The Blood Gospel

She stared over at Tarek, expecting the same from him.

Slowly, his head bowed, his eyes averted.

Good.

She returned to her leafy bower and lifted her binoculars.

Now to break the other one.

30

October 27, 3:22 A.M., CET

Ettal, Germany

As soon as Erin stepped through the small rear door of the abbey, the familiar smell of wood smoke took her back to her days of hauling firewood and water at the compound.

The oddity of it struck her. Why would the Sanguinists need a fire? Did they enjoy the warmth, the dance of flame, the crackle of embers? Or were there humans in this part of the abbey?

Past the threshold, she stopped alongside Jordan at the entrance to a long stone hallway, the end hidden in darkness. The way was blocked by a cherubic-looking priest, no more than a boy really.

If he was a boy.

“I am Brother Leopold,” he greeted them, accompanied by a slight bow, his accent strongly Bavarian. He wore a simple monk’s robe and round, wire-rim glasses. “Let me switch the lights on.”

He reached forward, but Rhun caught his hand. “No illumination until we are well away from the door.”

“Forgive my carelessness.” Brother Leopold motioned to the long hall. “We get little excitement here in the provinces. If you’ll follow me.”

He hustled them down the dark hallway to a set of stairs. In the darkness, Erin stumbled and almost took a header down the steps, but Rhun caught her elbow and pulled her upright, his hand as firm as it was cold.

Jordan put a pair of the night-vision goggles in her other hand. “We’ve got the toys. Might as well use them. Like they say, when in Rome …”

She slipped the glasses over her head and strapped them in place. The world brightened into shades of green. She could now easily pick out the stairs. Rather than crude stone steps, she found only worn linoleum, which remined her of the steps at any other university.

The small touch of normalcy reassured her.

Curious, she switched her goggles to infrared mode, picking out the glow of Jordan’s body heat beside her. She instinctively drew a little closer to it.

A glance toward their host revealed that he had vanished—though she could still hear his footsteps on the stairs. He plainly cast no body heat. Despite his cherubic exterior, he was not a young man, not at all. He was a Sanguinist. Disturbed at the thought, she quickly toggled back to low-light mode.

At the bottom of the stairs, a steel door with an electronic keypad blocked their way.

Brother Leopold punched five digits into the keypad and the door swung inward. “Quickly, please.”

Erin looked over her shoulder, suddenly fearful, wondering what danger he had sensed.

“The room is climate-controlled,” Brother Leopold explained with a reassuring smile. “Nothing more, I assure you.”

She hurried through the door, followed by Jordan, who did not relax his vigilant posture.

Brother Leopold reached over and flipped a switch. Light flared, bursting blindingly bright through Erin’s goggles. Both she and Jordan ripped off the equipment.

“Sorry,” Brother Leopold said, realizing what he had done.

Erin blinked away the residual retinal flare to discover an overstuffed office, much like her own back at Stanford. But instead of biblical-era treasures, the room was filled with memorabilia and artifacts from World War II. Framed maps from the 1940s plastered one wall; another was covered with a floor-to-ceiling case crammed with books shelved two deep; the far wall was odd, covered with black glass. The room smelled like old books, ink, and leather.

The scholar in her wanted to move in and never leave.

A dilapidated leather office chair stood at an angle to the large oak desk. The top was obscured by stacks of papers, more books, and a glass display box filled with pins and medals.

Jordan surveyed the room. “Thank God, for once, I don’t see a single thing that looks older than the United States.”

“You say that like it’s a good thing,” Erin scolded.

“And do not be fooled,” Rhun added. “Much evil has been done in modern settings as well as old.”

“No one is going to let me enjoy the moment, are they?”

Jordan moved closer to her as he let Brother Leopold pass. She again felt the welcoming and reassuring heat of his body.

“Forgive me for not tidying up,” the young monk said, adjusting his glasses. “And for not making a proper introduction. You are Sergeant Jordan Stone, yes?”

“That’s right.” Jordan offered his hand.

Brother Leopold grasped it in both of his, pumping it up and down. “Wilkommen. Welcome to Ettal Abbey.”

“Thanks.” Jordan gave the monk a genuine smile.

Brother Leopold returned it, his expression as enthusiastic as his handshake.

After making her own introductions, Erin decided the monk seemed far more human than either Rhun or Bernard. True, his hand felt as cold as theirs when she shook it, but it was still friendlier than the usual stiff and formal gloved handshake of the others.

Maybe he was simply younger than his centuries-old elders.