chapel went a step farther.
'Clarify this pursuit by applying the angel's perfection to the lord's sanctification.That's what Einhard said. Revelation is about angels and what they did in forming the 'new Jerusalem.' Twelve gates, twelve angels, twelve tribes of the children of Israel, twelve foundations, twelve apostles, twelve thousand furlongs, twelve precious stones, twelve gates were twelve pearls.' He paused. 'The number twelve, deemed perfection by the angels.'
He left the choir and reentered the octagon.
He pointed to the encircling mosaic band. 'Can you translate it? My Latin is okay, but yours is better.'
A thud echoed off the walls. Like something being forced.
Again.
He identified the direction. From one of the side chapels-St. Michael's. Where the other exit door was located.
He raced inside and rounded the empty pews toward the stout wooden door held shut with an iron latch. He heard a pop from its other side.
'They're forcing the door.'
'Who's they?' Christl asked.
He found his gun.
'More trouble.'
FORTY-THREE
DOROTHEA NEEDED TO LEAVE, BUT THERE WAS NO ESCAPE. SHE WAS at the mercy of her mother and her husband. Not to mention Ulrich. Henn had worked for the family for over a decade, ostensibly making sure Reichshoffen was maintained, but she'd always suspected that he provided a wider range of services. Now she knew. This man killed.
'Dorothea,' her mother said. 'Your husband wants to make amends. He wants you two to be as you were. Obviously, there are feelings still there or you would have divorced him long ago.'
'I stayed for our son.'
'Your son is dead.'
'His memory isn't.'
'No, it's not. But you're engaged in a battle for your heritage. Think. Take what is being offered.'
She wanted to know, 'Why do you care?'
Isabel shook her head. 'Your sister seeks glory, vindication for our family. But that would involve much public scrutiny. You and I have never sought that. It is your duty to prevent that.'
'How did that become my duty?'
Her mother seemed disgusted. 'You are both so like your father. Is none of me inside you? Listen to me, child. The path you're taking is useless. I'm simply trying to help.'
She resented the lack of confidence and the patronizing. 'I learned a good deal from reading those Ahnenerbe periodicals and memos. Grandfather wrote an account of what they saw in Antarctica.'
'Hermann was a dreamer, a man rooted in fantasy.'
'He spoke of areas where the snow gave way to rock. Where liquid lakes existed where none should be. He talked about hollow mountains and ice caves.'
'And what have we to show for all those fantasies? Tell me, Dorothea. Are we any closer to finding anything?'
'We have a dead man in the trunk of the car outside.'
Her mother exhaled a long breath. 'You are hopeless.'
But her patience had worn thin, too. 'You set the rules of this challenge. You wanted to know what happened to Father. You wanted Christl and me to work together. You gave us each part of the puzzle. If you're so damn smart, why are we doing all this?'
'Let me tell you something. What your father told me long ago.'
Charlemagne listened in awe as Einhard spoke. They were safe inside the palace chapel, in the room he maintained in the octagon's upper gallery. A summer's night had finally arrived, the exterior windows dark, the chapel equally quiet. Einhard had only yesterday returned from his long journey. The king admired him. A tiny man but, like the bee that makes fine honey or a busy ant, capable of great things. He called him Bezalell, from Exodus, a reference to his great workmanship. No one else would he have sent, and now he listened as Einhard told him of an arduous sea voyage to a place with walls of snow so luminous that sunlight cast their heights in shades of blue and jade green. On one a waterfall formed, the flow of it like silver, and Charlemagne was reminded of the jagged mountains in the south and east. Cold beyond believing, Einhard said, and one of his hands shivered with the memory. The wind blew with such force that not even the chapel surrounding them could have survived. Charlemagne doubted that claim, but did not challenge him. People here live in mud huts, Einhard said, no windows, only a hole in the roof to let smoke escape. Beds are used only by the privileged, clothes are unlined leather. There, it is so different. Houses are all of stone and furnished and heated. Clothes are thick and warm. No social classes, no wealth, no poverty. A land of equals where night comes without end and the water remains still as death, but so beautiful.
'That's what Einhard wrote,' Isabel said. 'Your father told me, as his father told him. It came from the book I gave you, the one from Charlemagne's grave. Hermann learned to read it. Now we must as well. That's why I set this challenge. I want you and your sister to find the answers we need.'
But the book her mother had given her was penned in gibberish, full of fantastical images of unrecognizable things.
'Remember the words of Einhard's will,' Isabel said. 'A full comprehension of the wisdom of heaven waiting with Lord Charles begins in the new Jerusalem. Your sister is there, right now, in the new Jerusalem, many steps ahead of you.'
She could not believe what she was hearing.
'This is not fiction, Dorothea. The past is not all fiction. The word heaven in the time of Charlemagne had a much different meaning than today. The Carolingians called it ha shemin. It meant 'highlands.' We're not talking about religion or God, we're talking about a people who existed far off, in a mountainous land of snow and ice and endless nights. A place Einhard visited. A place where your father died. Don't you want to know why?'
She did. Damn her, she did.
'Your husband is here to help,' her mother said. 'I eliminated a potential problem with Herr Wilkerson. Now this quest can continue without interference. I'll make sure the Americans find his body.'
'It wasn't necessary to kill him,' she declared again.
'Wasn't it? Yesterday a man burst into our home and tried to kill Herr Malone. He mistook your sister for you and tried to kill her. Thankfully, Ulrich prevented that from happening. The Americans have little regard for you, Dorothea.'
Her eyes sought and found Henn, who nodded, signaling that what her mother had said was true.
'I knew then that something must be done. Since you are a creature of habit, I found you in Munich where I knew you'd be. Imagine, if I could find you so easily, how long would it have taken the Americans?'
She recalled Wilkerson's panic on the phone.
'I did what needed to be done. Now, child, you do the same.'
But she was at a loss. 'What am I to do? You said I was wasting my time with what I obtained.'
Her mother shook her head. 'I'm sure the knowledge you gained on the Ahnenerbe will be helpful. Are the materials in Munich?'
She nodded.
'I'll have Ulrich retrieve them. Your sister will shortly follow the correct path-it is imperative you join her. She must be tempered. Our family secrets must stay within the family.'
'Where is Christl?' she asked again.
'Attempting what you were trying to do.'
She waited.
