A Scion is Born: Nimrod Twice Born, #3

By Lyn Pickering

In 1937, a bizarre ritual is carried out by Himmler’s Knights of the Black Order as the bones of 
Heinrich I are disinterred. At midnight on the anniversary of Heinrich’s death, Himmler worships the king in the crypt of St Servatius. Six years later Himmler carries out human sacrifice in his final desecration of Quedlinburg Cathedral.

René de Bar is picked up by the Gestapo on the streets of Paris and taken to Himmler’s castle at Wewelsburg. What transpires is probably one of the strangest interactions in history as Himmler uses the epic poem of the Parzival to draw his prisoner into an unholy alliance.

The real Templar treasure is discovered under the foundations of the Temple Mount at the time of the Crusades but final control over the Holy Land can only be achieved when all the relics are brought together. The Knights Templar find an extension of their brotherhood in an unexpected place and a covenant formed in hell is formed, under the headship of Baphomet, the Father of Wisdom.

The pieces come together; there is cross and double-cross as Himmler seeks to fortify his position as the war ends. For all involved, the Templar treasure is the coveted prize, but there is a condition attached to its seizure.

Lyn J Pickering melds together the dropped fragments of historical evidence to conclude this riveting historical conspiracy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lyn Pickering
• Release date: Dec 28, 2015
• ISBN: 9781524240509

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© Lyn J Pickering 2014

All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system, in any form or by any means, without permission of the Copyright owner.

Forest of Lebanon Publications

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Published by Lyn J Pickering

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ISBN: 978-0-9946651-1-9

To my father – a soldier

Close your hearts to pity! Act brutally! Eighty million people must obtain what is their right…The stronger man is right…Be harsh and remorseless! Be steeled against all signs of compassion…Whoever has pondered over this world order knows that its meaning lies in the success of the best by means of force…"

Adolf Hitler

Although they may pierce you

Fight, resist, stand by

You yourself may perish

But keep the banner high.

Others may win the victory

When you’re laid to rest

And shall gain the glory

To which you aspired.

Heinrich Himmler

Character List – in order of appearance

Chapter 1

The Emperor Justinian of Constantinople had sent his own engineers to Edessa, which had become part of the Byzantine Empire, to aid in the reconstruction of the city after the flood, and it was while repairs were made to the city’s walls that the Mandylion was rediscovered. It had been bricked into a niche under a tile made in the image of the shroud’s visage. A lamp had been set with these objects, after the manner of the Jews for the burial of their dead. The year of the discovery was 544AD; a portentous year in world history, said to mark a time when, once every seven hundred years, the earth’s treasures surface.

The letter purporting to have come from Jesus himself had been carefully preserved in the city’s archives, held by Edessa as a talisman of protection. Now, the citizens shifted their trust once again to the image made without hands. A domed cathedral was built to house the Mandylion, a Hagia Sophia built of stone and surrounded by water, beautiful to the eye and intricately decorated within with mosaics.

Exalted are the mysteries of this shrine, a hymn exclaimed, …it contains the very essence of God.

In Constantinople, Justin II who, despite the conflict between the Monophysites and Orthodox believers with regard to the formation of religious images, called for the creation of a dominant figure of Christ enthroned to be set above the imperial throne. The face was executed in the likeness of the Mandylion. Papal legate to the court of Constantinople during the reign of Tiberius II, Justin’s successor, was the man who would later become Pope Gregory the Great. He was intrigued and excited by what he saw and, during his stay in the city, commissioned the painting of a similar icon to take back with him to Rome.

In the early part of the 940’s, Byzantine Emperor Romanus Lecapenus ordered an incursion into what had again become Muslim territory. His aim was to seize the Mandylion, the image of images, and bring it to Constantinople.

Thus, on a spring day in 943, the Byzantine army under the command of General John Curcuas encamped outside the walls of Edessa and emissaries were sent on horseback to make their terms known to the emir.

Edessa will be spared, they proclaimed, and two hundred high-ranking Muslim prisoners released. Furthermore, we will pay twelve thousand silver crowns and the city of Edessa will be given perpetual immunity from attack by the emperor.

The emir listened in silence. He was fully aware that Curcuas’ campaigns had already caused the fall of other Muslim cities and Edessa was vulnerable to attack.

What are you seeking in return? he asked.

Just one thing. The Christian community is in possession of a religious icon known as the Mandylion. The emperor requests that it should be moved to Constantinople.

The emir shook his head despairingly. Allow me time to negotiate, he said. Meeting your request will not be easy. There will be strong opposition from the Christians who revere this image and gain much trade from pilgrimages to Edessa.

We will wait, the emissary said and they mounted their horses and rode out of the city gates.

Riders were dispatched to Baghdad and the problem was debated at length by the Caliphate. John Curcuas kept his men occupied with minor incursions into neighbouring territories until eventually word was received from Baghdad.

Give them what they want and let the prisoners be released.

Curcuas had brought in Abraham, the bishop of the neighbouring town of Samosata, to identify and receive the Mandylion; one of the few men who had seen the genuine image. It soon became apparent that his expertise was essential as two separate attempts were made to pass off copies, but despite a running battle between the forces of the emir and the city’s Christians, the true Mandylion was taken. General John Curcuas signalled his men to break camp and turned his steed towards Constantinople.

Chapter 2

That bastard Himmler killed him, I know he did! Lina Heydrich screamed. Her fists beat at the chest of the SS-Sturmbannführer who had brought her the news. He tried with some embarrassment to restrain her.

I’m afraid you don’t understand, Frau Heydrich, he assured her. Your husband was murdered by Czech agents. The Reichsführer had nothing to do with it.

Lina threw back her head and laughed hysterically. You obviously don’t know our Reichsführer! Her eyes were wild, shifting as though in the grip of a fever. He has powers behind him, he’s capable of anything! She began to weep again, a ragged horrible sound.

He was very badly injured by the grenade, the Major replied awkwardly. Everything possible was done to save him.

You just don’t understand, do you? She gripped desperately at his arm. Heinrich Himmler is afraid of Reinhard, because he knows his position as Reichsführer-SS is built on my husband’s brains and abilities. Without Reinhard, Himmler is nothing! Himmler has always lived in his shadow! Her mood changed abruptly and she smiled a small wistful smile. He never missed an opportunity to excel, she said. Did you know he was head of the Central Security Department, Chief of Security Police and the Gestapo as well as President of the International Criminal Police Organisation, with thirty-three countries under his control?

Obergruppenführer Heydrich was a remarkable man, the major agreed obediently, relieved to find himself on more comfortable ground."

Unexpectedly she laughed and, loosening her grip on the Major’s arm she walked towards the window.

It was most amusing when Reinhard detailed himself for action in the Luftwaffe. You should have seen Himmler’s face when he realised he’d been sent on a mission over England. You could just see him trying to imagine whether he’d hold out under torture!

The major smiled. I believe he was officially grounded after that.

She nodded. And he would have been court-martialled for insubordination later, if he hadn’t been awarded those decorations for bravery when his plane was shot down behind Russian lines! He had continued flying under an assumed name, but that finally blew his cover! At least it meant they got him out fast when they realised what had happened!

She swung round to face him and her expression was bright, almost brittle.

The Führer would never have known a thing about it if it hadn’t been for those damned decorations. He has an eye for those sorts of details! You know of course that Reinhard was given the silver bar for combat missions and the Iron Cross, First Class? Heinrich Himmler was downright jealous of his achievements, especially the sporting achievements. We all know it took Himmler months of practice before he could even attempt the Reich Sport Badge. Even then the officials had to pretend he’d passed to shield him from further embarrassment. She was pacing the room restlessly. Himmler did it, she muttered. I just know he did it!

The Sturmbannführer’s shoulders straightened. Frau Heydrich, I assure you, the Reichsführer couldn’t have had anything to do with your husband’s death. He was in Germany…

Lina’s chin tilted defiantly. My husband was transferred to Czechoslovakia at a time when he constituted the greatest threat to Heinrich Himmler! she ground out. Nevertheless, Reinhard was doing an excellent job here and Herr Hitler was well pleased. That wouldn’t have suited our Reichsführer-SS at all, would it? Her expression darkened again. When they hit the car last week, she said, he leapt out, shooting like some Wild West hero. He didn’t even appear to be hurt. Klein, his driver, didn’t realise he’d been hit.

I’m sure that was how your husband would have chosen to die, the major offered. He was a tough man, a man of polished steel, and he died the way he lived, a hero.

Lina’s expression softened, but only for a moment.

No! she contradicted sharply, you’re wrong. He lived a hero’s life, but he died a fool’s death, weakening slowly on a hospital bed. That’s not what he would have chosen. He wasn’t even killed by the grenade, which would have been a noble death; he was killed slowly by the car’s upholstery springs, and by some dark curse Heinrich Himmler placed on his life.

She threw herself at the major, weeping bitterly, her fingers biting into his arms. He took her by the wrists gently and stepped back.

The doctor will be here in just a moment, he said awkwardly. I’ll call one of the women to stay with you. He eased his collar with one finger as he retreated hastily from the room. Behind him, Lina collapsed onto the sofa, like a marionette whose strings have been suddenly slashed.

The transfer of Reinhard Heydrich to Czechoslovakia had indeed come at the most opportune moment for Heinrich Himmler. For years Heydrich had used every tactic within his means to wrest control of the concentration camps from him; instruments of terror that were a vital key to ultimate power in the Reich. What had begun to take place between the two men was a life and death struggle, always played out beneath a façade of pleasantries. Sooner or later the strongest must win.

On 27th May, 1942, immediately after Reinhard Heydrich was fatally wounded by two Czech patriots who had been parachuted into German-occupied Czechoslovakia from Britain, SS General Odilo Globocnik began preparations for ‘Operation Reinhard’ with the deportation of Jews to the death camps. In a reprisal action in Czechoslovakia, 199 men and boys were murdered in the mining village of Lidice and the village was razed to the ground. On the day of this massacre, thirty Jews were driven from Theresienstadt to the ruins of Lidice and were compelled at gun point to work for thirty-six hours without a break to bury the dead.

Such a tragic affair! Himmler confessed to Felix Kersten. He was lying on his back on the high, white-sheeted bed while the capable fingers of his masseuse gently manipulated his stomach.

Tragic, Herr Reichsführer, he agreed.

At the funeral, the Führer referred to him as the ‘man with the iron heart’. I thought that was an apt description of Heydrich. His eyelids were closed and Kersten thought he had not seen the Reichsführer look so relaxed in a long time.

There’s no doubt he was tough, he agreed cautiously.

On the surface, yes. A very tough character. But underneath, like all men of divided race, there was a deep-seated unhappiness that nothing could eradicate.

You are saying that Obergruppenführer Heydrich was of mixed blood? Kersten asked, astounded.

Certainly! Himmler gave a small definite nod.

There were rumours of course, which were very persistent as he gained power. But he sued for racial slander?

Himmler’s eyes flickered and closed again. As head of SD, he had no trouble in dismissing any accusations of that sort, but they were not without foundation. Both the Führer and I were well aware of the situation, right from the early days. Checks had been done of course, and we were in possession of documented evidence. I, myself, felt it would have been correct to have expelled him, but the Führer was of the opinion that the Party could make good use of his exceptional talents. He was aware that Heydrich was highly gifted, but also a dangerous man. Because of the deep bitterness he felt for the trick fate had played on him, he was the ideal man to use against the Jews. In that sense, he was truly ‘a man with a heart of iron’. Almost without conscience! He never showed mercy or pity in any of his dealings. So, it turned out, of course, that the Führer’s instincts about him were right.

Felix Kersten drew his strong hands in smooth strokes from just below Himmler’s ribcage, down towards his lower abdomen. Kersten’s face was rounded, almost indistinct from the neck that bulged uncomfortably above a tight collar. His mouth was small and earnest, and his eyes, beneath the long forehead, were bewildered and self-effacing. But Kersten was raised to a position above mortal men by his remarkable powers of healing.

So, his death will be a blow to the Reich? Kersten spoke lightly, but his words probed and dug even as his hands did.

Himmler’s mouth hardened perceptibly. He was always a great help to me in my work, but I managed without him once the Führer had him transferred. He was silent for a moment and then he opened his eyes and looked directly as his masseuse. It was as if some dark fate snatched him away at the zenith of his power, he said. Very tragic! He shook his head and closed his eyes once more. You know Kersten, it made me feel quite strange walking behind the coffin at the funeral, holding the hands of those young mongrels of his.

I can imagine.

In my eulogy, I felt it my duty to leave the impression that his bloodline was clear for the sake of the family. I think my words were: As he has continued the line of his ancestors and done them nothing but honour, so he will live on with all his qualities, noble, decent and clean in his sons, who are inheritors of his blood and his name. He looked to Kersten for approval and was rewarded with a congratulatory smile.

I understand the funeral was an impressive affair?

A fitting tribute to a man of his calibre, Himmler said as he sat up. I feel his wife must have been entirely satisfied with the way it was conducted.

Kersten glanced at the Reichsführer as he began to dress himself and thought of the rumours that circulated about his background. By all accounts, Heydrich was not alone in the impurity of his ancestral line.

Chapter 3

Chaim Freiberg brought the news of Gabriele’s release even before her postcard was delivered into Michael’s hands.

Your girl’s out, Segal! he told him triumphantly.

What do you mean?

Do I need to spell it out for you? I mean Gabriele Hoch has been released.

Michael sat down suddenly and gazed wordlessly out over the lake.

Are you alright, old chap? Freiberg asked, sounding concerned. You’re not going to have a collapse or anything like that are you? Look, I’ve got champagne on ice here. This is deserving of a celebration.

How the hell did you do it?

Put a bit of pressure on the Reichsführer-SS!

Michael laughed. No, seriously, Chaim.

I am serious. Let’s open the bubbly. He nodded in the direction of a waiter who opened the bottle and filled their glasses.

It was surprisingly simple, Freiberg said and once the waiter had withdrawn he recounted his meeting with Felix Kersten.

Michael Segal shook his head in amazement.

You’re a wonder! Gabriele and I are forever in your debt.

In that case I’ll expect an invitation to the wedding, Freiberg said, failing miserably in an attempt to appear humbled. Look, I’d better order something to eat with the champagne if you want to walk out of here later.

Lunch at the Beau Rivage was becoming something of an institution. Chaim had been in town for almost two weeks and they had discussed the book on several different occasions over the hotel’s superb meals. This time, when they finally got down to business, it was with more hilarity than usual. Michael was feeling more liberated than at any time since his crossing from Germany and he realised how deeply he had felt Gabriele’s incarceration. He set his thoughts of her aside reluctantly and attempted to give Chaim Freiberg his full attention.

Paul Vignon’s book, written in 1902, was the obvious starting place as he undoubtedly had laid the groundwork of any serious study of the shroud. Michael had focused his attention on both the book and a subsequent lecture by Sorbonne’s professor of comparative anatomy who had worked with Vignon.

As an agnostic, his talk was particularly convincing, Segal admitted. He was certain the wounds represented on the shroud were anatomically flawless and that there was no trace of known pigment on the fabric.

And he also demonstrated the senselessness and difficulty of anyone working in the negative, Chaim reminded