The Marks Of Cain Part 45

Even from the driver's seat, David could see the grief in Simon's eyes. The grief and the guilt. No one spoke for a good few minutes when Simon finished his confession. The fate of this man, Tim, was also in their hands.

It was too much.

The frontier approached. The old Iron Curtain. In nearby fields, useless and rusting, stood derelict watchtowers and old coils of barbed wire. But the contemporary border was just one bright gla.s.s office entirely empty. They didn't even have to show pa.s.sports.

Simon spoke: 'Why Nuremburg? Why meet there?'

Angus explained that they wanted to convene in a big anonymous city, across the border from the Czech Republic. To confuse anyone who might be following.

Simon nodded.

'And this castle?'

'The map shows it's in a town called Zbiroh. But the entrance is two miles away, a little village called Pskov. Some kind of tunnel. The tunnel itself leads from a synagogue in Pskov.'

Again Simon nodded. His demeanour was enormously subdued.

They drove on. The Czech side of the border was a notable change from the German prosperity next door. Everything was a little more hunched, grubby, and humble. And the road to Plzen was lined with thirty-something women in tiny skirts and blonde wigs.

Angus explained: 'Prost.i.tutes.'

'Sorry?'

'Came here for a conference a few years back, in Prague. The women here are working girls...the punters come over from Germany. Truck drivers and businessmen. They also sell gnomes.'

Amy queried this: 'Gnomes?'

The Scotsman pointed at a shop by the road. An entire rank of garishly painted garden gnomes was set up in front of the store.

'Because of some tax law, the gnomes are cheaper here, so again the Germans come over. For hookers and gnomes!'

He laughed drily. No one else laughed. But David was glad that Angus was laughing. The Scot was the only one amongst them who seemed to possess any positive energy, any real optimism. His intellectual need to know the Fischer results, his sheer curiosity, his selfish desire to know if he'd been right, was rather ironically keeping them all going.

But soon the car was silent, once more, as they sped along the motorway to Plzen. Angus had the map on his lap. Thick forests encroached. The drizzle was turning into proper rain.

'OK,' said Angus. 'Enough f.u.c.king brooding. brooding. Let's do something. Let's help Simon! Tell him the story so far. Poor guy's a freelance hack, he needs a story, to help with the mortgage. Let's pool everything we know.' Let's do something. Let's help Simon! Tell him the story so far. Poor guy's a freelance hack, he needs a story, to help with the mortgage. Let's pool everything we know.'

The mood in the car was so tense, so depressive, so frightened, David welcomed this impulsive idea. Talk. Just talk. talk. Talk about anything. So they did: as David drove, they put together every segment of the puzzle, each adding their portion to the pot. And as they discussed, Simon scribbled in his notebook. Talk about anything. So they did: as David drove, they put together every segment of the puzzle, each adding their portion to the pot. And as they discussed, Simon scribbled in his notebook.

Then the journalist sat back. His voice was cracked with emotion, but at least he was managing to speak.

'OK. This is, ah, how I see it. What we know so far.'

David felt the flutter of his own anguish; he had an absurd fear that Simon would turn and point to him, and say You, of course, are a Cagot. You, of course, are a Cagot.

Simon began.

'The beginnings of the mystery go back three thousand years, when the Bible was being written in Babylon. At various places in the Book of Genesis, there are pa.s.sages which hint at human beings other than Adam and Eve other than Adam and Eve.'

Amy was staring out of the window. Looking at the cars behind and ahead, with anxious intent. Looking for red cars, maybe.

Simon went on: 'The problems caused by these insidious Biblical hints have always been with us. But they truly came to a head, in Christendom, in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, during the persecutions of the Basques and the Cagots.'

He glanced at Angus. Then went on: 'The Basques are truly a breed apart, with a unique language, culture and society, unusual blood type, and so forth. Their race possibly dates back to pre-Indo-European times 30,000 BC. They have long suffered persecution for being...different. These persecutions peaked with the witch burnings of 16101611, the so-called Basque Dream Epidemic.'

Their hire car was speeding past a tiny Skoda, an old car from the communist era. A farmer sat in the front with his fat wife at his side. The Skoda was doing thirty kph.

Simon continued: 'The case of the mysterious Cagots is similar yet more severe. The Cagots are, or were, a crossbreed. They lived in the same region as the Basques. Indeed they probably descend from Basques who intermarried with dark Saracen soldiers in the eighth and ninth centuries. As such, they were, from the beginning, very isolated within Christendom but with an additional and fatal taint of the infidel.

'So they were persecuted. And by the seventeenth century these repressions were reaching homicidal levels: Cagots were being nailed to church doors. One byproduct of this persecution and isolation was the intensification of genetic problems within the Cagot community '

David interrupted: 'It wasn't their fault.'

Simon replied, with a puzzled frown, 'No, of course, it wasn't their fault. fault. However, the reputation they had for psychotic tendencies, cretinism, even cannibalism, was, tragically, not entirely unjustified. Many Cagots were afflicted with various syndromes which led to bizarre and even repellent behaviour.' However, the reputation they had for psychotic tendencies, cretinism, even cannibalism, was, tragically, not entirely unjustified. Many Cagots were afflicted with various syndromes which led to bizarre and even repellent behaviour.'

Amy asked: 'That was why the King of Navarre inst.i.tuted the tests to see if the Cagots were truly "different"?'

'Yes. Moreover, primitive though science was at the time, it seems the King's doctors did observe the syndactyly, the web-footed deformity, and other physical manifestations of the Cagots' inbred genotype. They concluded that the Cagots were were indeed different to the rest of humanity, in a very significant way.' indeed different to the rest of humanity, in a very significant way.'

He flipped a page of the notebook.

'The discovery alarmed the Pope and his cardinals in Rome. The idea that G.o.d would actually be creating Serpent Seed, new kinds of men, different different kinds of men, kinds of men, men who are not men men who are not men, was pure anathema. It threatened the very basis of accepted Catholic doctrine that mankind is made in G.o.d's image. How can G.o.d have two images? Two kinds of children? Revelation of this truth would not only justify the worst persecution, of a Christian and European people of a Christian and European people it would bring into question all of Catholic theology.' it would bring into question all of Catholic theology.'

'All Christian theology,' said Angus, 'for that matter.'

'This is why the church sought to end the persecution of the Cagots. For the very same reason the Spanish Inquisition decided to cease and suppress the Basque witch burnings. The Catholic elite wanted the "choir of Christendom" to remain "indivisible". The Basques and Cagots would be returned to the fold of humanity.'

'Yet there were, still, elements in the church that adhered to the bigoted, Curse of Cain philosophies. Especially amongst the lower clergy, the local peasantry, and some of the more rigorous church orders, like the Dominicans.

'Ever eager to avoid schism, the Vatican agreed to a compromise. The relevant and most controversial doc.u.ments relating to the witch burnings, and the blood test on the Cagots, and the ensuing papal conciliations were not destroyed: they were secretly housed in the ancient archives of the Dominican University in Rome, the Angelic.u.m. Centuries later they were carefully rehoused in a brand new monastery in central France.'

'Purpose-built,' Angus interrupted, 'by a far right architect, as a safe place to hide these doc.u.ments. Correct?'

'And a masterpiece of functionality,' Simon replied. 'So offputting it sends people mad.'

Amy was still gazing out of the window. Her cardigan had fallen from her shoulder, exposing her bare suntanned skin. Gold and soft, and yielding.

David fixed his eyes on the road. Simon lifted his notes.

'Back in 1907 a brilliant young German anthropologist, Eugen Fischer, arrived in the desolate, diamond-rich German colony of Sud West Afrika, now Namibia. He was following in the footsteps of his hero, the great British scientist and founder of modern eugenics Francis Galton.

'What Fischer found amazed him. By studying the khoisan the "Bushmen" of the Kalahari, and their close cousins, the Basters, a crossbreed between Bushmen and Dutch settlers, Fischer discovered that in the very recent past mankind had...possibly speciated.' speciated.'

Amy said nothing. David said nothing. Angus was wearing a distant smile. Simon continued: 'The process of speciation speciation the dividing of one species into new species is of course crucial to evolution. Yet the process is itself ill defined. When does a new breed or strain of an organism become a subspecies, and when can it be termed a truly separate species? Geneticists, zoologists and taxonomists still argue this point; but no one denies that speciation occurs.' the dividing of one species into new species is of course crucial to evolution. Yet the process is itself ill defined. When does a new breed or strain of an organism become a subspecies, and when can it be termed a truly separate species? Geneticists, zoologists and taxonomists still argue this point; but no one denies that speciation occurs.'

Simon turned a page.

'But hitherto n.o.body had expected that speciation might have happened to h.o.m.o sapiens h.o.m.o sapiens within the last few thousand years. As Angus says, some experts believe a small form of human might have evolved within the last few thousand years. As Angus says, some experts believe a small form of human might have evolved fairly fairly recently in Asia recently in Asia h.o.m.o floresiensis h.o.m.o floresiensis. Hominids like this might even explain those Biblical myths of non-Adamite humans, implied in the first verses of Genesis. A genuine folk memory of small, dwarvish, almost-men.

'But that is still ten thousand years back. And yet, as Fischer investigated the Khoisan and the Basters he became convinced that something akin to speciation was right now right now taking place in Africa: either the Bushmen were a new species, or they were close to becoming so. taking place in Africa: either the Bushmen were a new species, or they were close to becoming so.

'This discovery affirmed the racism already present in Fischer's thinking. Like many scientists of his time, Fischer believed without embarra.s.sment in a hierarchy of human races, with whites at the top, and aborigines and black Africans at the bottom. He now put the Bushman even lower than that, beyond the family of man.'

David changed gear to overtake a big red lorry with Intereuropa Intereuropa written on the side. He asked: 'Yet this guy Eugen Fischer liked Jews? The Kellermans?' written on the side. He asked: 'Yet this guy Eugen Fischer liked Jews? The Kellermans?'

'Yes,' Simon answered. 'Fischer was, ironically, no anti-Semite. He appreciated the friendship of other clever men, especially if they were wealthy and glamorous. He became friends with the Kellerman dynasty, German-Jewish diamond merchants making millions from the mineral-rich sands of the Namibian desert. This friendship was to prove crucial in the following decades.'

Another page was turned.

'Then, in 1933, Adolf Hitler came to power. He had avidly devoured Fischer's books during his imprisonment as a young man. Now, as Der Fuhrer Der Fuhrer, Hitler had the means to employ Fischer properly. First, Hitler made Fischer a rector of Berlin University. Then, in 1940, he despatched Fischer to a new German concentration camp at Gurs, near the genetically fascinating Basque corner of France.

'Adolf Hitler had a job in mind for the great scientist. To validate n.a.z.i race science. And so, in Gurs, Fischer was told to gather the most interesting human genetic specimens in one place, for intense medical testing: gypsies and Jews, French and Basques, Spanish and Cagots.

'By comparing the data derived from these subjects, with the data already derived from Fischer's Namibia research, the Fuhrer hoped that his prize scientist would provide a definitive, authoritative and genetically provable racial hierarchy: final evidence that Germans were at the top, and Jews were at the bottom.

'Fischer was gratifyingly successful in these endeavours. In the first year, ably a.s.sisted by some brilliant German doctors, he discovered DNA. The basis of all modern genetics.'

Simon closed his notebook.

Amy said: 'But what did Fischer discover then then? In his second year at Gurs? The frightening and terrible discovery? What was that that?'

Angus was no longer smiling, he was frowning.

'Well...that's the motherlode, the ultimate question. And that is what we are about to find out.' He scanned the rainy road ahead. 'If we don't die first.'

46.

Twenty minutes down the Czech motorway, they found the turning for Zbiroh. It curved between the hills and the woods and the sc.r.a.ppy Czech farms. David buzzed down his car window, feeling the need for cold wet air on his anxious face. Anything to drive away the deeper worries. He actively wanted some kind of physical pain to mask the mental pain.

'Take a left here.'

They exited the motorway, swept around a final wooded turning: and they saw: Zbiroh Castle.

It was enormous. A vast, ugly, yellow, neo-cla.s.sical palace, haughty and angular, sitting atop a rocky rise. The village of Zbiroh was sprawled in the dripping valley below, like a peasant prostrate before a Tsar.

David slowed the car as they stared.

Amy said: 'So...why is it so special?'

Angus provided the answer: 'The castle is medieval, and built on great silicic rock formations veined with jasper. When the n.a.z.is occupied Bohemia they discovered that this stone, the jasper, perfectly reflects radio waves. So the SS installed a concealed headquarters for monitoring radio traffic. And after the war the Czechoslovak Army did exactly exactly the same thing used it as a secret tracking station. Following NATO aircraft. The castle was only opened to the public in the late 1990s.' the same thing used it as a secret tracking station. Following NATO aircraft. The castle was only opened to the public in the late 1990s.'

Simon spoke up: 'But why did the n.a.z.is use it to hide hide stuff?' stuff?'

'Can tell ya that too. Over many centuries that impervious stone beneath the castle has been turned into a complex of underground pa.s.sages. And, at the very end of the war, the SS did something very strange. They plugged it all up, filled the pa.s.sages with thick layers of concrete n.o.body has been able to pierce it, even with big modern drills. The communists tried to dig through, but they failed.'

The castle gazed pompously across the village roofs. Angus continued: 'Of course many people have speculated as to the reason for the SS constructions. Why all the d.a.m.n concrete? Was it stolen treasure the SS might have concealed? Some think the Russian amber room is down there. Who the f.u.c.k knows.'

There was a silence.

'Pskov,' Amy said. 'Remember we have to go to Pskov. The synagogue.'

Pskov turned out to be a little village in the shallow hills, just two klicks away. It was a dismal place comprising an orange-painted church, a small beer-hall with a grubby neon sign for Budvar, a few ancient and mouldering houses, and a Spar supermarket advertising London gin.

And that was that. It took them all of five minutes to walk the main streets, and walk back again.

They sat in the shelter of a bus stop. Amy asked the obvious question: 'Where is the synagogue?'

The rain was remorseless; it was a damp and ghastly October day. An elderly dog squatted across the road, defecating. David looked nervously at the church, which dominated the silent village. The church seemed deserted; but maybe someone was in there, right now, looking at them and telephoning Miguel.

Miguel. The awful memory returned to David, with an extra tang of horror. He recalled how Amy had once said David looked like Miguel. 'Only Miguel is older and thinner.' The awful memory returned to David, with an extra tang of horror. He recalled how Amy had once said David looked like Miguel. 'Only Miguel is older and thinner.'

Could it be? Could he and the Wolf be...related?

Two Cagots together. Two cannibal cousins.

He shuddered. It just kept getting worse. Like he was drowning in vile truths, being sucked into the cess pit of reality. Deeper and deeper until he could no longer breathe.

s.h.i.t person.

He stared up and down the dismal grey road. And cursed his despair.

'Nothing. There's nothing nothing. We're stuck. There is no synagogue it's been destroyed.' destroyed.'

Simon agreed, the resignation raw in his words: 'You're right. That's it. We've lost.'

A decrepit Trabant sedan belched black exhaust fumes as it trundled down the road. Amy was wandering away from the bus stop, disconsolate in the wet, looking anxiously this way and then that.

Even Angus looked downcast.

'So we drink. Ach, if we're all gonna die, let's have a f.u.c.king drink.'

It was a ludicrous idea, it was a farcical idea, it was an idea. Their situation could not get any worse. Surely Miguel would find them, if not today, then soon. He would get them. So have a f.u.c.king drink.

They walked across the damp road and jangled the bell of the tavern door.

The interior of the pub was almost as dour as the neglected facade: a few wobbly tables furnished the bare s.p.a.ce, with a single old farmer eating bacon in the corner. Four large steel barrels of Budvar and Staropramen comprised the selection of beverages.

At least the beer would be good, David thought. Czech beer. Good Czech beer. A final beer. A fine drink to help them forget, to help them accept their fate. David realized he was dog-tired, bone-tired, spiritually tired: he was tired of running away. Let it happen, let it come, let it hurry up. He was tired, he was shattered, maybe even a touch suicidal. If he was a Cagot with maybe the worst of Cagot urges, he wasn't sure he wanted to live.

So drink.

The publican was unshaven, jowly, sixty-something and spoke a smattering of German. He served up four foaming lagers. Simon hesitated, and then he took a beer.