At Adam's look of inquiry, he continued. "As you well know, when Hitler came to power, the Nazi regime was not without its sympathizers here in this country. From the very outset of the war, there were some who actively collaborated with the enemy, seeing the threatened invasion of England as an opportunity to further their own schemes for aggrandizement.
"Jasper Taliere was hardly more than a boy at the time, but he was old enough to harbor a host of resentful ambitions. Spurred on by dreams of power, he was among those who took part in a well-orchestrated campaign to bring havoc to our cities - a campaign all the more terrible and effective because it was carried out with the aid of supernatural powers."
Adam was well aware of whispered tales concerning the existence of certain black lodges operating within the Third Reich, whose members had utilized their esoteric talents in support of their patron's designs for world conquest. Aware of a sudden chill creeping into his bones, he asked, "What, exactly, was Taliere doing?''
Graham's jaw hardened. "Committing very specialized acts of sabotage - some directed at destroying national monuments, others aimed at wiping out key individuals associated with the wartime government. To this day, I doubt we'll ever know the full extent of the damage that was done. But one thing I am sure of: By the time certain of my colleagues were able to bring the situation under control, these sabotage operations had cost the lives of hundreds - possibly even thousands."
As Adam shook his head in horrified wonderment, Graham went on.
"It started in the early days of the Blitz. When the air strikes first began, the devastation seemed as random as it was widespread. As the raids continued, however, it came to our attention that the number of direct hits on politically significant targets was disproportionately high. We thought at first that the Germans had perfected some kind of highly sophisticated internal guidance system for their bombs. Then one of my own special agents in the field managed to intercept information which enabled us to piece together the truth.
"Taliere and his fellow-collaborators were using the bombing raids as convenient camouflage under which to carry out a parallel campaign of attack. The damage they were wreaking was caused not by explosives, but by lightning. This lightning was no natural phenomenon, but an emanation from the realms of chaos. The giver of the lightning was none other than one of the storm gods of old."
Adam caught his breath. All at once, this was beginning to have an eerily familiar ring.
"How did they determine where the lightning was to strike?" he asked.
"By leaving a votive object at the site to draw down the lightning charge," Graham replied. "Those few we were able to recover and neutralize took the form of disk-shaped bronze medallions bearing a symbol that my people dubbed the lightning rune. It was not unlike the double-S sigrunen insignia adopted by the SS. Even at the time, it was suggested that this symbol might be part of a secret Pictish alphabet reserved for ceremonial use. But in those days, all that seemed certain was that the rune was intended to invoke the destructive power of Taranis, the ancient lightning god of pagan times."
"Taranis," Adam repeated softly. If Taliere was a votary of Taranis, the incident at Callanish suddenly began to take on a new dimension - and to connect with an old adversary. Taranis had been the dark Patron invoked in the slaying of Randall Stewart, and in a series of lightning strikes directed against prominent Freemasons - and Francis Raeburn had been at the heart of the operation, allied with another black magician whose former allegiances apparently paralleled Taliere's. The targeting principle in both instances had been a medallion.
"You're certain we're talking about the same man?" Adam asked.
"You supplied the name. And the fingerprint records you provided, no less than your photograph and Mr. Lovat's excellent sketch, match up with the fingerprints and photos contained in our files. I'd say there's little question that the Callanish affair was Taliere's work."
"That doesn't explain his motive, especially after so long. Have you any idea what made this Taliere turn traitor in the first place?"
"From what we could piece together at the time, he apparently saw himself as acting to revive the beliefs and practices of the ancient Druids - of whom he claimed to be a direct descendant."
Adam frowned. "That tallies with what we've been told of Evans. But the various forms of Druid worship were the very heart and soul of Britain from ancient times. Why would a Druid want to see the British government overthrown in favor of an invader from the Continent?''
Graham smiled thinly. "Don't forget that Taliere's a Welshman. By his reckoning, the House of Windsor is a dynasty of usurpers. By contrast, the Welsh-descended Tudors were the last legitimate rulers of this sceptered isle - and by extension, the last keepers and users of our native shamanic traditions in the line of sacred kings. Taliere was collaborating with the Germans in the fond expectation of seeing a Tudor monarch restored to the throne under Hitler's aegis."
Adam's frown deepened. "That makes no sense. The direct Tudor line of succession came to an end when Elizabeth the First died without issue."
"So say the history books," Graham agreed. "But Taliere was convinced otherwise by a man claiming to be a direct descendant of her father, Henry the Eighth - this, by virtue of a clandestine dalliance between Henry and a Welsh princess who secretly bore him a son. Whether or not the story was true - and I think it unlikely - this pretender was going to assume the crown in the wake of the Nazi conquest. And between them, he and Taliere were going to reinstate the old religion - or rather, Taliere's warped vision of it."
Adam was gripped by a sudden premonition. "This pretender - what was his name?"
His tone earned him a curious glance from Graham. "He called himself Tudor-Jones. Why do you ask?"
"Davld Tudor-Jones?" Adam said.
"Then you've heard of him," Graham replied.
"Aye, and crossed paths more than once with a man who would seem to be his son."
It was Graham's turn to look startled. "I never knew Tudor-Jones had a son!"
"That's not surprising, since the son himself doesn't advertise the connection," Adam said. "He uses his mother's maiden name. We know him as Francis Raeburn.''
Chapter Twenty-Two
WHEN Adam returned to the world of the outer senses, it was nearly midnight. His whole body felt chilled to the bone, as was only to be expected after so long a journey on the astral. Even more chilling were the implications of what he had learned.
Pulling his dressing gown more tightly around him, he got up and heaped fresh wood on the fire before turning on the lights. A call on the in-house telephone let Humphrey know that he was finished for the night and very much in need of refreshment, after which he returned to his fireside chair to contemplate what he had learned from John Graham.
In bringing to light the hitherto secret connections between Taliere/Evans and Raeburn, Graham had clarified aspects of the present situation, which had seemed insolubly murky two days earlier. Taliere's mysteriously brief emergence from obscurity two years ago - so baffling when viewed as an isolated incident - could now be seen to coincide roughly with Raeburn's attempt to reactivate the ancient and malignant powers of the Soulis tore under the auspices of the Head-Master. There now seemed little need for further speculation as to who had organized the elaborate ritual at Callanish. Raeburn, it would appear, was renewing his efforts to court the power and favor of the old gods, with Taliere drafted to play a supporting role.