Chapter 24
Thuringia
Dr Friedrich Genscher looked out of the window of the glossy black Sikorsky S-76C++ helicopter in a mixture of awe and trepidation. Awe, that the unwieldy beast was capable of flying so smoothly and with such comfort over the snowy forest below. Trepidation because, like most people, he only thought about helicopters when they crashed or were engaged in some military skirmish.
Ortwin caught his eye. ‘Comfortable, Dr Genscher?” he asked, sitting back in his cream leather seat, whiskey in hand.
“Very much so, Herr Schwartz”, the academic mumbled.
“First time?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so. You are presumably used to these contraptions, Herr Schwartz?”
“Yes, I can remember the first one I saw. My father bought it for the ranch in Argentina. It was supposed to revolutionise cattle farming. Probably would have done, if the damn thing hadn’t blown up the day after we got it.” Ortwin smiled as the academic grew paler. “Of course, things have come a long way since then. They’re much safer now.”
Genscher turned to the window once more and tried to dispel the image of twisted metal and charred bodies from his mind. The doctor was used to being in control, whether of his studies, his students, or of life in general, and that was the one thing that flying most clearly took from you.
Klaus, sitting across the aisle, caught his boss’s eye. They were both pleased at the doctor’s discomfort, neither finding him much other than pompous. Still, he had skills, and they were useful to the project, so his palpable displeasure was an added bonus.
Attempting to make small talk to relieve his anxiety, Genscher asked. “So the book is on the helicopter? It might be useful if I could see it.”
“I’m afraid the book is not with us, Doctor, but with some friends. I thought it best to keep them apart until it was really necessary. We don’t want someone else to reap the reward of all our hard work now, do we?”
“Quite so, quite so. Herr Schwartz. Very sensible.” Genscher, put in his place, turned to the window once more.
The helicopter started to descend, accompanied by a groaning sound as the wheels were released from the fuselage. Genscher gave a start at the noise, causing more unspoken mirth amongst his travelling companions. Ortwin wondered if one who was so scared of a helicopter would have the stomach for what was to come, but was confident that Max would ensure that the academic did his duty, come what may.
While the ODE may not have paid much attention to the paths leading to the Mittelwerk, one of their first tasks had been to clear and pave an area for use as a helipad. Sceptical observers, had there been any, might have pointed out that this was an odd priority for a museum, but they would have forgotten that it was a museum built by a billionaire. A 300 metre square area had been cleared of trees, and it was into this that Ortwin’s helicopter nestled, sinking below the sightline of any curious observers.
Ortwin and Klaus unbuckled their belts as soon as they felt the tarmac beneath them, Genscher, waiting until the rotors had stopped, just to be absolutely certain. Reaching into the overhead locker, Klaus grabbed the metallic briefcase and fell in behind Ortwin as they prepared for the doors to be opened and the steps lowered. Genscher joined them, relieved to be back on the ground, but with growing apprehension as to what might follow.
Max was waiting for them, and extended his arm in salute. Dressed all in black, it was hard not to see him as an SS officer, as he would be, when Ortwin’s plan came to fruition. Turning smartly, he led them across the tarmaced square towards the treeline. The pathway had been swept clear of snow and it was a clear day, just as well since all except Max were wearing business attire. 50 metres into the forest, a squat concrete structure lay waiting, its steel door open. Entering its fluorescent lit interior, the party proceeded down a flight of steel stairs, into a well illuminated corridor. The smooth rock walls were painted a uniform shade of white, reminding Genscher of some sort of sanitorium. Stopping at the third door on the left, Max bade them enter what had been transformed into the reception room.
The fluorescent lights had been replaced by standard lamps, giving much needed relief to the eyes. A simple rug covered the floor, while leather armchairs were dotted around the centre of the room. At the back, a solid oak board table was surrounded by chairs, and, to one side, a picture of Adolf Hitler gave his imprimatur to the events which would take place there.
“Very cosy” Ortwin remarked.
“Thanks you sir. I’ve done as you asked and left the case on the table. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll arrange for some refreshments.”
Ortwin nodded, and shrugged off his coat, the temperature in the bunker being a comfortable 65 degrees. The others did likewise, and Klaus moved to the table, depositing his case next to its sister. For the first time in years, the lance and the book were side by side. Ortwin felt a swell of pride. He had done it. He had done what his father had, but he would succeed where the elder Kammler had failed. How could he not? He had time, he had money and he had another 60 years of technological advances to bring to bear on the project.
Max returned, followed by a soldier bearing a pot of coffee and some mugs. Ortwin found the contrast between the power he was about to unleash, and the chipped metal mugs amusing, but soon, he would have no interest in such things, he would have more important matters at hand. Still, it was important to show control. Much as he wanted to snatch up the lance and utter the incantation, he forced himself to take a coffee and indulge in some banter with Klaus and Max, Dr Genscher standing apart to one side, obviously desperate like himself to get started.
Eventually, when he could wait no longer, Ortwin turned to Genscher and said. “OK, Doctor, I think we should proceed. Your present is in the left hand case.”
Nodding, Genscher moved over to the table and put his own, battered brown case on top of it. Opening it, he withdrew a pair of white gloves, tweezers, two triangular pieces of foam and a digital device looking like an alarm clock.
Placing the two foam triangle together, he formed a book rest, but before opening the case, he pressed a button on top of his electronic device and waited for it to give him a reading. “If you need to know the time, Doctor Genscher, I have a watch” Ortwin interjected, uncertain about the reason for the delay.
Genscher turned and gave him a dry smile. “Herr Schwartz, I too have a watch, but this gadget is much more than that. I need to see what it says before I can proceed. Please, I am the expert in these matters.”
Ortwin was about to interject that expert or not, Genscher was being extremely well paid, when the object emitted a loud beep. Lifting up his spectacles, the doctor peered at the read-out, and pronounced himself satisfied. Reaching for his gloves, he began to pull them on.
“What was all that about?” Ortwin demanded.
“Her Schwartz, you may be a very good financier, but you would make a very poor paleographer. I, on the other hand, am an expert in ancient manuscripts, with the publications and academic standing to show for it. You do not read an ancient book as if it were some copy of The Economist. You must realise that the current manuscript is unique, we have a duty to treat it properly, so that we may preserve it for all mankind.” Genscher was on a roll now, enjoying the chance to show off his knoweldge.
“Ancient manuscripts, such as this one, were not written on paper, they were generally written on parchment, or animal skin to you. Once the animal was skinned, the hide was treated with lime, and all the hair removed. The skin was then stretched and dried. It is a wonderful surface to write on, particularly the finer examples, which we call vellum, but it often does not last very well. The hide gets dry and can crack. I presume, Herr Schwartz, that you do not wish this to happen before we read the document?”
Ortwin nodded.
“Very good. The object you referred to is a combined thermometer and hygrometer. Our book, or folio as we experts would refer to it, is old, and we do not know what condition it is in. Thus, I had to check the environment in this bunker before I could safely expose the document to the air. If it is too dry, there is a risk the pages could crack, equally, if it is too moist, the manuscript will be prone to mold. Too hot and it will dry out, too cold, and it will become brittle. However, you are in luck. The humidity is 57%, and the temperature 18 degrees. These readings are exactly in line with UNESCO guidelines. We may open the case.”
Ortwin resented the doctor showing off, but then again, how often was it that a librarian had an audience? Let the man enjoy his moment in the sun, Max would know what to do later.
Gloves on, Dr Genscher, carefully laid the left hand case on its flat side and opened the locks.Opening it, he saw the old book, carefully sealed in a ziplock plastic bag, snuggly nestling in a foam surround.
‘Good, the object has been transported as I instructed.” Carefully lifting the plastic bag from the case, he slowly opened it and extracted the book. Placing it delicately on the book-rest, he reached for the tweezers.
“We think it is on around page 200.” Klaus said, aware that Ortwin wanted the process to hurry up.
Perring over his spectacles, like a disdainful owl, Genscher snorted. “Dear boy, this is not some sort of paperback to be leafed through. This is an artwork and needs to be treated carefully. Besides, mediaeval books do not have page numbers. Now please all be quiet so I can concentrate. The next bit is always the most delicate.”
Turning his back on the audience, Genscher slowly opened the book, revealing a page with two columns of hand-written script. A large, ornate letter A was at the top of the left side, with what seemed to be flowers growing from it, and a deer poking out between the legs of the letter. Colourful patterns formed a border all the way round the text.
“Wow, it’s beautiful” Klaus said.
“What else do you expect for 2 million Euro? Jackie Collins? Harry Potter?” Genschr snorted again. “You must remember that these manuscripts were produced in libraries which, in the old days, were almost exclusively in monasteries.” Genscher permitted himself a smile. “In the old times, I myself would have been a monk” Although given his sallow complexion, greasy hair, and generally unpleasant demeanour, it was hard to believe that he would have noticed much difference in his lifestyle.
“The scribes saw their manuscripts as a way to celebrate the glory of God, so they decorated them with things from His creation. You’ll see more as we move on.” Using the tweezers, he took hold of the top corner of the page, and painstakingly turned it over. The process was repeated for the next thirty minutes, as Genscher worked his way through the pages. Those who consider paint-drying dangerously exciting should try watching a man turn the leaves of a book and Ortwin was getting increasingly angry, every fibre screaming that he should just have Max shoot the pompous librarian and take over himself. However, he restrained himself with the thought that he would have his subordinate draw out the man’s execution to the same length of time.
Finally, after they had all lost count of how many pages they had seen, Genscher turned over a leaf to reveal a full page drawing of the Crucifixion. The image was unmistakable. The sky was red, and a figure naked except for a loincloth was hanging from a cross, head bent to one side, a crown of thorns on top. Nails stuck out of his hands and ankles, while below his a crowd gathered. The perspective, as so often in old documents, was wrong, but there was no taking away from the beauty of the image. Out of the man’s side, in the midst of a gush of red and white, stuck the unmistakable handle of a spear, swathed in white light.
Thuringia
Dr Friedrich Genscher looked out of the window of the glossy black Sikorsky S-76C++ helicopter in a mixture of awe and trepidation. Awe, that the unwieldy beast was capable of flying so smoothly and with such comfort over the snowy forest below. Trepidation because, like most people, he only thought about helicopters when they crashed or were engaged in some military skirmish.
Ortwin caught his eye. ‘Comfortable, Dr Genscher?” he asked, sitting back in his cream leather seat, whiskey in hand.
“Very much so, Herr Schwartz”, the academic mumbled.
“First time?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so. You are presumably used to these contraptions, Herr Schwartz?”
“Yes, I can remember the first one I saw. My father bought it for the ranch in Argentina. It was supposed to revolutionise cattle farming. Probably would have done, if the damn thing hadn’t blown up the day after we got it.” Ortwin smiled as the academic grew paler. “Of course, things have come a long way since then. They’re much safer now.”
Genscher turned to the window once more and tried to dispel the image of twisted metal and charred bodies from his mind. The doctor was used to being in control, whether of his studies, his students, or of life in general, and that was the one thing that flying most clearly took from you.
Klaus, sitting across the aisle, caught his boss’s eye. They were both pleased at the doctor’s discomfort, neither finding him much other than pompous. Still, he had skills, and they were useful to the project, so his palpable displeasure was an added bonus.
Attempting to make small talk to relieve his anxiety, Genscher asked. “So the book is on the helicopter? It might be useful if I could see it.”
“I’m afraid the book is not with us, Doctor, but with some friends. I thought it best to keep them apart until it was really necessary. We don’t want someone else to reap the reward of all our hard work now, do we?”
“Quite so, quite so. Herr Schwartz. Very sensible.” Genscher, put in his place, turned to the window once more.
The helicopter started to descend, accompanied by a groaning sound as the wheels were released from the fuselage. Genscher gave a start at the noise, causing more unspoken mirth amongst his travelling companions. Ortwin wondered if one who was so scared of a helicopter would have the stomach for what was to come, but was confident that Max would ensure that the academic did his duty, come what may.
While the ODE may not have paid much attention to the paths leading to the Mittelwerk, one of their first tasks had been to clear and pave an area for use as a helipad. Sceptical observers, had there been any, might have pointed out that this was an odd priority for a museum, but they would have forgotten that it was a museum built by a billionaire. A 300 metre square area had been cleared of trees, and it was into this that Ortwin’s helicopter nestled, sinking below the sightline of any curious observers.
Ortwin and Klaus unbuckled their belts as soon as they felt the tarmac beneath them, Genscher, waiting until the rotors had stopped, just to be absolutely certain. Reaching into the overhead locker, Klaus grabbed the metallic briefcase and fell in behind Ortwin as they prepared for the doors to be opened and the steps lowered. Genscher joined them, relieved to be back on the ground, but with growing apprehension as to what might follow.
Max was waiting for them, and extended his arm in salute. Dressed all in black, it was hard not to see him as an SS officer, as he would be, when Ortwin’s plan came to fruition. Turning smartly, he led them across the tarmaced square towards the treeline. The pathway had been swept clear of snow and it was a clear day, just as well since all except Max were wearing business attire. 50 metres into the forest, a squat concrete structure lay waiting, its steel door open. Entering its fluorescent lit interior, the party proceeded down a flight of steel stairs, into a well illuminated corridor. The smooth rock walls were painted a uniform shade of white, reminding Genscher of some sort of sanitorium. Stopping at the third door on the left, Max bade them enter what had been transformed into the reception room.
The fluorescent lights had been replaced by standard lamps, giving much needed relief to the eyes. A simple rug covered the floor, while leather armchairs were dotted around the centre of the room. At the back, a solid oak board table was surrounded by chairs, and, to one side, a picture of Adolf Hitler gave his imprimatur to the events which would take place there.
“Very cosy” Ortwin remarked.
“Thanks you sir. I’ve done as you asked and left the case on the table. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll arrange for some refreshments.”
Ortwin nodded, and shrugged off his coat, the temperature in the bunker being a comfortable 65 degrees. The others did likewise, and Klaus moved to the table, depositing his case next to its sister. For the first time in years, the lance and the book were side by side. Ortwin felt a swell of pride. He had done it. He had done what his father had, but he would succeed where the elder Kammler had failed. How could he not? He had time, he had money and he had another 60 years of technological advances to bring to bear on the project.
Max returned, followed by a soldier bearing a pot of coffee and some mugs. Ortwin found the contrast between the power he was about to unleash, and the chipped metal mugs amusing, but soon, he would have no interest in such things, he would have more important matters at hand. Still, it was important to show control. Much as he wanted to snatch up the lance and utter the incantation, he forced himself to take a coffee and indulge in some banter with Klaus and Max, Dr Genscher standing apart to one side, obviously desperate like himself to get started.
Eventually, when he could wait no longer, Ortwin turned to Genscher and said. “OK, Doctor, I think we should proceed. Your present is in the left hand case.”
Nodding, Genscher moved over to the table and put his own, battered brown case on top of it. Opening it, he withdrew a pair of white gloves, tweezers, two triangular pieces of foam and a digital device looking like an alarm clock.
Placing the two foam triangle together, he formed a book rest, but before opening the case, he pressed a button on top of his electronic device and waited for it to give him a reading. “If you need to know the time, Doctor Genscher, I have a watch” Ortwin interjected, uncertain about the reason for the delay.
Genscher turned and gave him a dry smile. “Herr Schwartz, I too have a watch, but this gadget is much more than that. I need to see what it says before I can proceed. Please, I am the expert in these matters.”
Ortwin was about to interject that expert or not, Genscher was being extremely well paid, when the object emitted a loud beep. Lifting up his spectacles, the doctor peered at the read-out, and pronounced himself satisfied. Reaching for his gloves, he began to pull them on.
“What was all that about?” Ortwin demanded.
“Her Schwartz, you may be a very good financier, but you would make a very poor paleographer. I, on the other hand, am an expert in ancient manuscripts, with the publications and academic standing to show for it. You do not read an ancient book as if it were some copy of The Economist. You must realise that the current manuscript is unique, we have a duty to treat it properly, so that we may preserve it for all mankind.” Genscher was on a roll now, enjoying the chance to show off his knoweldge.
“Ancient manuscripts, such as this one, were not written on paper, they were generally written on parchment, or animal skin to you. Once the animal was skinned, the hide was treated with lime, and all the hair removed. The skin was then stretched and dried. It is a wonderful surface to write on, particularly the finer examples, which we call vellum, but it often does not last very well. The hide gets dry and can crack. I presume, Herr Schwartz, that you do not wish this to happen before we read the document?”
Ortwin nodded.
“Very good. The object you referred to is a combined thermometer and hygrometer. Our book, or folio as we experts would refer to it, is old, and we do not know what condition it is in. Thus, I had to check the environment in this bunker before I could safely expose the document to the air. If it is too dry, there is a risk the pages could crack, equally, if it is too moist, the manuscript will be prone to mold. Too hot and it will dry out, too cold, and it will become brittle. However, you are in luck. The humidity is 57%, and the temperature 18 degrees. These readings are exactly in line with UNESCO guidelines. We may open the case.”
Ortwin resented the doctor showing off, but then again, how often was it that a librarian had an audience? Let the man enjoy his moment in the sun, Max would know what to do later.
Gloves on, Dr Genscher, carefully laid the left hand case on its flat side and opened the locks.Opening it, he saw the old book, carefully sealed in a ziplock plastic bag, snuggly nestling in a foam surround.
‘Good, the object has been transported as I instructed.” Carefully lifting the plastic bag from the case, he slowly opened it and extracted the book. Placing it delicately on the book-rest, he reached for the tweezers.
“We think it is on around page 200.” Klaus said, aware that Ortwin wanted the process to hurry up.
Perring over his spectacles, like a disdainful owl, Genscher snorted. “Dear boy, this is not some sort of paperback to be leafed through. This is an artwork and needs to be treated carefully. Besides, mediaeval books do not have page numbers. Now please all be quiet so I can concentrate. The next bit is always the most delicate.”
Turning his back on the audience, Genscher slowly opened the book, revealing a page with two columns of hand-written script. A large, ornate letter A was at the top of the left side, with what seemed to be flowers growing from it, and a deer poking out between the legs of the letter. Colourful patterns formed a border all the way round the text.
“Wow, it’s beautiful” Klaus said.
“What else do you expect for 2 million Euro? Jackie Collins? Harry Potter?” Genschr snorted again. “You must remember that these manuscripts were produced in libraries which, in the old days, were almost exclusively in monasteries.” Genscher permitted himself a smile. “In the old times, I myself would have been a monk” Although given his sallow complexion, greasy hair, and generally unpleasant demeanour, it was hard to believe that he would have noticed much difference in his lifestyle.
“The scribes saw their manuscripts as a way to celebrate the glory of God, so they decorated them with things from His creation. You’ll see more as we move on.” Using the tweezers, he took hold of the top corner of the page, and painstakingly turned it over. The process was repeated for the next thirty minutes, as Genscher worked his way through the pages. Those who consider paint-drying dangerously exciting should try watching a man turn the leaves of a book and Ortwin was getting increasingly angry, every fibre screaming that he should just have Max shoot the pompous librarian and take over himself. However, he restrained himself with the thought that he would have his subordinate draw out the man’s execution to the same length of time.
Finally, after they had all lost count of how many pages they had seen, Genscher turned over a leaf to reveal a full page drawing of the Crucifixion. The image was unmistakable. The sky was red, and a figure naked except for a loincloth was hanging from a cross, head bent to one side, a crown of thorns on top. Nails stuck out of his hands and ankles, while below his a crowd gathered. The perspective, as so often in old documents, was wrong, but there was no taking away from the beauty of the image. Out of the man’s side, in the midst of a gush of red and white, stuck the unmistakable handle of a spear, swathed in white light.
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