The Isis Covenant

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Authors: James Douglas
Tags: Suspense, Thrillers, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Thrillers & Suspense
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survived the war. He seems to have got out before they were trapped. Most of the rest were killed, but two of them just disappeared.’
    ‘Let me guess. Hartmann?’
    ‘Berndt Hartmann and Max Dornberger.’
    There was a pause as she considered the names.
    ‘What do we know about Dornberger?’
    ‘Next to nothing, except that he was the unit’s political officer, which probably makes him a rabid Nazi.’
    Danny tested the new information for possibilities for a few moments before discarding it. Something else occurred to her. ‘Hey, I almost forgot. I have a picture I’d like you to take a look at. I’ll e-mail you right this second.’
    He heard the click as she sent the message and they waited for it to drop into Jamie’s inbox.
    ‘So what does an NYPD detective do when she’s not catching killers?’ he said to fill the silence.
    ‘Are you flirting with me, Mr Saintclair?’
    He laughed. ‘If I am, you should call me Jamie.’
    ‘She sleeps, Mr Saintclair. She works, she eats and she sleeps. Not quite as glamorous as being an art dealer.’
    He was about to disabuse her of the preposterous notion that his life was in the least glamorous when the computer gave a distinct ‘beep’ as the e-mail arrived. It contained an attachment and he double clicked to download it.
    ‘Just bear with me a second.’
    ‘Sure, take all the time you want.’
    The image that appeared on the screen was of a stylized single eye, topped by a curving brow, and it looked oddly familiar, except for one thing.
    ‘At first glance, I’d say it looks Egyptian.’
    ‘That’s what our experts over this side of the pond reckoned. Trouble is we can’t find anything that links the dead family, or any of their potential killers, to Egypt. The question I have to ask you is: do you know anything that might tie it to this Nazi ghosthunter outfit or Heinrich Himmler and his obsession with the occult?’
    ‘Good question.’
    ‘And the answer is?’
    ‘I have no idea.’
    He could feel her disappointment at the other end of the line.
    ‘Maybe it would help if I knew where you found the symbol?’
    ‘It was on one of the victims.’
    ‘When you say on, what specifically do you mean?’
    ‘Specifically?’ She hesitated, unsure just how much information to reveal. ‘Well, Mr Saintclair, it was carved into her forehead with the point of a hunting knife. Now what do you think of that?’

IX
    IT HAD BEEN three long days since the last half-conscious monologue. Three days of frustration and doubt. Paul Dornberger had barely dared move from his father’s side in case he missed something vital. He had called his employer and asked for a few days’ leave, with the excuse that he feared the old man was dying. At times that had been true. Max slipped between semi-consciousness and coma, and for seventy-two hours had barely uttered a word. Paul had spent the first few hours in a fever of anticipation. What happened next? What had they found when they eventually escaped from the perpetual darkness? But later the niggling worm of doubt had begun boring into his brain. Was he going mad? Surely only a madman could believe that Max Dornberger had lived through this two-millennia-old fairytale. There were a dozen reasons why it could be in his father’s head. Perhaps he had read it in a book, or it was a scene from one of those surreal movies of the thirties ? The old man’s mind was crumbling. There was no reason why he couldn’t have made it up. In either case, he was wasting his time here. Yet there was another possibility that made it worth continuing. If he discarded the possibility – the insanity – that Max Dornberger was relating an event he had lived through, what if the old man was dredging up a memory of a tale that had been passed down from father to son through the centuries? Word-of-mouth stories told around campfires and on death beds in the old way. A forgotten family legacy buried deep within the subconscious.
    On the bed

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