Chapter 23
Berlin
Simon and Elena met for lunch in the Quadriga Lounge of the hotel. Simon was beginning to get slightly stir-crazy, every minute he spent there reminding him of the ordeal of the previous evening. However, Waldheim had made it perfectly clear that leaving would not be tolerated, so he had spent the rest of the morning idly channel surfing the standard offerings of any international hotel. After seeing the headline news on CNN for the fourth time, he decided to at least explore his surroundings slightly, and plucked up the courage to invite Elena to join him.
The restaurant was named for the chariot which stood atop the nearby Brandenburg gate, the last remaining of the old entrances to the city. Like Berlin itself, the statue had a dubious history, having been stolen by Napoleon, merely 13 years after it had been made. Returned after the Emperor’s defeat, it had become a symbol of Prussian militarism, the olive wreath which originally crowned it being replaced by an Iron Cross. As such, it had made a convenient target for the Russians as they attacked Berlin at the end of the war. Presumably under pressure from their Soviet masters, the East German government had failed to replace it after the war, leaving that task till after reunification.
There was little sign of militarism or violence in the restaurant, although the prices could certainly rouse one to anger, as its neutral tones looked out over the snowy courtyard. Bright and airy, there was little to distract the attention of the businessmen and ladies who lunched who made up the clientele.
Simon usually felt out of place in such institutions, although the events of the past few weeks were making him more accustomed to them. Fortunately, he knew he was not the focus of attention today as the room noticeably quietened as Elena showed her bruised face at the door and proceeded to the table Simon had procured.
After a gap of several seconds, the other guests leaned in over their tables, the level of noise rising once more. Simon got up and seated Elena, aware that the others were watching him, and returned to his own place.
“They’re watching to see if I attack you again.” He said in an attempt to break the ice.
“What?”
“All these people, they’re busily talking away, assuming that I’m some sort of wife-beater and you’re my battered bride.”
“In your dreams.” Elena retorted, her hand reaching for her bruised cheek.
“Although...let’s give them something else to talk about.”
Simon was puzzled, until she started laughing and leaned over the table to plant a large kiss on his cheek, accompanied by a large cry of “Darling!!”
Elena was right, the assumptions of most of the other customers, all of whom had been discretely observing them were now thoroughly scrambled, and they returned to their conversations, trying to concoct new theories which would take account of the new evidence.
Smiling, she picked up her menu and read it carefully, announcing that her appetite had fully returned. She suggested that they both order currywurst, something of a Berlin speciality. Like most Britons, Simon’s ears tended to prick up at the mention of curry, and he agreed with alacrity. Sadly, doctors ordered prohibited any alcohol so both contented themselves with Cokes.
Some foods are meant to be cheap, and any attempt to use more expensive ingredients tends to diminish the charm of the original. What had started out in the post war rationing period as a pork hot dog covered in a mixture of curry sauce and curry powder, should have stayed that way, the hotel’s attempt to improve the ingredients merely serving to lessen the flavour. It was, however, filing, and neither Simon or Elena felt the need for pudding after reaching the end of their sausages.
“Waldheim was right, you know” Elena said, wiping the last of the gloopy sauce from the corner of her mouth. She was obviously not a fan of spicy food, and ordered a second Coke to cool down.
“Hmm?”
“He was right, we need to figure out what is going on here.” All signs of the playful Elena, tweaking the noses of the Berlin bourgeoisie had gone, the police officer taking over.
“What’s going on is we’ve narrowly escaped from a complete psychopath, in case you’ve forgotten what happened last night.”
Elena’s hand once more moved unconsciously to her bruised cheek, and she started to redden, not from embarrassment.
“I haven’t forgotten at all.” she snapped. “In case you need to be reminded, I was the one being molested by that animal while you just sat there.”
She had a point, but Simon was not in the mood to let it rest. “I was trying to come up with a plan”
“You were coming up with a plan? How much more were you going to allow him to do to me before this plan started then?”
Simon tried to think of a retort, but failed, his only reply a sheepish expression. “You’re right, I’m sorry. It must have been awful. I suppose I feel bad, not being able to do anything.”
Surprisingly, Elena reached across the table and took his hand. “I’m sorry too, I shouldn’t have snapped like that. I’m still a bit shaken, I guess. I’m not used to being in that position.”
Simon was about to make a slightly crude joke about positions before thinking the better of it, so he squeezed her hand instead. Smiling, he said “I know, I know, it will take time to get over. I’m sure there are people you can talk to if you need to. Waldheim’s probably got a whole fleet of them waiting.”
“Sadly, Simon, I don’t think the Germans are as keen on that, how do you say it ‘touchy-feely’ stuff as you Brits. But you’re right, I’m sure it will be alright given time. That was what my father would say anyway.”
“You’re right, I can’t really imagine Waldheim on a psychiatrist’s couch.” Simon said, attempting to lighten the atmosphere. “Walrus are not noted for their capacity for self-reflection.”
Elena smiled, despite herself.
“But you are right, we do need to try to work out what’s going on, before someone tries to kill us again.”
“The way I see it, there are three threads here.” Elena leaned forward, fully engaged now, the moment of weakness forgotten.
“One strand concerns the lance. We know that it has been stolen, and we know that the book from Greece has something to do with it. The other strand concerns these German soldiers who seem to want to kill us. They seem more interested in you, and I’m just an unfortunate passerby, as it were. There’s also the matter of the sniper who seems to enjoy hunting the soldiers”
“I think the book is the most important thing. From what Mme Weiss told us in Paris, the book tells you how to unlock the powers of the lance. Without it, it’s just a lump of old metal.”
“That’s a strange way for an archaeologist to describe a historic artifact.” Elena smiled playfully.
“I’m a historian, not an archaeologist. They spend their time outside, digging up holes in the rain, hoping desperately to find bits of some old chamber pot. I stay nice and warm in my library and think great thoughts. Archeologists are the binmen of ancient studies; useful enough, but you wouldn’t want your daughter to marry one.”
Elena found that dose of academic prejudice funny, and allowed herself a laugh.
“The point I’m trying to make is, the spear is just a spear unless you find some way to harness its power. There are thousands of ancient spears in museums. It is the book, and what it contains that makes this one special.”
“How do we even know that the spear has powers anyway, what if this is all just a wild goose chase?”
“I don’t know. Certainly, throughout history, the lance has been venerated, and not just in the way that all these old relics were venerated, you know saints’ fingertips and the like. There’s always been a tradition that the spear had some sort of power. And it’s not just because it was Jesus. There are other relics from him, like the Turin Shroud, but none of them has ever been thought to possess mystical powers.
“When I had dinner with your father, he said something interesting. We were talking about the beginnings of the Order, and he said that scientists had used their new techniques and confirmed that the objects the Order guards did have special powers. This was about 140 years ago, so science had advanced a lot, but was obviously nowhere near as knowledgeable as it is today. So, if these scientists could detect these powers using their techniques, they must be pretty obvious.”
“Do you think they recorded their results?” Elena was interested, losing herself in Simon’s disquisition.
“I’m sure they would have. Scientists always record everything. It’s their way to make sure no-one can try to steal their discoveries. There’s none more jealous than a scientist with a discovery to protect.”
“So what about the book then? Why’s that so important?”
“Like I said, it seems to contain some ancient ritual which unlocks the power that the Lance holds. Without it, you can obviously tell that the power is there, we know that from the Victorian scientists, but you can’t use it.
Gregory of Nyssa was a mystic, he was interested in illumination and the infinite. Not the sort of things we think of as particularly Christian. We know he lived in Turkey, but that he travelled a lot around the Mediterranean. He was a Bishop, and it is quite possible he met Longinus’ family on his travels. I presume they told him about the spear. Given his other interests, it must have fascinated him. I bet he persuaded them to tell him about it and how to use it.”
“Why didn’t he just take it himself?”
“Although he was a bit weird, he seems to have been a genuinely holy man, so I don’t think he would have wanted to, even if he could have. However, I’m sure he recorded what they told him, that’s why the book is so important.”
“And what about the soldiers? Why are they so keen to kill you?”
“As far as I can tell, they’re not just trying to kill me.”
Elena blushed slightly.
“No, I don’t mean you, I think they’re only interested in you because of me. I think they’re really interested in the Order. From what you’ve said, the same person shot the guards in the museum, Dr Fleicher and your father, and would have killed me if that courier had not intervened. We are all members of the Order. Your father made it pretty clear that the Order would get the lance back, so I imagine these soldiers have got the lance and are trying to eliminate the competition. I think the guy who keeps shooting them is part of another group, also trying to get the lance. I think we’ve fallen into some sort of mob war here.”
Simon turned over the previous day’s events in his mind and remembered something odd.
“Our friend from last night mentioned that he had met me before, so presumably he was the one who attacked me at College. But I wasn’t a member of the Order then, so why would they want to kill me? I can understand after I met your father, but not before. I’d only just got Jonathan’s letter.”
“Obviously they knew you were about to join the Order and wanted you out of the way.”
Simon’s mind was racing. She had a point, no matter how much he might dislike it, it was hard to fault her logic. Unfortunately, there was only one conclusion to draw.
“There’s only one way they could have known. There must be a traitor in the Order.”
Berlin
Simon and Elena met for lunch in the Quadriga Lounge of the hotel. Simon was beginning to get slightly stir-crazy, every minute he spent there reminding him of the ordeal of the previous evening. However, Waldheim had made it perfectly clear that leaving would not be tolerated, so he had spent the rest of the morning idly channel surfing the standard offerings of any international hotel. After seeing the headline news on CNN for the fourth time, he decided to at least explore his surroundings slightly, and plucked up the courage to invite Elena to join him.
The restaurant was named for the chariot which stood atop the nearby Brandenburg gate, the last remaining of the old entrances to the city. Like Berlin itself, the statue had a dubious history, having been stolen by Napoleon, merely 13 years after it had been made. Returned after the Emperor’s defeat, it had become a symbol of Prussian militarism, the olive wreath which originally crowned it being replaced by an Iron Cross. As such, it had made a convenient target for the Russians as they attacked Berlin at the end of the war. Presumably under pressure from their Soviet masters, the East German government had failed to replace it after the war, leaving that task till after reunification.
There was little sign of militarism or violence in the restaurant, although the prices could certainly rouse one to anger, as its neutral tones looked out over the snowy courtyard. Bright and airy, there was little to distract the attention of the businessmen and ladies who lunched who made up the clientele.
Simon usually felt out of place in such institutions, although the events of the past few weeks were making him more accustomed to them. Fortunately, he knew he was not the focus of attention today as the room noticeably quietened as Elena showed her bruised face at the door and proceeded to the table Simon had procured.
After a gap of several seconds, the other guests leaned in over their tables, the level of noise rising once more. Simon got up and seated Elena, aware that the others were watching him, and returned to his own place.
“They’re watching to see if I attack you again.” He said in an attempt to break the ice.
“What?”
“All these people, they’re busily talking away, assuming that I’m some sort of wife-beater and you’re my battered bride.”
“In your dreams.” Elena retorted, her hand reaching for her bruised cheek.
“Although...let’s give them something else to talk about.”
Simon was puzzled, until she started laughing and leaned over the table to plant a large kiss on his cheek, accompanied by a large cry of “Darling!!”
Elena was right, the assumptions of most of the other customers, all of whom had been discretely observing them were now thoroughly scrambled, and they returned to their conversations, trying to concoct new theories which would take account of the new evidence.
Smiling, she picked up her menu and read it carefully, announcing that her appetite had fully returned. She suggested that they both order currywurst, something of a Berlin speciality. Like most Britons, Simon’s ears tended to prick up at the mention of curry, and he agreed with alacrity. Sadly, doctors ordered prohibited any alcohol so both contented themselves with Cokes.
Some foods are meant to be cheap, and any attempt to use more expensive ingredients tends to diminish the charm of the original. What had started out in the post war rationing period as a pork hot dog covered in a mixture of curry sauce and curry powder, should have stayed that way, the hotel’s attempt to improve the ingredients merely serving to lessen the flavour. It was, however, filing, and neither Simon or Elena felt the need for pudding after reaching the end of their sausages.
“Waldheim was right, you know” Elena said, wiping the last of the gloopy sauce from the corner of her mouth. She was obviously not a fan of spicy food, and ordered a second Coke to cool down.
“Hmm?”
“He was right, we need to figure out what is going on here.” All signs of the playful Elena, tweaking the noses of the Berlin bourgeoisie had gone, the police officer taking over.
“What’s going on is we’ve narrowly escaped from a complete psychopath, in case you’ve forgotten what happened last night.”
Elena’s hand once more moved unconsciously to her bruised cheek, and she started to redden, not from embarrassment.
“I haven’t forgotten at all.” she snapped. “In case you need to be reminded, I was the one being molested by that animal while you just sat there.”
She had a point, but Simon was not in the mood to let it rest. “I was trying to come up with a plan”
“You were coming up with a plan? How much more were you going to allow him to do to me before this plan started then?”
Simon tried to think of a retort, but failed, his only reply a sheepish expression. “You’re right, I’m sorry. It must have been awful. I suppose I feel bad, not being able to do anything.”
Surprisingly, Elena reached across the table and took his hand. “I’m sorry too, I shouldn’t have snapped like that. I’m still a bit shaken, I guess. I’m not used to being in that position.”
Simon was about to make a slightly crude joke about positions before thinking the better of it, so he squeezed her hand instead. Smiling, he said “I know, I know, it will take time to get over. I’m sure there are people you can talk to if you need to. Waldheim’s probably got a whole fleet of them waiting.”
“Sadly, Simon, I don’t think the Germans are as keen on that, how do you say it ‘touchy-feely’ stuff as you Brits. But you’re right, I’m sure it will be alright given time. That was what my father would say anyway.”
“You’re right, I can’t really imagine Waldheim on a psychiatrist’s couch.” Simon said, attempting to lighten the atmosphere. “Walrus are not noted for their capacity for self-reflection.”
Elena smiled, despite herself.
“But you are right, we do need to try to work out what’s going on, before someone tries to kill us again.”
“The way I see it, there are three threads here.” Elena leaned forward, fully engaged now, the moment of weakness forgotten.
“One strand concerns the lance. We know that it has been stolen, and we know that the book from Greece has something to do with it. The other strand concerns these German soldiers who seem to want to kill us. They seem more interested in you, and I’m just an unfortunate passerby, as it were. There’s also the matter of the sniper who seems to enjoy hunting the soldiers”
“I think the book is the most important thing. From what Mme Weiss told us in Paris, the book tells you how to unlock the powers of the lance. Without it, it’s just a lump of old metal.”
“That’s a strange way for an archaeologist to describe a historic artifact.” Elena smiled playfully.
“I’m a historian, not an archaeologist. They spend their time outside, digging up holes in the rain, hoping desperately to find bits of some old chamber pot. I stay nice and warm in my library and think great thoughts. Archeologists are the binmen of ancient studies; useful enough, but you wouldn’t want your daughter to marry one.”
Elena found that dose of academic prejudice funny, and allowed herself a laugh.
“The point I’m trying to make is, the spear is just a spear unless you find some way to harness its power. There are thousands of ancient spears in museums. It is the book, and what it contains that makes this one special.”
“How do we even know that the spear has powers anyway, what if this is all just a wild goose chase?”
“I don’t know. Certainly, throughout history, the lance has been venerated, and not just in the way that all these old relics were venerated, you know saints’ fingertips and the like. There’s always been a tradition that the spear had some sort of power. And it’s not just because it was Jesus. There are other relics from him, like the Turin Shroud, but none of them has ever been thought to possess mystical powers.
“When I had dinner with your father, he said something interesting. We were talking about the beginnings of the Order, and he said that scientists had used their new techniques and confirmed that the objects the Order guards did have special powers. This was about 140 years ago, so science had advanced a lot, but was obviously nowhere near as knowledgeable as it is today. So, if these scientists could detect these powers using their techniques, they must be pretty obvious.”
“Do you think they recorded their results?” Elena was interested, losing herself in Simon’s disquisition.
“I’m sure they would have. Scientists always record everything. It’s their way to make sure no-one can try to steal their discoveries. There’s none more jealous than a scientist with a discovery to protect.”
“So what about the book then? Why’s that so important?”
“Like I said, it seems to contain some ancient ritual which unlocks the power that the Lance holds. Without it, you can obviously tell that the power is there, we know that from the Victorian scientists, but you can’t use it.
Gregory of Nyssa was a mystic, he was interested in illumination and the infinite. Not the sort of things we think of as particularly Christian. We know he lived in Turkey, but that he travelled a lot around the Mediterranean. He was a Bishop, and it is quite possible he met Longinus’ family on his travels. I presume they told him about the spear. Given his other interests, it must have fascinated him. I bet he persuaded them to tell him about it and how to use it.”
“Why didn’t he just take it himself?”
“Although he was a bit weird, he seems to have been a genuinely holy man, so I don’t think he would have wanted to, even if he could have. However, I’m sure he recorded what they told him, that’s why the book is so important.”
“And what about the soldiers? Why are they so keen to kill you?”
“As far as I can tell, they’re not just trying to kill me.”
Elena blushed slightly.
“No, I don’t mean you, I think they’re only interested in you because of me. I think they’re really interested in the Order. From what you’ve said, the same person shot the guards in the museum, Dr Fleicher and your father, and would have killed me if that courier had not intervened. We are all members of the Order. Your father made it pretty clear that the Order would get the lance back, so I imagine these soldiers have got the lance and are trying to eliminate the competition. I think the guy who keeps shooting them is part of another group, also trying to get the lance. I think we’ve fallen into some sort of mob war here.”
Simon turned over the previous day’s events in his mind and remembered something odd.
“Our friend from last night mentioned that he had met me before, so presumably he was the one who attacked me at College. But I wasn’t a member of the Order then, so why would they want to kill me? I can understand after I met your father, but not before. I’d only just got Jonathan’s letter.”
“Obviously they knew you were about to join the Order and wanted you out of the way.”
Simon’s mind was racing. She had a point, no matter how much he might dislike it, it was hard to fault her logic. Unfortunately, there was only one conclusion to draw.
“There’s only one way they could have known. There must be a traitor in the Order.”
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