“I don’t like playing games,” she said with a cold glint in her eye. “And I like being insulted even less. I’m going to ask you the same question: Where is Lazarus?”
Sporrenberg had been trained to resist all manner of torture but his loyalty to Assistance Unlimited wasn’t so great that he felt the need to call upon his training at this juncture. “He’s in Salem, Massachusetts. A friend of his was invited to join The Illuminati.”
Miya stepped back, obviously surprised by the news. Sporrenberg sympathized: back in Germany, he was frequently treated as a man of importance but he had grown accustomed to the realization that he was kept out of the loop all too often.
The German felt her gaze on him and realized that he wouldn’t be able to grab his gun before she attacked. “You’ll have to kill us before we let you take Die Glocke. It’s too dangerous.”
“Is that supposed to deter me?”
“I overheard some of what Lazarus said to you in the caves. You don’t want to be in The Illuminati, do you? You’re just there for the money and the power — and the fact that you think you can’t quit. But Hitler has great plans in Germany. I know for a fact that he’s planning to kick out The Illuminati because he thinks they’re dangerous. You’d be perfect for the new division he’s starting up — the OFP. The Occult Forces Project is going to change the world and you can be a part of it!”
Miya stared at the German, whose words had tumbled out in a nervous rush. She had heard rumors that Hitler, who had thus far coveted The Illuminati’s approval, might be looking to distance himself. Her first thought was that she might curry more favor with her superiors by reporting the news but as quickly as that idea had come, she had brushed it aside. “Hitler has no idea what he’s doing if he challenges them. They have agents everywhere, even in his own inner circle.”
“He knows that. He even knows who they are. It’s just a matter of when he chooses to take them out.”
“You’re bluffing.”
Sporrenberg shrugged. “Does it matter? You’re just looking for an excuse to get out of The Illuminati anyway.”
Miya’s eyes twinkled beneath the gas mask that she wore. “You’re right. I am tired of The Illuminati. That’s why they don’t know I’m here.”
Sporrenberg blinked in confusion. “I don’t understand.”
“Obviously.” Miya drove her knife hard into Sporrenberg’s chest. She repeated the motion three more times, blood spraying from the German’s wounds. He tried to fend off her attacks but by the time he had recovered from the shock of it all, it was too late.
Miya backed away, blood dripping from her knife. She was panting, the sense of exultation that always came with murder making her heart race.
“Mademoiselle?”
Miya looked over at one of her brutes. “Yes?”
The man’s eyes flicked over the corpse at her feet but he made no mention of it. “The device appears to still be in operational shape.”
“Good. Begin the disassembly but make sure you don’t miss any of the peripherals that go with it.”
The broad shouldered man gave a curt nod and returned to his work, barking orders at the others. Miya knelt over Sporrenberg’s body and rifled through his pockets. She took his guns and ammunition but didn’t touch the German money he carried with him.
With pure callousness, she left him where he had fallen.
Eun woke up with a pounding headache and a burning throat. He realized with a start that his gasmask had been damaged, meaning that he’d been breathing in the steaming fumes the entire time. He sat up quickly and caught sight of Sporrenberg’s body, covered in blood. He crawled over and began searching for a pulse. He was just about to give up when he thought he detected the smallest of heartbeats. He was no doctor but he knew enough first aid that he was able to keep the man alive until the helicopter returned. He hefted Sporrenberg up like a sack of potatoes, carrying him over one shoulder onto the waiting vehicle.
They were halfway back to Sovereign when Sporrenberg briefly opened his eyes. “Shimada,” the German whispered.
Eun patted him on the arm. “She got away with the device. I know. Don’t worry about it.”
“Dangerous….”
“Yeah. We’ll deal with it once you’re up and about again. I called ahead. Doc Hancock is gonna be waiting on us.”
Sporrenberg’s eyes began to close but then he opened them again with an obvious force of will. “You saved me. Why?”
Eun fidgeted. “Couldn’t just leave you to bleed to death.”
“But… I’m a… Nazi.”
Eun didn’t reply until he was confident that Sporrenberg was sleeping again. “Yes,” he said at last. “But you’re our Nazi.”
Lazarus Gray had visited Salem many times during his days with The Illuminati. The city had a rich occult background, making it a favorite spot for ceremonies and summonings. The last time he’d been here was during the final days of his association with The Illuminati. He’d been at Lunt’s side and much of the trip had been tense, with both men sensing that their partnership was at an end. Less than three months later, Richard Winthrop was dead and Lazarus Gray had been born.
Professor Emerson was unaware that he was being followed as he walked through the darkened streets, navigating the path from his hotel to the meeting site. Lazarus was skilled at tracking but in this case it was really no challenge: Emerson was blissfully unaware of any danger and so he kept to the brightly lit areas of the city.
The meeting was held at a Masonic Lodge in what was known as Witchcraft Heights. The city recognized the importance that its history with the occult held and continually played it up. To most it was simply a way of luring in the tourists or keeping history alive… but there were a few in the city who knew what it really was: a way of subtly paying homage to the dark forces that had done so much for the area.
The Masonic Lodge was a brick single-story building with a plaque affixed to the door. It read, ‘Lodge established 1703’ and featured both the traditional Freemason symbols and also a fiery sun. This latter imagery was associated with The Illuminati.
Lazarus waited across the street as Emerson knocked on the door and was let in by a fat man with a walrus moustache. When it looked like everyone who would be in attendance had arrived, Lazarus moved closer, snaking around the rear of the building. There was a single window here and it was some ten feet up. Lazarus considered dragging a box around and standing on top of it but he feared attracting too much attention. Instead, he examined the back door. The lock on it was a common one and he was able to pick it without any trouble at all.
He entered the building through a small storage room and followed the sounds of conversation until he was pressed tightly against a wall, staring around the corner into a room lit by a half dozen candles and a single lamp. The flooring in the room was blood red in color and the furnishings on the wall were peculiar: they were a mix of medieval woodcuts, the mounted heads of animals and a large painting of a pyramid with an eye set in the center of it.
Emerson was shaking hands with several men who were obviously old friends of his. In all, there a dozen men in the room and all of them resembled Emerson in that they were Caucasian, middle-aged or older and were obviously quite comfortable in life. They wore suits and ties, polished shoes and well-tailored jackets.