He was woken by someone blowing gently into his ear, which was a pleasant contrast to the dream where he had just been placed into an implement of torture straight out of the Pit and the Pendulum. Blearily, he opened his eyes and found himself under the scrutiny of two liquid orbs of gold-flecked walnut.
‘I hope you didn’t take any liberties while I was asleep, Jamie Saintclair.’ Sarah lay on her side with her head supported by her right hand, but he knew she hadn’t woken in that position because it was clear she had washed her hair and done those things that women do to their face that turns attractive into beautiful. She spoke lightly, but he felt a sizzle of electricity in the air that had nothing to do with the fact they were on the run. It struck him that now was the moment to act on the impulse he’d felt since virtually the first moment he’d cast eyes on her. Then he was struck by something even more fundamental.
‘What’s for breakfast?’
She swung herself off the bed and he raised himself as she produced two enormous pastries from a paper bag and complemented them with two cardboard cups that contained, if his nose didn’t deceive him, about a gallon each of tarry German coffee. ‘I’ve been busy. We’re in a town called Fulda.’
He nodded, remembering the sign from yesterday, or was it last night, or possibly this morning?
She nibbled delicately on her pastry. ‘Nice place, lots of great architecture according to the girl at the coffee house.’ Jamie stared at her. He’d assumed the food had come from somewhere in the hotel. He stood up and pulled back the curtain a fraction of an inch so that he could see across the gravel car park. She glared at him. ‘I’m not stupid, Jamie. I didn’t take any chances and nobody followed me back.’
He ignored her and continued his check. There didn’t seem to be anything unusual. No one sitting in cars reading yesterday’s newspaper. ‘It was still a risk.’
‘You’d rather not eat?’
He laughed and bit into the kuchen. It was sweet and flaky and when he added a tentative sip of scalding liquid he felt instantly revived. ‘I don’t plan to be here long enough to see the sights.’
‘I guessed that. So I washed your shirt – just don’t expect service like this every day, OK. But maybe you should . . . umm, clean up first and see what you can do with the jacket before you put it back on.’
The hint made him suddenly aware he was wearing yesterday’s underwear. He sniffed and caught a whiff of stale sweat and something else that was instantly recognizable, a mixture of rotting fish meal and wet metal; fear and blood. His fear. Magda’s blood. ‘We need new clothes.’
She nodded. ‘And a lot of other things. When we’ve eaten and you’ve freshened up, maybe we could talk about it?’
An hour later they were sitting on opposite sides of the bed with the two rucksacks between them. Sarah pulled out her laptop and linked to the hotel’s wi-fi connection.
‘I did a little research on this Vril thing our friend Frederick mentioned. It’s another of Himmler’s pet cults and all tied up with his obsession with the creation of the Aryan race. The cult was founded by a bunch of guys who’d read a nineteenth-century book called The Coming Race by some crazy English baron called Edward Bulwer-Lytton. It was a work of fiction that speculated on a long lost master race emerging to rule the world. You can see where we’re going here, huh? The Vril Society ticked all the boxes for Himmler, but the important thing for us is that the energy that gave the Vril their mythical powers was said to be from the Black Sun and the aim of the Vril Society was to find the key to that power.’
Jamie felt the room go cold. ‘So what exactly was the Black Sun? Obviously it wasn’t just a symbol.’
‘Nobody knows, but it sure spawned a lot of conspiracy theories. Look.’ She brought up another internet page. ‘Remember Magda talked about Wewelsburg being a landing site for UFOs? Crazy, huh? Well, here’s a story that claims the Nazis actually made contact with the Vril and they cooperated to build a fleet of flying saucers at a secret base in the Antarctic. It sounds nuts, but the United States government were convinced enough in nineteen forty-seven to put together Operation Highjump under a respected admiral and former polar explorer called Richard E. Byrd. Admiral Byrd commanded a task force that included an aircraft carrier and four thousand men. They combed the ice shelf from one side to the other and it’s claimed that Byrd actually found the base. After he returned to the States he was hospitalized and when he died in nineteen fifty-seven there’s speculation that he was murdered.