The Project 02 - The Lance

knew of the hidden research complex in the Antarctic wastes were still alive. No one had been there since '42.
    "We will regroup in Argentina. In time we will retrieve the Lance and continue.”
    Himmler laid his hand on Reinhardt's shoulder, a rare gesture of comradeship.
    “ Dieter. It is possible I will not survive this war.”
    He held up his hand to silence Reinhardt’s protest. The light glinted from Himmler's glasses and the death’s head ring on his finger.
    "If I fall, there will be a new Grand Master. Aid him in every way you can."
    "As you command, Riechsfuhrer."
    That Grand Master will be me, Reinhardt thought.
    Both men looked down at the Holy Lance. It seemed to glow with faint blood light.
    " We have lost for now," Himmler said. "But as long as the Lance is ours, we will never be defeated.”

    A patch of rough ice under the sled jolted Reinhardt out of his memories and back to the present. He could see the submarine waiting in the distance, dark as Jonah's whale in the open water past the edge of the gleaming ice.
    He would tell the Captain of U-886 his crewmen had been buried by a fall of ice. It was of no importance. When they reached Argentina, the Captain and the others would soon join their dead comrades. It was all arranged.
    Three days later, British depth charges found U-886 as she approached the Argentine coast. She breached the surface long enough for the officer of the watch to record her badge and type before she vanished beneath the waves.
    In the lightless vault under the mountain, the Lance waited beneath the diamond swastika. One day, someone would come. It was only a matter of time.

CHAPTER ONE

    The sweet scent of Jasmine vines climbing the wall of the crumbling tenement in the Old City of Damascus wafted through an open window. A man bent over a wooden table with a soldering iron. He wiped sweat away from his forehead with the frayed sleeve of his shirt and concentrated on his task.
    Another man watched from a sagging couch pushed against one of the stained yellow walls. He wore a dark suit of European cut. His crisp, white shirt was open at the collar.
    The man on the couch had a face that was blank, forgettable. His features were smooth and calm, as if life had never quite reached the surface. It was hot in the apartment, but the man was not sweating. His eyebrows were unnoticeable above his colorless eyes. His nose seemed to disappear into the vagueness of his features. His lips were a thin, invisible line.
    The man at the table was called Ibrahim. The man on the couch was called the Visitor, but Ibrahim didn't know that. It was better that way.
    The bomb was almost finished. It was a very fine bomb, perhaps the best Ibrahim had ever made, and he had made many. He was well known throughout the terrorist network. If you wanted something unusual, reliable and easily concealed, with the most destructive result, you sought out the Syrian.
    Anyone with a simple knowledge of electronics could build a suicide vest or a roadside device, but few could do what Ibrahim did. The truth of his skill was easy to see. He still owned almost all of his fingers and both eyes, no mean feat for an old bomb maker.
    He soldered the final connection. He set the iron down and allowed himself to relax.
    "It is ready?"
    The man in the suit spoke in Arabic, his voice quiet, pleasant. He got off the couch, looked over the bomb maker's shoulder. Ibrahim tried to place the accent. German, perhaps.
    Ibrahim took an unfiltered cigarette from a crumpled yellow pack, held it in nicotine stained fingers and lit it. The harsh tobacco smoke formed a blue cloud as he exhaled. The man in the suit concealed his disapproval.
    "Yes, ready. When you place the charge, set and activate the timer. There is a twenty-four hour window."
    Ibrahim showed his guest the arming device, small like a woman's wrist watch. A red arrow was etched on the bezel surrounding the dial. The face was marked for twenty four hours. A second, smaller ring within the first was divided into twelve five minute increments.
    "Set the hour by rotating the outer ring clockwise. Then, set the inner ring counter clockwise for fine adjustment. You can reset until you press this button. After that, no. The timer will run until your mark is reached. The bomb is safe until the time chosen. Then, boom."
    The Visitor nodded.
    "Give me the pack."
    The Visitor handed Ibrahim a backpack. Bright yellow letters over a yellow and green ram's head imprint spelled