Tyranny of Coins (The Judas Chronicles, #5) Page 8

  But I was wrong.

  Though I didn’t actually find anything tangible, I glimpsed a bluish glow inside one barrack, and again, near where a barrack building had once stood, not far from a guard tower and conveniently close to a gas chamber built when the Final Solution included the Jews housed at Stutthof.

  “You see it, don’t you?” said Roderick from behind me. He sounded calmer than earlier—a sure sign he had managed to get the psychic assault under control. “If only you could see the joy and hope that existed in this barrack. It was one the Nazis loathed the most…. I see their fear and hatred of the building. They learned to avoid it, which was bad for the camp’s other inmates…. They took out their fear on the others.”

  I turned to see his grimacing expression. I wanted to stop him, especially when he announced some of the bloodier atrocities that took place in the barrack still standing next to where the unusual one he alluded to once stood. Beatrice and Amy grimaced worse than him, and even Alistair and Cedric looked like they wished Roderick would shut the hell up about it all. But, he was now a channel for the horrific memories stored here, and the unfortunate commentary from spirits all too eager to share what they endured more than seventy years ago.

  “I see the glow,” I confessed. “But, it’s just a phantom. Obviously, the coin is long since removed from this place. Its essence remains, but is weak.”

  “The hope of redemption and demonstration of power gave hope to hundreds,” said Roderick. “And they’re telling me the coin brought death to a few of the guards…. Yes, it did. After the third ‘heart attack’, the other SS men became superstitious. Conditions remained bad here, but the inmates were no longer called out in the bitter cold.”

  Roderick’s serious expression suddenly morphed into a giddy smile.

  “What’s up, man?” asked Cedric, from the rear. Watchful eyes and his hand secured to a Baretta inside his coat pocket, he brought his gaze back to meet Roderick’s when he didn’t respond right away. “Well?”

  “The miracles inside the barrack… they really happened!” Roderick enthused. “Bread and fish… I see it appear in between the bunks, and the men and women covering the children’s mouths to keep them from crying out in surprise. The coin brought warmth and peace, too. Incredible, since none of your other coins have been like this, William. Correct?”

  “As far as I’ve known they have always brought sorrow and suffering. Nothing more,” I said.

  Roderick motioned for me to move out further from the barrack no longer there. I approached the barbed wire fence, but felt nothing. Same for the crematorium next to the gas chamber. He was shaking his head as I returned to where he and everyone else stood, near the markers for the barrack’s eroded foundation stones.

  “Such joy for a moment, and hope that lasted weeks, months… until resentment slipped in here,” continued Roderick. His smile faded. “They could’ve gone many more months, perhaps even years. If not for a jealous young woman and her father… they told the guards about the coin.”

  “So, the coin was cursed after all,” noted Alistair. “What else do you pick up?”

  “The Nazis here could never find it, this mystical coin,” said Roderick, staggering a moment as he moved into the middle of where the building had stood long ago. “The girl and old man were beaten to death, and once that happened, something changed. The coin no longer produced any supernatural effect. It’s as if betrayal sucked the life out of it.”

  “The guards could tell something had changed, I’d be willing to bet,” said Alistair. For the moment, his cynical side appeared subdued. Like the rest of us, tears welled in his eyes. Without a better explanation, it seemed we were all somehow tapped into the same energy stream feeding Roderick’s vision and my oppression. “What happened after that? Can you tell?”

  Hard to say, but the look on Roderick’s face told me what happened next was worse than anything he had touched on earlier. This time, he refused to comment on it, stating only that the coin and its owners were removed from the camp—likely related to the earlier accusations. The Nazis were steeped into the occult like no other nation in modern history, and it wouldn’t be farfetched to say Stutthof’s commandant shipped the burdensome owners of a relic—one that could vanish and reappear in the camp, and definitely hostile to Nazi handlers—someplace else.

  To Auschwitz.

  Chapter Ten

  We didn’t arrive in Krakow until almost midnight that evening. Mortals and immortals alike were emotionally drained after our Stutthof visit. Not to mention, the long drive from Germany to Stutthof had made for a very long day. Despite only visiting the camp museum for half an hour, it was almost four o’clock when we arrived. Afterward, Cedric’s lead foot couldn’t overcome the stops for food and gas as we barreled south toward Auschwitz. Visiting our second camp first thing on the morning of the 30th seemed increasingly unlikely.

  After settling for modest accommodations at a small inn just outside the city, we reached a compromise on when to get going in the morning. We agreed to all meet for breakfast at the inn’s restaurant at 8:30 a.m. Beatrice and I hardly spoke due to how exhausted she was. She climbed into bed and by the time I joined her, she was fast asleep. A good thing, since I needed a restful night’s sleep, as well.

  The snowstorm we hoped to avoid reached Krakow overnight, and we hurried through flurries to get the minivan loaded up with our belongings after breakfast. We would arrive at Auschwitz within the hour, around ten-thirty, provided the weather didn’t get much worse.

  “I spoke to Benevento early this morning,” Roderick announced, once everyone was settled and we began our trek.

  “Oh? Did he give you any new information on Krontos and my coin?” I asked.

  Our seating arrangements were slightly different from yesterday, as Beatrice and Amy elected to sit together. That left Alistair and me to a potential ‘father-son chat, part two’ episode. We let the ladies occupy the middle seat, leaving us in the very back of the vehicle. Not the most conducive arrangement for Roderick’s update, since it left him no choice but to allow his preternatural voice to fill the van.

  “Nothing new,” said Roderick, turning around in the passenger seat to face me, while Cedric pulled onto the main highway heading west from Krakow. “However, when I told him we had visited Stutthof yesterday afternoon, and were set to visit Auschwitz this morning, he pointed out a few things connected to the coin, Krontos, and these two terrible centers of death.”

  I nodded for him to go on. He had everyone’s attention, including Cedric’s.

  “Although none of us can prove Krontos has the coin in his possession—or in his thugs’ possession—Benevento is certain Krontos is up to his neck in this shit. In fact, Krontos is up to his neck in everything we’re dealing with—including the terrible tragedy that created the environment enabling the Stutthof-Auschwitz coin to play such a unique role in 1944.”

  “The Holocaust?” Alistair sought to confirm.

  “Yes, the Holocaust,” said Roderick. “The Vatican has long known that Krontos actively supported the Nazis in many of their endeavors. Everything from the Final Solution’s strategic implementations to providing the Third Reich’s scientists with futuristic technology to ensure they conquered the world.”

  “The same stuff you and I discussed the other night. Correct?” I preferred not to rehash everything in front of everyone else, and hoped we could keep things to the latest information from Benevento. “I don’t suppose the Vatican is ready to delve out more details about Krontos using his dimensional travel prowess to jump to the 1980s and pilfer the blueprints for the stealth bomber and other nifty toys and deliver them to the Nazis?”

  “What?! Run that by me again, Pops!”

  Alistair’s surprise was echoed by the gals and Cedric, prompting a hostile glare directed at me from my druid buddy.

  “If this is true, it seems the Germans would have won the war,” said Alistair, his tone irritated. Obviously, he considered this as anot
her instance of immortal bullshit—nearly impossible to prove or disprove. “But they didn’t win.”

  “They ran out of time to implement the plans on the stealth,” said Roderick, wearing a smug smile. It likely would have been a more somber look had my boy not responded like an ass. “There were other technological advances in the works as well, and yes, the Germans would have won the conflict in Europe and likely conquered the rest of the world by 1950. But according to a secret diary in the Vatican’s possession, a diary attributed to Heinrich Himmler, the Nazis’ betrayal of Krontos is what brought them down.”

  I didn’t expect to hear a revelation like this. Neither did anyone else, after a quick scan of everyone’s expressions. Time for me to get the details I needed to fully understand the scope of this bombshell.

  “So, Krontos is named in the journal you’re talking about?” I asked, for the moment ignoring the scrutinizing looks from Alistair, Amy, and Beatrice. “I’m surprised anything clandestine in some circles would be openly discussed elsewhere—especially in a Nazi’s personal memoir.”

  “He’s not specifically named,” said Roderick, turning in his seat to face me fully. “Here’s what Benevento told me is written by Himmler. ‘We trusted the Hungarian madman, especially the Fuhrer. Most of us—meaning Hitler’s staff— followed blindly, and enthusiastically endorsed the madman’s insistence on ancient occult symbols to be added with those the Fuhrer already embraced. We were seduced by the power, the surprisingly accurate visions, and the ability to reach into the future and produce the advantage of prior knowledge and new inventions to ensure the ‘new age of world order’ flourished.”

  I felt a chill pass over my shoulders and seize my spine. It certainly sounded like Krontos could very well be this Hungarian madman mentioned in the diary. But, something was missing still. The case for his involvement wasn’t airtight.

  “It sounds like the writer—if it was Himmler—is lamenting the alignment, despite the advantages you listed,” I said, interrupting my son’s attempt to reproach Roderick for attributing something so vague to Krontos. Alistair shot me a disparaging look I ignored. “What changed the Nazis’ original enthusiasm?”

  “I’m glad you asked, William,” said Roderick, more than willing to join me in ignoring Allistair’s remarks. “From what Benevento offered, the more telling remarks occur two entries later in the diary, near the end of the chronicle. ‘The Fuhrer has dissolved his relationship with the Hungarian. They parted enemies, as the madman accused us of not giving him what he wanted, insisting we had broken our promises. The demand to turn over a relic from the Jews was refused by Hitler, since the object appears to carry enough power to forge our independence from the Hungarian, and his forced allegiances to Japan and this foreigner’s homeland.’”

  Cedric hit a patch of ice, distracting Roderick momentarily. Once Cedric slowed down to a safer speed and Roderick was assured we wouldn’t crash, he finished relating the diary’s entry.

  “Himmler went on to say, ‘We expected a scornful response from the madman. But we were not prepared for his thorough betrayal. In early October, 1944, he began a campaign of revelations that turned the tide against us. All of our technology became known to England and the United States. Nearly every planned engagement was no longer secret. The Allies met us step for step, and the Soviets became bolder and fully assured in their aggressions. Everything has turned to shit, and news of our operations to cleanse Europe of undesirables has reached the west in much greater detail than we previously anticipated. We are in danger of losing the war and our dignity.”

  Roderick turned to face the road, leaving us to wonder if he was finished, or not.

  “Well? Is that it?” asked Alistair, his tone less scornful, as if he realized he was headed for a stern lecture from me later on.

  “Yes, I’m finished… for now,” Roderick advised.

  “So, you are assuming the relic in question is the blood coin we’re after. Correct?” I asked, after the minivan settled into awkward silence. “I can see where the madman could be Krontos, though it remains a tenuous connection based on circumstantial evidence.”

  “I believe it’s not so tenuous, William,” said Roderick. “While everyone else here can be forgiven for not understanding what a full dimensional shift looks, feels, and tastes like, you and I know better.”

  “I fail to see where any of this proves Krontos is involved,” said Alistair, his protest seconded by an emphatic nod from Amy. “I can see him being interested in the coin now that it’s surfaced on the black market. But that’s a far cry from claiming this asshole single-handedly turned the tide of World War II.”

  As much as I hated admitting the validity of Alistair’s point of view, he was right. There was a lot that couldn’t be proven. Hell, who’s to say the diary was even written by Himmler?

  “It was written by him, Judas—you’re going to have to trust me, my brother,” said Roderick, responding to my thoughts, and drawing quizzical looks from Alistair and Amy. “Krontos was involved with the Nazis long before he heard of this latest coin—I’m sure of it. Once he saw the opportunity to complete his vile trinity, it overrode his passion to use the Nazis to purge the world of the race he hates above all others. Your race, my dear friend.”

  “Do you believe this is true, Pops?”

  Unfortunately, I did. Knew it first hand from the suffering delivered to Roderick and me nearly six hundred years ago by Krontos Lazarevic, when he had no compassion for Jews, Gypsies, and a pair of immortals who tragically crossed his path.

  “Yes,” I said, focusing my attention mostly on Beatrice. The look on her face announced her faith in my point of view. Amy and Alistair? Not so much. “I do, Ali.”

  Another ‘humpf’ from my kid, followed by an amused chuckle.

  “Okay, Pops,” he said, gesturing he was giving up the argument. “We’ll just have to wait to see where this bullshit trail ends, huh?”

  I wasn’t sure how to respond, feeling the familiar urge to bend him over my knee and wear his butt out. Fortunately, the debate session was over, and we soon reached Auschwitz.

  The initial impression was more profound than the day before. Not that any concentration camp doesn’t carry a feeling of gloom and the lasting essence of evil. But those aspects hit us harder. Maybe it was the frigid conditions, or it had something to do with the forged iron sign above the entrance.

  Arbeit macht frei

  For those unaware, it means “Work for your freedom.”

  The Nazis were masters at deceit and unabashed cruelty. I have often heard observers comment on the Jewish naivety to allow themselves to be easily led to slaughter. But such comments are born from ignorance on a number of levels. For one thing, not everyone who ended up in such places was of Israelite heritage. Gypsies, gays, intellectuals, POWs and freedom fighters, and often the elite in countries offering resistance to German takeover could just as easily end up in a place like this. Although, the worse horrors of Auschwitz were generally reserved for the Jews, and children of any race that ended up under Dr, Josef Mengele’s ‘supervision’.

  I mentioned deceit and cruelty. Forgive me if you’ve heard this before, but for those who either skimmed over this ugly period of modern history in school, or who flat out disbelieve anything like the Holocaust could happen, I will give a quick synopsis of what life was like here. Prisoners were transported by train, stuffed in cattle cars to the point of suffocation. No food, water, or any other basic human need during transportation. Forced to sleep and relieve themselves while standing in tight quarters, some died in transport. And, for those prisoners foolishly believing death was not the ultimate goal in their being shipped to such a place as Auschwitz, that reality became crystal clear by the time they stepped off the train and were either herded to immediate slaughter in the gas chambers, or were moved to austere barracks overflowing with waiting victims whom the new arrivals would soon mimic in dress and physical condition.

  Food was scarce and horribl
e, and yet the “Work for your freedom” edict was enforced as if the prisoners were fed to their hearts content. Eleven-hour workdays were expected, despite almost no food and stale water in limited amounts. Many died from the rigors, starvation, or were randomly killed to make a point. And for those who became too weak to meet their morning or evening roll call, an SS bayonet would either prod them out from their bunk or end their existence altogether. Severe sickness was rampant, and the gas chambers waited any and all who couldn’t hold their own in this horrific environment.

  Why didn’t they turn and run, or allow themselves to be shot at the first sight of their oppressors? Shouldn’t they all have formed militias in the ghettos and fought to an honorable death? That certainly was my initial impression from America. It’s where the deceit comes in. The millions who perished have often been referred to as ‘frogs slowly boiled to death in a pot of water’, meaning the indignities came slow and steady, to where Jewish and other victims were slowly desensitized to their plight and what lay ahead—a process that started years before the full extent of the Nazi agenda was made known. By the time whole neighborhoods were rounded up and shipped to the concentration camps, it was too late. Parents continuously told their children everything would be fine, scarcely believing the indignities and danger could get any worse. Then, hearing a live orchestra upon their arrival at Auschwitz to go with a large sign telling them how they could one day be free… well, you get the point. It was the final blinder to the true reality they faced, their fated roles in the Final Solution.

  I could go on, but this is not intended to be a history lesson. Roderick and I didn’t lecture Amy, Alistair, and Beatrice on any of this, as they quietly moved through the cold memorial-museum that is Auschwitz. Cedric had been here shortly after the Iron Curtain came down, and seemed ready to leave soon after we began our tour. This time, Roderick led the way, and I followed.