Shadow Ritual by Eric Giacometti, Jacques Ravenne Page B
Authors: Eric Giacometti, Jacques Ravenne
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all that?”
“He was facing a firing squad for treason. In exchange for his life, he offered to lead the investigators to the last truck, which was somewhere in the forest.”
“So what did they find?”
“Nothing. Three French soldiers went off with Le Guermand. The next day, a patrol found four bodies in an abandoned barn.”
“No more Le Guermand, no more papers. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Not exactly. The Russians actually did find the truck. Sophie had been working on that part of the archives, but key documents were incomplete. She had them with her.”
“And you’re suggesting someone wants them enough to kill for them?”
“Not someone. The Thule.”
Marcas listened as he sliced into his cod with honey sauce.
Mareuil continued, slipping a leather-bound notebook across the table. “They hated us as much as they coveted our knowledge, brother. Here’s a diary kept by one of us—Henri Jouhanneau—in 1940 and 1941. He was a neurologist before he was deported. Read it sometime. It’s edifying.”
“Seriously, I’m having a hard time seeing the relationship between these stories and the murder. As remarkable as the archives are, they’re just history, and the Nazis vanished sixty years ago, except for a small minority who are nostalgic for those days. So unless some old SS geezers have decided to leave the nursing home and take up arms again, I don’t think this is much of a lead.”
Mareuil sighed. “In 1993, the German police discovered an extensive network of extreme-right activists. They were exchanging plans for building bombs. They had the blueprints for Masonic lodges and Jewish synagogues. And some of them were bold enough to share their personal addresses. What were these people calling themselves? The Thule. And if you think they were just a bunch of retired Third Reich lovers and low-life skinheads, you’re wrong. They were computer engineers right out of the university, along with highly successful stockbrokers and financial analysts.
“A few extremists. And we’re not in Germany. It’s a big step from that to a huge conspiracy against the Freemasons.”
Mareuil set down his knife and fork and pulled another paper from his briefcase. He read the passage slowly. “What a shame the Führer did not have sufficient time to eradicate your brotherhood from the surface of the earth. Your members deserve to be burned at the stake as a public hygiene measure. Freemasons, the hour of your expiation is near, and this time, we will let none of you escape. Heil Hitler.”
Mareuil paused. “That dates from last year. It’s from an online message found on a number of anti-Freemason sites. I’m telling you, the three blows are a message.”
“In that case, the murder in Jerusalem is connected. But how? What was Sophie going to do there?”
“I don’t know,” Mareuil said.
They sat in silence.
After a few seconds, Mareuil continued. “Did you know that Freemason scholars met at Le Procope before the French Revolution to discuss philosophy? The place is nothing more than a tourist trap these days, but here we are, you and I, just across the street, talking about similar issues two centuries later. That’s what counts. People are dying. Be vigilant—and mindful of the chain that unites us over time and space.”
“I find you very philosophical today,” Marcas said, getting up.
“No coffee?”
“No, not now.”
“I think I’ll stay a little. I’d like to become more familiar with Catalonia,” Mareuil said, winking at Marcas and giving the waitress a look.
Marcas headed toward the door.
“Antoine?”
“Yes?”
“Jade is a pretty name.”
24
Joana groaned as she put down Jade Zewinski’s file. Why was it that beauty was always a chief factor in a man’s description of a woman? Zewinski’s biography was exhaustive, and Orden’s quick response was commendable. But the man who had put it together couldn’t restrain himself. “An attractive, athletic
“He was facing a firing squad for treason. In exchange for his life, he offered to lead the investigators to the last truck, which was somewhere in the forest.”
“So what did they find?”
“Nothing. Three French soldiers went off with Le Guermand. The next day, a patrol found four bodies in an abandoned barn.”
“No more Le Guermand, no more papers. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Not exactly. The Russians actually did find the truck. Sophie had been working on that part of the archives, but key documents were incomplete. She had them with her.”
“And you’re suggesting someone wants them enough to kill for them?”
“Not someone. The Thule.”
Marcas listened as he sliced into his cod with honey sauce.
Mareuil continued, slipping a leather-bound notebook across the table. “They hated us as much as they coveted our knowledge, brother. Here’s a diary kept by one of us—Henri Jouhanneau—in 1940 and 1941. He was a neurologist before he was deported. Read it sometime. It’s edifying.”
“Seriously, I’m having a hard time seeing the relationship between these stories and the murder. As remarkable as the archives are, they’re just history, and the Nazis vanished sixty years ago, except for a small minority who are nostalgic for those days. So unless some old SS geezers have decided to leave the nursing home and take up arms again, I don’t think this is much of a lead.”
Mareuil sighed. “In 1993, the German police discovered an extensive network of extreme-right activists. They were exchanging plans for building bombs. They had the blueprints for Masonic lodges and Jewish synagogues. And some of them were bold enough to share their personal addresses. What were these people calling themselves? The Thule. And if you think they were just a bunch of retired Third Reich lovers and low-life skinheads, you’re wrong. They were computer engineers right out of the university, along with highly successful stockbrokers and financial analysts.
“A few extremists. And we’re not in Germany. It’s a big step from that to a huge conspiracy against the Freemasons.”
Mareuil set down his knife and fork and pulled another paper from his briefcase. He read the passage slowly. “What a shame the Führer did not have sufficient time to eradicate your brotherhood from the surface of the earth. Your members deserve to be burned at the stake as a public hygiene measure. Freemasons, the hour of your expiation is near, and this time, we will let none of you escape. Heil Hitler.”
Mareuil paused. “That dates from last year. It’s from an online message found on a number of anti-Freemason sites. I’m telling you, the three blows are a message.”
“In that case, the murder in Jerusalem is connected. But how? What was Sophie going to do there?”
“I don’t know,” Mareuil said.
They sat in silence.
After a few seconds, Mareuil continued. “Did you know that Freemason scholars met at Le Procope before the French Revolution to discuss philosophy? The place is nothing more than a tourist trap these days, but here we are, you and I, just across the street, talking about similar issues two centuries later. That’s what counts. People are dying. Be vigilant—and mindful of the chain that unites us over time and space.”
“I find you very philosophical today,” Marcas said, getting up.
“No coffee?”
“No, not now.”
“I think I’ll stay a little. I’d like to become more familiar with Catalonia,” Mareuil said, winking at Marcas and giving the waitress a look.
Marcas headed toward the door.
“Antoine?”
“Yes?”
“Jade is a pretty name.”
24
Joana groaned as she put down Jade Zewinski’s file. Why was it that beauty was always a chief factor in a man’s description of a woman? Zewinski’s biography was exhaustive, and Orden’s quick response was commendable. But the man who had put it together couldn’t restrain himself. “An attractive, athletic
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