Chapter Eleven

Hans Wessel sat back thoughtfully, digesting the news he had just received.  He felt his mouth twitch into a half-smile.  He had new orders concerning Ragnarok.  While the search for the Emerald of Eternity continued, the good doctor would continue to hold supreme authority, but once it was recovered, we would be expendable!  Doctor Ragnarok was now under a death sentence.

            It seemed that his squandering of two pilots and fighters from the elite Kondor Squadron of the Luftwaffe had caused him to fall out of Hitler’s favor.  Wessel’s new orders called for him to recover the gemstone and then rendezvous with Colonel Wolfgang Kondor.

            Kondor was an enigma.  The Luftwaffe did not openly acknowledge that such a man even existed and little was known about his history.  Nevertheless, an appointment to the Kondor Legion was the most coveted posting a pilot could hope for.  Whoever he was, the mysterious Colonel Kondor was refused nothing. 

            The most noteworthy example was the Valkyrie itself.   Officially, construction of LZ-131 had been abandoned as aircraft technology had made heavier than air flight more practical, but Kondor had picked up the pieces and finished building the enormous airship in secret.  Rumor had it, the Valkyrie was the first of a new fleet of zeppelins, and that Kondor was working on a spectacular flying airbase that could constantly provide fuel and repairs to entire fighter wings - all part of a massive unequaled sky armada.  With such a force, Germany could rule the skies, and from the skies, the world!

            Wessel smiled at the thought, his hand unconsciously dropping to the holstered Lugar on his belt.  World domination was a fine goal indeed, but he was more interested in disposing of a certain meddlesome wizard.

                                    *****

            It was Shotsky of all people who broke the silence to dismissively scoff, “Prester John, the ancient Christian Priest King?  He’s a legend, nothing more.”

            Niles McKenzie raised an eyebrow.  It was an obscure legend, and he hadn’t expected either of the young men to respond in the affirmative.   His face remained grim and tight, as did his voice.  “No, he is not.  I know this for a fact.”

            Mike Hannigan watched them both, unsure of who to believe or where any of this was going.  “I think I missed Sunday school the week they talked about him.  Anyone want to bring me up to speed?”

            “It is a story the old women tell, Michael.  Prester John was the son of Balthazar, one of the three Magi that visited Christ at the Nativity.  He’s the one who leaves naughty children a lump of coal.  According to the stories, Prester John protected a fabulous fortune that was later the envy of Mongol barbarians led by Genghis Khan. In the stories, his kingdom is in the Orient - an island of Christianity amid a sea of Muslims and infidels - but some versions say it is in Africa, Ethiopia to be exact, and that his fortunes remain undiscovered.”

            “So which is it?  Africa or the Orient?”

            Shotsky laughed.  “Neither.  It is a legend, nothing more.”

            “Prester John is more than just a legend,” McKenzie countered.  “While it is true that there is a great deal of falsehood in the stories you speak of, Prester John does exist, as does his kingdom - a rogue empire that is Christian in name only.  He is here in Africa, in the lost city Simbalwe; the very same city that you now seek.”

            Hannigan shot him a sharp look.  “How do you know what we’re looking for?”

            McKenzie did not deign to answer.  “Prester John will not permit anyone to violate the borders of his kingdom.  The Church has tried on several occasions to end his life.  Every attempt has failed.  In fact, the last assassin sent by the Church? His head ended up in the Pope’s bed.”

            “How typical of Rome,” Shotsky sneered.  “Your arrogance is without equal.  Rather than allow God to decide how he will be worshipped, you send your Inquisitions and assassins to protect your monopoly on faith.”

            Hannigan raised a hand to thwart Shotsky’s rant.  “So what happened?”

            “They sent me to keep an eye on him,” McKenzie said flatly.

            “They did that in order to what?” Hannigan asked, rolling his eyes.

            “To stop him if he showed any inclination to leave Simbalwe.” McKenzie said softly.

            “Back up,” Bridget interjected.  “You’re saying Prester John was alive in the time of Christ?  So the one here in Africa can’t be the same guy. He’d be nearly 2000 years old by now.”

            “He was rewarded with long life for his great faith,” Shotsky explained in a patronizing voice.

            “There’s another explanation,” Hannigan said.  “The Emerald of Eternity.”

            McKenzie’s sharp intake of breath confirmed the statement.

            “So the Church knows about the Emerald of Eternity,” Hannigan continued.  “Do they believe it’s real?”

            “Very real,” McKenzie replied soberly.

“I don’t know….”

“Don’t be too sure, Michael,” Shotsky offered thoughtfully.

“You were the one telling us it was a fairy tale,” Hannigan countered in disbelief.

Shotsky spread his hands apologetically.  “Well, most of this rather fantastic.  But if such a man did possess the emerald, then a great many things would be explained.”

Hannigan shook his head wearily.  “Mystic mumbo-jumbo.”

“You forget, Michael, until just a few years ago the Czar of my country had as an advisor a powerful sorcerer named Rasputin.”

“Sorcerer?  The Mad Monk?  Rasputin was no wizard, Gregor.  He was just a very lucky con man.”

“Don’t be too sure, Mr. Hannigan.”  McKenzie’s voice was subdued, as if he was more than intimately familiar with the particulars of the case. “To quote the Bard,

‘There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy,’”

“But Gregor, do you honestly believe that a gemstone, a rock, can grant eternal life?”

Gregor shrugged. “I have seen a great many things during my life, Michael; some I could explain, others I could not,”

            “Just because you haven’t seen it, Mr. Hannigan, doesn’t mean that it isn’t real,” McKenzie added.  “However, there is a great deal more to Prester John than merely the Emerald.  He is a very dangerous and powerful entity.  He will kill anyone that tries to enter his realm; you are foolish to tempt his wrath, and foolish to attempt to take my daughter along with you.”

            “What about the Nazis?”

            Every head turned to look at Bridget.

            “They aren’t just a band of treasure hunters traipsing through the jungle.  They have resources at their disposal like nothing any of us have ever seen.  They want that emerald and they’re willing to do anything to get it.  Can Prester John defend himself, or the stone, from those fighter planes?  Or from that zeppelin?  And if the Nazis get the emerald, then what?  I have a feeling we’ll all be in a world of hurt.”

The passionate argument left the three men speechless for several seconds.  Finally, McKenzie broke the silence.  “As much as I hate to say it, Bridget, I agree. Prester John may be powerful, but his grasp of technology is mired in the Dark Ages.  We cannot stand by and let the Nazis capture the stone.”

“We?  Then you’re going with us, Dad?”

“I don’ see that you’ve left me any choice,” McKenzie sighed with resignation. 

“But we must move quickly.”

Gregor punched Hannigan playfully.  “Ready to save the world, Hardluck?”

“Hardluck?” McKenzie raised an eyebrow.

“It’s Miss Bridget’s pet name for him.  Hardluck Hannigan.”

“’Hardluck Hannigan,’” McKenzie repeated with a half-smile. “It suits you.”

Hannigan shook his head ruefully.  “Padre, you don’t know me well enough to know just how true that is.”

“Bridget, your Dad almost smiled!” Shotsky cried.

“Oh my God!  I’ll mark it on the calendar,” Bridget answered, laughing.

“Friends, I have a host of friends,” McKenzie sighed.

                                    *****

Hiram Secord looked over his remaining crew.  He had lost half of his men in the abortive assault on the riverboat.  He had not expected so much resistance from the other craft; no one ever fought back.  It had caught him off guard.

The surviving crewmembers were grumbling among themselves, and it was making him nervous.  He glanced over his shoulder at where they were huddled at the back of the boat.  More than one of them had been giving him pretty evil looks.  It was making his stomach churn. 

So far, it hadn’t gone as far as open mutiny.  There was one mate he trusted not to stab him in the back - a face to face cutthroat maybe, but not a backstabber was Black Angus McGuire.  McGuire would back him up, at least for a little while longer, and the rest of the men would do what Black Angus told them to do. His only chance at redemption was to lead them on a successful raid against the boat that had defeated them, or else they would feed him to the crocodiles.

                        *****

“So what do we do about the pirates?” Hannigan asked, wiping away a film of sweat from his forehead.  Despite the fall of night, the humidity in the jungle was horrible.

“They’ll be back, though I think we hurt them pretty badly.”  McKenzie stroked his chin thoughtfully.  “We need to be ready for the worst.”

“You seem to have some experience at this sort of thing, Padre.  How do you want to handle it?”

“Your original plan was a sound one; you and your friend Gregor join Morgan on the riverboat.  Bridget and I will keep an eye on Degiorno.”

“Make it both eyes.  He’s a slippery one.”

“I want to have a little talk with Francisco.  I’m interested in seeing the map as well.  Everything hinges upon it; I want to see how accurate it is, and perhaps figure out where the Nazis obtained it.”

“Okay Gregor, let’s head for the boat,” Hannigan turned and headed towards where they had tied up the rowboat, and Shotsky fell into step beside him.

“Do you trust the priest?” Gregor asked as soon as they were out of earshot.

“About like I trust Degiorno.  McKenzie has an agenda of his own, I just haven’t figured out what it is yet.”

“That is my feeling as well.  Is it safe to leave Degiorno with him?”

“Yeah, because I do trust Bridget.  I don’t believe she will let him steal away with Degiorno.  Bridget wants to keep the emerald out of the Nazis hands as bad as we do.”

Bridget intercepted them at the rowboat.  She stood there, her arms crossed and her foot tapping as she stared at Hannigan.  “Where are you headed?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Out to the riverboat,” Hannigan replied easily.  “Your Dad wants us to help Captain Morgan keep watch in case the river pirates come back.”

“You mean he wants you out there and me safely on shore,” Bridget replied, exasperation evident in her voice.

“Something like that.”  Hannigan chuckled.  “I don’t think he’s quite ready to accept that you are a young woman now, and not a little girl.”

“Well, Hardluck, I’d say we need to change that notion.” Bridget suddenly pressed her body hard against his.  His reaction was automatic and left little room for misinterpretation.

Somehow, Hannigan resisted, gently pushing her back. “Down girl.  There is a time and a place for everything, this is neither.”

“What, I’m not good enough anymore?” Bridget asked petulantly.

“Yes you are.  I just don’t need to make an enemy of your dad right now.  Between the pirates and the Nazis, I’ve got all the enemies I can handle.”  He leaned forward and gently kissed her on the lips.  “Later,” he added in a soft whisper.

“Promise?” she grinned, brushing a stray curl back from her face.

“Promise,” Hannigan told her with a smile.