Raiders of the Lost Gate

Complete
Action/Adventure, Drama
Spoilers for Solitudes
Set in 1943
Violence and mild sexual situations
FR-T

Disclaimers:

Stargate Sg-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, The SciFi Channel, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. Return to Castle Wolfenstein and related marks are trademarks of Activision. This story is written purely for my own entertainment, and that of anyone else who may happen to read it. No infringement of copyright is intended. It is not intended and should never be used for commercial purposes.

The original characters, situations and ideas contained within this work are the property of the author.

Acknowledgements:

 Once more, my thanks to Sho for her encouragement and sterling beta-reading.

 This fic is essentially a crossover between SG-1 and Return to Castle Wolfenstein, and also owes a great debt to the Indiana Jones series. There aren't any actual characters from Wolfenstein, just a few ideas, mainly those relating to Heinrich I, the SS Paranormal Division and the Office of Secret Actions (the latter two both Wolfenstein inventions to the best of my knowledge).

The swastika is an ancient symbol appearing in two primary forms. The dextroverse swastika has its arms pointing left, as though the spiral motion were clockwise. It is most commonly associated with life. The sinistroverse swastika has its arms pointing right, and is more often associated with death and war. The Nazi emblem was a sinistroverse swastika, usually standing on one of its angles.

The Ahnenerbe (Ancestral Heritage Division), Nazi interest in Thule and general occultism, the Third Race, the Spear of Destiny et al were entirely real (several Spears of Destiny were removed from the Wewelsburg after the war). Hitler's fascination with the occult, with Teutonic legend and with the Grail myth were likewise real.

Heinrich I der Vogler (Henry the Fowler) was also real. He was a Saxon Prince who lived from c.876 to 936, and became the elected king of Germany. Most of the events referred to by Mathias Jackson are historical fact, and Himmler certainly did believe himself to be Heinrich reborn.

Nikola Tesla was a brilliant inventor – and incredibly poor promoter – with some rather wacky sidelines in the field of power transmission and death rays. He died in 1943.

The Wewelsburg was Himmler's Camelot, a castle housing the SS Headquarters. The SS themselves were to be the new Knights of the Round Table, elevated above the common man by the power of the Holy Grail of pure Aryan Blood.

The Spear of Destiny – often equated with the Spear of Longinus that pierced the side of Christ at the Crucifixion – is one of the Hallows of the Holy Grail, and one of those many items said to give Viktory to those who bear it. It has Germanic connections through Wotan/Odin, who hung on a tree for nine days with a spear in his side.

The Prophet, September 11th 2002

Raiders of the Lost Gate, aka SG-1 vs. the Antarctic Space Nazis

Enciphered memorandum, received 0830MST 8.21.99

To: Hammond, G. Maj-Gen. USAF, Commanding Officer Deep-Space Telemetry Unit, Area 52

From: Waldron, J. Lt-Col. USAF, Commanding Officer Beta Facility, Antarctica

Re: Unexpected finds

Ice core sample #231A examined today. Ice layers show signs of disturbance, including clear signs of recent human activity, to whit one Iron Cross medal, tentatively dated to the WWII era. A full report will follow, but I thought that you might want to know about this.

*

Antarctica
1943

The mattock crashed down, smashing through the ice, and the digger used the flat blade to drag it away. Beneath, he finally saw rock, and set about clearing a space. After a few minutes, he came to what even his untrained eyes could recognise as carved stone; a man-made floor.

"Get out!" The digger turned at the cry, and immediately clambered from the hole.

The man who had spoken, a narrow-faced civilian with small, round glasses, peered down into the trench. "You men!" He called, beckoning to a pair of soldiers. "Start clearing that area. You," he told the digger. "Down there."

 The two soldiers dropped into the trench as the digger slouched off to start work on another trench.

"Gott in Himmel," the civilian gasped. "Where is that coffee?"

"Here, Herr Doktor." A young girl hurried up with a steaming mug in her hands, and he snatched it away. Like the digger, the girl was Jewish, and so he automatically assumed her to be lazy and slow. When he dismissed her with a brisk wave and she did not immediately leave, he therefore assumed this to be a result of her Semitic indolence. It would not have occurred to him to notice the way her clear, bright eyes scanned the interior of the pit before she turned and slipped away.

"Herr Doktor!" One of the soldiers called. "We have found another one."

Excitedly, the Doctor jumped down into the pit, managing not to spill his coffee while doing so. He crouched down and looked at what the soldiers had uncovered. One of the paving slabs was engraved with a distinctive symbol: A caduceus – a winged staff, with two serpents twined about it – crowned by a swastika of pre-Nazi design. Resting on this slab was the jewel-studded head of a heavy grey mace, still mostly encased in ice.

"Excellent," he said. "Beautiful. Tell the Standartenführer that we shall have another addition to the next shipment."

*

Mallory's Restaurant,
Chicago

Mallory's was one of the nicer restaurants in Chicago, and probably the best that was off the beaten track. It was popular among long-term residents as a location for trysts and rendezvous, the little side tables in their secluded alcoves creating the perfect ambience. The sole function room at Mallory's – named after the proprietor's mother – was used for private parties or private poker games, thanks to an unspoken arrangement with the Chicago PD. This arrangement was smoothed through thanks to the clout of the restaurant's most regular clientele: Not politicos or businessmen, but officers of the US Army.

On this particular night, a man walked into Mallory's. He was clearly not army, although he moved with a certain confidence that suggested he knew how to take care of himself. He had short hair, and wore a light raincoat and fedora against the threatening clouds. He looked around as he entered, obviously expecting to see someone there, and just as obviously disappointed.

"Good evening, sir," the maitre d' greeted him. "Have you a reservation."

"Ah…A table in the name of Summers?" The man asked, uncertainly. "Karin Summers?"

"Ah, yes, sir," the maitre d' said. "Miss Summers is waiting in the function room."

"Function room?" The man was alarmed.

"Yes, sir. If you'd care to follow me."

The civilian followed, warily, as the maitre d' led him to the small door at the back of the restaurant, and through into the function room.

The room was darker than the man would have expected. The walls were papered in a dark, copper hue, and the furniture was mahogany. The fittings were burnished gold, and the carpet a deep, warm chestnut. The table was large enough to seat sixteen, but only two people sat waiting: A man with a large moustache and a military air, wearing a dark suit was seated at the head of the table; a woman in a black dress was sat at his right.

"Your coat, sir?" The maitre d' offered, and the man slipped out of it without a word, handing over his hat as well. Underneath he wore a navy blue suit. "And your firearm, sir?"

"It's okay, Sergeant," the military man said. "We're all friends here."

"No, no," the man insisted, and took a small automatic from a shoulder holster.

"That'll be all, thank you, Sergeant," the military man said.

"Do the Army Air Forces supply all the table staff at this hotel?" The Civilian asked, impatiently.

"Mathias," the woman said. "I'm sorry about this, really."

"You've nothing to apologise for, Karin," the man, Mathias, assured her. "But you, General? I know you've a reputation to maintain as a slave-driver, but I thought Karin got at least a few hours off each night."

"Why don't you sit down, Dr Jackson," the military man said, gesturing to a seat opposite Karin. A drink already sat on the table: Scotch on the rocks; Mathias Jackson's drink on the rare occasions that he drank without a meal.

There were two other glasses, a beer and a straight Scotch with a twist of lemon, and as he sat, Mathias wondered who they were waiting for. He had mixed feelings about Brigadier General David Williams' presence. On the one hand, when the rare chance for a romantic evening with Karin Summers – who was truly overworked, although through her own fault as much as Williams' – arose, Mathias' plans rarely factored in the presence of her boss, while on the other, when he had been escorted to the function room, he had half-feared that he would find Karin's large family waiting for him, with a spare tuxedo, a gold ring and a shotgun.

On the other, other hand, if Williams was here, it was because he wanted something from Mathias, and that was never good. Although technically Williams served in the USAAF, in reality he was the Operations Head of the US branch of the Office of Secret Actions; a joint command run by the US and the British to combat what their charter loosely termed 'extraordinary threats' raised by the actions of the Third Reich. Mathias had worked for the OSA on two separate occasions, and in both cases had come rather closer to losing his favourite skin than he cared to remember. Mathias had sworn after the first incident to have nothing more to do with the OSA. An oath he had sworn again after the second.

If Williams had requested a meeting, Mathias would have been on the next plane to Paraguay. Karin was his only way to get to Mathias, who had only taken the second mission because she asked him to.

Mathias sipped his drink. "I'm not interested," he told Williams.

"You haven't heard what we have yet."

"I don't care," Mathias assured him.

"Matt, please," Karin said.

Mathias looked into her eyes, and said: "Not even for you. Every time I get involved with you people, I wind up almost dead. So the answer is no. And don't accuse me of cowardice, because you know I was rejected for the army; I'm just not prepared to throw my life away."

Or that was what he tried to say. In retrospect he should have stayed away from Karin's eyes, because the moment he looked into them, he found himself saying: "You've got two minutes, Williams. Convince me."

"I'm sorry to intrude on your evening, Dr Jackson," Williams began. "But your country has need of your particular talents once again."

"One-minute fifty," Mathias said.

"We have received rather disturbing reports on Nazi activity," the General continued.

"So what's new?" Mathias asked. "All Nazi activity disturbs me. I'm disturbed by the fact that they are active at all. One-minute twenty."

"Matt," Karin said. "This is serious. Potentially turn-of-the-tide serious. What we're hearing about could put incredible power right into the Führer's hands."

"You have regular operatives for that," Mathias replied, forcing himself not to look at Karin. "Fifty-five seconds."

"Ultima Thule," Williams said.

"What?" Mathias looked up from his drink, undeniably intrigued.

"Interested?" Williams asked.

Mathias frowned. "Get me another drink," he said.

"Karin…" Williams began.

"No. You." Mathias said. "If I'm going to risk my neck for you, the least you can do is stand up and get me a drink yourself."

Grudgingly, Williams stood, took Mathias' glass and moved to a small drinks trolley. While his back was turned, Karin shot Mathias a look of disbelief. He shrugged, and she laughed, silently, favouring him with a mischievous smile. Her face turned suddenly serious again, and Mathias knew that Williams had turned back towards the table.

At that moment, the door opened, and the maitre d' conducted in a man with a similar bearing to Williams'; another soldier. He was younger than the General, although his hair was almost as grey, and looked strong, capable and efficient.

"Ah," Williams said. "Come in, Duncan. Take a seat."

"Thank you, General," the newcomer said, saluting first Williams and then Mathias. "Sir," he added.

"Don't worry Major, you don't have to salute Dr Jackson," Williams snorted.

"Dr Mathias Jackson," Karin said. "This is Major Duncan O'Neill."

"OSA?" Mathias asked.

"I'm afraid that I don't know those initials, Dr Jackson," O'Neill replied, taking the seat beside Mathias - the seat with the beer – and eyeing the straight Scotch as though it were about to bite him.

"Dr Jackson is well aware of our activities," Williams assured O'Neill. "He has done work for the Office in the past. Major O'Neill is one of our top operatives," he added, for Mathias' benefit.

"Pleased to meet you," Mathias said.

"Thrilled," O'Neill replied. "Can I talk freely?" He asked Williams.

The General nodded. "Dr Jackson is here for the same reason as you," he assured the Major.

"Actually, I'm not," Mathias corrected. "I'm here for something else entirely, but I seem to have got sidetracked." Karin grinned.

"What is it that you do then, Dr Jackson?" O'Neill asked, coolly. "What are you a doctor of? Medicine? Electrics? Atomics? Rocketry?"

"Archaeology," Mathias replied.

"Oh." O'Neill tried to look as though he cared as he lit up a cigarette.

"Would you mind not smoking?" Mathias asked. "I have allergies," he explained.

"Okay," O'Neill replied, stubbing out the cigarette in an ashtray.

"I wrote my first thesis on a 10^th century site in Saxony. My second is going to be in Egyptology. What about you, Major? What's your speciality?"

"Mostly hitting things," O'Neill replied, affably. "Do you have any experience in that field?"

"I try not to," Mathias admitted. "Not always successfully."

Before O'Neill could answer, the door opened a third time, and the maitre d' entered, accompanied by a woman in a pale, formal dress.

"Dr Carter, I presume," Williams said. "Please take a seat."

"Thank you," Dr Carter replied, coming over to sit beside Karin. Mathias could not help comparing the two women, and decided that Dr Carter came off the worse for it. Next to Karin's dark looks, she seemed almost unhealthily pale with her fair skin and blonde hair.

"Hello, Sally," O'Neill said.

"Duncan," she replied. "It's been a long time." She glanced at the other people in the room.

"Oh; this is General Williams, Operations Head, his secretary Karin Summers, and Dr Jackson, who writes theses on Saxony."

"Dr Mathias Jackson?" Dr Carter asked, taking a long cigarette from a silver case.

"That's right," Mathias said, sitting up a little straighter, unused to being recognised.

"I've read all of your papers on the mythic history of Heinrich I."

Mathias blushed, angrily. "Well, those were hardly papers," he demurred, frustrated that those papers still haunted him after eight years struggling to regain his academic credibility.

"It's fascinating work," Dr Carter told him.

Mathias eyed the woman, trying to weigh up whether he was being mocked or complimented. "Thank you, Dr Carter," he said. "Would you mind not smoking?" He said again. "Allergies."

"Of course. And call me Sally," she insisted, with a charming smile. "Dr Carter is my husband." Maybe not all that charming. She replaced the unlit cigarette in its case.

"Alright then," Williams said. "Now that we've all arrived, I can tell you why you're here. The OSA needs the three of you to co-ordinate on a mission of the utmost importance."

"The three of us?" Mathias asked.

"General, I'm not a field agent," Sally protested. "I have a son to look after."

"Sir…" O'Neill began.

"I'm well aware of the various arguments against this idea," Williams assured them. "Don't think I haven't raised them already. However, needs must as the Devil drives. The mission which we have in mind will require the physical presence of operatives with particular skills. Anyone on this mission must be Caucasian, and must tend towards the Aryan in appearance. You all do. They must be able to speak German fluently, and without an accent. You all can. They must be in good physical condition with at least some combat experience. You all are."

"I was evacuated from a research lab in France during the invasion," Sally protested. "We were under fire, but I hardly think that counts as combat experience."

"No need for false modesty, Dr Carter," Williams assured her. "I know and you know that your experience goes beyond that, and it is safe to let these gentlemen know that as well."

"Permission to speak freely, Sir?" O'Neill asked.

"When have you ever done otherwise?" Williams returned.

"With all due respect, if there's a chance of combat, then I don't want a pair of civilians underfoot."

"Underfoot!" Sally protested. "I'm not some liability you know."

"I'm not exactly helpless myself," Mathias added, hotly. "I can hold my own in a fight."

"Well, that's not exactly enough," O'Neill told them. "We're likely to be outnumbered and outgunned; holding your own won't cut it."

"I can do better than hold my own," Sally assured him. "And if I know you it's not going to be you carrying us home."

"We're coming on this mission," Mathias told O'Neill. "And if you don't like it, I suggest you…" He stopped, still fuming, but no longer at O'Neill, as he realised that he and Sally Carter had both overridden their own objections.

"Your protests will be noted, Major," Williams assured O'Neill. "However, the composition of the team is not negotiable. Each of you possesses certain skills, which in conjunction with the qualities I have just outlined make you uniquely suited to the mission in hand.

"Dr Jackson, your linguistic abilities are unparalleled among our academic resources, making you a strong candidate even before we factor in your archaeological training, your expertise in the field of the occult, and you activities as an adventurer and…ah, does one say it? 'Obtainer of rare antiquities'."

"He's a crypt robber?" O'Neill asked, disparagingly.

"A Professor of Archaeology at the University of Chicago," Williams corrected, as Mathias bridled. "Whose methods, while unorthodox, at all times conform to the international conventions for the preservation of antiquities. He is also the man who almost single-handedly pulled our collective fat out of the fire in the Spear of Destiny affair."

"It was nothing," Mathias demurred. "General von Bragen should have known better than to try to cheat on the sacrifice."

"Well, whatever," Williams said. "Your activities cost the SS Paranormal Division dearly. Dr Carter meanwhile is one of the country's most brilliant physicists, however difficult some of her male colleagues may find that fact to swallow. A former colleague and disciple of Nikola Tesla, she is also our foremost expert on Nazi X-projects technologies and paranormal research."

"So that's your interest in my work on Heinrich?" Mathias asked.

"Yes," Sally agreed. "Heinrich I is Himmler's obsession; it helps to know where his research projects are coming from when I'm analysing them."

"Who's Heinrich I?" O'Neill asked.

"He was a Saxon prince," Mathias explained. "About a thousand years ago, he laid the very first foundations for the unification of Germany as a state separate from the Frankish Empire. His son Otto is seen as the founder of the First Reich. According to legitimate history, he died in 936, but Himmler claims to be a reincarnation of the first Heinrich."

"He equates Hitler's rise with the end of Heinrich's reign, but a millennium on," Sally took up. "933, Heinrich defeats the Magyars; 1933 Hitler becomes Chancellor. 934, Heinrich recaptures Schleswig-Holstein; 1934, Germany and Austria fall completely under Hitler's sway.   The anniversary of Heinrich's death is marked by the remilitarization of the Rhineland."

"Except," Mathias said. "That some of Himmler's work suggests Heinrich actually lived on into what is recorded as his son, Otto the Great's reign, but that what he did in this time so appalled Otto that he erased all record of his father's survival."

"What did he do?" O'Neill asked, gripped by a kind of fascination.

"Made a pact with the devil, according to the few contemporary records. Himmler says he renewed the pact of the German people with the ancient Teutonic Gods and tried to free them from the plague of Jewry."

"What a sweetheart."

"He was supposedly defeated in 943," Sally finished "And his son decided the world didn't need to know. Himmler holds that Heinrich has risen again in him to pave the way for Hitler to be the next Otto."

"What rough beast, it's hour come round at last, slouches its way towards Berlin to be born."

"Something like that," Mathias replied with a small smile, warming to O'Neill just a little.

"Without Dr Carter's work," Williams went on, ignoring the digression. "The OSA would probably have failed to neutralise the V3 threat, and the war might be over by now."

"The Westphalia incident?" O'Neill asked. "I heard about that but…"

"Dr Carter's involvement on the ground was kept secret," Williams explained. "Even from most of our own people. We like to avoid drawing too much attention to our civilian resources."

"What about the Major?" Mathias asked. "What makes him irreplaceable?"

"His sense of humour," Williams replied, with a perfectly straight face. "Major O'Neill is an experienced intelligence operative, one of our best. It's as simple as that."

"And he knows Yeats," Mathias allowed.

"My Dad has this huge bugbear about being 'Irish'," O'Neill admitted. "I knew The Second Coming before the Hokey-Pokey."

"So what's the mission?" Sally asked, sipping her Scotch to cover her amusement at the thought of Duncan doing the Hokey-Pokey.

"Classified," Williams replied.

"Well, this is going to be a challenge," O'Neill said.

"This was just a preliminary meeting," Williams said. "The remaining details will be given to you tomorrow."

"You'll be briefed tomorrow at 11 o'clock," Karin told them, suppressing a smile. "Dr Jackson, you'll need to report to the Hedge at ten-thirty or earlier to sort out your clearance."

Sally knocked back the rest of her drink without choking – an impressive feet with almost a full measure of whisky – and rose to her feet. "Well then," she said. "If that's all, I have to get back to my family."

"By all means, Dr Carter," Williams agreed. "Major O'Neill, I'm heading to my club if you'd care to join me?"

"Why not," O'Neill said. "You know how I like to rub shoulders with the top brass." Within a few moments, Mathias and Karin had been left alone in the room.

"I'm sorry, Mathias," Karin said. "I really didn't know he was going to pull this."

"Duplicitous vixen."

"You know it," she replied, and the shared a smile.

"He knew we'd fall for it, didn't he?"

"For what?" Karin asked, innocently.

"He knew if O'Neill started mouthing off about civilians, Sally and I would fall over our own feet to demand inclusion in a mission we wanted no part of."

"It was a calculated risk," Karin admitted. "I learned my duplicity at the feet of the master."

Mathias sighed. "I don't feel like hanging around here. You want Italian?"

"Somewhere nice?"

"Of course," Mathias promised.

Some time later, the two of them lay curled together in Karin's apartment. Mathias had been sensing something odd about her all evening, a tension that bade ill for his upcoming mission.

"What's wrong?" He asked her. "Are you worried about me?"

"Course I am," she answered, sharply. "I love you."

"Hey," he chided, gently, kissing her face. "Calm down. I'll be okay, you'll see."

"It's not just that," she said.

"Then what's the problem?" He asked, solicitously.

"I don't know if there is a problem." Karin admitted. She took Mathias' hand, and laid it flat on her belly. "You tell me."

*

The Magic Hedge
Montrose Point Army Base

The Magic Hedge was the name given to the buildings on the edge of the Montrose Point Army Base, near to the shore of Lake Michigan. Its use was listed in the Base records as 'logistics control', but in fact it was the US headquarters of the OSA. The unassuming line of prefabricated cabins housed the offices and control room of General Williams' operations group, and also the main laboratory for the OSA Science Corps, where Dr Sally Carter worked.

Ordinarily, Sally would have been in work by eight o'clock in the morning, but since the meeting with Williams had left her worried, she had left much later than normal, in order to spend a little time with her husband, Sam – an Army doctor – and son, Jake. She worried sometimes that Jake saw too little of his parents, and spent too much time in the sole care of his nurse, but her work was important, as was Sam's. It seemed all too little for her to snatch a few extra hours, especially if they were the last she would ever spend with the boy, but there was simply no-one else to do her job. Not since Nikola's death anyway.

Little as it was, two hours was all that she could spare for her only progeny, and she arrived in the lab at around ten, walking in to find Duncan O'Neill waiting for her.

"They said you're always early," he told her.

"They were right until yesterday," Sally replied.

"I don't want you on this mission," he said, bluntly. "And I know you don't really want to go either."

"I don't get any more choice than you do," she reminded him, angry at him for raising the point. "And you heard what the General said; they need me on this one.

"It's a complication."

"What's a complication?" Sally demanded.

"Our relationship," Duncan said, lowering his voice to a near-whisper.

Sally laughed, harshly. "What relationship?" She asked, not bothering to whisper. "We don't have a relationship, Duncan; we never did. Whatever it was that we had, I certainly wouldn't dignify it with the name 'relationship'."

"Sally…"

"No, Duncan," she said, not wanting to lose her anger until she was done with him. "It may have escaped your notice, but we've hardly spoken in six years, and I'm married now. Sam and I: That is a relationship, Duncan."

Duncan frowned. "You can call it what you like Sally; whatever makes you feel good about yourself. The point is we had something, and that's a complication."

"It's over," Sally insisted. "It's only a complication to you."

"I wonder if the General would see it that way?"

Sally laughed again, without humour. "Are you threatening to tell the General about our affair?" She asked, getting more and more irate. "Go ahead. It was six years ago; I was a stupid young intern working on rocketry. More importantly, I'm not the one who was married at the time. I hadn't even met Sam back then, so don't think you can hold this over me with him either."

Sally threw her hands in the air. "Gah!" She cried out. "I can't believe you think it's okay to even bring this up," she told him. Then she saw his eyes. She lowered her hands, and studied him for a long moment. "You don't, do you?" She said. "Duncan, why are you acting like this?"

Duncan sighed. "Because I know what's going on," he said. "The General filled me in on some of it last night, and I don't want you there. I don't want you to get hurt."

"One," Sally told him, gently. "There's a war on. Two: I can take care of myself; I'll be fine. Three: Even if I couldn't, it's not your problem anymore."

"So what about the guy whose problem it is?"

Sally chuckled. "Sam figured out about a month after we met that he wasn't going to get anywhere laying down the law. I don't tell him how to dress, and he doesn't tell me to stay home and be a safe little housewife; that's why the marriage works."

Duncan looked pained.

"How're the kids?" Sally asked.

"They're good," Duncan replied. "Almost all grown up now."

"And Lorraine?"

Duncan shrugged. "Difficult to say since she won't speak to me. I haven't had a word from her since the divorce came through."

"I'm sorry," Sally said, sincerely.

"It's not your fault," Duncan replied. "She never knew about you." He sighed again. "Things hadn't been good between us for some time," he admitted. "What about you? How's that dream marriage working out?"

"Like a dream, I'm afraid," Sally assured him. "I'm happy with Sam, and Jake…well Jake is a handful, but I wouldn't change him for the world."

"What is he now? Four?"

"That's right. He's basically a good kid, but a little prone to tantrums."

"They're like that at that age," Duncan assured her. "Nothing you can do to make them be quiet, so you just get used to it. Then you can let the noise just wash over you until they calm down; that way you don't get mad at them, because it never helps and you just end up screaming at each other."

"You must have been a good dad," Sally told him.

"I still am," Duncan replied. "Just a lousy husband."

*

"Good morning, Gentlemen; Dr Carter," General Williams said, striding into his office. He seemed far more at ease in his dress uniform that he had done in civvies the night before. Duncan stood and saluted; Mathias and Sally just stood. Karin followed her boss into the room. Her skin was pale, her body language closed, and she refused to look at Mathias as she handed each of them a manila folder.

"At ease," the General continued, sitting at his desk. The three operatives were gathered in a semicircle in front of him, and Karin took a seat to his right. Some might have expected her to be taking notes or minutes, but Mathias, Sally and Duncan all knew full well that virtually no records were ever made of OSA activities. The Office maintained the bare minimum of paperwork needed to keep track of their operations; everything else was safely stored inside Karin Summers' head.

"I don't need to remind you that everything that goes on inside this room is classified to the highest level," General Williams said. "The folders you've been given contain a summary of an operation being carried out by the Ahnenerbe and the SS Paranormal Division, codenamed Project Ultima. This operation is a massive Antarctic excavation programme; one of the largest archaeological digs launched by the Germans since Tanis."

"What's in Antarctica?" Duncan asked.

"Ultima Thule," Mathias replied.

"Pardon?"

General Williams smiled grimly. "Dr Jackson, perhaps you would care to elaborate."

"Hmm? Oh, sure. I'm afraid this is all off the top of my head though," he added.

"That will be fine," Williams assured him.

"Well," Mathias began. "According to mythology, Ultima Thule is the island at the top of the world."

"Well, they're very confused then," Duncan said. "Antarctica is at the bottom."

"Who says so?" Mathias asked.

"Well, it's in the South."

"But who says that South has to be down? If you draw a map the other way up, it's just as valid." Duncan frowned, plainly confused by the concept, but unable to truly put his finger on why that should be. "Don't worry about it," Mathias said. "The point is that according to the mythology, Thule was a great city in a great civilisation, but it was destroyed when the moon crashed into Earth."

"When did this happen?" Duncan demanded.

"Around about the last ice age, according to Himmler. The survivors of Thule were the descendants of the true Aryan race, and came forth to restore what was once theirs, and it is the destiny of the Third Reich to bring about the age of enlightenment, yadayadayada." It was fairly obvious that – while well acquainted with Himmler's theories – Mathias had little time for them.

"The people of Thule were allegedly great magicians and scientists, possessing incredible, superhuman powers. According to the mythic history of Heinrich I, he had an obsession with the Thulian legacy of his race, and wanted to reclaim their power and bring the world under the sway of a great, Northern Empire. Hitler and Himmler share this obsession.

"The Ahnenerbe was founded to seek out evidence of the descent of the Aryan race from Thule, to locate Thulian artefacts, and if at all possible to find the remains of the lost city itself. A great deal of work has gone into excavations in the northern latitudes, but recently a group from Himmler's Paranormal Division have begun investigating the possibility that either Thule or a sister city – perhaps Atlantis – was located at or near to the South Pole."

"How do you know what the SS Paranormal Division is doing?" Duncan asked.

"It's in the file," Mathias replied. Sally Smiled sympathetically at Duncan.

"Thank you, Dr Jackson," General Williams said. "Our particular concern at present has been designated Target Atlantis; a dig site which seems to have aroused particular interest among the SS High Command. As you know, the SS Lorenz code continues to defy regular decryption, but we do know that any signal from Atlantis generates a wave of internal communication among the Paranormal Division chiefs.

"Also, we know that the Nazis are transferring a large number of researchers to the site, including one Dr Stephan Kawalsky."

"I've never heard of him," Mathias admitted.

"No reason you should have," Sally assured him. "Kawalsky is a physicist. He worked on a lot of the areas covered by Tesla – electrics, broadcast energy…"

"Death rays?" Duncan asked.

"Remote control," Sally went on, ignoring Duncan. "He's also done some excellent work with materials physics, semiconductors, properties of materials at low-temperatures and the like."

"Sounds like a smart guy," Mathias said. "Shame he's a Nazi."

"Well, he isn't," Sally told him. "At least, it seems unlikely. Stephan Kawalsky is a Polish Catholic. I heard from a mutual contact that he'd been taken to a concentration camp. No-one even knew if he was still alive, until now. If they've brought him to Atlantis, then the archaeology must be a front. Perhaps they are working on a death ray of sorts," she suggested. "If the low temperatures provided the results which Kawalsky predicted…" She shook her head.

"You don't believe it could be done?" Williams asked.

"The power requirements would be colossal," Sally replied. "But if you could lower the component resistance enough, then theoretically it's possible."

"Well, at present we don't think that Atlantis is an X-facility," Williams told her. "Although the Special Projects Division has shown interest in some of their results. For the most part however, the people who are excited are the Ahnenerbe and the SS occultists. It's possible then that this is just another crackpot Nazi scheme, but we can't take the risk of this turning into another Petra. That's why you three are being sent in to assess the danger posed by the site, and evaluate the work being done there.

"Dr Jackson will attempt to determine the nature of the site and its connection to the legends of Ultima Thule, and assess the archaeological and occult significance. Dr Carter, in addition to Dr Kawalsky there are about half a dozen Paranormal Division and Special Projects scientists in the Atlantis compound. Your task will be to analyse their work and identify any realistic threats posed by their results. You will pay particular attention to Dr Kawalsky's work, as anything the Nazi's feel the need to pull a Catholic out of a camp for must be important. Major O'Neill, following the assessment, you will take charge and initiate any necessary intervention, and oversee the safe return of the team."

Duncan nodded. "Do I deduce correctly that there will be no back-up on this mission?"

"You'll be in a small compound in the Antarctic," Williams said. "Several thousand miles from the nearest friendly troops or civilian population. You're on your own."

"I figured," Duncan said.

"You may be able to recruit help on the ground," Williams admitted. "The main labour force is composed of internees; mostly Jews. Also, we received word that an OSA informant named Arrow was in one of the labour convoys. Arrow may of course be dead by now, but if not then you'll have an insider in the workforce."

"Who is this Arrow?" Mathias asked.

"I can't tell you that," Williams said. "Arrow will identify and contact you if possible, once you are inside the Atlantis compound."

"Which brings us back to the big question," Sally said. "How do we get inside a Nazi compound in Antarctica?"

"Karin," Williams said.

"General. The only way in or out of the compound is via German transport. Supply runs are made monthly from Argentina via Junkers transport planes, including the shipment of replacement and additional personnel. Currently Target Atlantis is experiencing a massive influx of research staff, including Dr Kawalsky and fifteen other scientists in the last two months. Another five scientists and a platoon of Waffen SS soldiers for increased security will be added this month, along with an officer of the Paranormal Division."

"And?" Duncan asked. "How does this help?"

"Three of the scientists have never worked with the officers and researchers at Target Atlantis before." No-one bothered to ask Karin if she was certain. It was her near-photographic memory that had seen a humble diplomatic linguist recruited to the OSA, and she was nothing if not thorough. If a report had mentioned one of the scientists running into the camp chef in a corridor, she would have mentioned it. "In addition, the Paranormal Division officer is being transferred from a liaison post in Japan, so no-one will know him either. I've examined every available file on these four candidates, and selected three of them for you to impersonate.

"The folders contain details of your new identities. You have three days to learn them during your flight to Britain."

"Britain?" Sally asked. "Isn't that rather a long way from Argentina?"

Karin smiled. "From Britain you'll be flown to Germany, infiltrating by parachute. You'll rendezvous with Lucifer, our man in the SS logistics division. Your photographs have been swapped for those of the people you'll be replacing, and the originals will be dealt with by local resistance fighters."

"Dealt with?" Mathias asked.

"Don't worry," Karin assured him. "They're too valuable to be killed out of hand. The SOE will take charge of extraditing them to Britain for questioning by OSA personnel."

Sally and Mathias were watching Karin, so only Duncan caught that lie. Karin told it convincingly because she believed it, but General Williams plainly knew otherwise. If the captured personnel were recovered, they would jeopardise the operation. They might be questioned, but they would not be held for more than a day before their executions.

"You'll be taken from the Wewelsburg to Argentina three days later," Karin continued. "By plane, and take the Junkers from Puerto Santa Cruz to Target Atlantis. In all, you'll be undercover for eight days before you even reach Atlantis, so get used to speaking German, starting now." As if to ram this point home, Karin immediately switched languages, continuing the briefing in German.

"This operation will be codenamed Cataclysm. Your team will be designated Catalyst, callsign Meteor; I will be your contact point, and my alias will be Comet. Frequencies are in the file, but do not attempt to contact Comet unless absolutely necessary.

"Are there any questions?" There were none. "General."

"Good luck, people," Williams said. "You leave on Thursday morning. Dismissed."

*

Operation Cataclysm began well.

Although neither Sally nor Mathias was an experienced parachutist, they had both made at least one jump – in Mathias case not entirely deliberately – and they landed safely on the outskirts of the Teuterburg Forest. They contacted the resistance in Paderborn without incident, and met up with Lucifer – a thin, nervous-looking man – who organised for the three of them to arrive on the appropriate roads with the appropriate papers. Once inside the Wewelsburg, they spent three days getting to know their fellow passengers before being flown to Paris, where they boarded a transatlantic flight which would carry them to Buenos Aires.

During their stay in the SS Castle, Mathias spent most of his time examining the extensive grail symbolism of Himmler's new Teutonic Order with a mixture of fascination and horror. He was appalled that such a depth of commitment to the lofty ideals of Arthurian myth could be combined with the savagery he had seen perpetrated by the SS in his previous work for the OSA. Sally meanwhile was obliged to appear very much the bottom of the class in conversation with her fellow scientists, for fear that her insights might lead the Special Projects Division in some deadly new direction.

Of the three of them, Duncan probably had it worst, being obliged to attend staff dinners and crack anti-Semitic jokes with SS Officers he would rather be trying to kill. The archaeologists and scientists might be dyed in the wool followers of National Socialism, but they did not have a patch on the fanaticism of the SS high Command's officers.

All three then were relieved to leave Himmler's stronghold behind them, despite their gnawing fear of what they might find at Target Atlantis.

From Buenos Aires, they took a small plane to Puerto Santa Cruz, where they met up with the new SS security force, and a handful of scientists and officers returning after a month's leave.

"You won't believe the cold," one of the archaeologists told Mathias.

"Will this thing take us far enough?" Duncan asked, concerned.

"Just," a young officer told him. "The compound is at the limit of the Junkers' range. Once it arrives it has to refuel and take off immediately, otherwise its engines would cool down too much and freeze solid."

"That's nice to know," Duncan replied.

*

The archaeologist was quite right, Sally realised as the plane was coming in to land. The cold was like nothing she had ever known, and beyond anything she could have imagined. Even wrapped in six layers of wool, leather and fur, she could feel the chill settling into her bones.

She looked across to her two companions – the only two of her fellow passengers who counted as such – and suppressed a smile. Both men were gritting their teeth to keep them from chattering, gripping their seats to keep their hands from shaking. They were as cold and uncomfortable as Sally, but each would be damned if he showed it before the other. Men, she thought, shaking her head. They're so fragile.

"We're almost there, Herr Sturmbannführer," the young officer – Leutnant Braun – told Duncan, just as he was beginning to worry.   "It's about an hour before dusk now, so you won't have time to see the camp until morning."

The Junkers set down with a bump, and the officer started chivvying the new soldiers from the plane. "Off, off; they need to start refuelling now!"

The three operatives followed more slowly, and were the last to emerge. Ahead of them, they saw the other new arrivals being directed to their quarters.

"Herr Sturmbannführer Bane!"

Duncan turned at the call, since he was – for the time being – SS-Sturmbannführer Wolfgang Bane. Bane was a man of the people, a veteran officer raised from the ranks through a shining career of brutality and excess in the service of his Führer. Duncan had read the man's file, the list of his commendations and medals, and the acts of savagery by which he had won them. Duncan lost no sleep whatsoever from knowing that the real Wolfgang Bane had been dead for nearly a week.

Duncan saw a young man – almost a boy – coming towards him. "Yes?" He asked.

"SS-Junker Albert Kreel," the boy said, saluting. "Heil Hitler."

"Heil Hitler," Duncan responded, hating himself as he gave the salute.

"Standartenführer Reiser has assigned me to be your aide, mein Herr," Kreel said. "If you'll allow me to fetch your bags, I'll show you to the officer's hut."

"Very good, Cadet," Duncan agreed. "This runway is very large," he noted.

"Sometimes we must land large planes," Kreel said, simply.

"Where do we go?" Mathias asked.

"Over there," Kreel replied, waving absently. "Das Geisterhaus."

"Das Geisterhaus," Sally muttered, as the young man led Duncan away. The Spirit House.

"It's what some of the younger officers call the science huts." Sally turned and saw a man who was clearly not one of those younger officers. His hair was iron grey, and he looked of an age with or slightly older than Duncan. His blue eyes were clear and piercing however, and a sharp and deadly intelligence gleamed behind them.

"Herr Standartenführer Reiser," she gasped, startled by his sudden appearance, and by the imposing power of his presence.

"Frau Doktor Weiss," he replied, with a smart bow. "It is such a great pleasure to meet you. Please; call me Viktor."

"Thank you, Viktor," Sally said, extending her hand. He took it, and kissed her gloved fingers. Although he must have been as cold as her, his hand felt hot even through the lambswool. He raised his eyes, and they fixed hers with a predatory intensity. "And please, call me Inge," she stuttered, taken aback.

Dr Inge Weiss: A workaholic, introverted shut-in; a country-girl with a degree in engineering and a doctorate in Physics from Heidelberg, and a sweet, biddable nature easily moulded to the Nazi cause. Previously working on the Nazi nuclear programme, she had been reassigned to Project Ultima without explanation. From what Sally knew of the woman – in actuality almost five years her junior – she must have been put out to be dragged from an ongoing research project, but she would never have thought to complain. Reading her file, Sally had been angered by Weiss' evident lack of spine, but that would not have lessened her horror had she learned that Inge Weiss had been killed the night before Sally and her companions left the Wewelsburg.

"Charmed," Reiser assured her. "Please, allow me to escort you to the scientists' living quarters. It will soon be dark, and once the sun sets it is not fit for man or beast out here."

"Thank you, Viktor," 'Inge' replied, rallying enough to take his proffered arm instead of gawking. "You are too kind."

"So I'll just follow you then?" Mathias called, as they left, Reiser motioning for a pair of flunkies to gather Sally's bags. He stooped for his own luggage, and by the time he stood straight again they were already half-way to the huts, leaving Mathias alone with the aircraft crew, hurrying to refuel their plane, with the engines pinging as the metal cooled.

"Herr Doktor von Karlstein?"

Mathias turned, startled. "That's right," he replied, wondering if this was some kind of ritual hazing. Have someone jump out of the shadows and startle each of the newcomers in turn.

The speaker was a thin-faced man in glasses, bundled into a heavy woollen greatcoat, and still shivering with the cold. Mathias barely gave the man a second glance however, as his gaze was drawn to the man's companion, wrapped in a leather coat and managing not to seem in the least troubled by the climate.

"It is an honour to meet you," this companion said, extending her hand to be kissed, not shaken.

Mathias complied, setting down his luggage to take her fingers in a gentle yet possessive grip suitable to his assumed persona. "You may be honoured," he told her. "But the pleasure is all mine."

"I do hope not," she said, pleased by his answer. "My name is Veidt," she told him, looking him over with hungry eyes. "Mariana Veidt. You may call me Ana."

"Werner," Mathias replied, for that was the name of his cover. Werner von Karlstein; aristocrat and antiquarian. A disciple of the great Otto Rahn, Mathias had met von Karlstein once at a conference, where he had been impressed by the young German's knowledge and intellect, and utterly disgusted by his arrogance and supremacist views. They had argued rather publicly on the symbolism of various facets of Teutonic occultism, during which exchange von Karlstein had managed to drive the normally calm Mathias into a veritable rage with his small-minded bigotry and the paucity of his archaeological method. Such a waste to mire a brilliant mind like that in dogmatic intolerance.

None of this however meant that Mathias would have been remotely happy to know that Werner von Karlstein was now decomposing beneath a field in Paderborn, alongside Wolfgang Bane and Inge Weiss.

"I'm Conrad," the young man said, stepping forward. "Dr Conrad Brecht."

"Oh yes," Mathias said. "I've read some of your work on Egypt; I find it very interesting."

Brecht looked as pleased as punch. "You're too kind," he said. "Of course, I've read all of your works."

"Of course," Mathias replied, remembering von Karlstein giving just that response to a devotee at the conference. "And what about you, Ana? I don't seem to recall reading any of your research."

"Naturally," she replied, taking his arm and leading him towards the science huts. Brecht was left behind to struggle alone with Mathias' luggage. Mathias felt bad about it, but he knew that von Karlstein would not. Mariana Veidt appeared to have no problems with mistreating her co-worker in this way either, but then she did seem to be an awful lot like von Karlstein.

"I have not been widely published," Mariana continued. "And my field is not archaeology."

"Oh?" Mathias asked. "And what do you do then?"

She flashed him a predatory smile. "I'm a witch," she said.

*

About an hour later, Mathias knocked on the door of Inge Weiss' room. The quarters assigned to each scientist were essentially study bedrooms, in the smaller of the three prefabricated huts that made up Das Geisterhaus. The middle hut housed the mess hall and shower block, the larger the laboratory; all three were connected by internal doors, and the dormitories also connected to officers' country. In addition, there were three storage huts for artefacts from the dig or specialist equipment, but these were unconnected and so only really accessible by day. Accommodation was Spartan, but the huts were warm, and after even a few moments in the Antarctic cold, that was luxury beyond the telling.

"Hi, Inge," Mathias said. "I see you managed to lose the Colonel."

"Define lose," she replied, ruefully. She was sitting on her bed, looking nervous. "I've been invited to have dinner with him tonight, and acceptance didn't seem to be optional. Room's clean," she added, meaning that she had checked and there were no hidden microphones.

"Did you see that little hut at the other end of the laboratory?" Mathias asked, still speaking German.

"Yeah. I don't know what's in it though."

"That's where they keep Kawalsky, apparently," Mathias told her. "None of our charming Aryan friends wanted to share living space with a Pollack, it seems, so they gave him a little place for his own protection."

Sally smiled. "Well, you seem to be learning more than me, Werner."

He smiled. "Well, we'll see what I get tomorrow. Ana's going to show me around the dig site."

"She seemed rather taken with you," Sally noted.

"Colonel Reiser seemed pretty taken with you," Mathias returned.

Sally sighed in despair. "Tell me about it. God, even if my German holds up for a romantic tête-à-tête, what do I do if he wants to sleep with me?"

"I believe standard procedure would be to sleep with him," Mathias admitted. "But if you don't fancy that route…"

"Hell no. Trouble is, it's not like I can tell him I'm a married woman, and Inge Weiss isn't the kind of girl to have someone special back home."

"Tell him that your horoscope says you shouldn't start a relationship this week."

"My horoscope?" Sally asked.

Mathias nodded. "Ana says that he's very superstitious; it should buy you a few days."

"Thanks," Sally said, sincerely.

Mathias came and sat by her. "Ever do this kind of work before?" He asked.

Sally shook her head. "No. Westphalia was simple breaking and entering; no-one asked me to carry out this kind of charade."

"Look on the bright side," Mathias advised. "At least you're supposed to be nervous. Every time Ana gets near me with that 'seduce you, kill you and eat you' smile, I almost break out in hives, but I've got to act like that kind of attention is my feudal due or whatever."

Sally grinned. "You don't like her?"

"She's a Nazi," Mathias replied. "And a witch. Granted she's a looker, but…Anyway, I'm spoken for. I think." Sally raised an eyebrow. "Long story," he said. "What about you; your family?"

"Sam and Jake," she answered. "Samuel's a doctor; medical doctor. That's why he gets to be Dr Carter," she added, smiling. "After about a year of arguing which of us was the 'real' doctor, I let him have it. I felt he needed it more than me, despite the fact he's got a Captain to fall back on."

"Army?"

Sally nodded. "That's how I got involved with the military again."

"Again?" Mathias asked.

"I interned with Army research, did some work with Nikola in his fading years."

Mathias frowned. "I thought the military refused to fund Tesla's later research."

"They didn't like to talk about it much; they preferred everyone to think that broadcast energy was a pipe dream. Of course, in the end it turned out it was, at least with the materials at hand."

"Which is why this site might be important?"

"Quite."

Mathias nodded. "And what about Jake?"

"Jacob Carter, four years old," she said, smiling fondly. "His father wants him to be a hockey player, I'm hoping for Nobel laureate. He already knows he wants to be a pilot. Sam says maybe we'll all get lucky and he'll win a Nobel prize for hockey and fly the team around in a plane as well."

"Do they give Nobel prizes for hockey?"

Sally grinned. "Sam keeps saying that's one of the things he'll fix when he goes into politics after the war."

"He knows that the US President doesn't decide what you get Nobel prizes for, right?"

"I'm not sure," Sally admitted. "So what about you? Your family?"

Mathias' face darkened. "There was just my parents, but they died in a car crash when I was nine."

"I'm sorry," Sally said.

"They were on the verge of splitting up," he went on, bleakly. "They argued all the time; I don't think they'd said a civil word to each other for months before the accident. I don't think they'd ever meant to get married, and then there was me. They were too young for that level of commitment and responsibility and they knew it. They were unhappy, and they blamed each other and both resented me. They died because they were arguing, and Dad didn't have his eyes on the road."

"You can't know that," Sally said, softly.

"I was in the back seat," Mathias replied. "And I walked away without a scratch, on my body anyway. I've been told more than once that I have gross emotional problems and commitment issues; I suspect there might be a causal relationship there."

"And is that why Karin is upset with you?" Sally asked, shrewdly.

Mathias looked suddenly angry. "We shouldn't be talking about this here," he said. He stood up and stalked out.

*

Kreel helped Duncan to stow his kit in his quarters – Bane had been assigned as Colonel Reiser's second-in-command, so Duncan had the only other private room in officers' country – then took him along to the mess hall to eat.

"I'm sorry you can't see the camp until tomorrow, mein Herr," Kreel apologised.

"How cold does it get at night?" Duncan asked.

"So cold you freeze before you know it," Kreel replied. "Your predecessor went out at night. We found him in the morning, frozen solid."

Braun, the officer whom Duncan had met on the plane, beckoned him over. "Herr Major; will you join us?" He asked.

Duncan nodded, and he and Kreel sat. A pretty young woman with brown hair and strong features came over to serve them. As she put down their bowls, the young officer knocked her arm, making her spill soup onto the table in front of Kreel.

"You clumsy fool!" The man barked, to the great amusement of the other officers. Duncan did not laugh and neither – he noted – did Kreel.

"I'm sorry, Sir," the girl muttered, wiping the table in front of the cadet.

"I must apologise, Herr Major," Braun said.

"For what?" Duncan asked, darkly.

"The necessity of allowing Jews to handle our food," he replied. "Be off with you girl, and bring another bottle of wine for the Major." He slapped the young woman on the behind, hard enough that she almost fell over the table, but she caught herself on her hands and managed not to spill anything. "Clumsy animals," Braun went on, as the woman hurried off.

Kreel frowned, but said nothing.

Braun reached across, and pinched Kreel's cheek as though he were a child. "Bertie here thinks I shouldn't play games with them," Braun explained. "He's too tender-hearted. They're only animals," he told the cadet.

"Well I don't torture dogs, either," Kreel replied. Braun's eyes darkened.

"That's enough," Duncan said, softly. "Kreel; you should show more respect to your superior officers. And you, Braun, should show more dignity. I might expect this kind of ribald behaviour from Americans."

Braun flushed, angrily. "I'm sorry, mein Herr."

"See that it does not happen again," Duncan told him, darkly. "If you will excuse me a minute." He rose, and headed off in the same direction as the Jewish girl.

A double door led into the kitchen, where several Jewish women were cooking. When Duncan entered they ducked their heads, an instinctive reaction to the dreaded, black uniform. He scanned the room, saw the girl disappearing into a storeroom and followed. He passed a sign on the wall bearing a list of dishes that were deemed to be of Semitic origin, and thus unacceptable. From the smell of the kitchen, the women were making do quite nicely without these prohibited recipes.

The storeroom was a general purpose larder. It was colder than the kitchen, and the hot air steamed as it came in. The walls were probably less insulated, allowing for the storage of perishable goods. The girl stood in the centre of the room, looking at him boldly and defiantly.

"What are you doing here?" Duncan demanded.

"Why do you dress that way?" She responded.

"I'm in disguise," he whispered, softly. "So Abraham can come out if he wants to." He half-turned, and a few moments later a young Jewish boy emerged from the shadows, holding a large kitchen knife. He was sixteen years old; a year younger than his sister. Duncan looked at him sideways, and after a moment, both children hugged Duncan tightly.

"Easy there," he said. "Or you'll give me away. Now why are you here, Rachael?" Duncan repeated.

"We were brought here," Rachael replied. "After they arrested us."

"Archer?"

"Father was killed," Rachael replied.

Duncan's heart felt heavy. Elias Lang, the Jewish resistance worker known to the OSA as Archer had been Duncan's contact on half-a-dozen missions, and had saved the American's life more than once. "I was told to contact Arrow," he told them. "Do you know who that is?"

"I'm Arrow," Rachael told him. "I took over father's reports after he was killed. We were captured not long after, but I managed to burn the code books."

"Good girl," Duncan said, sadly. Was this what the war had come to? That his back-up was a weary-eyed, seventeen year old girl? Rachael should have been worrying about school and clothes and boys; not Nazi activities. Duncan pushed those thoughts away. He had to focus on the job in hand. "So how many workers are there?" He asked.

"About seventy," Abraham replied. "At any given time, but the turnover is high."

"No-one has any illusions," Rachael confirmed. "This place is a death sentence. It costs them enough to ship us here and feed us; they'll never pay to take any of us back. Also…some of the SS officers hold blood rites on the site."

"Blood rites?" Duncan was worried. He had brushed with the Nazi occult menace on a few occasions: It never ended well.

"Human sacrifice," Rachael confirmed. "I don't think that they've achieved very much," she admitted. "But that's not much comfort when girls disappear in the night and are never seen again."

Duncan shuddered.

"When workers die," the girl went on. "We don't even get time for a proper funeral. We have to snatch what time we can between the end of work and nightfall to scrape them out a hollow by the fence. Since the cold stops the bodies decaying, the SS don't seem to care if they lie on the earth for weeks."

"God," Duncan whispered. "And are they all Jewish?"

"Mostly," Abraham agreed. "A few Gypsies and Poles."

"All racial 'enemies of the Reich'," Rachael noted. "No homosexuals, trade unionists, Communists or Catholics; or not unless they're also Jews or Gypsies."

"If we need help…" Duncan began.

"We?" Rachael asked.

"I'm not working alone," Duncan said, after a moment's pause, deciding that he could trust these two children. "It's safer if you only know me though."

"I'll talk to the people I can count on," Rachael promised. "But this place…Most of the workers are broken, Major; they'd turn you in to avoid the punishment that hiding you might bring."

"Damnit," Duncan snarled, angrily.

"Don't be so quick to judge them," Rachael told him, startling him with the strength in her voice. "You've only just arrived; you haven't seen the conditions we live in. These aren't weak people, but this place…it's Sheol, Major. A place without hope. This is Hell."

"You seem to be doing okay," Duncan said, chastened.

"I have Abraham," Rachael said. "And he has me. Most people here don't have anyone they can count on that way." She was a tall girl, but she still had to stand on tiptoe to kiss Duncan gently on the cheek. "Now you must go back, but in the morning ask for a runner. Abraham is the strongest and the quickest in the camp; he will be your contact, so you can tell me what you need."

"Alright," Duncan agreed, impressed by the girl's sang froid and competence. "If it's necessary, my partners will identify themselves with the codeword Meteor, so you know them." He kissed the top of her head, ruffled Abraham's hair, and did his best to regain his cold demeanour as he returned to the mess.

Kreel was speaking as Duncan approached. The youth was red-faced with embarrassment, evidently uncomfortable with the debate he had been drawn into, and he broke off as he caught sight of Duncan.

Braun had his back to the kitchen, and so remained oblivious to the ersatz Bane's presence. "For a Jew, yes," Braun admitted. "But I don't care how pretty she is, I still say that consorting with a Jewess is disgusting."

"And you'd be right," Duncan assured him, clapping a hand down on Braun's shoulder. "So who has been consorting with Jews?" He asked, as Braun spluttered and choked on his meat.

"I…That is, not one, I…"

"Good," Duncan said. "And let's keep it that way." Appalling though Braun's sentiment was, it probably spared the kitchen girls from something far worse than a little bullying.

*

"Good morning," Sally greeted Mathias in the mess.

"Hmm," Mathias grunted. He looked tired, and there was a slightly stunned expression in his eyes. "How was dinner?" He asked.

"The food was good," she told him. "These SS commandants really know how to take care of themselves. Here the rest of us are on salt pork and tinned vegetables, and he's dining like a king. The company was charming, if rather intense," she added. "But I told him that my astrologer had told me that any relationship I began this week would end in catastrophe."

"Did it work?"

"Kind of," Sally replied. "He backed off right away, but he also called his personal astrologer and asked her to double check my charts. God knows what he'll turn up."

"Well, I'm not God," Mathias said. "But he'll find that your charts clearly show you to be a poor breeding prospect not just now but in the future as well."

"Breeding prospect!" Sally was incensed.

Mathias smiled, wanly. "Sorry to say, Inge; but the Colonel is less interested in your undeniable charms than in your suitability as a mate. Brilliant, beautiful, blonde; yet placid and biddable, like a good Aryan wife."

Sally restrained herself from comment, since Inge Weiss was supposed to be all those things.

"Colonel Reiser looks at you as the perfect opportunity for him to sire a brood to carry his legacy," Mathias finished.

"And you know this how?"

Mathias looked away, awkwardly.

"Werner?"

"Mariana came to see me last night," he admitted. "And I told her that there was someone else; someone special."

"And what did she say?" Sally asked.

"'Is she here?'"

Sally raised an eyebrow, amused.

"I think she thought that I meant you, because she then proceeded to explain that Colonel Reiser was going to father his heirs on you, and I should keep out of his way. I said it wasn't you, and that she might as well look elsewhere, but she wouldn't leave me alone. Then she got the message."

"What message?"

"The message from Reiser, asking her to draw up your charts," Mathias explained. "And she said that she would leave me alone now, and that she predicted your horoscope would show that a relationship started in the near future would lead to many fat Aryan übermenchen. Of course, she explained, the results might be quite different if she were to wait a few hours, if only she could find something to do in the meantime."

"Oh, you poor man," Sally said, stifling a giggle.

"It's not funny," Mathias said, crossly. "I was used."

"I'm so sorry to have put you though that," Sally said, failing to sound very chastened.

Mathias frowned, and leaned across the table. "Karin is pregnant," he whispered.

Sally sobered immediately. "What? By…?"

"Of course," he replied. "Otherwise there wouldn't be an issue. But I handled it badly. I panicked, and I don't think I was very supportive, and now if she ever knew…"

He broke off, leaning back from the table, away from Sally.

"Werner, darling." Sally felt Mariana Veidt brush past her, and saw a change pass over Mathias. In a moment the doubt and hesitation was banished to the corners of his eyes, and Werner von Karlstein's arrogance shone out of his face. With an effort of will, Sally forced a similar change on herself, although in the opposite direction.

"Ana, my sweet," he greeted her, as though what had passed between them had been by mutual consent.

Mariana settled herself beside Mathias, placing her breakfast tray on the table and linking an arm through his. She fixed Sally with a look of triumph and pity. "My dear Doktor," she said. "I'm so sorry to hear that things will not be working out for you and the Colonel; you would have made such a lovely couple." She smiled a kind smile as she spoke, honeying her acid words.

"You're too kind," Sally replied, meekly.

"So," Mathias said, interrupting Mariana before she could launch another jibe. "You said that you would show me the dig this morning, Ana?"

"When I have finished my breakfast," Mariana said. "We women are fragile, darling. We need to take our meals slowly. Isn't that right, Inge dear?"

"I've finished," Sally told her, not meeting her eyes as she picked up her tray and hurried away. It was hard for her to act the mouse, but the consequences of slipping could be dire.

"Poor thing," Mariana said as she watched 'Inge' go. "To be so pure of blood, yet to possess so little strength."

"I'm sure she gets by," Mathias said.

Mariana grinned, spitefully. "I'm sure," she agreed. "Don't feel bad for her, Werner," she advised, squeezing his arm in a gesture of proprietary affection. "I know her type; if she doesn't run back to the Colonel, she'll soon find a new guardian to see to her…needs." So saying, she leaned across, and kissed Mathias hungrily on the mouth, forcing him to respond in order to maintain an appearance of control. Whether the real Werner von Karlstein would have handled Mariana better, Mathias had no idea.

"You're probably right," he allowed.

"Of course I am. Now," she added, pushing away her food, barely touched. "I will show you the site."

*

The site was unlike anything that Mathias had seen before. The excavation had begun on a patch of exposed rock, but by now had cut back almost fifty feet into a glacial formation. The ice creaked and groaned around them, and Mathias felt as though he were standing in the maw of some colossal, sleeping beast, hoping against hope that it would not wake. Where the ice had been chipped away, Mathias could see walls of stone, and in places the floor of the cavern was clearly formed of cut stones.

The cavern was deathly cold, and Mathias was bundled up tightly. Mariana again looked quite warm enough in her leather greatcoat.

"We use hot air to clear away the ice where we can, but we must be careful not to undercut the walls too much," Mariana explained, as he examined a carving on the walls, almost worn away by the ice.

"This is a caduceus," he said. "With a dextroverse swastika at the crown. I've never seen that combination of Greek and Hindu elements before. There are also traces of Egyptian design."

"Aryan design," she told him.

"Of course," Mathias agreed. In his fascination he had allowed himself to slip slightly. "Not a synthesis, but the original symbolism before it was scattered and degraded."

"And we have found so much more," she told him. "This was Ultima Thule, Werner; a place of travel and commerce for the people of Thule, where they dealt with other great Aryan Empires."

Mathias frowned. "That's a sweeping statement at this stage, Ana," he cautioned her. "We should wait and see what else is turned up."

Mariana laughed at his hesitancy. "I do not need to see any more," she assured him. "I know what this place was like before; I have dreamed it!"

"Dreamed it?"

"Yes!" Mariana's face grew rapt. "Once the Third Race dwelt here, before the Great Cycle turned about, and plunged them into the World Ice."

"The third moon," Mathias said.

"They saw it coming," Mariana told him. "And they were bitterly afraid. All their technology could not save their fair city, and so they fled through a mighty door; a great portal into the Inner Earth. That is what we shall find here in time," she told him. "The portal. It is here, behind this ice somewhere, safe and secure. And when we find it, we shall open the door to the Inner Earth, claim back the heritage of the Aryan race, and the Empire of Thule will rise again in glory!" She threw her hands into the air as she spoke, gesticulating with fierce, sharp movements.

"The armies of Thule shall walk the Earth, and wipe it clean of the taints of Jewry, Communism and decadence," she went on. "The lesser races shall be returned to their proper place in absolute thrall, and the academic cults and weak, Jewified churches of the modern age shall be swept away as the true Aryan learning is restored, with those such as you and I as its saints and heroes."

Mathias was tempted to ask if 'Jewified' was a real word, but restrained himself. This did not seem to be a subject on which Mariana had much sense of humour.

"I thought that all of the labourers were Jews," he said, pointing to a small group working under the supervision of Conrad Brecht.

"The apes are all very well for crude labour," Mariana replied, glancing over briefly. "But we would not trust them with more delicate work. As soon as they find anything, we bring in a team of soldiers to dig it out. Come; we shall see what Connie has found."

"Herr Doktor von Karlstein," Conrad greeted Mathias as they approached. "Ana. Come and see."

They followed him to the trench, and Mathias saw what it was that the SS soldiers were excavating.

"A body?" He asked.

"The preservation here is quite incredible," Mariana explained. "They still have desiccated flesh on their bones."

"We'll need to get him thawed out of course," Conrad said, bustling around excitedly as the soldiers broke the carcass from the surrounded ice. "But it looks as though this is a the richest yet. See; the gauntlet on his left hand is gold, and the ornamentation on the armour. Have you ever seen the like, Herr Doktor."

"Never," Mathias admitted. The man looked to have been about six-and-a-half feet in height, to judge by the dimensions of the black-and-charcoal armour that encased his form. Beneath the remaining layers of ice, the armour did indeed seem to be traced with gold and silver patterns, and a coil of golden bands encircled his left forearm, terminating in the claw-fingered gauntlet which Conrad had spotted. The man's head was encased in a helmet, carved in the shape of a snarling beast.

"Magnificent," Conrad whispered. "Ana; what do you think?"

"Definitely unique," she whispered, running the hand over the ice. "He must have been a great captain of Thule."

"Why didn't he leave with the others?" Mathias asked, curious to know what Mariana's delusions would come up with next.

"They are spirit warriors," Mariana explained. "Left to defend the site from intruders by their magic. That is why none have been able to find the city but us, their fellow Aryans; their descendants and spiritual heirs." She turned to the soldiers. "Bring him," she said. "Werner, darling; I'm going to accompany our friend here, so I must leave you in Connie's capable hands."

"Perhaps you would care to see the finds that we have made?" Conrad offered.

"That would be acceptable," Mathias replied.

"I'll see you soon," Mariana assured him, with a lazy smile. Then she kissed him on the mouth, and led the soldiers away.

"Where will she take the body?" Mathias asked Conrad.

"Special finds," Conrad replied. "To be thawed under controlled conditions for full examination."

"Right," Mathias said, distractedly, as something in the ice behind Conrad caught his eye.

"The finds hut is this way," Conrad said. "I'm sure you will be impressed, and   besides, it's out of this damned cold."

"It sounds better every moment, Connie," Mathias agreed, allowing the German scientist to draw him away from the dig. He wanted to ask about what he had seen, but if Conrad was not aware of it, he would as soon not draw his attention to the great ring, buried deep in the glacier. Mathias was not sure why, but he somehow knew that the ring was Mariana's 'portal to the Inner Earth', and he was certain that it would be a very bad thing if the Nazis were to reach it.

*

After being forced to back down in front of Mariana Veidt, Sally was in a fairly vile mood when she arrived in the lab hut, and it was not improved by her first encounter with her supervisor.

"I'm Doktor Irmgard von Scherzburg," the woman announced. "The senior scientist. All reports will come through me, all assignments are set by me. If you feel that a new avenue of research has presented itself you will report it to me, and I will decide whether the avenue is worth exploring, and which of the scientists is best suited to carry out the project. Do you understand me, Dr Weiss?"

"Yes, Dr Scherzburg," Sally replied, almost kicking herself before the words were out of her mouth.

The woman leaned forward, using every inch of her sturdy, six-foot frame to overbear and intimidate Sally. "Von Scherzburg," she corrected. "Let me be clear, little Kirchmaus; I don't care what friends you have back home. I don't care what Werner von Karlstein thinks of you, however highly regarded his work, and I don't care what Herr Standartenführer Reiser thinks of you; this is my domain now. This operation is of the utmost import to the Reich, and proper respect for your superiors is vital to the success of the operation. Should I find you attempting to subvert that respect – say by going to the Colonel behind my back – I am authorised to take any measures I deem necessary. Now do you understand me?"

"Absolutely, Dr von Scherzburg," Sally promised, with an effort of will not adding a defiant emphasis to the 'von'. Kirchmaus, she reminded herself.   Church mouse. I'm a country girl, meek and modest. God, how I hate this. She knew von Scherzburg's work – mostly pale imitations of Tesla's theories, and several toadying essays detailing 'proof' of Der Führer's latest obsession – and would not have stopped to give her the time of day even if she had not been a Nazi. To have to defer to her was even more humiliating than appearing to be thrown over for a witch like Veidt.

"Very good," Dr von Scherzburg said. "Now, I see from your records that you've done some work on materials analysis."

"Yes, Dr von Scherzburg," Sally replied.

"Excellent," she said, with a nasty sneer. "Then you can start work as Dr Kawalsky's assistant; section H, at the end."

"Thank you, Dr von Scherzburg," Sally said, trying to suppress her triumph. This could not have worked out any better.

The lab was divided into cubicles by thin dividing walls; H was right at the far end from Dr von Scherzburg's small office. As she passed along the line, Sally sneaked a few glances and saw people working on various strange artefacts, with equipment that was almost as outlandish. Many of them poked their heads out to watch her as she went, probably curious to see what the new girl had been assigned to. Some of them were dressed in the same simple thermal boiler suits as Sally herself, but others displayed SS insignia on the collars beneath their lab coats.

Sally reached the end of the line. Section H was empty, so she turned to section G, opposite and looked inside. There were two people standing by a lab bench, a man and a woman, both in middle years. "Doktor Kawalsky?" Sally asked.

"Yes?" Both the man and the woman turned and answered, sharing a fond, but weary smile after doing so.

"Ah…Dr Stephan Kawalsky?"

"Well, that's him," the woman said.

The man smiled. "How can I help you?"

"I'm Dr Weiss," Sally said. "I've been assigned to act as your assistant." Behind her, the watching scientists broke into giggles, an unpleasant, mocking sound.

"Really?" Stephan asked. "Well, you must have done something to piss Irma off mightily." He held out a hand in greeting, and Sally shook it, warily.

"Why are they laughing?" She asked.

The woman frowned slightly. "Because you've been sent to work under the ethnically inferior papists, of course," she snapped.

"Mia," Stephan cautioned. "Please…don't make trouble." He turned back to Sally. "Come," he said. "I'll show you what they've got us working on."

"Attention!" Dr von Scherzburg's voice boomed down the hut. "All for the Colonel's inspection!"

"Aren't we honoured," Mia drawled, drawing another warning glance from Stephan as they stepped out into the aisle between the right and left hand cubicles.

Colonel Reiser was making his way along the rows, with Dr von Scherzburg following at his heels, her hard, fierce face softened in adoration. Suddenly, Sally understood why the woman was giving Inge Weiss such a hard time; she was in love with the Colonel.

"Ah, Dr Weiss," Reiser said, ignoring Stephan and Mia entirely. It seemed that they were no longer on a first name basis, or at least not at work. "How are you settling in?"

"I…just started, Herr Colonel," she replied. "Frau Doktor von Scherzburg has been most welcoming."

"I'm sure," Reiser agreed, smiling at von Scherzburg, who blushed like a school girl.

"I am thrilled to have a chance to work with her," Sally went on.

"We are fortunate to have the opportunity to use such a fine mind as the Frau Doktor's," Reiser remarked to von Scherzburg. "I trust that she is being properly employed?"

"Of course, Herr Colonel," von Scherzburg assured him, shooting Sally a poisonous look. "I have placed her with Dr Kawalsky. His work is slow, and I thought that she might be able to produce more results."

"Excellent," Reiser agreed. "Carry on," he instructed. "Heil Hitler."

"Heil," Sally returned. Neither Stephan nor Kawalsky made a sound, and Reiser ignored them entirely.

Reiser turned and walked away. "Irmgard," he called behind him. Von Scherzburg paused in the act of upbraiding Stephan, preened herself slightly, flashed Sally a triumphant grin and swept away in her lord and master's wake.

"I wish people would stop looking at me like that," Sally remarked, as much to herself as anything.

"So now we know what you did to get relegated to our little corner of the world," Mia remarked. "For what it's worth, you have my sympathies."

Sally raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Quite a lot of our co-workers have wandering hands, especially when you consider that I'm supposed to pollute them with my presence."

"Mia…"

"Relax, Stephan," Mia told him, affectionately. "Inge doesn't seem one to tell tales," she added, with a shrewd glance.

Sally averted her gaze, feigning anxiety. "Perhaps you could show me the work, Dr Kawalsky?"

"Stephan," he told her. "As my wife is also Dr Kawalsky, it will be easier if you call me Stephan."

"Alright then, Stephan," Sally agreed.

Stephan led her across the way to section H, and over to his workbench, where a material sample sat on a glass tray. It was a football-sized lump of a greyish substance, with a quartz-like sheen. "Well, here it is," he said. "Substance X-13."

"X-13?"

"Well, we don't actually know what it is," Stephan admitted. "And to be honest, our supervisors don't really care. Scientific curiosity is not a big part of the Waffen SS mission; they only care about what it can do. X-13 is – as near as I can make out – an element not occurring anywhere else on Earth. Which means that either this is the only source, or that it is extraterrestrial in origin."

"It looks like a form of quartz," Sally said.

"Yes it does, and it's certainly a crystalline structure, but it's both harder and tougher. It also seems to exist in different forms; different internal configurations, like carbon. This is one of the more malleable forms, and it's hard enough to take sample sections of. We've also seen it in forms that are harder than diamond, but that's not all." He picked up a small oxyacetylene torch. "Put your hand on one side of the sample."

Sally did so, and Stephan fired up the torch and brought it against the far side.

"Hey!" Sally protested.

"Trust me," Stephan said.

Sally replaced her hand, and Stephan heated the other end of the sample. He held the torch in place for close to ten minutes, and Sally's hand just stayed there.

"That's incredible," she said. "There's almost no heat conduction."

Stephan switched off the blowtorch. "This side will be almost as cool," he said.

Sally warily touched the spot which Stephan had been heating. "Where does the heat go?" She asked.

"I'm not sure," Stephan admitted. "But my theory is that the mineral somehow absorbs energy."

"Is there any output?"

"Oh yes," Stephan replied. "Under the correct stimulation. I tried connecting it to a circuit to see if it generated any kind of electrical charge, then passed a current through it. It seemed to be conducting, but then I noticed that the potential difference and current were too high for the battery I was using. When I short circuited the battery, the sample continued to induce a current, and kept doing so for almost an hour. I've also discovered that it can be caused to emit energy bursts by exposure to sound waves at certain, specific frequencies."

"High or low?"

"Different energies, depending on the frequencies. One or two of the resonance levels are at the extremes of the human vocal range."

"You're telling me that a person could make this thing emit energy by singing at it?"

"A trained opera singer, maybe. It would need to be a sustained and constant note, but it could be done."

"That's incredible!" Sally breathed.

Stephan laughed, bitterly. "I'm glad you think so. With Mia and myself, that make three people on this base who care."

"Then why bother to bring you out here?" Sally asked.

"I'll show you," he replied.

Stephan took Sally out to the back of the lab hut, where a small yard had been fenced off as a testing site. He gave her a hard hat and a pair of goggles, donning similar protective gear himself, before removing a small device from a steel case. It looked almost like a cell battery, with a contact at each end of a metal cylinder.   "This contains fifty milligrams of X-13," he told her.

Moving to the far end of the yard, Stephan connected the device to a pair of cables, before returning to Sally and ushering her into a little sand-bag bunker.

"If you would care to throw that switch on the wall beside you," Stephan said.

Sally reached out, closed the large knife switch, and a burst of white light filled her vision. Moments later, a shockwave hit the sandbags, and they half-toppled onto the two scientists as a deafening crack shattered the Antarctic peace.

"What the hell was that?" Sally asked.

"X-13 absorbs energy. If you put enough energy into it, of the right kind, then it releases some of that absorbed energy, such that it effectively emits more energy than you put into it. But if the X-13 is supplied with sufficient energy – say from an electrical discharge or explosion of great enough magnitude – then the energy release triggered is of sufficient magnitude that in itself it activates a further release, which triggers another, each of greater intensity, until the sample itself is destroyed."

"When you say destroyed…"

"Virtually annihilated. We've never been able, under any conditions, to account for more than thirty percent of the sample's mass in the residue."

"You're suggesting a matter-energy conversion," Sally realised. "But that's…fantastic," she accused. "It can't be done."

"Of course it can't," Stephan scoffed. "I realise that theory was rigorously disproved by the Jewishness of the originator."

"No!" Sally protested. "I mean, theoretically, yes; but in practice it would be impossible."

"Oh, it's possible," Stephan assured her. "I just don't know how; and with the direction of the research here, I probably never will."

"Just think what this could mean," Sally said.

"An effectively limitless source of energy?" Stephan suggested. "If the chain reaction could be regulated somehow. Whole new branches of physics and chemistry. Or rather, I should say, an exciting new opportunity for Der Führer to squander the greater implications of this discovery in his rush to blow holes in bits of the world he hasn't yet blown holes in." He sighed. "And you may quote me when you make your report," he told her.

Sally ached to tell him that she was as fascinated by the peaceful applications of this mineral, and by its theoretical implications, as he was, but Inge Weiss was not an outspoken woman, and she needed to retain her cover a little longer.

The air tense between them, Sally and Stephan shuffled back into the hut. It was good to get out of the cold; even that brief exposure had left Sally's ears quite numb. Her head was still ringing from the detonation, but nevertheless, she heard clearly enough the sound of a stinging slap from section G.

"You whore," a man's voice growled. Stephan froze, rage distorting his features. He started to turn, but Sally moved faster, Inge Weiss dropping away from her as she strode into the cubicle. She entered just in time to see an SS scientist drive a fierce punch into Mia Kawalsky's stomach, doubling her over. The mark of her hand was still livid on the man's face.

"Hey!" Sally called, drawing the man's attention. She was not a violent person by nature, but just now she was livid, and the OSA had given her enough training that she knew how to handle herself. As the man turned, she lifted a knee into his groin, then coldcocked him with a quick punch in the side of the head as he double up. He sprawled limply on the floor of section G.

Mia Kawalsky looked shell-shocked. Her husband looked positively dumbstruck.

"What in God's name is going on here?" Dr von Scherzburg demanded, striding up. She stopped short when she saw the unconscious scientist. "You!" She accused Stephan Kawalsky.

"No," Sally interrupted. "Me."

"You?" Von Scherzburg was incredulous. "Why?"

Sally suspected that violent assault and attempted rape was not going to be construed as an excuse here; not if it had been directed against a Polish Catholic. "I walked in as he was attacking Dr Kawalsky," she explained. "And I thought he was going to attack me as well. I was afraid," she added. Kirchmaus, she reminded herself. Always the kirchmaus.

Irmgard von Scherzburg glowered at Sally with the collective fury of generations of Teutonic aristocracy. "You are fortunate that the Colonel regards you so highly," she hissed. "But you would do well to be careful whose side you choose in any future incidents. A woman is judged by her company, and those who lie down with dogs" – she glared at the Kawalsky's – "will find herself with fleas."

"I wasn't the one planning to 'lie down'," Sally ventured.

For a moment, Sally wondered if she might have gone too far, as von Scherzburg's eyes blazed with anger. In the end however, all the supervising scientists did was turn to two other researchers and whisper: "Get him to the infirmary." Then she shot Sally a final, hateful look, and turned away.

"Thank you," Mia gasped, still a little out of breath.

"It's nothing," Sally demurred.

"Not to me," Mia assured her.

"Or me," Stephan added. "You really didn't have to do that."

"Oh, I really did," Sally promised him.

He smiled. "Well, we're both very grateful," he said. "I'm afraid we've nothing much to offer in return, but we'd be happy if you'd join us for dinner tonight. Perhaps we can discuss the work?"

"That would be lovely," Sally replied.

Both Kawalsky's looked rather taken aback. "It won't be much," Mia admitted. "But if you come by our hut after work…"

"I'll be there," she promised. "You should go to the infirmary," she added, worried.

Mia was still gripping her stomach in pain. "I'll be alright," she said. She caught Sally look of concern, and smiled reassuringly. "Trust me; I'm a doctor."

*

Albert Kreel was showing Duncan the layout of the camp, with Abraham Lang dogging their heels.

"Security seems very loose," Duncan noted.

"Well, there isn't much to guard against," Kreel replied. "If any of the labourers tried to escape they'd freeze before they reach the next Project Ultimate compound, and there's nothing closer. Likewise, no-one could attack us without the sonar posts along the coast detecting their arrival."

"So why the extra personnel?"

"I don't know," Kreel admitted. "Hasn't the Colonel told you?"

"I've hardly spoken to him yet," Duncan replied. "He's been…occupied."

Kreel smiled. "Herr Standartenführer Reiser is determined to secure his legacy while he can."

"I should meet with him however," Duncan agreed. "Junker; go to the Colonel's office immediately and request an appointment to see him tomorrow morning. My runner can finish the tour."

"At once, mein Herr," the boy replied, saluting. "Heil Hitler."

"Heil," Duncan responded. "God, I hate doing that," he told Abraham, as the young officer ran off. "What do you make of that one?" He asked.

"He seems decent enough," Abraham replied. "Although…I'm worried he has designs on my sister."

"I don't think you need to worry about him," Duncan assured the boy. "Which doesn't mean there's nothing to worry about," he added. "So what's in this hut here?" He asked, gesturing to a building that was dark and still, with frost on all the windows. Earlier, he had noticed that Kreel tried to avoid looking at the hut at all.

"That was one of the labourers' dorms," Abraham replied, shivering in his thin coat. "But one night, the heating failed. There were twenty-two men inside, and eight women; by morning all we could see – once we got the door open – was ice. The commandant requested another thirty workers, and the parts for another prefabricated hut. It was cheaper to build a new one than to burn the fuel you would need to thaw the old one out."

"And the labourers?" Duncan asked.

"They're all still inside," Abraham replied, bleakly. "With the ice."

Duncan shuddered. "Have you and Rachael found anyone willing to help yet?" He asked, changing the subject.

"A few," the boy replied. "But most people are too scared. They know that they can't get away from here, so they think if they help you they'll just be left to die."

Duncan could not think of an answer for that which was not dishonest, so he changed the subject again. "What about the dig? What do they actually…dig? Up."

Abraham shrugged. "They don't let us see. As soon as there's a whisper of a find they drag the labourers out of the way. The soldiers dig it up, and take it to one of the finds huts."

"That's those two over there?" Duncan asked, pointing. "How come one of them has one guard, and the other has three."

"That's the special finds hut," Abraham explained. "The things in the normal hut are studied by the scientists here, but the special finds are separated, tagged, crated and shipped back to the Wewelsburg once per month in a special transport. The next one is due in a few days."

"Any idea what counts as special finds?"

"Rachael picks up a few rumours from the mess. I know there are bodies – Aryan spirit warriors, they call them. One of them is said to have had a weapon; the Spear of Destiny they called it."

*

"Magnificent," Mariana purred, running her hand over the engravings on the warrior's armoured chest. He was thawing nicely, and while his meat would stay frozen for hours, the ice had sloughed from his gear already. She traced the bestial features of his helmet; the surface smooth and perfectly preserved after all these years. Her fingertips followed the line of the jaw back to where the helm met the collar, and there they found something.

A tiny stud was raised from the surface of the collar, and it gave slightly under her fingers. Excitedly, Mariana pressed down on the stud, and she gaped in amazement as the helmet slid away from the man's head, the metal seeming to shrink in on itself and vanish into the collar.

Mariana leaned over, eager for her first sight of this Thulian warrior-noble, but she stopped in sudden horror.

"No!" She whispered, defiantly. "It can't be…!"

*

"Incredible, aren't they?" Conrad gushed, guiding Mathias around the finds hut. "This for example." He held up a gold bracelet, set with a large, dark gemstone, for Mathias' approval.

Mathias took the bracelet and studied it, closely. "Pure Egyptian iconography," he noted. "Symbols of Ptah the Artificer, Wepwawet the Opener of the Way and the sun God, Ra."

"Yes," Conrad agreed. "Clearly the badge of rank of an emissary to the lesser races of Egypt, by which they would know one who walked as a god among them!"

"Oh yes; clearly," Mathias agreed, not trusting himself to elaborate.

"And very soon, such tokens will again denote the champions of Thule – men like you, Werner von Karlstein, and women like Mariana – and the lesser races will fall before the might of the Aryan Volk. In the flames of Poland and France is our destiny made manifest."

"Quite."

"Even the Americans recognise our destiny," Conrad went on. "That's why they tried to avoid the war. There's enough Thulian blood to recognise the rightness of our cause in that land."

"If the people of Thule were so great, why'd they end up frozen in the first place?" Mathias asked, unable to restrain the question any longer.

"They were polluted," Conrad replied, bitterly. "By foreign blood and Jewry. By the lies of the black Christ and his church."

"Of course; how silly of me to forget."

"Ethnically and spiritually they were weakened," Conrad went on, becoming increasingly agitated. "Until the race could not withstand their inevitable doom, and the destruction of their civilisation. Imagine it, von Karlstein!" He cried, seizing Mathias around the shoulders and gesturing wildly before him, as though at some great panorama. "A race of pure and proud beauty – each man as fine and handsome as yourself…"

"Uh-huh," Mathias said, trying to wriggle his shoulders out from under Conrad's arm.

"And women as fair as Mariana, brought low by their own kindness to inferior races; by the greatness of their own hearts. Their blood contaminated by that animal stock, it could not be long before they forgot how to be true humans – true Aryans – and became of the same bestial kind as their envious destroyers.

"But those who remained pure went on, either hiding in the Inner Earth or migrating North to found the great Teutonic kingdoms. One by one, these also fell, until Germany was the sole survivor. Germany herself was near to falling," he added. "Before Der Führer came."

"And you know this from…"

"Mariana has seen it," Conrad insisted. "She is a dreamer of true dreams. But she and Herr Kanzler Hitler are not the only visionaries to see this. There are those across the world whose Aryan blood calls to them, eve if they do not truly know it. Even in decadent America, there are those who sympathise with our cause, and understand the true history of the world."

"Really?"

"Yes. I wonder, Herr Doktor von Karlstein, if you have ever read a paper called 'And God Spoke: Cataclysm theory and forgotten history in the archaeological record'?"

"I've…come across it," Mathias admitted, warily.

"Then you know that there are Americans who recognise that the world has denied the Aryan race their true heritage for millennia."

"Of course," Mathias replied, although he really could not remember making any such point when he wrote the paper two years ago.

"This Dr Jackson; he is one of us, if only he would see it," Conrad concluded.

"That's good to know," Mathias agreed, still trying to disengage Conrad's vice-like grip around his shoulders.

The door to the hut opened. "Herr Doktor von Karlstein!"

"Herr Sturmbannführer Bane!" Mathias called out, pulling away from Conrad. "You know my colleague, Herr Doktor Brecht?"

"No," Duncan replied. "I need your opinion on something, Herr Doktor," he told Mathias.

"Great!" Mathias replied. "Let's go then. Dr Brecht; thank you for showing me round. I'm sorry to have kept you from the dig so long."

"No trouble," Conrad assured him. "In fact if you want a second opinion…"

"That's alright thanks," Duncan interrupted. "Really. Dr von Karlstein."

"Thank you," Mathias said. "I'll see you later, Dr Brecht."

"Thank you!" Mathias repeated, with deep feeling. "I was just in the middle of a fascinating exposition of the Nazi views of one Mathias Jackson."

"Really?"

"Yes. I have to look through some of my old papers when I get home, because I don't recall writing anything about manifest destiny. All I said was that by their nature, the great turning points in history are times of upheaval, which thus defy accurate record."

"He's…keen then, Brecht?"

"Pride of the Ahnenerbe," Mathias replied. "You know, I'm not sure who he's more in love with: Mariana Veidt, Der Führer or von Karlstein."

"Or the wise American, Mathias Jackson."

"I feel so vile," Mathias confessed.

"This is the special finds hut," Duncan told Mathias.

"Yes," Mathias replied. "Where they keep the bodies."

"Also," Duncan added. "The Spear of Destiny."

Mathias groaned. "Another one?"

"Well, we'll see. That's why I wanted you along."

Getting into the special finds room proved easier than Mathias had anticipated, because he had forgotten that both Dr von Karlstein and Major Bane were authorised to enter.

"Is Dr Veidt still inside?" Mathias asked at the door.

"No, Herr Doktor," the guard replied, fighting the urge to stamp his feet against the cold. "The Frau Doktor left a few minutes ago. She seemed a little out of sorts." Mathias nodded, and followed Duncan inside.

"I've never got into a Nazi finds hut without being shot at before," Mathias admitted.

"Great isn't it?" Duncan asked.

"I'll say!" Mathias whispered, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the archaeological Aladdin's cave before him.

The special finds room was filled with artefacts, many cast from a material Sally would now have recognised as X-13. There were three long staffs, two bodies – the one Mathias had seen excavated and a second in a hawk-shaped helmet – and a large golden casket, that a strong man might have been able to carry in both hands. A line of crates stood against the back wall, some packed and sealed, others open and waiting.

"A little too much for a Junkers," Duncan mused, thinking about the giant runway and Kreel's mention of 'large planes'.

Mathias first went to examine the staffs. Two were grey, seven feet long, with bulbous tips and a gem set into their flared base. The third was quite different; a caduceus, it was pearl white, and had two carved serpents coiled around it. The staff itself was six feet long – although the serpents head rose a good foot and a half above that – and crowned by a pair of wings and a dextroverse swastika. The two grey staffs were tagged as 'Spear of Destiny?'.

"Well, they're certainly not much like the last one I saw," Mathias said, lifting one down to compare the patterns traced into the surface with the armour on the bodies.

"Somebody got up on the wrong side of the bed," Duncan noted, regarding the monstrous helm with a critical eye.

Mathias smiled. "See if you can get the thing off him," he suggested. "I'm keen to see what our Aryan friend looks like."

Duncan raised an eyebrow, questioningly.

Mathias tapped a decal on the warrior's chest. "This iconography is Aryan – by which I mean it belongs to ancient Persia, India and the Near East – and I wonder if the wearer is too."

"India?" Duncan asked.

Mathias grinned. "The notion of the Aryan race comes from the Prose Edda of Snorri Sturlsson," he explained. "A blatantly euhemeristic attempt to explain the Norse myths in terms of a historical migration of Aryan – Northern Indian and Iranian – people into Northern Europe."

"Does Hitler know that?"

"I doubt he cares. His gauntlet's gone," Mathias noted. "I guess they packed it already."

"Well, I can't seem to find any way to take this hat off," Duncan admitted. "It's like it's welded on, and…Wait! This might be a ca-aaaah-tch!" Duncan leaped away as the helmet slid away from the warrior's face.

"I think I know why Mariana was so upset," Mathias said.

Duncan came back to look. "I see what you mean," he said.

"The preservation here is incredible," Mathias noted. "Even an ice mummy should be desiccated, but this guy is almost fresh."

Duncan went over to the other body, and opened the hawk helmet in the same way. "This one isn't," he reported, closing the helm again. "But it's pretty clear these boys ain't from around here. I've never seen anything like these helmets."

"Me neither; and I've seen some crazy stuff in my time. Some of it while sober."

Duncan smiled. "I wonder what else we've got in here," he said, looking around.

"These designs match the ones on the armour," Mathias noted, examining the so-called Spear of Destiny. "But neither of them matches the designs on the walls at the site at all. The caduceus seems closer to the local architecture, but these belong to an outsider."

"You said India, Near East or Persia," Duncan reminded him.

"Mmm. These look like the symbols for Ahriman; the demiurge."

"Who?"

"He's bad news, in an end of the world way."

"Neat. This looks almost like a storage trunk," Duncan said, examining the casket. "'Ark of the Covenant; question mark'," he read from the label. "Yeah, right."

"Maybe these do belong to a race that destroyed the Aryans," Mathias pondered, moving his hand into a grip halfway up the staff. He felt a stud under his thumb, and pressed it down. The bulbous tip of the staff snapped open, and a blast of light leaped forth to strike the wall.

"What the hell was that?" Duncan demanded.

"If these guys destroyed Thule," Mathias said. "I don't think they had to breed them out."

"We have to destroy this site," Duncan declared. "We can't let the Nazis control something like this."

Mathias sighed. "As an archaeologist I hate it, but you're right," he admitted. "This is just too dangerous."

*

"So what does a medical doctor do on a project like this?" Sally asked Mia. She and Stephan had finished working on the X-13 samples for the day, and she had been forced to declare herself as stumped as he was regarding the source of their energy. Of course, even if she had not been, she would have claimed to be, since adding to the corpus of Nazi science was not in her mission brief, but it was still galling.

"Autopsies," Mia replied. "Sometimes they recover bodies from the site, and – lucky me – I get to examine them."

"To find out what killed them?" Sally asked, uncertainly.

"Most of the bodies are unusual in some way," Mia explained. "They all show remarkable preservation, but they also have strange scars and injuries. Most of them have tattoos on the forehead – although discoloration makes them hard to spot – and a strange incision in their abdomen."

"They were already autopsied?" Sally hazarded.

"No. These cuts were deep, but they were made while they were alive, and there's even some sign of healing. Moreover, in one of the incisions I found the remains of a parasite; some kind of worm," she added, in a conspiratorial whisper.

Sally was unimpressed. "A gut worm is exciting to you?"

"It is when it's a foot and a half long," Mia replied.

Sally gave a low whistle.

"There was also one fellow who was in almost perfect condition, but he was flown back to the Wewelsburg before I have a chance to study him."

"It seems an odd thing to bring you all this way for," Sally admitted.

"Oh, make no mistake," Mia said. "They're just making use of me since I'm on site. Mostly I'm just here to keep Stephan from misbehaving."

"A hostage?"

Mia nodded. "If he doesn't produce results, they cut our rations. He might bear it for himself, but…"

"I'm sorry," Sally said.

"I don't understand why," Mia admitted.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, we heard about you before you got here," Mia told her. "You were supposed to be devoted to the cause, but here you are, trying to protect a Pollack…"

"I just…I'm not…" Sally tried to find some way of explaining herself that would not give her away.

"I'm not complaining," Mia hastened to add. "Now, if you haven't changed your mind…"

"I haven't," Sally promised.

"It's this way then," she said, motioning away from the main science mess and dorms. "Imagine; here we are the lowest of the low, but we get our own little place, all to ourselves."

'Little' was the word for the Kawalsky's hut. Sally got the felling that the prefab might have been designed as an outhouse before being adapted to house a trio of Polish internees.

"So if you're a medical doctor," Sally said. "And Stephan is a physicist, this must be the chemist?"

The young boy looked up from the small stove, and scowled at Sally with poisonous intensity.

"Max!" Mia scolded.

"Why is she here?" The boy demanded, refusing to direct his words to Sally herself. "Don't they have their own food?" Sally had heard children – Max must have been about seven or eight years old – become angry before now, but not like this. This was not selfish petulance, but a hard and righteous fury.

It's the hair, Sally thought. And the eyes. I really was perfect for this mission if the way I look can incite this kind of hatred.

"Inge did a brave thing today," Mia told her son. "She protected me when I was attacked."

"She's alright, Max," Stephan added, concerned. While as grateful as his wife, he was clearly also concerned that anything said in this room might leak back to the commandant.

Sally squirmed, hating the way they looked at her. "Perhaps I should go," she suggested. "I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable."

"No," Mia insisted. "Max," she pleaded.

"I'm sorry," he said, mechanically. His mother frowned. "I'm sorry," he repeated, with a little more feeling, although Sally suspected his apology was intended more for upsetting his mother than for insulting the fair-haired symbol of oppression who had invaded the tiny space that he called home.

Dinner was frugal, and Sally felt about two feet tall when she considered the feast that Colonel Reiser had set before her the previous night. "How do they expect you to work on this?" She had to ask.

"We get by," Stephan said, awkwardly.

Sally set down her spoon. "This…I shouldn't be here," she said.

"Eat," Mia told her. "You are our guest."

"Isn't it good enough for you?" Max taunted.

"It's fine," Sally replied. "I just don't feel right…" She averted her eyes, ashamed of who she was pretending to be.

"Please," Max said, his voice softening. "Eat."

*

Mathias pushed a slice of pork around his plate, his appetite completely gone as he stared at his notepad disconsolately.

"Not hungry?" Mariana asked. Mathias pushed his plate wordlessly towards her, and she pounced on the meat, wolfing it down as though she had not eaten in days. "Mmm," she moaned. "This is so good."

"Hm," Mathias agreed, half-heartedly, wondering what Sally and the Kawalskys would be eating.

"You seem out of sorts, Doktor von Karlstein," Conrad noted.

Mathias shrugged. "Probably the cold," he said. "I'm not used to it. I'm sure I'll be fine in a few days."

"Poor lamb," Mariana said. "Perhaps you might be better with something to engage your interest," she suggested, glancing at Conrad. "Connie and I are celebrating an ancient rite tonight," she said. "On the dig site; perhaps you should attend."

"Mariana!" Conrad sounded shocked. "You know that he must be consecrated first, and that can not be done for at least a week. You yourself divined these rules in your dreams! I am sorry," he added, turning to Mathias. "But you understand…"

"Absolutely," Mathias assured them. "Besides, I think I should have more time to adjust to the cold."

Mariana frowned. "Very well, Werner my beloved," she said. "I shall see you afterwards."

"I can hardly wait," he lied.

On quiet feet, Mathias crept into the storeroom. It was cold, but compared to the air outside, positively tropical. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could make out two other forms huddling among the barrels of pork.

"Well, you took your time," Duncan complained.

"Sorry," Mathias replied.

"Have trouble shaking the witch?" Sally asked, not without sympathy.

"Not really," Mathias admitted. "She and Dr Brecht went off to perform some kind of ritual, but I had to wait for them to clear out. Neither of them seemed about to take their eyes off me; it's creepy."

"My heart bleeds for you, really," Duncan said. "But we don't have much time before my batman notices I'm gone, so let's hear what you've got."

"Well, most of it you know. They're looking for a portal to the Inner Earth so that the lost race of Thule can come back and help them rule the world. Now, I don't think they'll find what they're looking for, but there's something in that ice. A ring, maybe even a portal; something like that. I don't really know what, but I just feel that it would be bad for the Nazis to uncover it."

"It could be a weapon," Sally suggested. "Most of the technology here seems to involve energy focusing, using this 'X-13' mineral. This might be the only source of it there is."

"Well, whatever the ring is," Mathias said. "It's not good. I've been doing some translation work with the few intact inscriptions, based on Dr Brecht's work, and I think he's got some of them wrong."

"How so?" Duncan asked.

"Well, the script is almost Egyptian," Mathias said. "But the language uses a very different grammatical structure. Now, Dr Brecht has translated a certain passage as 'through the door we shall flee from destruction', which he takes to be a reference to the exodus in Mariana's dreams."

"Right," Duncan said. "And?"

"Well, looking at some of the other passages, I can't help thinking that he's deliberately mistranslated to get the meaning he wants. Contextually, the word he has as 'to go through' should be 'to emerge from', and the grammar doesn't match with anything else. I think it should read: 'From the Gate shall emerge the destruction that we flee'."

"So you think the Thulians were destroyed by something that came through the 'portal'?" Sally asked.

"Actually, no," Mathias admitted. "I also think that Brecht is ignoring the context of the writing itself. These passages are almost scrawled into the stone over a text I can't begin to decipher yet; I think they post-date the fall of Ultima Thule by millennia. I think that after the city fell, someone came here and left a warning, that destruction was following them."

"Through the portal?" Sally asked.

"What kind of destruction?" Duncan asked.

"At a guess? Ahriman."

*

The dig site was warmed by large, gas-fired space heaters, but it was barely enough to melt a thin sheen of water on the surface of the surrounding glacier. A small altar had been prepared at the centre of the cavern, lit from behind by electric lamps. Conrad Brecht stood waiting at this altar, his woollen greatcoat wrapped over his ceremonial robes. A sacred knife, consecrated at the Wewelsburg by the High Priest himself, Heinrich Himmler, lay on the altar, waiting the coming of the sacrifice.

A sacrifice that was overdue by some twenty minutes.

Conrad shivered, despite the heaters and the thickness of his coat and robe. The days in this place were bad enough, but at night it got so cold that he could hardly breathe. If not for the necessity of timing the rites correctly he would not be out here at all, which made him even more angry that Mariana's tardiness was holding up the ceremony. She was the one whose dreams determined these times after all.

"Connie."

Conrad looked up, and saw Mariana approaching from the cavern entrance. "Where have you been?" He demanded. "And where is the girl?"

"Girl?" Mariana asked.

"The sacrifice," he reminded her. "The one you chose." Mariana sashayed into the light, her long leather coat hanging open, and Conrad saw that she was dressed in her black SS uniform. "Where are your robes?"

"Those silly things?" Mariana asked. "I would feel ridiculous."

"How dare you!?" Conrad fumed. "These robes are patterned after the memories of Heinrich I, locked in the mind of Der Reichsführer SS! You dare to contradict him."

"Apparently so," Mariana assured him, stepping around the altar.

Conrad was incensed, and threw a sharp slap across the woman's face. The action would have surprised most people at the base, who saw Conrad Brecht as a nervous sycophant, but his meek façade was merely a disguise for his true nature, and his true role here as an observer for the Reichsführer himself. Mariana looked up at him, her face barely registering the blow.

"Ignorant whore!" He snarled. "You would be nothing if Herr Himmler had not seen the power in you, and raised you up."

"Herr Himmler would not know true power if it smote him where he stood," Mariana replied, disdainfully.

Conrad slapped her again, and again she barely seemed to notice, simply turning back to him with cold, mocking eyes. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of her mouth, and she raised a hand to wipe it away. "Little man," she said. "Hiding your fear behind a mask of strength, that you hide behind a mask of fear."

"Shut up!" Conrad commanded, striking her again. "I am high in the favour of Der Führer, and you will not mock me."

"I'm not surprised you are in his favour," Mariana replied. "Your Führer is the same as you; a little man trying to seem great by crushing the weak." Conrad swung for her a fourth time, but Mariana raised her right hand and caught his arm in a vice-like grip. "He is right of course, that power comes from fear, but his vision and ambition are as small as he is."

"How dare you…" Conrad broke off and gasped in pain as Mariana twisted his arm.

"Let me show you power," she said, tugging aside his robe and laying her left palm flat on his chest. He caught his breath as the chill air hit his skin, but her hand seemed even colder. He realised that her fingertips were sheathed in metal.

"That gauntlet," he gasped. "You stole it from the Thulian captain."

"That 'Thulian Captain' was black," Mariana mocked, a weird change coming over her voice. Perhaps it was because her hand was all but frozen to his diaphragm, but there was a strange sonority to her speech.

"You lie," he said, refusing to accept her words. His body was trembling uncontrollably, more from fear than the cold.

"She could not believe it either," Mariana replied. "But it is true."

"She?"

"Mariana Veidt," Mariana said.

"But…"

She laughed, coldly. "Mariana Veidt is dead," she assured him. Then her eyes were lit from within by a brilliant white fire. "I am Ahriman, and you will have the honour to be the first."

Conrad shook with terror. "The first what?"

"The first to die," she said, and then she ripped his heart in two.

*

"So the Nazis are on the verge of digging up some serious black mojo here," Duncan said. "And what they're getting already has the potential to have a heavy impact on the war."

"So what do we do?" Mathias asked.

"Our jobs," he replied. "Sally; if you can we need to get one of those devices of Kawalsky's; we need to blast this site and bury what remains. Dr Jackson; you'll have to put that in place."

"What about you?" Sally asked.

"I need to eliminate what they already have. Blow up the special finds hut, destroy their records and liquidate Kawalsky."

"What!"

"Those are my orders, Dr Carter," Duncan insisted, although he did not seem happy about them. "If Kawalsky is collaborating, he's got to die."

"Duncan…he's being coerced, you can't…"

"I have to," Duncan insisted. "What if we do destroy the site, but they take Kawalsky back and have him make a really big bomb, huh? They've still got his family, he can still be coerced. I can't take that chance. Or do you want the Nazis marching into the US? How far will your principles get you when an X-13 device burns down Chicago and incinerates Jacob?"

"That's not fair," Sally accused. Duncan clearly knew it, but his face remained set.

"What about the workers?" Mathias asked.

"They knew this was a death sentence," Duncan replied, angrily. "I don't like it, but there it is. We've got one window to escape; the special transport in two days time. I'll try to spy out its schedule in the morning, and…"

"You said the transport would be huge," Mathias said.

"Don't worry; I can fly it."

"But if it's that big, we can take the workers with us," Mathias suggested.

"And the Kawalskys," Sally added. "Unless you can really tell me you're happy with the idea of signing an eight year old boy's death warrant." She stared him straight in the face, challenging him to overrule her.

"Plus, who better to make a larger X-13 bomb to take out the site," Mathias said.

Duncan sighed. "Okay," he said. "I'll talk to Arrow and see what we can arrange." He did his best to sound reluctant, but was clearly relieved to be given another option.

"Thanks, Duncan," Sally said.

"Aww. Get back before you're missed you two; and don't ever tell anyone I did this."

Mathias arrived back in Das Geisterhaus and slipped to his room without being spotted. Moments after he had settled himself, the door opened again and Mariana slid under the covers beside him.

"I hope your evening was not too boring," she said.

"Fairly tedious," he replied, nonchalantly.

"Well," she whispered, ardently. "Let's see what we can do about that."

"You're very…amorous tonight," he commented.

"I'm just thrilled to be alive," she assured him, then kissed him hard.

*

Mathias got up late in the morning, and still felt pretty much exhausted. He had found Mariana's intensity disturbing the first time around, but that was as nothing to the previous night. He found his hands were shaking, and not just from cold or fatigue. He stumbled into the mess hall and scrounged some leftover breakfast from the cooks, who were already starting on lunch. As the night before, his appetite was fairly limited, but he forced himself to eat.

As he was finishing, Sally entered, looking almost as bad as Mathias felt.

"Rough night?" He asked.

"Rough morning," she replied, sitting down and placing a bag beside his chair. "You haven't heard?"

"Heard what?"

"Herr Sturmbannführer Bane has been arrested for murder."

It took Mathias a few moments to remember who Herr Sturmbannführer Bane really was, at which point his eyes widened in horror. "The Kawalskys?" He asked, in a whisper.

"No. Dr Brecht."

"Connie?"

"He was found on the site," Sally told him. "His heart…burned out."

"So what do we do?" Mathias asked.

"I've got the bomb," she said, motioning towards the bag. "Once we know the timing of the flight you just need to set the timer and plant that in the cavern."

"Anywhere in particular?"

"Anywhere should do," Sally promised. "There's a second device for the special finds hut. Hide them in your room. I'll speak to Duncan and see if I can find out about the timing; he's being held in the administrative hut."

"That's where the commandant's quarters are?"

Sally nodded. "That's right. After I speak to Duncan, I need to try and locate Arrow, to organise things with the labourers."

"Alright," Mathias agreed. "But you be careful."

"Always," she promised.

*

Duncan O'Neill paced in the small cell like a caged animal, tense, angry and nervous. He was angry because he had been dragged out of bed and locked in a cell with very little explanation, and nervous because he did not know if his team had been compromised. These two factors combined to make him tense.

The guard opened the door and held it wide. "I can give you five minutes, Frau Doktor; no more," the man said.

"Thank you," Sally said, in a heartfelt tone. She entered, and the guard closed the door behind her.

"What are you doing here?" Duncan demanded. "You're taking an awful risk…"

"Shh," Sally hissed. "We don't have time. Tell me what you found out about the transport."

"Nothing," he replied. "Those files are only kept in Reiser's office."

Sally swore, softly. "We need to know the rough timetable or we won't be able to escape; let alone spring you."

"Don't bother," Duncan told her. "Just make sure I'm dead before you leave."

Sally snorted. "Yeah, right," she said. "And don't give me any of that orders talk; we're getting you out, and we're making our getaway, and that's that. Now, tell me how to contact Arrow."

"Sally…"

"Duncan." She fixed him with a determined stare.

"Arrow's name is Rachael Lang," he said, reluctantly. "She sixteen and she works in the officers mess kitchen. I told her the team codename, so give her that and she should trust you."

"Alright," Sally said. "Now you just sit tight and we'll have you out of here in no time."

"Be careful," he warned her. "If I've been arrested, you might be suspect too."

Sally nodded. "Everyone wants me to be careful," she said, smiling wanly. "Just be sure to practice what you preach."

"I will," he promised. "So what are you going to do now?"

Sally grimaced. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to make a few…sacrifices."

*

"Viktor!"

Standartenführer Reiser turned in the doorway of his office. "Inge?"

Sally stumbled up to the Colonel, teary-eyed. "Are you angry with me?" She asked.

"Why would I be angry with you, dear Inge?" Reiser replied, taking her gently by the shoulders. "Who has been filling your head with such rubbish?"

"Well, you were so sweet the first night I was here," Sally said, coyly. "But you've hardly spoken to me since, and now you have imprisoned my friend, Wolfgang. Are you punishing me for something?"

"Punishing you?" Reiser stepped towards her, closing to an unmistakably intimate distance. "Not at all, Inge. I did not know you and the Major were friends?"

"Not close," she admitted. "But he and Dr von Karlstein were the only people here that I knew. Now Werner is always with Mariana Veidt…" Except right now, Sally added to herself. When he is sneaking into your office to go through your private files.

"Inge," Reiser said, softly, stroking her neck with the back of his hand