The next case held the sacred Nazi flag earlier described by Admiral Sandecker as having been smeared with the blood of a fallen supporter of Hitler who'd been killed when the Bavarian police fired on the fledgling Nazi party members during the Munich Putsch in November of 1923. The bloodstain could easily be seen under the beam of the flashlight. He placed it back inside the linen and the leather case.
Then he opened a long mahogany chest and stared in rapt fascination at the Holy Lance, the lance allegedly used by a Roman centurion to pierce the body of Jesus Christ, the lance Hitler believed would give him control over the destiny of the world. The image of the lance being used to kill Christ on the cross was too overwhelming for Pitt to envision. He gently laid the most sacred relic in Christendom back in the mahogany chest and turned to the largest of the leather cases.
After unwrapping the linen, he discovered that he was holding a heavy urn of solid silver a few inches less than two feet high. The top of the lid was decorated with a black eagle that stood on a gold wreath surrounding an onyx swastika. Just below the lid were inscribed the words Der Fuhrer. Directly beneath were the dates 1889 and 1945 over the runic symbols for the SS. On the base above a ring of swastikas were the names Adolf Hitler and Eva Hitler.
The horror struck Pitt like a blow to the face. The sheer immensity of what he was staring at sent shivers up his spine and a knot twisting inside his stomach, as his face drained of all color. It didn't seem possible that in his hands he was holding the ashes of Adolf Hitler and his mistress/wife, Eva Braun.
EPILOGUE
ASHES, ASHES, ALL FALL DOWN
When the military passenger aircraft sent to bring Pitt, Giordino, and the relics from Okuma Bay to Washington landed at the airport in Veracruz, Mexico, Pitt questioned the pilot and was told that Admiral Sandecker had sent a NUMA executive jet to carry them the rest of the way. Sweating in the heat and humidity, they hauled the bronze box to the turquoise aircraft with the big NUMA letters on the fuselage that was parked a good hundred yards away.
Except for the pilot and copilot in the cockpit, the plane was deserted. After loading the box and tying it down to the floor, Pitt tried to open the cockpit door, but it was locked. He knocked and waited until a voice came over the cabin speaker.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Pitt, but my orders are to keep the cabin door locked and permit no exit or entry of the cockpit until the relics are safely loaded in an armored truck at Andrews Air Force Base."
A security overkill, Pitt thought. He turned to Giordino, who was holding up a green hand. "Where did you get the green palm?"
"From the paint on the door hinge. I grabbed it for support when we loaded the box." He rubbed a finger over the stain. "Not green, turquoise. The paint on this plane isn't dry."
"Looks as if the turquoise paint was sprayed on less than eight hours ago," observed Pitt.
"Could it be we're being hijacked?" asked Giordino.
"Maybe, but we might as well enjoy the scenery below until we can determine we're on the right course for Washington."
The plane taxied for a few minutes before taking off over the sea under a cloud-free radiant blue sky. For the next few hours, Pitt and Giordino relaxed and took turns keeping watch through the windows at the water below. The plane flew across the Gulf of Mexico and crossed into the States at Pensacola, Florida. From there it appeared to be on a direct course for Washington. When Giordino recognized the nation's capital in the distance, he turned to Pitt.
"Could it be we're like a pair of suspicious old women?"
"I'll reserve judgment until I see a red carpet leading to an armored car."
In another fifteen minutes, the pilot banked the aircraft and headed onto the flight path for Andrews Air Force Base. Only two miles from the end of the runway, the plane made a barely perceptible sideways motion. Pitt and Giordino, themselves pilots with many hours in the cockpit, immediately sensed the slight course deviation.
"He's not landing at Andrews," Giordino announced calmly.
"No, he's lining up to come into a small private airport just north of Andrews in a residential area called Gordons Corner."
"I have this odd feeling that we're not getting red-carpet, VIP treatment."
"So it would appear."
Giordino gazed at Pitt through squinted eyes. "The Wolfs?"
"Who else?"
"They must want the relics badly."
"Without them, they have no hallowed symbols to rally around."
"Not like them to play games. They could have just as well put down anywhere between Mexico and Virginia."
"Without Karl and Hugo at the family helm," said Pitt, "they either got sloppy or else they knew they'd be tracked all the way from Veracruz and chased by Air Force fighters if they attempted to deviate from the flight plan."
"Should we take over the controls and head for Andrews?" Giordino asked.
"Better to wait until we're on the ground," said Pitt. "Busting into the cockpit while the pilot is flared for touchdown might cause bad things to happen."
"You mean a crash?"
"Something like that."
"That's life," mused Giordino. "I had my heart set on a marching band and a parade through the city."
Seconds later, the wheels gave a brief screech as they smacked the asphalt of the landing strip. Staring through one of the windows, Pitt saw an armored truck and a pair of ML430 Mercedes-Benz suburban utility vehicles converge and follow in the wake of the aircraft. Quick sprinters with 268-horsepower V-8 engines, they were about as close to European sports sedans as a four-wheeler could get.
"Now's the time," he said briefly. He pulled his Colt from the duffel bag as Giordino retrieved his P-10. Then Giordino effortlessly kicked open the cockpit door and they rushed inside. The pilot and copilot automatically raised their hands without turning.
"We were expecting you, gentlemen," said the pilot, as if reading from some script. "Please do not attempt to take control of the aircraft. We cut the control cables immediately after touchdown. This aircraft is inoperable and cannot fly."
Pitt stared over the console between the pilots and saw that the cables to the control column and foot pedals were indeed sliced where they disappeared into the flight deck. "Both of you, out!" he snapped, as he dragged them out of their seats by the collars. `Al, throw their butts off the plane!"
The aircraft was still moving at twenty-five miles an hour when Giordino ejected the pilot and copilot through the passenger door onto the asphalt, taking satisfaction in seeing them bounce and roll like rag dolls. "What now?" he asked, as he reentered the cockpit. "Those tough-looking Mercedes SUVs are only a hundred yards behind our tail and coming fast."
"We may not have flight controls," replied Pitt, "but we still have brakes and engines."
Giordino looked dubious. "You don't expect to drive this thing down Pennsylvania Avenue to the White House?"
"Why not?" Pitt said, as he pushed the throttle forward and sent the aircraft speeding across the taxiway and onto the road leading from the airport. "We'll go as far as we can and hopefully reach heavy traffic where they wouldn't dare attack."
"You're why cynics outlive optimists," said Giordino. "The Wolfs are so desperate for the relics, they'd shoot down a stadium full of women and children to get them back in their dirty hands."