Lammas Night by Katherine Kurtz Page A

come to trust Grumbaugh’s intuitions. The English-born Jew was his most brilliant analyst: a resourceful if little-known Cambridge scholar who spoke half a dozen European languages fluently as well as reading a handful of dead tongues. He was also one of the most brilliant Qabalists Graham had ever met. If Sam Grumbaugh thought that Rote Adler might be tied in with a German satanic lodge, then the possibility certainly should be explored further. He wondered whether he should show Grumbaugh at least a few of the Dieter photographs to get his reaction.
    â€œThis Rote Adler —you think he’s Hitler’s pet Thulist, then?” Graham asked. “The one who’s working a black lodge on his behalf?”
    â€œThe name would fit,” Grumbaugh replied. He twitched his eyebrows in a characteristic expression that was pure Grumbaugh, letting his glasses slip back into place as he pulled another page out of his stack.
    â€œListen to this passage. It occurs in one of last month’s intercepts and also in the new material: Our God is the father of battle and his rune is that of the eagle . That’s a Thulist slogan, pure and simple. In the old German solar mythology, the eagle is the symbol of the Aryan race. The Thulists use it as a secondary insignia, along with the swastika traversed by the two lances. It all fits, Gray. I think he’s Hitler’s black adept.”
    Graham opened his desk drawer and pulled out just a few of the Dieter photographs, which he tossed on the desk in front of Grumbaugh.
    â€œI wonder if this might be the same man,” he said quietly, watching Grumbaugh’s expression shift from surprise through shock to grim endurance as he shuffled through the photos. “He goes by the name of Sturm. He operates out of Vogelsang and draws most of the members of his group from its faculty. The photos come from a private source,” he added as Grumbaugh glanced up and started to make bitter comment.
    Silenced, Grumbaugh leafed through the photographs a second time very slowly, then dropped the stack on Graham’s desk and wiped his palms against his thighs in distaste.
    â€œI don’t suppose those could have been staged for our benefit?” he asked quietly.
    Graham shook his head, remembering his own vision on the Second Road. “I have no reason to doubt their authenticity. The purpose of the photographs apparently was to incriminate the other participants so that there could be no backing out later on. I’d appreciate it if you’d keep the knowledge of these to yourself.”
    With a shudder, Grumbaugh looked away. “The Thulists’ famous ‘astrological’ magic,” he whispered harshly, “which is neither astrological nor magical in any decent sense but an excuse for depraved tortures and murder. And I’d be willing to bet a month’s pay that the victims in those pictures were Jews.”
    â€œSome were.” Briskly, Graham gathered up the photographs and returned them to his desk drawer. “I think we should put out some feelers on this Sturm. Have Basilby get on it right away. In the meantime, I want you to correlate anything that fits linking Sturm, Rote Adler , Vogelsang, the Thulists, the Vril—any black-magical connections whatever that may tell us more about this chap. How soon do you think you can have it on my desk?”
    Grumbaugh had it for him the next morning before the rest of the team had even finished their tea. His conclusions sent Graham straight to Dover with a copy for the recuperating Michael, though not before he rang Alix to request a meeting at Oakwood the following evening. Michael was devastated.
    â€œI had no idea he was this involved,” Michael whispered when he had read both Grumbaugh’s and Dieter’s reports and stared at the photographs. “When he said he’d infiltrated a black lodge, it never occurred to me that he would have to go along