The Blood Gospel

Brother Leopold turned with a dramatic sweep of his arm over the chaos of his office. “The collection and I are at your disposal, Professor Granger. I understand you have some artifact that you wish to gain some further insight about.”

“That’s right.” She reached under her long duster to her pants pocket and pulled out the Nazi medal. She held it out toward the monk. “What can you tell us about this?”

He held it between his pudgy finger and thumb, eyeballing it with and without his glasses. He flipped the coin over several times, finally drifting toward his desk, where he placed the medal under a fixed magnifying lens.

He read the writing along the edge of the medallion. “Ahnenerbe. No surprise to find one of their calling cards buried in the sands of the Holy Land. That group spent decades scouring tombs, caves, and ruins there.”

He tapped the symbol on the back. “But this is interesting. An Odal rune.” He glanced at Erin. “Where exactly was this found?”

“In the mummified hand of a girl murdered in the Israeli desert. We are looking for something, an artifact, that might have been stolen from her by the Ahnenerbe.”

One of the monk’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. He looked to them for further explanation, but when none came he simply sighed and concluded, “The Nazis’ evil ranged far.”

Erin felt guilty for not being more open with the enthusiastic monk. She knew Brother Leopold had been told nothing about the search for the Blood Gospel, only that they needed help with the medallion found in the desert.

“Do you think you can figure out whom the medal might have once belonged to?” she asked. “If we knew that, we might know where to continue our search.”

“That may be difficult. I see no identifying marks.”

She tried not to look crestfallen, but how could she not?

Jordan must have caught her tone because he squeezed her shoulder and changed the subject. He read a few of the titles off the maps, pronouncing the German names correctly.

“You speak German?” she asked.

“A little,” Jordan said. “And a little Arabic. And a little English.”

Rhun shifted, drawing Erin’s attention to him. She wondered how many languages he spoke.

Jordan faced Brother Leopold. “How did you come upon such a comprehensive collection of maps?”

“Some have been in my possession since they were drawn.” The monk stroked wooden rosary beads hanging from his belt. “I am ashamed to say that I was a member of the National Socialist Party, when I was human.”

Jordan’s eyes widened. “You—”

Equally surprised, Erin tried to picture the round monk with the open face as a Nazi.

Rhun interrupted. “Perhaps we should turn our attention to the Ahnenerbe?”

“Of course.” Brother Leopold sat on his creaky leather chair. “I merely wish your two companions to understand that my knowledge of such matters is not esoteric. Since becoming a Sanguinist, I have learned more about the activities of the Nazis and have dedicated my continuing existence and my studies to the undoing of their evil and to ensure that such malevolence never rises again.”

“To that end,” Rhun asked, “have you seen any medallions like this before?”

“I’ve seen similar.” Brother Leopold rummaged through a desk drawer and pulled out a tiny wooden box with a glass lid. “Here are some badges of the Ahnenerbe. Most of these were collected by Father Piers, a mentor of mine and the priest who converted me to the cloth. He knew far more about the Nazi occult practices than anyone—probably more than the Germans knew themselves.”

Erin remembered Cardinal Bernard mentioning the deceased priest’s name back in Jerusalem. Over the centuries, many famous historians had died, taking their undocumented knowledge with them to the grave. That kind of tragedy was not limited to human scholars.

The monk directed her attention back to the display box. “I think you’ll appreciate the shape of the medal in the center.”

He tapped the glass over a pewter badge in the shape of the Odal rune, with a swastika in the middle and two legs extending out from the bottom like tiny feet.

She read the words that marched around its edges. “Volk. Sippe.”

“‘Folk’ and ‘tribe,’” he translated. “The Ahnenerbe believed that Germans descended from the Aryan race, a people that they believed settled Atlantis before moving north.”

“Atlantis?” Jordan shook his head.

Erin’s eye caught on another pin in the case. The emblem appeared to be a pedestal holding up an open book. “What’s this one?”

“Ah, that one represents the importance of Ahnenerbe in documenting Aryan history and heritage, but there are some who say it represents a great mystery, some occult book of deep power held by them.”

Erin matched glances with Rhun.

Could this be some hint of their possession of the Blood Gospel?