Abby jumped up, having rarely seen Lazarus deliver orders with such force. After she had left the room, Williams, asked, “So what does this mean?”
“The Temple of Pain is in the jungles of Peru, but you already knew that. It was home to a demon-worshipping cult. The story goes that one of the worshippers got out of control during one of their ceremonies and took a knife to the guest of honor — the devil.”
Davis blinked. “Wait a minute. You’re talking about the devil? As in Satan?”
Lazarus directed Morgan to go and fetch one of his journals. While his aide was out of the room, Lazarus said, “It doesn’t matter. According to legend, it was a powerful demon whose existence was ended by a mortal. The man carved out the devil’s heart and it became an object of worship in the area. When the cult finally died out, it was left behind in the crumbling temple.”
“So it’s still there?”
Lazarus thanked Morgan, taking a bound leather volume from his friend. “No, it’s not. About six years ago, Walther Lunt and I tracked down the temple and I claimed the heart.”
Williams nodded thoughtfully. “And you gave it to Lunt.”
“Yes.”
“But what about this mention of a body?” Davis asked.
“There was a separate legend, one that Lunt told me had been discredited. It said that the devil’s body had been preserved in some fashion.” Lazarus flipped through the pages of his journal, finally finding what he was looking for. He read aloud:
And the body of the devil was said to still have consciousness, though not true life. It answered questions and provided dark knowledge, unable to resist serving those who possessed it.
Lazarus closed the book and tossed it onto the table, where it landed with a thud. “Lunt told me that the body supposedly vanished long before we found the temple. It was carted around the American west in various sideshows before it disappeared completely. The last known sighting of it was in the 1890s.”
“You said it had been discredited.”
“Yes. Investigators from the Illuminati — a husband and wife duo named Caleb and Nancy Grace — were shown the body in 1857. They claimed it was a fake, nothing more than the upper torso of a monkey sewn onto the lower half of a deceased human who suffered from dwarfism. Their opinion was that there was no devil’s body out there. It was a scam.”
“But you had doubts about that, didn’t you?” Davis, despite his gruff exterior, possessed a keen eye when it came to human nature.
“I did. But I could never find any true evidence of it and Lunt convinced me to let the matter lie.”
Williams looked excited as he asked, “Do you know where Lunt’s private papers could be? We have no idea how long it will be before the Nazis realize this message was intercepted. We have to move before they do.”
“You want to keep this occult object out of Hitler’s hands?” Morgan asked. “So you guys believe in its power?”
“Anything the Nazis want this badly, we’d like to keep away from them, yes. But I, for one, don’t put stock into the supernatural. That doesn’t mean it might not have uses, though.”
Lazarus rapped his knuckles on the tabletop. “It’s been years since I was privy to Lunt’s secrets but from the best I can remember, he had three main homes: one in Berlin, not far from where The Illuminati’s inner circle met; another in Switzerland; and a third here in the United States. That one was in Manhattan.”
Williams gave a shake of his head. “I think we can scratch the Berlin base off the list. Our sources say that the Nazis ransacked Lunt’s home last week. If they’d found what they were looking for, there wouldn’t have been any point in the communiqué.”
“Then that leaves two.” Lazarus moved to the door, stopping only when Davis rose to his feet.
“Where are you going?” the military officer demanded. It wasn’t a tone that many people took with Lazarus and it was obvious that Morgan didn’t take kindly to it. He leaned forward with a glower.
“You asked for my assistance, didn’t you?” Lazarus responded, opening the door. “You have it. My staff and I will look into this matter. You’ll hear from me soon.”
Chapter III
Death on Two Fronts
Jakob Sporrenberg was no stranger to the Swiss Alps. As a youth, he’d come here with his parents, learning the skills of both mountaineering and skiing. He’d taken to both with aplomb and had pestered his father to bring him back again and again.
The former SS officer stopped as he ascended another slope. The sun was coming over the horizon and Sporrenberg reached up and adjusted the goggles he wore. The way the light reflected off the white snow could be blinding at times, as he well knew.
Turning to look over his shoulder, he saw Samantha and Eun hurrying to catch up to him. When Lazarus had made the decision to divide their forces, Sporrenberg had been the obvious choice to lead the Swiss team — and he’d quickly selected his companions. Abby and Morgan were both very capable but neither would have been able to keep pace with him.
Samantha, looking perfectly at home in her parka and snow gear, looked up above them. The villa that had belonged to Walther Lunt was perched on the mountainside. It was a beautifully designed structure, one that spoke of both class and wealth.
“That’s… really nice,” Samantha said, gasping slightly in the thin mountain air.
At her side, Eun issued a grunt of agreement. “He knew how to spend money.”
Sporrenberg waited until they were alongside him before he spoke. “We’re not alone here.”
Samantha looked around in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Look at the ground.” He knelt down and ran his gloved hand over the powdery surface. “There are indentations in the snow. You can’t call them footprints any longer but they were here before the most recent snowfall. I’d guess that someone came through here no more than an hour ago.”
“So you think they’re still inside?” Eun asked, tensing in anticipation. The young Korean enjoyed combat more than anyone Sporrenberg had ever met.
“There’s no sign of them having come back through here,” was the answer. “So I think it’s safe to assume we’re going to meet them inside the villa.”
“Nazis,” Eun muttered with disgust. He glanced over at Sporrenberg and shrugged. “No offense.”
“None taken. I turned in my membership card, remember?”
Samantha grinned, looking like she’d just been told that they were about to attend a grand ball. “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go kick some Nazi tail!”
Half a world away, the remaining members of Assistance Unlimited — Lazarus Gray, Morgan Watts and Abigail Cross — were moving through the darkened streets of Manhattan. While it was dawn in Switzerland, it was approaching one a.m. in the eastern United States.
Rain fell in weighty droplets, drenching the city. The few poor souls out at such an hour were mostly the homeless dregs of society and they shuffled about, misery having long ago taken root in their souls. The Stock Market Crash of ’29 had plunged much of the country into a deep economic abyss and its effects were still very powerful, even some seven years later.
Morgan glanced over at a pockmarked middle aged man, dressed in what had once been a fine coat but which was now threadbare, and thought how lucky he was. When his own life had gone south, Lazarus had been there to lift him up. Though he hadn’t adopted a new name, he felt a kinship with Lazarus in that they had both experienced a rebirth. Morgan Watts, criminal, was a far cry from the man he was today.