The Secret of Bertrand De Saint Genies

By Mauro Tonino

Un'arma segreta può cambiare il corso della guerra e della storia? Himmler ne è convinto, tanto da incaricare il miglior esperto di storia antica per la ricerca di una reliquia che prende origine nella notte dei tempi. Esiste veramente o è solo un'antica leggenda? L'avventurosa ricerca in Europa in fiamme porta l'archeologo a ripercorrere a ritroso la storia e i luoghi, a mettere a repentaglio la propria vita come a fare incontri inaspettati. Nell'ombra però qualcuno cerca di proteggere il prezioso cimelio, ma un dilemma attanaglia Heinrich von Schuster per tutto il tempo dell'indagine: è giusto riporlo nelle mani del Terzo Reich?

Can a secret weapon change the course of war and history? Himmler is convinced of this, so much that he commissions the best expert in ancient history to search for a relic that originates in the mists of time. Does it exist or is it just an ancient legend? The adventurous search in burning Europe leads the archaeologist to go back over history and places, risk his own life, and make unexpected encounters. In the shadows, however, someone tries to protect the precious relic, but a dilemma grips Heinrich von Schuster throughout the investigation: is it right to hand it over to the Third Reich?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tektime
• Release date: May 28, 2024
• ISBN: 9788835466598

Book preview

Mauro Tonino

The secret of

Bertrand de Saint Geniès

NOVEL

MEA EDITIONS

The assignment

Berlin, spring 1943.

Heinrich got up from the table to approach the window, the fogged-up glass barely allowing a glimpse of the road, whitewashed by a late snowfall.

Below, in that muffled ambience that only snow could create, cars silently glided by, a few rare trucks, few people braving the bad weather, just a few soldiers locked in their coats, indifferent to whether the day was grey or sunny. The soldiers lived in another dimension, the dimension of war.

He gazed at the roofs of the buildings, the once glitzy and powerful Berlin seemed to him to be gloomy, as if foreboding a grim fate.

He looked at his uniform, he too had eventually been pressed by the fate that united all male members of the family.

For centuries, the Von Schuster family had flanked commanders and emperors on the battlefields, the last one, his father, a glorious army general, would have wanted a military career for him too.

Contrary to expectations, one evening in front of the fireplace he announced his intentions, he was going to be an archaeologist. He saw in his parent's face a look of disappointment, which he immediately concealed, after all, in front of him was a father, not the general, who in the end blessed his choice of life: Heinrich, if this is your path, follow it to the end, then they embraced.

While wearing the uniform he continued to carry out an activity akin to his profession, he was responsible for protecting the country's most important works of art.

Almost a Sisyphean task, what he repaired or reconstructed, the RAF bombers then relentlessly devastated. Despite this, he felt he was doing something important for Germany, so that the children of this land would be left with their historical heritage intact for future memory.

Called to arms, he could not escape. A Von Schuster could never have said no to the call of the fatherland, but he was nostalgic for his job as a university lecturer, he missed travelling to the most remote and fascinating places in search of lost civilisations.

His former friends, French and British archaeologists, were also wearing uniforms at the time, but those of the opposing camp.

Filing his memories, he turned back to his desk, swamped by papers, for his assignment had little of a warlike nature.

What madness war is! he commented in a low voice.

He looked at his uniform again, at his rank, and considered, And I, a major in the Wehrmacht, ha!

He approached the window again; a group of kids were chasing each other in the middle of the street throwing snowballs at each other. The scene was enough to improve the mood.

As soon as the youngsters disappeared from his sight, he turned to observe the room, bright and well heated, being reserved for an officer, but anonymous as befitted a ministerial office.

In that environment, the smell of paper predominated over everything.

The only things that gave the place a sense of familiarity were an ancient Roman amphora in the corner, a memento of an archaeological expedition, and some framed pictures on the walls.

The pictures depicted him in exotic places among the ruins of ancient civilisations, or in a classroom with smiling students. Looking at those carefree faces, he wondered, Will they be able to be again?, and above all, If still alive, on which front will they be busy sowing death or defending their lives?

He missed the time for studies, reading his favourite books, the spacious halls of the university filled with young people full of life and as exuberant as one can be at that age.

A firm knock on the door brought him back to the present, he ran a hand through his thick blond hair and turned towards the entrance. From the touch it was easy for him to guess who it was.

Erwin, come in, he said.

A tall, burly man, also in army uniform, entered and stopped just over the threshold.

In a respectful, but vaguely confidential tone, he pronounced, Over there is Standartenführer Gottling, who is in a devil of a hurry to meet you.

He's just an SS colonel, he retorted without enthusiasm.

Give him a little anteroom, then in about ten minutes you'll let him in, Heinrich added with a smile.

Erwin reciprocated the chuckle, anticipating the minutes of suffering inflicted on the impetuous officer, then turned on his heel and closed the door behind him.

What the hell would one of Himmler's most trusted men want with me, ah! he commented, furrowing his brow. The arrival of an SS man was never the bearer of good news.

He had never sympathised with those people, although at first Himmler's mania for ancient myths had intrigued him, but then the hierarch had made no secret of the fact that he considered the Templars and the Teutonic Knights to be forerunners of the SS, and at that point he had begun to have doubts.

A few of Heinrich's colleagues, with the intention of gaining a quick career, had indulged the powerful Nazi leader's morbid fascination with all things esoteric and occult.

He had smiled at the news of the archaeological expedition to Tibet in search of the mythical homeland of the Aryans¹.

He too had been invited to participate but had declined the invitation with an excuse. The trip, although without any historical basis, might have been interesting as he had never visited those places before, but the presence of his colleague Georg Schultz was sufficient motivation to stay at home.

He had never been able to suffer that treacherous man. Just the thought of having him by his side for weeks on an unlikely adventure put him in a bad mood.

His thoughts bounced from memories to current events, finally focusing on the important and unwelcome visitor. He could have received him at once, but a thin, perverse veil had permeated his mood from the early morning, so he decided to make him wait a little longer, to let him stew.

He sat down comfortably in the armchair, not before repositioning the chair on which he would place the unwelcome guest. He carefully studied the angle, so that the latter would be in an uncomfortable, hence inferior, position.

He opened the drawer and took out a book, Of the Origin by Heraclitus, flipped through it at random, as he knew it by heart.

Heinrich loved the Greek classics The fathers of modern thought! he declared, almost as if he wanted to emphasise his thought with his voice And this rabble of barbarians, who have held Germany under an obscurantist grip for a decade, are trying to erase their memory!

The watershed that had precluded any possible relationship with the Schutzstaffeln had been the burning of books, an inadmissible sacrilege for a man of culture like him.

He gently brought the book to his face to smell the pleasant scent emanating from the antique paper, then brushed his fingers over the yellowed pages of the volume that he had personally edited and restored. That had been the first classic given to him by his grandfather, also a Prussian army general who had distinguished himself valiantly in previous military campaigns.

Rereading from memory thoughts developed thousands of years earlier was for Heinrich a pleasure greater than any other intellectual activity.

Completely engrossed in his reading, he did not realise how much time had elapsed, he looked at his watch, almost half an hour had passed, and smiled as he thought of the glowering SS sitting in the antechamber.

The wait had lasted far too long, it would not have been healthy to prove uncooperative with 'the masters' of the moment, so he called the attendant on the phone, inviting him to let Himmler's emissary through.

Erwin knocked, then entered without waiting for an answer, finally standing sideways at attention to let Colonel Gottling through.

TheSS man advanced decisively into the room to stop only in front of the desk.

Heinrich placed a file he had picked up at random on the table, just to give the impression that he was engaged in some important matter.

He looked up at the officer, observed the shiny boots, the uniform, which was impeccable, but the dark colour, the insignia and the skull on the cap gave off a sinister aura.

His appearance also presented unassuming contours; the man was tall, thin, his facial features angular, his nose aquiline and his hair a dull blond colour.

His eyes were grey, cold, and piercing, and he looked wary of the long anteroom.

Please take a seat, Colonel, he proffered in a polite tone, as if to apologise for the long wait.

After skilfully allowing a few seconds to pass, just to embarrass the interlocutor, Heinrich brought the discussion to the merits Colonel Gottling, how comeSS-Reichführer Himmler sends me the best of his men here, and without warning?

Without giving time to reply to what he had assumed the role of opponent, in a subtle game of chess, he pressed on.

I assume that the subject that brought you here is of the utmost importance!

The assertion proudly beguiled the SS, who assumed a more austere and gangly air.

Major Schuster...

Heinrich interrupted him, pointing out Von Schuster!

The remark annoyed Gottling, who tried to mask the annoyance the impertinent young officer was causing him. Himmler had given clear instructions, and orders were not to be questioned, only carried out, and, albeit reluctantly, he continued with his delivery.

«Major Von Schuster, SS-Reichführer Himmler is waiting for you at Wewelsburg² this weekend.

Heinrich, struck by the invitation, remained silent.

In the room the air was getting heavy, a strong tension could be felt between the two, but Von Schuster took the floor again. I don't think that Heinrich Himmler, with all the onerous tasks he faces, would have bothered a Waffen-SS colonel for a simple invitation to dinner with an archaeologist.

After a calculated pause, he completed his reflection. "What will be the topic of the interview with the second in command of the Reich? »

The colonel replied in a candid tone.

I don't know.

Heinrich smiled, unconvinced, then pressed again.

Colonel, allow me not to believe you, you are no mere postman, and do not try to debase my intelligence, either you mention the subject that will be the subject of conversation with your boss, or you will have to arrest me to take me to Wewelsburg.

SS-Reichsführer Himmler is also your boss, Major! pronounced Gottling altered.

Heinrich replied instead in a calm voice.

You are wrong colonel; I answer only to my conscience and the Wehrmacht.

Before theSS could reply, Heinrich, aware that the conversation was slipping on slippery ground, tried to bring it back to a more suitable track.

Colonel, I don't think anyone is interested in a debate about the hierarchies of the Reich, so let's make the conversation more productive by going into the merits of the meeting with theSS-Reichführer.

Gottling looked uncomfortable in front of that irreverent army major, it had never occurred to him to have to confront others like this, the rank, the uniform, and being the most trusted collaborator of the most powerful man in the Reich, after Hitler, had been enough elements to make anyone carry out any order.

Instead, that uniformed archaeologist was running the conversation at will, and this annoyed him.

Given the situation, Gottling had to reluctantly give in and prepared to expound on the subject matter of the meeting.

Before speaking, he glanced around the room, as if to check that there was no one listening.

After approaching the desk, as if to create more privacy, theSS made up his mind. The heavy tone confirmed that what he was about to say was of the utmost importance.

Major, this interview is and will remain secret. On the outcome of the mission, you will be assigned may depend on the fate of the Reich!

Indeed! replied Heinrich in surprise, connoting the exclamation with subtle irony.

Given the nature of the assignment, instead of major, I should call you professor.

Yes, then I would be more comfortable.

At that point the SS 's inflection became confidential.

Professor Von Schuster, you are the most distinguished archaeologist in Germany, which is why SS-Reichführer Himmler wants to meet you.

Heinrich, increasingly surprised, interjected again, Forgive me Gottling, but I still don't understand.

When you come to Wewelsburg, you will understand! affirmed the colonel with a sly smile, aware that he had struck the right chord, curiosity, which for a man of science is an irresistible lure.

Silence fell between the two, but an air of mystery now hung in the air.

Gottling, satisfied and confident that he had fulfilled his mission, stood up, then with a martial air stiffened in the Nazi salute.

See you soon professor! he concluded, leaving without shaking his hand.

Heinrich remained for an indefinite time staring at a point beyond the closed door.

Himmler's invitation had unsettled him, he did not like the man, for if at least half of what was said about him and the SS was true, there would have been cause to shudder.

What the hierarch wanted from an archaeologist who was an expert on Roman history remained a mystery, but he knew that the invitation from the Reich 's number two could not be disregarded, and then, come to think of it, his curiosity would only be satisfied by going to the fortress of the occult.

Erwin's gentle knock brought him back to the present. The attendant, curious by nature, stood in front of him, waiting, so Heinrich immediately indulged him This weekend we will spend it in Wewelsburg Castle, we will be Himmler's guests.

Surely an important assignment awaits us! judged Erwin awake.

Yeah, he replied thoughtfully.

Heinrich took to observing him. The good-natured air, the gentle green eyes, the black hair, the tanned face, the strong, calloused hands, showed the typical characteristics of a peasant, those of a man used to being outdoors.

Erwin and Heinrich, although of different lineage, the first son of the farmer, the other the eldest son of the count, had grown up together and had shared youthful games and early adolescent experiences. Heinrich could not remember a time in his life without the presence of that big, gentle-looking man.

A small scar that furrowed his friend's forehead, the sign of a youthful injury, brought back old memories, when as boys they used to go to the river on hot summer days, and there to dive, games that lasted until dusk, when the echo of their names pronounced by their mothers resounded in the countryside, marking the moment of their return.

"Those were good times,' he thought to himself, compared to today, and especially to tomorrow, as he saw dark clouds on the horizon for Germany.

The war had threatened to separate the two of them, Erwin destined for the African front, he instead in a quiet office, so for once he invoked the Von Schuster name to get his friend assigned as an orderly, a request that the high command immediately complied with.

Let's pack our bags, our holiday in Wewelsburg may extend for more than a few days, he ordered.

Take care, gala uniforms for both of us! he concluded, smiling.

Yes, sir! replied Erwin, standing to attention, and playing along.

Left alone, Heinrich arranged the papers scattered on the table; he didn't know how long he would be away; he might as well leave some order.

He put on his coat, over it he placed the belt and holster where he had stowed the Luger.

Before closing the leather case, he looked at the antique weapon and touched its stock. He remembered seeing one just like it as a child, without ever being able to touch it, because every time his parent came home, he locked it in the desk drawer.

Now he had one too, but he would have gladly done it without it, because soldiering was not his job.

He found it bizarre that he had to walk around the city with that tinsel; for him, bearing the uniform was already more than enough, after all, what was the point of walking around armed in militarised Berlin he had not yet understood. Wearing it, he did not feel like a virile warrior, unlike most military personnel.

Before closing the door behind him he took one last look around the office, at which moment he felt a strange sensation, as if this was the last time he would be there. He was certain that the hierarch's call would bring about some important, perhaps unpleasant, change.

He looked at Erwin's desk, which was much tidier than his own, and it was empty; his friend had probably already anticipated him on his way home.

Outside, the heavy coat, the hat pulled tightly over his head, the leather gloves and the warm white scarf acted as an effective barrier to the wet, spiteful snow that tried to penetrate every free crevice.

Even the service boots performed their function with dignity, keeping the extremities warm and dry in that slippery slush that was the last of the snow.

He lowered his visor further, lowering his head slightly to protect himself from the lashings coming from all sides.

It almost seemed as if, behind that whirlwind, there was a goblin whose task was to dissuade humans from venturing outdoors on an afternoon that was now heading towards dusk.

The late snowfall had caught the Berliners off guard, the grand boulevards, ideal settings for regime parades, appeared unnecessarily wide and deserted.

The imposing palaces of power on the sides, the offspring of the urban planning frenzy, all aimed at glorifying the restless power of the Third Reich, formed the backdrop to this new Berlin.

The war had already made its first marks, but the proverbial Teutonic efficiency had been made explicit in a frenzy of repair work, as if to demonstrate the invincibility of the regime, but only until 'judgement day', as he called it, the moment of the ineluctable bombing in grand style that would eventually descend on Berlin.

What he heard from the meagre war bulletins was little compared to what he observed on subsequent visits to cities scourged by the Allied air force.

The sight of Lübeck, with what little remained standing after the carpet-bombing, had impressed him. He remembered the former pleasant little town, but that no longer existed.

In front of the ruins of the Marienkirche³ he felt a lump in his throat, the splendid cathedral, symbol of the city that had resisted wars and masters for almost six hundred years, was reduced to a shapeless heap of rubble.

Even the inspections in Cologne and Bremen, with the chilling images of the disaster, had deeply distressed him, because in front of so much devastation he had felt powerless.

So far Berlin had been spared, but he asked himself, 'Until when?

At first glance, the massive air defence system set up by Hitler appeared invincible, but he knew that sooner or later those planes, modern raptors, efficient dispensers of death and destruction, would arrive there too, and devastate everything.

Absorbed in these thoughts he found himself passing right in Tiergarten, next to one of the mighty Flaktürme⁴, air defence towers erected by Albert Speer, the supreme interpreter of regime architecture. The imposing grey appearance gave the building a lugubrious air, appearing like a mythological monster capable of destroying everything and everyone.

Heinrich hurried home.

Given the time, he decided to take the tram the rest of the way, so he jumped on the first one that passed.

As soon as he was seated, he began to observe the passengers, they all looked sad, perhaps the smell of war was permeating deep into the hearts of Berliners as well.

The cheerful, carefree Berlin of yesteryear was now just a memory.

He got off shortly afterwards, he had practically arrived, but instead of walking the few steps that would have brought him to the warmth of the comfortable flat kept impeccably tidy by Erika, the maid, he decided to continue to the beer hall on the corner of the street.

Lo stava sicuramente aspettando una cena succulenta, giacché Erika era una brava cuoca, ma tanto non bastava a fermare il percorso, perché l’incontro con Gottling lo aveva scosso e non se la sentiva di chiudersi solo in casa, nel silenzio.

The buildings of the suburb where he was staying did not possess the majesty of those of Hitler's power, teeming with people during the day and almost empty the rest of the time in an unreal, daily transhumance of officials and military