“I am Brother Leopold,” he greeted them, accompanied by a slight bow, his accent strongly Bavarian. He wore a simple monk’s robe and round, wire-rim glasses. “Let me switch the lights on.”
He reached forward, but Rhun caught his hand. “No illumination until we are well away from the door.”
“Forgive my carelessness.” Brother Leopold motioned to the long hall. “We get little excitement here in the provinces. If you’ll follow me.”
He hustled them down the dark hallway to a set of stairs. In the darkness, Erin stumbled and almost took a header down the steps, but Rhun caught her elbow and pulled her upright, his hand as firm as it was cold.
Jordan put a pair of the night-vision goggles in her other hand. “We’ve got the toys. Might as well use them. Like they say, when in Rome …”
She slipped the glasses over her head and strapped them in place. The world brightened into shades of green. She could now easily pick out the stairs. Rather than crude stone steps, she found only worn linoleum, which remined her of the steps at any other university.
The small touch of normalcy reassured her.
Curious, she switched her goggles to infrared mode, picking out the glow of Jordan’s body heat beside her. She instinctively drew a little closer to it.
A glance toward their host revealed that he had vanished—though she could still hear his footsteps on the stairs. He plainly cast no body heat. Despite his cherubic exterior, he was not a young man, not at all. He was a Sanguinist. Disturbed at the thought, she quickly toggled back to low-light mode.
At the bottom of the stairs, a steel door with an electronic keypad blocked their way.
Brother Leopold punched five digits into the keypad and the door swung inward. “Quickly, please.”
Erin looked over her shoulder, suddenly fearful, wondering what danger he had sensed.
“The room is climate-controlled,” Brother Leopold explained with a reassuring smile. “Nothing more, I assure you.”
She hurried through the door, followed by Jordan, who did not relax his vigilant posture.
Brother Leopold reached over and flipped a switch. Light flared, bursting blindingly bright through Erin’s goggles. Both she and Jordan ripped off the equipment.
“Sorry,” Brother Leopold said, realizing what he had done.
Erin blinked away the residual retinal flare to discover an overstuffed office, much like her own back at Stanford. But instead of biblical-era treasures, the room was filled with memorabilia and artifacts from World War II. Framed maps from the 1940s plastered one wall; another was covered with a floor-to-ceiling case crammed with books shelved two deep; the far wall was odd, covered with black glass. The room smelled like old books, ink, and leather.
The scholar in her wanted to move in and never leave.
A dilapidated leather office chair stood at an angle to the large oak desk. The top was obscured by stacks of papers, more books, and a glass display box filled with pins and medals.
Jordan surveyed the room. “Thank God, for once, I don’t see a single thing that looks older than the United States.”
“You say that like it’s a
“And do not be fooled,” Rhun added. “Much evil has been done in modern settings as well as old.”
“No one is going to let me enjoy the moment, are they?”
Jordan moved closer to her as he let Brother Leopold pass. She again felt the welcoming and reassuring heat of his body.
“Forgive me for not tidying up,” the young monk said, adjusting his glasses. “And for not making a proper introduction. You are Sergeant Jordan Stone, yes?”
“That’s right.” Jordan offered his hand.
Brother Leopold grasped it in both of his, pumping it up and down. “
“Thanks.” Jordan gave the monk a genuine smile.
Brother Leopold returned it, his expression as enthusiastic as his handshake.
After making her own introductions, Erin decided the monk seemed far more human than either Rhun or Bernard. True, his hand felt as cold as theirs when she shook it, but it was still friendlier than the usual stiff and formal gloved handshake of the others.
Maybe he was simply
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. “
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
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
“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
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
