somewhere around ten-thousand-plus years before Christ, when there was much less ice, to around fifty thousand years BCE. Also, remember, a map is useless without notations indicating what you're looking at. Imagine a map of Europe with no writing. Wouldn't tell you much. It's generally accepted that writing itself dates from the Sumerians, around thirty-five hundred years before Christ. That Reis used source maps, which would have to be much older than thirty-five hundred years, means the art of writing is older than we thought.'
'Lots of leaps in logic in that argument.'
'Are you always so skeptical?'
'I've found it's healthy when my ass is on the line.'
'As part of my master's thesis I studied medieval maps and learned of an interesting dichotomy. Land maps of the time were crude-Italy joined to Spain, England misshapen, mountains out of place, rivers inaccurately drawn. But nautical maps were a different story. They were called portolans-it means 'port to port.' And they were incredibly accurate.'
'And you think that the drafters of those had help.'
'I studied many portolans. The Dulcert Galway of 1339 shows Russia with great accuracy. Another Turkish map from 1559 shows the world from a northern projection, as if hovering over the North Pole. How was that possible? A map of Antarctica published in 1737 showed the continent divided into two islands, which we now know is true. A 1531 map I examined showed Antarctica without ice, with rivers, even mountains that we now know are buried beneath. None of that information was available when those maps were created. But they are remarkably accurate-within one half-degree of longitude in error. That's incredible considering the drafters supposedly did not even know the concept.'
'But the Holy Ones knew about longitude?'
'To sail the world's oceans they would have to understand stellar navigation or longitude and latitude. In my research I noticed similarities among the portolans. Too many to be mere coincidence. So if an oceangoing society existed long ago, one that conducted worldwide surveys centuries before the great geological and meteorological catastrophes that swept the world around ten thousand years before Christ, it's logical that information was passed on, which survived and made its way into those maps.'
He was still skeptical but, after their quick tour of the chapel and thinking about Einhard's will, he was beginning to reevaluate things.
He crawled to the door and peered beneath. Still quiet. He propped himself against the door.
'There's something else,' she said.
He was listening.
'The prime meridian. Virtually every country that eventually sailed the seas developed one. There had to be a longitudinal starting point. Finally, in 1884, the major nations of the world met in Washington, DC, and chose a line through Greenwich as zero degree longitude. A world constant, and we've used it ever since. But the portolans tell a different story. Amazingly, they all seemed to use a point thirty-one degrees, eight minutes west as their zero line.'
He did not comprehend the significance of those coordinates, other than they were east of Greenwich, somewhere beyond Greece.
'That line runs straight through the Great Pyramid at Giza,' she said. 'At that same 1884 conference in Washington, an argument was made to run the zero line through that point, but was rejected.'
He didn't see the point.
'The portolans I found all utilized the concept of longitude. Don't get me wrong, those ancient maps did not contain latitude and longitude lines like we know today. They used a simpler method, choosing a center point, then drawing a circle around it and dividing the circle. They would keep doing that outward, generating a crude form of measurement. Each of those portolans I mentioned used the same center. A point in Egypt, near what's now Cairo, where the Giza pyramid stands.'
A pile of coincidences, he had to admit.
'That longitude line through Giza runs south into Antarctica exactly where the Nazis explored in 1938, their Neuschwabenland.' She paused. 'Grandfather and Father both were aware of this. I was first introduced to these concepts from reading their notes.'
'I thought your grandfather was senile.'
'He left some historical notes. Not a lot. Father, too. I only wish they both would have spoken of this pursuit more.'
'This is nuts,' he said.
'How many scientific realities today started out the same way? It's not nuts. It's real. There's something out there, waiting to be found.'
Which his father may have died searching for.
He glanced at his watch. 'We can probably head downstairs. I need to check a few things.'
He came to one knee and pushed himself off the floor. But she stopped him, her hand on his trouser leg. He'd listened to her explanations and concluded that she was not a crackpot.
'I appreciate what you're doing,' she said, keeping her voice hushed.
'I haven't done anything.'
'You're here.'
'As you made clear, what happened to my father is wrapped up in this.'
She leaned close and kissed him, lingering long enough for him to know that she was enjoying it.
'Do you always kiss on the first date?' he asked her.
'Only men I like.'
FORTY-TWO
DOROTHEA STOOD IN SHOCK, STERLING WILKERSON'S DEAD EYES staring up at her.
'You killed him?' she asked her husband.
Werner shook his head. 'Not me. But I was there when it happened.' He slammed the trunk shut. 'I never knew your father, but I'm told he and I are much alike. We allow our wives to do as they please, provided we're afforded the same luxury.'
Her mind filled with a swarm of confusing thoughts. 'How do you know anything of my father?'
'I told him,' a new voice said.
She whirled.
Her mother stood in the church doorway. Behind her, as always, loomed Ulrich Henn. Now she knew.
'Ulrich killed Sterling,' she said to the night.
Werner brushed by her. 'Indeed. And I daresay he might kill us all, if we don't behave.'
MALONE LED THE WAY OUT OF THEIR HIDING PLACE, BACK INTO the octagon's upper gallery. He paused at the bronze railing-Carolingian, he recalled Christl noting, original to the time of Charlemagne-and gazed below. A handful of wall sconces burned as night-lights. Wind continued to wreak havoc against the outer walls, and the Christmas market seemed to be losing enthusiasm. He focused across the open space at the throne on the far side, backdropped by mullioned windows that splashed a luminous glow over the elevated chair. He studied the Latin mosaic that wrapped the octagon below. Einhard's challenge wasn't all that challenging.
Thank goodness for guidebooks and smart women.
He stared at Christl. 'There's a pulpit, right?'
She nodded. 'In the choir. The ambo. Quite old. Eleventh century.' He smiled. 'Always a history lesson.'
She shrugged. 'It's what I know.'
He circled the upper gallery, passed the throne, and headed back down the circular staircase. Interestingly, the iron gate was left open at night. At ground level he traversed the octagon and reentered the choir. A gilded copper pulpit dotted with unique ornamentations perched against the south wall, above an entrance to another of the side chapels. A short staircase led up. He hopped a velvet rope and climbed wooden runners. Luckily what he was
