Read Online The Excalibur Codex by James Douglas - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: James Douglas
Ads: Link
is genuine and Wulf Ziegler believed what he wrote. Of course, that doesn’t necessarily make it true, but it does make it worth following up.’
‘But this is impossible, I—’
‘You’re the man who found a hundred-million-pound painting that had been hanging in a lost Nazi bunker for sixty years,’ Steele pointed out. ‘Would you have believed that if someone had told you a couple of years ago?’
Jamie shook his head. ‘That was different. There was evidence, clues in my grandfather’s diary.’
‘And what is this if not evidence?’ the other man demanded. ‘Every quest has to start somewhere, Jamie.’
Jamie noted the use of the word ‘quest’ and knew Adam Steele had used it deliberately. ‘I don’t know.’
Steele nodded slowly. ‘I understand your scepticism. I felt exactly the same the first time I saw the codex. Look, we’ll leave you alone for a while.’ He went to the door, smiling at Jamie’s obvious confusion. ‘Read the document and then tell me Wulf Ziegler is lying or deranged.’
Gault followed him out, leaving Jamie to wonder whether the whole world had gone mad or if it were only him. Drawing a deep breath he turned back to the codex. With every word he read the room increasingly took on the stillness of the grave and he was drawn ever further into the past.
My time is close, but I cannot pass without revealing what I saw and heard and, perhaps, making amends for what I have done in the name of the Führer and the Third Reich. There are two parts to my story. The first begins in the year of 1937 when I was gefolgschaftsführer of my Hitler Youth unit in Dortmund, a prestigious position that would reward me with a place at an SS-Junkerschule and a future full of promise. Among many other things of military value, we were trained in intelligence gathering and reconnaissance. In April of that year we were visited by a senior Hitler Jugend commander from Berlin and briefed for a reconnaissance mission to England to gather information on industrial, naval and military sites. Before the officer left, I was surprised when he drew me aside and offered me the opportunity to carry out a highly secret assignment on the personal orders of Heinrich Himmler. I was warned the mission could be dangerous and that I must not fail. He told me: ‘There is no pressure on you to agree, but you would have the thanks of the Reichsführer and your part in this would be remembered.’ Of course I accepted. That summer we sailed to England and spread out across the country. My eight-man section cycled east from Manchester and then north up the spine of the country. After just over a week we reached a range of low, bleak hills where seldom a tree grew. We camped with an armoured unit under training in the area and they made us welcome,almost treating us as comrades. They appeared to have no suspicion of the war we knew was coming and for which we had trained. We thought them pleasant fellows, but very naive and not at all professional. For most of the journey, the sun shone and it was more like a holiday than an intelligence mission, but I knew we would soon be close to our objective and demanded rigorous discipline from my comrades. Our target was a small schloss by a river that lay to the north of a distinctive hill formation. At midday, following our night with the tankers, we passed through a small town with an impressive ruin, which was another of my landmarks. A little later we breasted a rise in the rolling countryside and my heart almost stopped when I saw what lay before me. There it was, exactly as I had been told, and on the far side would be the house I was looking for. You may imagine my excitement as I looked down from the upper slopes on the broad silver ribbon of the river below and focused my binoculars on a large grey building with tall chimneys. I felt an enormous pride because only I knew the true purpose of our mission and the responsibility was mine and mine alone. That evening we
‘But this is impossible, I—’
‘You’re the man who found a hundred-million-pound painting that had been hanging in a lost Nazi bunker for sixty years,’ Steele pointed out. ‘Would you have believed that if someone had told you a couple of years ago?’
Jamie shook his head. ‘That was different. There was evidence, clues in my grandfather’s diary.’
‘And what is this if not evidence?’ the other man demanded. ‘Every quest has to start somewhere, Jamie.’
Jamie noted the use of the word ‘quest’ and knew Adam Steele had used it deliberately. ‘I don’t know.’
Steele nodded slowly. ‘I understand your scepticism. I felt exactly the same the first time I saw the codex. Look, we’ll leave you alone for a while.’ He went to the door, smiling at Jamie’s obvious confusion. ‘Read the document and then tell me Wulf Ziegler is lying or deranged.’
Gault followed him out, leaving Jamie to wonder whether the whole world had gone mad or if it were only him. Drawing a deep breath he turned back to the codex. With every word he read the room increasingly took on the stillness of the grave and he was drawn ever further into the past.
My time is close, but I cannot pass without revealing what I saw and heard and, perhaps, making amends for what I have done in the name of the Führer and the Third Reich. There are two parts to my story. The first begins in the year of 1937 when I was gefolgschaftsführer of my Hitler Youth unit in Dortmund, a prestigious position that would reward me with a place at an SS-Junkerschule and a future full of promise. Among many other things of military value, we were trained in intelligence gathering and reconnaissance. In April of that year we were visited by a senior Hitler Jugend commander from Berlin and briefed for a reconnaissance mission to England to gather information on industrial, naval and military sites. Before the officer left, I was surprised when he drew me aside and offered me the opportunity to carry out a highly secret assignment on the personal orders of Heinrich Himmler. I was warned the mission could be dangerous and that I must not fail. He told me: ‘There is no pressure on you to agree, but you would have the thanks of the Reichsführer and your part in this would be remembered.’ Of course I accepted. That summer we sailed to England and spread out across the country. My eight-man section cycled east from Manchester and then north up the spine of the country. After just over a week we reached a range of low, bleak hills where seldom a tree grew. We camped with an armoured unit under training in the area and they made us welcome,almost treating us as comrades. They appeared to have no suspicion of the war we knew was coming and for which we had trained. We thought them pleasant fellows, but very naive and not at all professional. For most of the journey, the sun shone and it was more like a holiday than an intelligence mission, but I knew we would soon be close to our objective and demanded rigorous discipline from my comrades. Our target was a small schloss by a river that lay to the north of a distinctive hill formation. At midday, following our night with the tankers, we passed through a small town with an impressive ruin, which was another of my landmarks. A little later we breasted a rise in the rolling countryside and my heart almost stopped when I saw what lay before me. There it was, exactly as I had been told, and on the far side would be the house I was looking for. You may imagine my excitement as I looked down from the upper slopes on the broad silver ribbon of the river below and focused my binoculars on a large grey building with tall chimneys. I felt an enormous pride because only I knew the true purpose of our mission and the responsibility was mine and mine alone. That evening we
Similar Books
