After a couple of hundred yards of rough track, they emerged onto a main road which followed the course of the glacier to the town of Peulla, where the glacier calved into Lake Todos los Santos.
The doctor emerged from Jarib’s spare bedroom and made his way into the small kitchen where he washed the blood from his hands before entering the lounge where Jarib and Sybilla sat, anxiety etched on their concerned faces.
“These are clearly gunshot wounds,” he began, his face betraying nothing. “Normally I would report such incidents, however”—this with a meaningful glance at Jarib—“under the circumstances, I will enter in my notes that I attended to a climber who had fallen and suffered a number of lacerations and a fractured clavicle.”
He allowed this to register before continuing. “There appears to be no lasting damage—both bullets passed through. As far as his leg is concerned, it is a nasty wound that has required several stitches, however the bone is intact. The clavicle has been pierced by a bullet that has left a hole, and although the clavicle is not shattered, there will, in all likelihood, be a number of hairline fractures radiating from it. Both the hole and the hairline fractures will heal of their own accord if allowed to do so. That means rest!
“That said,” he added with a rather sour look on his face, “I would be grateful if the patient could be removed from Peulla as soon as possible before someone else decides to investigate this ‘accident’.”
“A private ambulance will arrive from Concepcion tomorrow morning,” confirmed Jarib.
“Good!” said the doctor rising and looking from Jarib to Sybilla. “Complete rest.”
As the aircraft from Santiago to Houston reached its cruising height, Sybilla unstrapped her safety belt and leaned over to help Tiny with his. His seat back had been lowered as far as possible and the seat behind left empty purposely to accommodate this.
Tiny had been admitted to a private sanatorium in Concepcion where he had been x-rayed and his wounds had received further attention. The doctors there confirmed the diagnosis of the doctor at Peulla and, after a few days’ convalescence, he had been transferred by privately rented ambulance to an exclusive sanatorium in Santiago. Sybilla had refused the offer of early repatriation, preferring instead to wait until Tiny was well enough to travel so she could leave with him.
“You once said I had to wait until we were on a plane out of Santiago before I thanked you. Well, partner, here we are, so thanks!” said Sybilla.
“I believe it was a British general after the Battle of Waterloo who said, ‘it was a damn close-run thing’,” Tiny replied, then after a pause continued, “Have you contacted London?”
“Yes. Thanks for introducing me to your people in Santiago and for allowing me to use your facilities.”
“They are now aware that Eva Braun is alive and that Hitler has an heir?”
“Yes.” Sybilla frowned.
“And?”
Sybilla hesitated, clearly not at ease. “He will have to be … eliminated.”
Tiny shook his head and spoke quietly. “I couldn’t do that.”
“Nor could I,” Sybilla whispered, “but I think I know a man who can.”
Part V
The Net Closes
Baptism in Blood
Tramp! Tramp! TRAMP! TRAMP!
The sound of jackboots crashing onto concrete echoed around the walls of Wewelsburg Castle as twelve stalwarts, veterans of the Second World War, resplendent in their black SS uniforms, goose-stepped their way in perfect synchronicity along a corridor leading to the North Tower.
Following behind, at a much slower pace, was a small party led by an aged monk dressed in the black habit of the Benedictines. Stooped and slow, he made his way with some difficulty along the corridor. Instead of a cross, around his neck there hung a large gold swastika. Alongside him was a perfectly proportioned woman of indeterminate age, with flawless skin and beautiful blonde hair which hung down to her shoulders. She wore a thin white semi-opaque shift which reached to her feet, and clearly nothing else.
Behind them walked a man in the uniform of an SS General, the Knights Cross of the War Merit Medal hanging around his neck and the Iron Cross hanging from his left breast pocket. Of medium height, he was fairly nondescript but for the piercing steel-grey eyes. With him was a woman of about forty. Like the first woman, she also wore a white shift, but one which was considerably less revealing. Blonde, with a fresh complexion and light blue eyes, she wore her hair braided and pinned up to form a crown on her head, German style.
Between them was a child, completely swathed in a black habit, with the cowl raised.
The soldiers halted at the large wooden door of a room at the end of the corridor, and broke ranks as they started to enter. The room was perfectly circular, and covering the long narrow windows were banners of scarlet and black bearing the swastika and the SS insignia. The only illumination was from candles in holders set in the wall, which caused shadows to dance whenever anyone moved.
The focal point of the room was a mosaic pattern representing the black sun, waves of energy radiating from its centre. The soldiers arranged themselves in a semi-circle around the centrepiece facing the door and the only piece of furniture in the room—an oak table—which stood on the far edge of the mosaic, a few paces in from the door.
The monk entered with the woman in white, and they took their places behind the oak table, on which rested a goblet of burnished gold set with glistening rubies. The couple with the child followed them in but continued on, stepping onto the mosaic and taking a
