“The Koutras family in Kastraki,” Lloyd explained in passable Greek. “They were hiding me from the Germans. Young Gregory knew the secret bridle path to the Taborian Light.”
The Archimandrite turned to Philip, who nodded that this was probably the case.
“I see, Commander,” said the Archimandrite. “And since when is British Intelligence so interested in spiritual things?”
“It’s Hitler’s interest that concerns us, Archimandrite. Fact is, Greek Fire changed the course of history. Hitler believes it can do so again. Only this time it’s the modern fleets of the invading Allies he wants to burn before they land on the beaches of Nazi-occupied Europe.” Lloyd produced a document from inside his tunic. “This communique was intercepted between Ankara and Berlin. It’s a telegram from the German ambassador to Turkey, Franz von Papen, to the Nazi foreign minister, Ribbentrop.”
He handed the document to Philip, who looked it over carefully. It was an English copy of the German original and said that an SS general, a certain Ludwig von Berg, had discovered the location of the Monastery of the Taborian Light.
This was terrible news, Philip realized, even worse than he had feared. It meant they must flee Meteora at once or risk having the Maranatha text fall into German hands. That must not be allowed to happen.
The Archimandrite must have sensed his distress, for he asked, “What is it, Philip?” When Philip told him that the Germans had located the Taborian Light, the old monk’s face turned white, and he crossed himself. “Lord, have mercy on us all!”
Philip turned to Lloyd. “Who is this General von Berg, Commander?”
“You mean the Baron of the Black Order?” Lloyd said. “Only the most dangerous man in the Third Reich, after Hitler and Himmler-and more cunning than both of them put together.”
Philip passed the communique back to Lloyd, who pocketed it.
“As you can see, Hadji Azrael, our interests are purely political,” Lloyd told him, patting the bulge in his tunic. “Churchill simply wants the Maranatha text out of Hitler’s reach for the rest of the war.”
Philip wasn’t so sure. The communique contained several puzzling references to a microfilm of a first-century copy of the Maranatha text, a copy allegedly unearthed by British archaeologists in Palestine. As far as Philip knew, there was no such copy, only the original text now buried beneath the monastery’s crypt inside the Templar Globe. Obviously, there was more to this intrigue than Commander Lloyd of British Intelligence was telling them. “And what does Mr. Churchill propose, Commander?”
“That I smuggle the text out of here on horseback to Kalambaka, hitch a ride on the Thessaly Railway to Volos, and then board a certain ship to neutral Istanbul. There I entrust the text to the Patriarch of the Eastern Orthodox Church himself for safekeeping until the end of the war.”
Lloyd’s offer was too generous for Philip to believe. But he could see it made an impression on the Archimandrite, who began to nod as he worked his worry beads.
“Surely, Archimandrite, you’re not seriously entertaining this stranger’s insane proposition?” Philip asked.
The Archimandrite sighed. “Better the text be with the Patriarch than in the hands of the Antichrist.”
That was presuming the text ever reached the Patriarch. Philip did not trust British Intelligence. Nor could he trust the judgment of his superior, who, never having killed a man, clearly was at a serious disadvantage. At times the Archimandrite seemed to forget that the heart of man was, above all else, cruelly deceptive and exceedingly wicked. But Philip, responsible for thousands of deaths, knew the human heart all too well.
“I am bound by a sacred oath to protect the Maranatha text,” he said. “I must insist that I be the one to deliver it to the Patriarch.”
The Archimandrite shook his head. “You know that is not possible. There is a death sentence on you the moment your feet touch Muslim ground. No, Philip. Brother Yiorgios will accompany Commander Lloyd to Constantinople.”
Lloyd frowned. “Brother Yiorgios?”
“Our silent brother,” said Philip, trying to conceal his bitterness. “We found him some months ago, roaming the hills not far from here, the last survivor of a monastery the Italians plundered. He has never said a word of that unspeakable evil. We put it all together when we saw his cassock and heard the reports.”
“He keeps everything to himself,” said the Archimandrite, who raised an eyebrow at Philip. “An example to us all.”
Philip added, “Vangelis insists he goes out at night into the woods to speak to the devil.”
The Archimandrite dismissed the notion with a wave of his gnarled hand. “That one sees a devil behind every fig tree.”
Seeing that his superior was not going to allow him to accompany Lloyd, Philip switched tactics. If reason failed to move the Archimandrite, then perhaps the unreasonable would smoke out the Englishman. “I say we burn the infernal text and be done with it.”
“You would destroy God’s revelation?” The Archimandrite looked at Philip in horror. “Come to your senses, Philip!”
“I’ve told you my suspicions, Archimandrite. Paul warned our forefathers to beware of any unsettling letter supposedly coming from him that talks about the Lord’s return.”
“Just a bloody minute,” said Lloyd, his eyes shifting back and forth between Philip and the Archimandrite. “You don’t think the text is genuine?”
“A genuine forgery,” Philip told him. “The Bible itself speaks of such a letter, one allegedly written by Paul that claims the last days have already come.” He looked the Archimandrite straight in the eye. “Perhaps the Maranatha text is the false report Paul mentions in his second letter to the Thessalonians, the very letter from hell he warns us to consider at our own peril.”
“Perhaps, Philip,” said the Archimandrite, suddenly sounding tired beyond his considerable years. “But how can you be sure?”
“The very nature of this text contradicts Paul’s repeated warnings to us not to entangle ourselves with endless timetables and futile speculations. Can’t you see, Archimandrite? There is something very diabolical about this text. Death surrounds it! Look what it does to men.”
Philip was pointing to Lloyd, who at first was startled by the gesture but soon found his tongue and turned everything Philip had said to his advantage.
“Archimandrite, if what Hadji Azrael says is true, then you must help us,” he argued with rising passion. “If you don’t, if the Maranatha text should fall into Hitler’s hands, you will fan into flame the all-consuming fires of Armageddon. And if Jesus Christ should come back today or in a thousand years, it will be you who must stand alone before His throne of judgment with the innocent blood of millions of women and children on your hands. And these words of mine will judge you when they are replayed for all to hear. How will you account for yourself?”
It was a dirty trick that had its desired effect on the Archimandrite. The mere thought of what Lloyd said seemed too great a burden for the old monk to bear. His shoulders drooped, and a faraway look filled his eyes. “Yes,” the Archimandrite repeated with resignation, “better the text be in the hands of the Patriarch than the Antichrist.”
Philip could not believe this was happening. “But, Archimandrite-”
The 34th Degree 11
“The matter is settled, Philip.” The Archimandrite grasped his rough wooden cane and rose slowly to his feet. “Brother Yiorgios will accompany Commander Lloyd to Constantinople. The Patriarch will decide what should be done with the Maranatha text.”
“The prime minister’s sentiments exactly,” chimed Lloyd, grinning in triumph as he looked at Philip.
Philip stared at the floor, unable to suppress the restlessness in his heart. “To let the text leave this monastery is to open up a Pandora’s box of evil,” he warned. “Who knows where it could end?”
It was a question that neither the Archimandrite nor Lloyd was able to answer, for at that moment Brother Vangelis burst through the door.