The Warsaw Protocol: A Novel(30)
CHAPTER TWENTY
WEDNESDAY, JUNE 5
KRAKóW, POLAND
11:50 A.M.
Cotton admired Rynek G?ówny. At over six hundred feet on each side, the open expanse claimed the title of the largest medieval square in Europe. Its colorful perimeter buildings were all neoclassical, filled with every kind of shop, store, and eatery imaginable.
A lot like Bruges, only much bigger.
He’d contacted Stephanie after Sonia had left and told her he’d changed his mind and wanted in. Call him crazy, but he could no longer allow her to do this one on her own. So he’d packed his bag, slipped from the hotel by a back exit, then left in a car waiting at the ring road. He was driven south into Luxembourg, where he spent the night at an upscale hotel on the Magellan Billet’s dime. He caught an early-morning flight out to Frankfurt, where he changed planes on a tight connection to Bratislava. A car had been waiting in the parking lot, keys hidden inside, which he used to drive two hundred miles north, across the open Poland–Slovakia border, to Kraków. The roundabout route had been for Sonia’s benefit, to keep him off any Polish radars.
Kraków lay in a broad valley nestled close to the River Wis?a. For centuries it was Poland’s capital and basked in richness and opulence. Old and new still mixed there in perfect harmony, with an almost mystical atmosphere, aided by the fact that the city escaped horrific bombing during World War II. The twin domes of St. Mary’s Church rose into the clear late-morning sky. Oddly, one tower was much shorter than the other, different in design and style, too, and he was sure there was a story in that somewhere.
Stephanie had called on the drive through Slovakia and reported that the Nail from Bamberg Cathedral had been stolen last night. That left only the Holy Lance. She’d also gone a bit old school and provided a packet of hard-copy information, waiting in the car inside a manila envelope. He hadn’t seen that in a while. Everything today was electronic. Along the way he’d stopped and read what the envelope contained, learning the things he needed to know.
A lance was first described in the Gospel of John. The Romans had wanted to break Jesus’ legs, what they called crurifragium, as a way to hasten death during crucifixion. But when it came time they realized Jesus was already dead. To make sure that was the case, a soldier named Longinus supposedly stabbed Christ in the side with his lance.
And immediately there came out blood and water.
Which was why the Catholic mass always included a mixing of the two. Blood symbolizing humanity. Water, Christ’s divinity.
The confusion came from the many lances that claimed to be Longinus’ original. One was in St. Peter’s Basilica, but its provenance had always been suspect, its tip broken off and kept in Paris. Another could be found in Armenia, supposedly brought there by the Apostle Thaddeus. Antioch claimed one, too, found after a monk had a vision that it was buried in a local church. The one that garnered the most attention sat in Vienna, inside the Hofburg. For centuries, Holy Roman Emperors used it in their coronation ceremonies. When the empire disbanded in the early 19th century the Habsburgs incorporated it into their imperial regalia. A legend associated with that lance said whoever possessed it held destiny in their hands. Hence its name. The Spear of Destiny. Charlemagne, Barbarossa, Napoleon, and Hitler had all craved it. Millions came to see it in Vienna every year, but testing in 2003 revealed it to be from the 7th century, not the time of Christ—though an iron pin, hammered into the blade and set off by tiny brass crosses, long claimed to be from the crucifixion, was consistent in length and shape to a 1st-century Roman nail.
The fifth contender could be found in Kraków.
It arrived a thousand years ago, a gift from the Holy Roman Emperor Otto III to the Polish king Boles?aw the Brave. Supposedly it was a copy of the original that Charlemagne had possessed. It eventually acquired a name. The Spear of Saint Maurice. When the Swedes invaded Poland in 1655, they robbed the treasury but left the spear. The Prussians and Austrians raided next, but did not take the spear. In 1785 the Germans claimed Poland and stole all of the imperial regalia, melting down the gold, but left the spear. Apparently a simple, black iron lance had no value. But to the Poles it represented their spirit and independence. Hitler seized it in 1940 and had it taken to Vienna for comparison with the Spear of Destiny.
Then something odd happened.
The Spear of St. Maurice was abruptly returned to Poland in 1944.
Which shocked everyone.
Nazis never gave anything back.
One theory hypothesized that the experts in Vienna recognized it as the real spear and returned it, wanting Hitler to have the fake, countering the legend of him holding destiny in his hands. Another story said the spears were switched and the fake was left in Austria, again so Hitler would be denied any mystical powers the artifact might contain. Either version seemed supported by the fact that Hitler failed in his quest, but Poland survived. No one knew anything for sure. Which meant that Sonia might think the Hofburg and the Spear of Destiny to be the target, not Wawel Castle. Of course, he had no idea if her information about the auction was as solid as Stephanie’s. But he had to assume that was the case.
His instructions from the envelope were for him to come to Kraków’s main square and enter the cloth market. Once the center of the medieval trade, the splendid Renaissance edifice had stood in Rynek G?ówny since the 14th century. A Gothic rectangle the length of a football field, its inside was lined with stalls that sold every souvenir imaginable while its outer arcades accommodated cafés and bars. Each end was open, people milling about through the covered space. He was told to head for the booth identified as number 135 and wait. He’d be approached and asked if he knew directions to the Kraków Academy. His reply? That it required a tram or bus, but walking might be faster. More old school. Oral passwords. Then counter-passwords.