opened it and went in. She was sitting on the side of her bed, staring out of the small window. She didn’t turn when he spoke.
‘Jane.’
He walked round to stand in front of her, holding the knife where she could see it. ‘Stand up,’ he ordered.
She looked up at him, but made no effort to stand. Her expression was blank. Her eyes showed none of the fear and loathing he was used to seeing in them. She turned back towards the window.
‘I said stand up!’ he yelled, suddenly angry.
She stood. Slowly, almost dreamily. Her eyebrows raised slightly, but otherwise she did not react to the outburst.
‘I can make life very difficult for you,’ he said. Still no reaction. ‘Difficult and painful.’ Nothing. Feeling the tension and resentment building inside him, he reached out with the knife, tracing the point of it down her cheek. She turned slightly to look at him.
‘Yes, that got your attention, didn’t it,’ he whispered. ‘You’re nothing, you understand. Crowley can do anything he likes to you. You know that. Well, so can I.’
He pressed harder with the knife, until it bit into the skin below her eye, producing a tiny bead of blood.
‘I’m going to teach you to show me respect.’
A thin line of colour followed the blade as he drew it slowly down her face. She didn’t flinch. That angered him even more, and he pressed harder. The skin parted beneath the blade. Rutherford smiled, looking for the pain and fear in her face.
But there was nothing.
And hardly any blood.
Instead, pale orange tendrils licked out from the cut – probing, feeling, gently pulling the skin back together. Rutherford felt his own skin begin to crawl at the sight. He took a step back, raising the knife again. But Jane’s hand whipped out, grabbing his wrist in an impossibly firm grasp. He felt the bones compress and shatter. The knife fell to the floor.
Her other hand was round his neck, squeezing tight as Rutherford gasped for the air he needed to cry out. His vision blurred. But before it faded completely he saw that now at last her face was showing some reaction, some emotion.
She was smiling.
Then everything was darkness and silence as he crashed lifeless to the floor.