Cathedral-like, it was here that Ivo prayed daily to the gods of Galileo, Copernicus, Newton and Planck.
Peering over the railing, he was pleased to observe the researchers, scientists and scholars seated at various tables on the mezzanine level. In order to maintain secrecy, they endeavoured under the false belief that they were working on a covert government project. To further the deceit, they’d been forced to sign an ‘official’ confidentiality disclosure agreement. Should they reveal the nature of their work to anyone outside of the foundation, they would be hit with heavy monetary fines and possible imprisonment. Or so they believed. If, in fact, any of the researchers ever did violate the terms of the agreement, a far more severe penalty would be meted out. Administered by the Dark Angel.
The sight of so much industry, of virtuosi working for a common cause, was a soothing balm for Ivo’s frazzled nerves. An organized collective, all of the researchers at the Seven Research Foundation were in pursuit of the same primary objective – to analyze the effect of fusing astral and telluric energies to create the Vril force.
The Lost Science of the ancient world.
While they’d had great success engineering a special generator to create the Vril force, they were missing the unique integral component that would operate the device – the Lapis Exillis.
Once they found the Lapis Exillis, and they would find it, das Groß Versuch, the Great Experiment, could be conducted. In Stage One of the experiment, they would generate the Vril force. In the next stage, the Vril force would be used to do the unimaginable … to create a loop in the space–time continuum.
The ultimate physics experiment.
Glancing dismissively at his tepid cup of tea, Ivo hoped that he lived long enough to witness that history-altering event.
The pain having become more than he could bear, he gracelessly lumbered to his feet. The metastasized tumour in the back of his abdominal cavity pressed against his spine, creating near-constant pain. According to his oncologist, he had no more than four months to live. Even if he underwent the gruelling treatments, it would only add an extra two or three months to his life. Preferring pain to debilitating nausea and uncontrollable diarrhoea, he’d elected not to undergo the chemotherapy and radiation treatment. At least the pain could be managed.
Slowly shuffling to a locked door on the other side of the alcove, Ivo keyed a numeric code into the security pad, the door unlocking with a soft pong!
A private lavatory, it was painted and tiled in neutral shades of brown, the cabinetry stained a dark espresso. An elaborate dried floral arrangement, an upholstered high-backed chair and several pillar candles created a tasteful décor.
Ivo stepped over to the basin and washed his hands. Seating himself on the edge of the chair, he opened a drawer and removed a small bottle of white powder, a second bottle of sterile water, a tiny piece of cotton, an alcohol swab, a tourniquet, a wrapped syringe and a spoon. Hands shaking, he lit the nearby candle. He deemed it a bitter irony that his pain medication derived its name from the German word heroisch meaning ‘heroic’.
From his perspective, there was nothing heroic about dying from cancer or shooting up with heroin.
However, he’d long since got over the shame of the latter. For him, it was a matter of simple expedience; heroin crossed the blood–brain barrier faster than morphine and was a far more potent analgesic.
Removing the needle from his vein, Ivo leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, able to see a luminous fire burning in the dark void. An instant later, Wotan appeared, hanging from a gnarled oak tree.
Pain dissipating, Ivo softly cackled.
The fallacy of religion was that the Church Fathers adamantly asserted transcendental experiences proved the existence of God. How trite. One had only to inject a small amount of heroin into a vein to induce a spiritual euphoria.
Ivo savoured the bliss as the bright ball of fire travelled to his left breast, burning a hole through the middle of his tattoo.
Yes!
They would find the Lapis Exillis. He was certain of it. Then they would put his father’s theory to the ultimate test. Transform the past into the present. And when they did, they would restore das Dritte Reich … the Third Reign … one that would indeed last a thousand years.
How amazing to ponder that the course of all their lives could be dramatically altered by fusing different types of energy. Creating an invisible force that had no intelligence, no scent, no taste and made no sound.
Yet, despite all that, a force to be reckoned with.
46
What was the Grail if not the Mysterium cosmographicum? Cædmon silently mused.
Excited by the prospect of finding the ‘secret of the universe’, he had nonetheless taken the time to shave, shower and don fresh clothing. Keys in hand, he swung the leather tote bag on to his shoulder. For some inexplicable reason, he felt like a new man.
Ready to depart, he shut the bedroom door and headed into the flat’s cluttered sitting room. Opening the top drawer on the corner cabinet, he reluctantly deposited his holster. As he did, his gaze landed on a smudged glass with a finger’s measure of gin, in plain sight where he’d left it earlier that morning on top of the cabinet.
For several long seconds he stared, his old self tempted.
‘ “And every spirit upon earth seemed fervourless as I,” ’ he muttered, well aware that he’d become a predictable bore.
Tuning out the Siren, he purposefully hitched the satchel a bit higher on his shoulder and strode out of the room.
A few moments later, alarm set and shop door locked, he departed L’Equinoxe bookstore. The gaily painted shop sign swayed ever so slightly in the breeze, rusty hinges jangling. He’d designed the signage, which depicted the Fool, the first card in the Tarot deck, as a satirical self-portrait. The innocent young man blithely setting forth on an adventure. So consumed in his joie de vivre, it rendered him oblivious to the fact that he was about to step off a cliff and break his bloody neck.
Although, strangely enough, today the image bespoke a deeper meaning. In truth, he felt uplifted. Invigorated, even. Certainly a departure from the self-loathing he’d experienced upon rising. For what began as a day like any other had unexpectedly turned into an odyssey. A mental challenge had presented itself, wrapped in the tantalizing ribbons of a centuries-old mystery.
However, unlike the Fool, he wasn’t naive. The Seven Research Foundation sought the Grail so they could put a dark plan into play. The progeny of monsters, God only knew what they intended. The Cathars would claim, and rightly so, that the Seven owed allegiance to none save Rex Mundi, Lucifer, the god of the material realm. The evil one who lured young fools from the straight and narrow path.
As he hurriedly made his way down Rue de la Bûcherie – feeling very much like a newly released penitentiary inmate – it dawned on Cædmon that all of the cock-ups in his life had transpired after he’d veered from the straight and narrow. His father, were he still alive, would maintain that he’d taken his first misstep when he’d journeyed down the birth canal. Indeed, he held Cædmon personally liable for the fact that Helena Aisquith died while she laboured to bring their first child, a squalling baby boy, into the world.
Because of that tragic misfortune, he’d been raised in a cheerless household. When he turned thirteen, his father shunted him off to Eton College. A malicious contrivance, Cædmon was forced to bear a whole new torment, pecking order at the hallowed public school determined by one’s lineage. Lacking the ancestral prestige of his classmates, he had to best them with the only tools in his arsenaclass="underline" a sharp mind and a well-honed body. By the time he left Eton, he boasted membership in the elite Sixth Form Select and had captained the cricket team that victoriously took the field against Harrow. For five arduous years he had stayed true to the straight path until, finally liberated, he set forth for Oxford.