The Sixth Key (4 page)

‘Don’t you know, dear boy? Why, it is for our
Führer. He has had many visions of his past lives. In truth, he remembers one
particular life, which was foremost among them: his time in Atlantis when he
was a great magician and a man unsurpassed in his abilities! What do you think
of that? Now, as you no doubt know, in each life one must relearn the knowledge
of the past before one can begin to work on future abilities. So to this end,
the Führer has been amassing a great number of books on magic and sorcery. He
has a voracious appetite for knowledge but, you see, with all he has to do, he
has no time. Your reports will save him having to read through everything. Do
you understand the great honour he has bestowed upon you? I believe, if you
please him, he might even show you his libraries one day.’

‘How many libraries does he have?’

‘There are three separate libraries. But it is
at the Berghof that he keeps all his magical works – some five or six
hundred of the rarest volumes on the occult. Everything is managed by his
librarian, a man called Herbert Döhring, whose fervent hope it is to increase
the size of the collection to sixty thousand volumes! In that library, our
Führer has nearly everything written about magic and witchcraft, torture and
ways to summon devils. You will never see anything more beautiful.’

Ways to summon devils?

Rahn walked back to his office feeling that
Weisthor was living up to his reputation for lunacy.

In the coming months, Rahn worked through the
Olympic Games to publish Lucifer’s Court, and had a run-in with his assistant
Hans. The stupid man had interpolated anti-Semitic remarks into the narrative
without his permission! When Rahn complained to Weisthor, he was warned against
going to Himmler – after all, Hans was the Reichsführer’s brother-in-law.

Disheartened, Rahn observed the
remilitarisation of the Rhineland and the Anschluss of Austria from his
windowless and therefore airless office, rarely noticing whether it was day or
night. He also did his obligatory dismal time as a guard at Dachau, where he
saw happenings that disquieted him and where he heard of even worse things: the
murder of Jewish prisoners and the torture of Marxists and anyone suspected of
speaking out against the Government. He only cheered when he saw the snow begin
to melt, because it meant that he would soon be leaving the camp. But when he
returned to Berlin he not only found it cold, damp and smelling of boiled
cabbage, he also witnessed the same cruelty and inhumanity he had seen at
Dachau, placidly tolerated and even encouraged by ordinary German men and women
alike. Sometimes even children would go out of their way to kick an old Jew who
had been struck to the ground by a Gestapo officer.

From that time, Rahn began to consider ways of
ending his involvement with Himmler and the SS. What could he have been
thinking? How could a tolerant man continue to live under such a government? He
was pleased, therefore, when he was given the task of fine-tuning the
Reichsführer’s genealogy because this meant he had to travel to Switzerland.
Once there, he was seized by a sudden overwhelming sense of liberty. He wanted
desperately to see mountains again, hawks flying overhead and caves below. He
had sorely missed the villages, the lakes and the cool freedom of being awake
beneath a pure, early morning sky.

On impulse he looked up an old Swiss friend,
Alexis La Dame, but learnt from La Dame’s mother that he was working at the
university in Paris. Rahn hadn’t seen him for almost two years but La Dame was
the sort of friend who remained close despite distances and the vagaries of
fate. They shared a love of the mountains, caves, detective novels, mysteries,
music and, during their potholing days in the south of France, had both
developed a taste for brandy.

Full of excitement, he secured a certificate
from a Swiss doctor to lengthen his stay, citing exhaustion. He then set about
petitioning the French Embassy for a new passport, all the while writing to
Himmler lies of the wonderful book he was writing, a great tome some two
thousand pages long.

The day he was denied entry to France he was
feeling particularly low and his spirits became decidedly lower when a German
officer arrived at his door wearing plain clothes. He was carrying orders from
Weisthor, signed by Himmler. A new assignment was waiting for him, something of
great importance, and he was to leave with the man immediately. At this point
Rahn realised his situation – he was not a free man.

When he returned to Berlin he waited cheerlessly
for Weisthor to call him to his office and to give him the particulars of his
mission, but the days passed with no word. To make things worse, while working
on his own genealogy, to fulfil the requirement for racial acceptability, he
discovered something alarming. His mother’s maiden name was Hamburger,
apparently a name frequently used by European Jews, and to top it off, his
grandfather’s real name was Simeon! Rahn’s ignorance of these particulars did
not surprise him. What parent discussed such things with their children? But
now he was in a mess and the situation grew even more acute when Gabriele
called him one night to warn him that the Gestapo was secretly investigating
Schmid – the mathematician who had worked with him on the De Mengel
article. Rahn took himself to Schmid’s apartment and found the door unlocked
and Schmid gone. Everything was still in its place and even the table was set
expectantly, waiting for a dinner that now lay cold and rotting on the stove.
Rahn made discreet enquiries about Schmid but to no avail – the man had
disappeared without a trace.

The day Rahn confronted Weisthor on the
matter, he was feeling rather unwell from a bout of the flu and this made him
incautious. Weisthor heard his words in a blank silence and afterwards remained
quiet, as if undergoing some internal debate.

When he spoke his voice was serious and
conspiratorial. ‘Tell me, Rahn, are you the sort of chap whose ears are
disposed to hearing extraordinary things?’ He blinked and blinked at Rahn,
quite full to the brim with a fierce form of enthusiasm.

‘I would like to think so,’ Rahn said, blowing
his nose.

‘Well then, close the door, dear boy. Sit down
and listen.’ He regarded Rahn heavily. ‘I like you, I think you know that,’ he
said. ‘I feel that when I talk to you I am speaking to an intellectual equal.
You’re different from the empty-headed puppets that walk about this place and
so I want to tell you something
that might save your life. Can I trust you to be
discreet?’

Rahn nodded, trying to appear the very model
of prudence.

‘In the coming months, Rahn, you must get used
to the idea that Germany is going to have to kill an inordinate number of Jews.
But not just Jews,’ he said. ‘You must get used to the idea that the master
race has no time for the sick and the ailing and the degenerate. Do you know
what Eugenics is? Darwin’s half-cousin came up with it. It is the science of
racial hygiene, the science of culling out riffraff; a kind of enforced natural
selection. You see, the weaker races can only survive by breeding with the
stronger ones, and this weakens the stronger race. Simple really. We become
less than animals because even animals do not mix together. Have you ever seen
a monkey mating with a zebra? Of course not! If this were allowed to go on in
the human race it would be headed for doom!’

Rahn felt this comparison distasteful in the
extreme and it bristled his every sensibility. ‘But you and I know that this is
nonsense!’ he risked saying. ‘Science shows that when races mix they become
stronger, not weaker. Look at what happens in small German towns where
inbreeding is rife – you see nothing but imbeciles.’

Weisthor’s face grew very serious. ‘Well,
Reichsführer Himmler would disagree with you. Certainly it has been known to
happen that imbeciles are born this way, because negative faults are
emphasised, but so are positive traits accentuated! At least that is what he is
trying to prove. He wants to show that this is so because our Führer himself
comes from such a small township. So, he has our department investigating our
Führer’s genealogy for evidence that he is a product of such a union, which one
would have to say, in his case, has bred a genius. To his mind, it is no wonder
that the church continues to decry incest, considering it fears the birth of
Nietzsche’s super-human man!’

Robakidze’s words now returned to Rahn and he
felt a chill.

‘My advice to you, Rahn, is to forget what has
happened to your friend Schmid. It would have happened sooner or later, believe
me. This is a new Germany. The curse on society will be scourged: astrologers,
mediums, Freemasons, clairvoyants, Jews and gypsies will be rounded up; and the
disabled, the elderly and the insane will be despatched in their hospitals.’

Can the man hear himself? He who has not long
been discharged from a sanatorium?

‘But if you go around asking too many
questions, Rahn, you will be tarred with the same brush. That is the danger.’

Rahn blew his nose. ‘What do you mean, the
same brush?’

‘The same brush, Rahn. Why would a normal man
befriend a homosexual?’

Rahn looked up. ‘Are you suggesting . . . ?’

Weisthor’s eyes narrowed a touch. ‘This is the
question that will be asked. One might think you don’t seem to fancy women.
Look at my dear Gabriele, for instance; she spends all her time swooning over
you, throws herself at your feet and you are, how should I say it, as cold as a
seal. Be careful, Rahn! Do you think they don’t know everything there is to
know about you? For instance, they know you are intimately connected with a
certain Raymon Perrier.’

‘I’ve known him for years and love him as a
dear friend!’

‘But what are you doing mountain-hiking with
him? You even shared a house with him in Switzerland!’

‘As a friend!’

‘But that is not all, Rahn! What about Dietmar
Lauermann, who is associated with the outlawed Grey Corps?’

‘Lauermann? I met him when I was at
university! I’ve had nothing to do with him for years.’

‘And what about your
Jewish connections?’

Rahn felt his palms grow moist. A bead of
sweat was forming on his brow.

‘The shopkeepers, where you buy your
groceries, Rahn! You should not be seen in such places owned by Jews!’

Rahn wanted to faint from
relief.

‘Listen to me.’ Weisthor sat forwards with a
mad look in his eye. ‘The Sicherheitsdienst spies on everyone, not just
bohemian artists, or Marxists, or the morally perverted – like Schmid,
with his apartment full of statues of nude men. The slightest remark, or the
smallest activity deemed questionable by the SD will have you hearing a knock
on the door in the middle of the night. Before you can blink, you will find
yourself in Dachau and I won’t be able to help you. The Gestapo SS are not
subject to laws. They are above the law and can place any man in protective
custody. You don’t want to know what happens to those who go there, Rahn. A
bullet in the head is the pleasant alternative. At best your parents will have
to ransom you and nurse you back to life after the Waffen SS have had their
fill of you. Be pragmatic, Rahn! No one is safe!’

‘You make the Gestapo sound like the
Inquisition!’ Rahn blew his nose again.

‘Look, if you’re not careful you too will be
considered nothing but riffraff, and riffraff has to be eradicated! Mark my
words, Rahn, they will take comfort in knowing that such an act comes as an
inspiration directly from the gods.’

Rahn, bewildered and feverish, asked, ‘Why
would the gods inspire the killing of innocent people?’

Weisthor sighed, as if Rahn had just made the
most naïve statement in the history of the world. ‘You’re a historian! Surely
you can see how the gods have always needed their sacrifices, be it on an altar
of stone or on a battlefield. The sacrifice of weakness is what our Führer
believes will make our race perfect, and only a perfect race is a vessel
capable of containing the spirit of its people – like the Grail, Rahn!’

He stood and went to the window to look out at
the dreary day. ‘This now brings me to your next mission. New information has
come to light. Gaston De Mengel has sent me a letter that has me quite excited.
I have shown it to the Reichsführer and he is similarly invigorated!’

‘What is it?’ Rahn said.

Weisthor didn’t turn around but began tapping
one hand over the other behind his back. ‘It is of the utmost importance and
completely top secret. De Mengel tells of a certain text, a grimoire of black
magic, very rare . . . He has a contact for you in Paris. Himmler is quite
elated since this text is one that has been sought after by our Führer for some
years to complete his collection. It is the only one he doesn’t possess. At any
rate, the Reichsführer would like to give it to the Führer for his birthday, so
there’s no time to delay. Himmler has expedited matters by signing a request
for your journey. All you need do is append your signature.’ He turned around.
‘Now, to details.’ He looked about his littered desk and produced an envelope.
‘In here you will find your new papers. Knowing of your difficulties in
Ussatles-Bains, I appealed to the French Embassy here in Berlin and they have
issued a new passport. You will also find quite a sizeable sum, enough to
provide you with meals and accommodation and anything else you might need for a
month or so. If you need more it will be wired to you, but you must note down
every expense, the smallest amount must be accounted for. Himmler is a stickler
for detail, as you know by now. Oh, and inside there are also train tickets and
the address of the man whom you are to contact in Paris. A certain Vincent
Varas.’ He sighed. ‘Think, Rahn, how overjoyed the Führer will be to have that
book! I need only say that we are full of enthusiasm for your positive findings
. . . if you know what I mean.’