Felici shrugged. ‘A hundred kilograms of gold won’t be easy to shift. Even if you can get it past the American patrols, your chances of getting it across the border into Italy, let alone to Central America without diplomatic protection are next to nothing, I would say.’
Von Hei?en was like a cornered rat. ‘It would appear I don’t have many options,’ he snarled. The radio in his office, tuned to track the advancing allied forces, beeped at the top of the news hour.
‘This is the BBC World Service. Heading this special bulletin, the war in Europe is expected to be over within days. Following the German Chancellor Adolf Hitler’s suicide on the thirtieth of May, General Alfred Jodl, Chief of the Operations Staff in the German High Command, is expected to surrender German forces unconditionally to General Eisenhower at his headquarters in Reims. The British Prime Minister, Winston Churchill -’
There was a knock at the door.
‘ Herein! ’
Obersturmbannfuhrer Brandt, now von Hei?en’s deputy commandant, looked pale and shaken. ‘We’re getting reports of an American armoured car unit, the 41st Cavalry Reconnaissance Squadron, on the outskirts of Mauthausen, Herr Kommandant. They could be here within twenty-four hours.’
Von Hei?en nodded angrily. ‘The Wehrmacht have let the Fatherland down, Hans. Dismiss the guards and tell them to meld back into the community. The Jews can look after themselves. And tell my driver and batman to stand by.’
‘Just how do you plan to get me out of here, Signor?’ von Hei?en demanded after Brandt had left.
Felici handed von Hei?en a small package. ‘The roads will be chaotic and I intend to take advantage of that. The soutane in this package has been tailored to your measurements. If anyone asks, you’re on the German desk in the Secretariat of State in the Vatican. These papers confirm your new identity as Father Bartolo Hernandez. We’ll need a small lorry for the gold, which is to be crated and closed with the seals of the Holy See. From here we will travel to Vienna, where the gold will be temporarily stored in the vaults of the Imperial Hotel, before being shipped to the Vatican Bank in Rome. If we’re challenged, you’re to leave the talking to me, understood? Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to inspect the vault.’
Von Hei?en dialled the combination of the vault door at the back of the stone cellar and swung it open, revealing row upon row of gold ingots, each one stamped with the eagle and swastika of the Third Reich. He reached into the drawer that held Levi’s pectoral cross. ‘This was acquired from a Jewish prisoner,’ he said. The large diamonds surrounding the huge ruby in the centre of the cross sparkled in the soft light of the vault. ‘You may have it, but only after I am safely out of Germany.’
Felici struggled to contain his excitement. The cross was like no other he’d seen, and undoubtedly worth a small fortune.
The tall, lanky American soldier took his M1 carbine from his shoulder and waved the black Mercedes and small lorry to a stop at a roadblock just outside Mauthausen. Burnt-out German tanks and trucks littered the roadside, a road crowded with armoured cars and tanks from the US 11th Armored Division. A mustang fighter screamed low overhead as von Hei?en’s driver, dressed in slacks and a polo-neck sweater, brought the car to a halt.
‘Your papers, please,’ the corporal asked. ‘You’re a long way from home, Father,’ he added, spotting von Hei?en’s Roman collar.
‘ Ja… but God’s business doesn’t stop, nein?’ von Hei?en replied with an urbane smile.
‘Where you’re headed, gentlemen, the road’s a fucking – sorry, Father. It’s bedlam between here and Vienna.’
‘We’ll have to take our chances, Corporal,’ Felici replied. ‘We’re on Vatican business, and we need to be in Vienna tonight. As Father Hernandez says, God’s work is never done.’
‘Well, good luck,’ the corporal said, handing back the passports.
‘God bless you, my son,’ Felici intoned.
Von Hei?en returned his passport to the secure compartment in his briefcase, the same compartment that held Levi Weizman’s tattered map. Despite the devastation of the Fatherland, von Hei?en was determined to continue the search for the Maya Codex.
BOOK II
21
‘T he Iranians have successfully enriched over 1800 kilograms of weapons-grade uranium, Mr President, which is more than enough to construct a nuclear bomb capable of destroying the Old City of Jerusalem or Tel Aviv.’
Vice President Walter Montgomery, bald and overweight, glared around the polished mahogany table in the White House’s newly renovated Situation Room, daring anyone to challenge him. The National Security Council was made up of some of the most powerful men and women in the United States: the Secretary of Defense, the Secretary of State, the Secretary of the Treasury, the National Security Advisor, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the Director of National Intelligence. Their senior advisors were seated in the row of chairs beneath the new flatscreen televisions that lined the walls.
‘‘I’ve asked the CIA to brief us on the Iranian situation,’ the Vice President concluded irritably, nodding towards the man waiting at the briefing lectern.
Curtis O’Connor had recently returned from a covert intelligence operation deep inside the Islamic Republic of Iran. He knew the risks involved if the United States were to open up a third front in the Middle East. The Taliban were already gaining the upper hand in Afghanistan, and further to the west over 4000 young Americans had been killed in combat in Iraq. Tens of thousands more soldiers were disabled for life.
‘Operation Sassanid was launched two years ago, following President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad’s refusal to halt the enrichment of uranium,’ O’Connor began. ‘Sassanid includes electronic intercepts of phone conversations, emails and fax transmissions, as well as satellite surveillance of areas where we suspect the Iranians are constructing nuclear facilities.’ The National Reconnaissance Office’s KeyHole spy satellites were the size of school buses, and travelled at over six kilometres a second. Orbiting as high as 36 000 kilometres above the Islamic Republic, they provided imagery so precise that vehicle registration plates and street numbers on buildings were clearly visible. The sophisticated cameras also operated in the near infra-red and thermal infra-red spectra, and could peer through darkness and clouds. But as good as the coverage was, O’Connor knew there were still gaps.
‘Despite our 24/7 coverage, we don’t have reliable detection of Iranian bunker systems or tunnels, and we suspect they may be constructing more nuclear plants deep underground,’ O’Connor continued. ‘Nor can satellite imagery provide precise information on what might be going on inside a particular building. Up until now, Iran has only admitted to two nuclear facilities. The first is located in Isfahan in central Iran.’ O’Connor used a laser pointer to indicate the facility’s location on the map behind him. ‘Isfahan’s main function is to convert yellowcake into uranium hexafluoride. The second facility is in Natanz.’ He pointed to an area south of Tehran.
‘Despite relying more heavily on technology, we have still managed to maintain some agents on the ground,’ O’Connor said, glancing at the Secretary of Defense, ‘and we now have both facilities under constant ground surveillance. One of our agents has confirmed that the Natanz facility contains high-speed centrifuges, perhaps as many as 50 000, which are used to convert the Isfahan hexafluoride into highly enriched weapons-grade uranium. Of greater concern is a new facility under construction deep inside a mountain complex at Fordo, near the ancient city of Qom.’ O’Connor indicated a range of hills to the south-west of Tehran. ‘This facility is located on an Islamic Revolutionary Guard base, and it’s managed by the Atomic Energy Organisation of Iran – or AEOI – although few know of its construction, even amongst those who work for the AEOI.’
‘But it’s for military use?’ President Denver Harrison looked tired and confused. Now well into his second term, he’d aged considerably. Curtis O’Connor had long thought this president out of his depth. The real power in the administration rested in the hands of the irascible Vice President Montgomery.
‘Our agent in Qom thinks so, Mr President. He’s counted just 3000 centrifuges. That’s too few to enrich
