Thule, after all, meant “the mystic center” and “God’s order.” And in ancient times, Ultima Thule—the farthest land—was rumored to be a secret island, well-known as the true home of a long-lost and supremely powerful German race. The Leadership was committed to bringing that power back.
It was their research into early archaeology that led to the discovery of so many of the ancient totems. But their true goal was always the all-important one: the priceless find that the Coptic monks had carried all the way from Egypt. It was the Leadership’s mastery of runic symbols that let them decipher the messages the monks had left behind—and sent them to the rock art site in Sweden, to the cave covered with the carved lines and circles. The Leadership weren’t the only ones. The Russians and Americans were on the trail, too. At the turn of the century, this was the time when so many of the totems were tracked by governments and hidden in their museums. But at the cave—in April 1900—the Thules were unquestionably first.
Back then, lesser men would’ve focused on the scenes of the animals and warriors that were carved on the walls. The Thules knew better. When they saw the ancient carving of the man with the raised arms—the rune known as “the Son of God”—they knew what they’d found.
From God to Adam. From Adam to Cain. The treasured birthright that brought murder into the world. That kept men invulnerable, invincible. And that would lead them to the true ancient origins of the first Aryan race.
Ellis knew it wasn’t far.
Keeping his head down as he walked through the sliding doors, Ellis headed for the reception desk, where a Hispanic woman clicked at a computer. His lower back was still on fire—he hadn’t been smart in his encounter with Cal’s father, hadn’t expected the fury inside him. But as he reminded himself from last night, the trickster was full of surprises.
Fortunately, so was Ellis.
“I’m looking for a patient,” he said to the receptionist. “She came in within the last hour or so. Naomi Molina.”
“Gimme one second,” the receptionist replied.
Ellis could still remember standing in the lawyer’s office, how his feet felt like tree roots sinking into the earth when he first read his great-grandfather’s theory. So much of it made sense. Indeed, murder is what makes us human. But the Book that Cain carried wasn’t given as punishment. It was a reward. For repenting.
A gift from God.
The Russians wanted it as simple religious proof. The Americans chased it, thinking it was a weapon. But based on the runes, the Thules knew what the Coptic monks had really unearthed in Egypt—and how they survived their trip from half a world away. Cain’s Book contained more than just a way to live. God had given him far more than that.
Maybe the monks were afraid of the power. The Leadership had no such problems. And apparently, in a lightning bolt of good fortune, neither did Mitchell Siegel.
It took years for the Leadership to recover from the massacre with the Russians. But as with a broken bone, injury and healing made it stronger. By 1917, the Thules widened their net, attracting over 250 followers. By 1918, they incorporated the ancient and powerful swastika into their coat of arms. And in 1919, they attracted the eye of a young failed painter named Adolf Hitler. A man who desperately wanted to be somebody. And who wasn’t afraid of power.
Was it any surprise that Mein Kampf was dedicated to Thule member Dietrich Eckart? Or that Hitler credited Thule elder Dr. Friedrich Krohn with designing the swastika flag that the Nazis adopted?
Under Hitler, many Thules—Heinrich Himmler and Rudolf Hess among them—were absorbed into the highest positions of the Nazi Party. But even as their political power grew, the Leadership never lost sight of what had been stolen. Or how it might be found.
In 1930, they made their first contact with a dissatisfied member of the United States’ new Bureau of Investigation. By 1932, they had Mikhel Segalovich’s new name and address. And today, over a century later, Ellis was finally ready to finish what his family had begun.
“You related to Ms. Molina?” the Hispanic woman asked, flipping through her clipboard.
“She’s my wife,” Ellis replied.
“Exam room E. Third curtain on the right.”
It’d been well over an hour since Cal and his dad had run from the house. Ellis knew they were long gone. But Naomi was a different story. Ellis had seen the blood running down the side of her face. A wound like that needed a hospital. And if Ellis was right, finding Naomi would also help him find the Prophet. Indeed, maybe she was the Prophet.
It was simple math. When Cal and Naomi left the museum, there were only four people who knew that the group was headed back to the Siegel house: Cal knew. Naomi knew. Plus Lloyd and the woman. Serena. Four people. And since the Prophet knew, the Prophet had to be one of them.
All along, Ellis assumed it was the trickster: Cal’s father. But when he saw the group on the stairs—when he saw Naomi being carried by Cal . . . and her earpiece dangling downward . . . Her phone. The earpiece.
There it was.
Her earpiece.
Such a simple way for someone to overhear.
Naturally, Ellis didn’t want to jump to conclusions. But if Naomi was reporting in—whether to stay safe or just get information—Ellis’s math was wrong. There weren’t just four people who knew that Cal was headed back to the Siegel house. There were five. And if that was the case, well . . . Ellis had to know: Who the hell was Naomi speaking to when she was talking into that earpiece?
“It’s me!” a familiar female voice shouted angrily from the corner of the emergency room. “Where the hell you been, Scotty?”
Following the sound, Ellis turned to his right and stared at the closed blue curtain that was now just a few feet in front of him. Scotty. The only other person who heard everything was Scotty. Scotty heard what was happening. Scotty knew what was coming. Scotty knew it all in advance. Like an oracle. Or a seer. Or a prophet.
“Scotty, can you hear me? Where you been!?” Naomi yelled.
Ellis nodded to himself.
That was a damn good question for Scotty.
60
It’s always Nazis, isn’t it?” Naomi asked into her earpiece, lying flat on the gurney and trying hard not to move.
“Ma’am, can you please put down the phone?” the young nurse pleaded as he tugged on the forceps and threaded another stitch through the cut on Naomi’s temple.
“I told you: federal business,” Naomi said.
“They’re not Nazis,” Scotty clarified through the phone. “Back then, they called themselves the Thule Society.”
“But you said they helped bring Hitler to power— Ahh, that stings!”
“Put the phone down,” the nurse again insisted as Naomi made a face.
“I don’t know,” Scotty said. “I think the Thules were after a power that wasn’t necessarily political.”
“You mean this Cain book? What’d the FBI guys call it?”
“A totem,” Scotty said. “And if it weren’t so important, why spend over a century searching for it?”
Naomi closed her eyes as the nurse hooked the curved needle through her skin. “So you think Ellis is part of these Thules as well?” she asked.
“According to the FBI, the Thules haven’t been active since World War II. But that doesn’t mean Ellis isn’t trying to bring the band back together—especially if he thinks there’s some kinda magic power that’ll come from it.”