"Yes. Sir Bedivere — who refused three times, like Peter denying Christ. And then, when eventually he did comply, a ship with black sails appeared and carried Arthur to Avalon, from where it is said he will rise one day to save his people when they are next in mortal peril."
Tom frowned. "I don't follow."
"Many cultures have a similar legend. In Denmark, it is believed that Holger the Dane sleeps beneath Kronborg Castle, from where he will emerge when the fatherland is in need. In Germany, Emperor Frederick II — Barbarossa — is said to sleep beneath the Kyffhauser mountain, from where he will return at the end of time. In my opinion, Himmler wanted a fittingly epic end for his own knights. In December 1944 he summoned the Order for one last meeting. It's not known what instructions he gave them, but not long afterwards they disappeared and were never seen again."
"You think they escaped?"
"Who knows? Maybe they were killed by the advancing
Soviet army. Maybe they lived out their days on a banana plantation somewhere in Paraguay. Or maybe, as we speak, they are waiting beneath some mountain or castle for the time when they will be called upon to restore the German Reich."
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Finally, we get to the train." Hecht sighed sarcastically. "It's what was on the train that I want to know about!" came the voice from the speakerphone.
"And you would be right," said Renwick. "Because that is where the story gets really interesting. You see—"
Before he could continue, the door burst open and three uniformed men with shaved heads sprang into the room, machine guns slung around their necks. Renwick snapped his eyes to Hecht, but he seemed unperturbed.
"What is it, Konrad?" Hecht asked the first man, a square-set blond with a flat, stupid face.
"Filnf Manner," Konrad panted. "Mehr draussen. Stellen unten fragen."
"Problem?" Renwick asked Hecht, setting aside his annoyance at Hecht's breaking his promise that they would not be interrupted. The tension in Konrad's voice suggested this was not the moment to raise it. "We've got company."
"Police?"
Hecht looked questioningly at Konrad, who responded, "Ja. UtBundesnachrichtendienst."
"The secret service?" It was Dmitri's turn to speak. "How the hell did they get on to us so fast?"
"The concierge," said Renwick slowly, recalling the man's fingernails tapping nervously on the counter and the anxious look in his eyes. "I thought he was just tired, but he knew something. He was expecting me."
"We'll deal with him later," Dmitri snarled. "Have you got a way out, Colonel?"
"Of course, sir."
"Gut. Use it. We'll continue this later." He hung up and the line hummed noisily until Hecht leaned forward and punched the off button.
"How are we going to get past them?" Renwick asked casually, masking his concern. Normally he wouldn't have been too worried. He had been in worse situations, much worse, and still slipped away unnoticed. But on those occasions he had been operating alone, able to think for himself, to react as he saw fit, to take whatever steps he deemed necessary. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he was relying on others for his safe passage, people he didn't know or trust. He didn't like it.
"With these—" Konrad reappeared carrying several uniforms identical to the ones he and the other two men were wearing. He threw them to the floor and then indicated that Renwick should put one on. "Schnell."
Renwick picked up a thick blue jacket and examined it skeptically. "What is it?"
"Fireman's uniform," said Hecht, grabbing one and pulling it on.
"Where is the fire?" Renwick asked as he buttoned up the jacket, then stepped into a pair of trousers, pulling them up over his suit.
"Right where you're standing. Karl, Florian—"
The two men disappeared into what Renwick assumed to be the bedroom, returning with a couple of large jerry cans.
Rapidly and methodically they made their way around the room, sloshing gasoline over the carpet, sofa, and curtains. The smell, sweet and metallic, hit the back of Renwick's throat.
Meanwhile Hecht and Konrad were busy wiping the door handles, table, whiskey bottle, and anything else that any of them might have touched or used, even smashing Renwick's glass against the wall. It was slick and professional, and within thirty seconds the room was clean. Renwick felt his concern easing.
"Take this." Konrad handed him a pale yellow helmet, its surface chipped and covered in soot in a way that suggested its owner was a veteran of many years' hard-fought fire-fighting experience. When on, the built-in respirator and goggles almost completely obscured the wearer's face.
"Ready?" Hecht asked. They all nodded, put their helmets on, and followed him out into the hall. Hecht walked up to the fire alarm between the twin elevator shafts and smashed it with a jab of his right elbow.
The corridor was immediately filled with a piercing shriek as the alarm sounded, followed a few seconds later by the sound of doors opening and faces peeking out of rooms farther down the corridor. The sight of Renwick and the others standing there in full firefighting gear turned their expressions from concern, and in some cases annoyance, to undisguised fear and panic. Within seconds, guests in various states of undress were stampeding toward the fire escape and the safety of the ground floor.
"The alarm automatically shuts off all the lifts, making it impossible for our friends downstairs to get up here that way…"
"…And the crowd heading down the fire escapes should delay their progress if they try to use the stairs." Renwick completed his sentence for him, admiring the simplicity of the tactic. "But how do we get out?"
"There's a lift at the rear of the building that remains operational even in a fire, provided you have a key." Hecht dangled a small key in front of Renwick's face. "The fire brigade will be here within three minutes. As soon as they arrive, we'll take the lift down to the basement and then go through the car park. In the confusion, no one will notice five more men in uniform."
Hecht slipped a box of matches out of his pocket and shook to check it was full. He turned to face the suite's open doorway.
"May I?" Renwick inquired.
"Of course." Hecht handed over the matches with a small bow and an amused grin. "You look like you're going to enjoy this."
Renwick took one last, disdainful look at the clumsy furniture, beige carpet, gold cushions, and brown curtains before striking the match and holding it in front of him.
"More than you could possibly know."
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Given that it was the only stained-glass window in the entire church, Archie felt rather foolish for not having noticed it sooner. What made it special, though, was not its uniqueness but the fact that it was an identical copy of the painting of the castle in Weissman's photograph.
"How long has this been here?" was his slightly bemused question.
"It was gift from my uncle. In memory of my aunt."
"When did she die?"
Maria shook her head. "Before I was born. In fifty-five, fifty-six. Cancer. He used to come here to pray for her…"
"Do you mind if I take a picture?"
She looked nervously over her shoulder, saw that the church was empty, and shrugged her consent.
"Ja, okay. No problem."
Archie slipped the digital camera Tom had loaned him out of his pocket and took several shots of the window and the plaque underneath it, the flash spitting its incongruous white light into the church's gloom.