Under a Killing Moon

UAKM — CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Getting up at a reasonable hour the previous day seemed to have taken a toll on my thirtysomething body. It was eleven something when I rolled over and squinted at my alarm clock. What a piece of junk. The LED read 11:88. Even worse, the plastic bumps on the snooze bar had worn off completely, making it harder to find those all-important eight minute incre-ments of extra sleep. What I needed was one of those voice response devices with the special Monique feature. They had a sultry female voice that would make naughty sex noises instead of beeping and could be programmed to say things like, “Time to get up, handsome. I’m ready for some breakfast in bed.” Of course, I’d just set the alarm over and over and spend the rest of my life in the sack.

I lurched over the side of the bed, staggered blindly in the direction of the bathroom, and began making myself beautiful. It was a longer process than it used to be, but five minutes later, I was modestly presentable. With breakfast smoldering between my fingers and the coffeemaker belching like a steel worker, I settled into the chair behind my desk and began composing my daily list of things to do.

(1) Get up. Check. (2) Splash water on face. Done. (3) PI breakfast. Almost ready. (4) Lose weight and get into shape. (5) Go see Percival.

The coffee hadn’t even finished brewing, and I’d already covered half the list. I leaned back in my chair and took a drag, feeling like I had things pretty well in hand. When the coffee was ready, I poured a mug and returned to my chair.

Reading while eating breakfast is one of life’s simple joys. Back when I could afford cold cereal, I knew the Cap’n Crunch box like the back of my hand. I fished the now dog-eared blue card out of my overcoat and examined it for the umpteenth time as I downed my coffee. BXK+A261184. I still couldn’t make heads or tails of it. Maybe I should have shown it to the Interpol agents. I’d forgotten to ask.

Staring at the index card started to get me frustrated, so I switched to the Colonel’s notebook. Maybe I’d overlooked something the first time through. I opened it up and saw the three names I’d jotted down when I’d been talking to Paul Dubois: Phoenix, Chameleon, and Professor Perriman. The first two were almost certainly code names, but Professor Perriman sounded like someone I should be able to track down.

Dubois had told me that he’d gotten the name from the Capricorn mole’s report. The mole was working inside the Crusade for Genetic Purity, which was based in New San Francisco. Hopefully, the Professor was also a citizen of our fair-to-middlin’ city.

I pulled up the directory on my computer and found eighteen Perrimans listed. Then I got on the horn and started calling. Eventually I reached a Mrs Perriman, who said her husband taught classes at the University of San Francisco until one o’clock and probably wouldn’t be home until dinnertime.

After my third cup of sweet caffeine, I left the office and flew my speeder to USF. The campus was bustling with fresh faced students who didn’t look old enough to have driver’s licences. One of these, a cute redhead with newly straightened teeth, helpfully informed me that Professor Perriman taught history in the Jerry Rice building.

I followed her directions and found the building shortly before one o’clock. I paused outside the door and joined several students in a pre-lecture smoke. As we puffed, I listened in on their conversation, which was laced with sophomoric philosophy and rumours of huge, post finals keggers.

I finished my cigarette and stepped inside. On the third floor, I found a directory and made my way to room 319. The door was open, and I looked in to see a heavy-set man rummaging through a stack of papers on top of a file cabinet.

“Professor Perriman?”

The large man turned to face me. His hair was thick and untamed and had almost completely lost the pigment battle, though his impressively feral beard still had streaks of black in it. He had a high, broad forehead and a pinkish complexion, with red blotched cheeks that peeked over the top of his beard. A pair of bifocals sat forgotten on the bridge of his bulbous nose. Professor Perriman had the look of a man who had lived a full life and still had a ways to go.

“What can I do for you?” He took a step toward me, so I stayed where I was.

“I’m not really sure, to tell you the truth. A friend of a friend said that I should look you up.”

“Who’s the friend?”

Dubois hadn’t known the Professor, and I didn’t have any other names. I decided to get the point. “Someone who works for CAPRICORN.”

The Professor tilted his head forward and stared at me over his glasses. He looked like Santa, trying to decide if I was naughty or nice. After a moment, he motioned for me to come in and close the door behind me. I stepped into his office and looked the place over. He was a man after my own heart. There was a desk-shaped pile of books and papers and three other mounds with armrests. It pleased me that the Professor didn’t apologise as he cleared space on two of the chairs. When we were seated, he pulled a pipe from his herringbone jacket and tapped it on the side of his desk. “CAPRICORN, eh? I didn’t think they were still in business.”

“I’m not sure they still are.”

The Professor grunted as he packed his pipe. He smoked Captain Gold. The smell it emitted was the only entry in my top 10 list of aromas that wasn’t related to food or women. The old man clenched the pipe in his teeth as he dug through his pockets. I would’ve offered my Zippo, but any smoker worth his salt knew that you just didn’t use lighters on pipes. The old man located a red-tipped match and soon had the nest boiling.

He settled in and turned his attention back to me. “We ought to introduce ourselves.”

I stuck out my hand. “Murphy. Tex Murphy.”

“Benjamin Perriman. So tell me, Mr Murphy, What brings you to my office under such murky pretenses?”

I smiled. “Well, I’m a PI, and, in my business, you’re what we like to call a ‘lead’. It’s like proselytizing missionary work, except I get to smoke, drink, and swear.”

Smoke curled out from under the professor’s expansive moustache. “A private investigator, eh? So this visit is related to a case of some sort. Murder, I hope. Nothing better than a good whodunnit.”

“Actually, their seems to have been a murder committed, though it’s more of a whydunnit than a whodunnit.”

“So how did it happen? In the conservatory with a candlestick?”

“Good guess. We won’t know for certain until the police find the body. All they found so far is a finger.”

The professor leaned forward, holding a pipe in his hand. “Anyone I know?”

I shrugged. “Maybe. You heard of Colonel Roy O’Brien?”

The professor’s brow furrowed, and he puffed thoughtfully for some time before nodding.

“I can’t say that your news is totally unexpected, though it’s certainly unfortunate.”

“You knew him, then?”

Perriman removed his pipe. “We met several months ago. I gave him some information.

From what he told me, I believed he was putting himself in great danger.”

“I’m trying to find out who murdered him.”

Unexpectedly, the Professor smiled, though it could have been more of a grimace. “I would be surprised if you ever do.” He sat back in his chair. “But that’s academic. How does this involve me?”

I leaned forward. “That’s what I’d like to find out. If you’ve got a few minutes, I’ll hum a few bars, and you can jump in whenever it starts to sound familiar.”

Perriman waved his hand, and I started at the beginning. He listened patiently as I told him about being hired by the “Countess.” It wasn’t until I offhandedly described the statuette that I got a reaction. The professor literally sat up. “The Habuh.”

“Excuse me?”

Professor Perriman set his pipe on a stack of books and stood up. Without a word, he walked to a jam-packed bookcase and began searching for something. He quickly found a large, hardbound volume and started leafing through it as he returned to his seat.

Finding what he wanted, he turned the book around and held it in front of me, his finger pointing to a drawing of the countess’s statuette. “Is this the one you saw?”

I nodded, unsure of what this meant. Everything I’d heard about the statuette led me to believe it was valuable and highly prized, but seeing it in this ancient book put it in a whole new light. When the Professor turned the book back around, I caught a glimpse of the title: A complete History of Arcana and the Occult.

Perriman set the book on the floor by his chair and collected his pipe. “This is foreboding news… ominous. How much do you know?”

“Not enough, apparently.”

“How much do you care to know?”

“As much as you want to tell me.” The Professor pulled a match from his vest pocket and proceeded to relight his pipe. After several puffs, he leaned back and crossed his legs. “Are you familiar with either the Brotherhood of Purity or the Secret Doctrine?”

I shook my head while the Professor continued. “If you like, I can tell you about the people who murdered Roy O’Brien. By doing so, you’ll be in the same danger your friend was in.”

“A little more danger won’t make much difference.”

Perriman nodded. “The Habuh, the statuette, is the sacred talisman of an occult cabal known as at the Brotherhood of Purity. The origins of this group predate written history.

The order was started in the Far East among a small group of men, whose concepts reached literally thousands of years into the future. While other more primitive men were barely learning the uses of metal and stone, this brotherhood was embracing the rudimentary principles of eugenics. Are you familiar with the term?”

“You bet.”

“Of course, even these advanced thinkers were limited by lack of technology. The Brotherhood’s trail is only faintly traceable for centuries. It is not until around 400 BC that we begin to see clear indications of its presence. To those familiar with the Secret Doctrine, there is much that can be interpreted from many of the Greek philosophers’ teachings.

“The Brotherhood of Purity grew steadily in power during the rise of the Roman Empire.

Despite its enormous wealth and influence, it’s anonymity was strictly preserved. The number of those who were initiated-and who received the teachings, signs, and passwords-was kept to a bare minimum, ensuring complete dedication and fealty, as well as avoiding the dilution of quality, which inevitably comes with overpopulation.

There was also no need for a large following. As I have learned, the Secret Doctrine is filled with prophecies that would not reach fruition for many years. The order was concerned primarily with maintaining the rituals and making sure that the Brotherhood continued on toward the day when it would fulfil its destiny. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

“When the Roman Empire fell, the Brotherhood survived unscathed. In fact, it is speculated that the order hastened the downfall for its own ends. The empire had grown obese and sedentary and was no longer conducive to the higher ideals of the

Brotherhood of Purity. In keeping with early prophecies, the members of the order cast their eyes toward the fierce and hungry tribes of Angles and Saxons, which were not as intellectually advanced as the Romans, but had not suffered the physical and spiritual decline.

“Many pivotal and powerful figures of the Middle Ages became secretly affiliated with the Brotherhood of Purity, including Charles the Great, Henry the Lion, Otto the Great, Philip of Swabia, Conrad IV, and Frederick Barbarossa. While Emperor Charlemagne was not deemed intellectually suitable for the Brotherhood, his closest adviser and confident, Hugo von Touron, was a high-ranking member. His influence on

Charlemagne drastically affected the course of Europe’s, and the world’s, history.

“Counted among the members of the Brotherhood were not only kings and statesmen, but also religious figures, such as the Bishop Klingsor, the Count of Acerra, and Eckbert of Meran, the thirteenth century Bishop of Bramberg. The Spanish Inquisition was instigated by a single radical member of the brotherhood who held a high position in the papal order. It is commonly believed that the thousands were put to death because they refused to join the Catholic faith. In actuality, these deaths were the result of an enormous ethnic cleansing. This was done, however, of the brother’s own volition and was not a sanctioned act of the brotherhood.

“Throughout the Middle Ages and into the 20th century, other factious branches sprang from the brotherhood. The Crusades were in part associated with one of these branches.

Eventually, the main body was able to pare off the splinter groups, but not without great bloodshed and civil war. Most of these conflicts have been misinterpreted by history, which in and of itself proves the extreme and far-reaching power of the brotherhood.

“Heinrich Himmler, who was in charge of the Nazi Occult Bureau at the height of the Nazi movement, somehow obtained a manuscript of the Secret Doctrine and showed it to Adolf Hitler. They were greatly influenced by the brotherhood’s principles, though they almost certainly were never allowed to enter the Order. It took many years for the brotherhood to undo the damage done by these madmen. Even in the years since, the main core of the brotherhood has had to deal with other contentious splinter groups, some of which have grown to massive proportions before the brotherhood could bring them under control.”

Professor Perryman paused to empty his pipe ash into a trash can. I felt fairly sure that I was keeping up with him, but I had a few questions.

“So, what is the point of this brotherhood? You mentioned something about fulfilling their destiny, but it doesn’t sound like they have done much more than keep themselves a secret from the rest of the world. And how is it that you know about them?”

The Professor ran a hand over his long beard. “I’ll answer the last question first. I stumbled on to them quite by accident. When I was a student, years ago, I was doing research for my doctorate in a library in Vienna. I was searching through a dusty volume on German folklore when I came across an ancient manuscript, handwritten on brittle, yellowed parchment. In those days, my knowledge of the German language was marginal at best, but I was able to understand some of the contents. It was on that page that I first saw the terms Brotherhood of Purity and Secret Doctrine.

“The parchment had been placed between two pages, one of which displayed a lithograph of a painting. It was dated 1604 and signed by a man named Basilius. From what I could gather, it was an allegorical path to enlightenment, filled with symbols scattered along the way up to what I can only describe as a wizard’s kitchen, filled with crescent-moon and sun designs. I’ll never forget the symbols: a black raven, peacock, swan, pelican, lion, and eagle. Over the years, I have learned that each of these has a distinct attribute that must be attained by members of the Brotherhood.

“I was not allowed to take the book with me from the library, and when I returned later to take another look at the book and the parchment, they had mysteriously disappeared.

Despite diligent searching, I never did see it again. My interest, however, was piqued.

Since that day, I have been absorbed in learning the history behind the contents of the parchment.

“As to the brotherhood’s self proclaimed manifest destiny, I have gleaned only bits and pieces, though I have no doubt that it’s clearly stated in the pages of the Secret Doctrine.

Since the origin of the order, the names and acts of the founders have been passed down orally for hundreds of generations. It wasn’t until the third century AD that the genealogy, philosophy, and icons were set in print. A group of men, known to outsiders as the Docetists, composed an expansive tome, attempting to summarise the order’s history and doctrine. This text became known as the Secret Doctrine.

“I have never seen a verified copy of the text, though several reputedly authentic excerpts have come to my attention. Regardless, from what I have read, been told, and overheard, I’ve assembled a partial description of the brotherhood’s objectives, as they are contained in the prophecies within the sacred text.

“The Secret Doctrine describes an entity called the Incubus, which the Brotherhood would summon when all its prophecies had come to pass. The Incubus would then create something or someone that translates literally to the Moon Child. This Moon Child would be the destroyer of the impure and the guardian of the pure and faithful.”

The mention of the Moon Child made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. “Isn’t the Moon Child the name of that satellite resort? The one used by the crusade?”

The Professor nodded solemnly. “It is unthinkable that the name is a coincidence. And I can infer only one of two things because of it: Either the leaders of the Crusade for Genetic Purity have somehow obtained a copy of the Secret Doctrine, and, like Hitler before them, are attempting to incorporate his teachings into their own agenda, or the brotherhood is behind the crusade and has reached a point where they no longer feel it necessary to hide themselves. I’m inclined to believe the latter.”

We sat in silence for some time. It sounded to me like this cult, the Brotherhood of Purity, was planning on starting another Holocaust. There was still something the Professor hadn’t explained. I spoke up. “What about the statuette I found? How does it fit into all this? And you have any idea who Countess could have been?”

Professor Perriman reached for his pipe and used it to gesture with.

“As to the identity of the Countess, I have no idea. Many rich and powerful people are affiliated with the brotherhood. As to the Habuh, it is as ancient as the brotherhood itself. Apparently, it was kept by the order for many generations, but was lost or stolen at some point during the early to mid-20th century. The brotherhood has been looking for it ever since, desperately over the past few years. I had assumed-and hoped-that it was lost forever. But, from what you told me, it appears they’ve recovered it.”

“But why is it so important to them?”

The professor shrugged. “Its purpose may be purely symbolic, or it may have some practical use in matters of the occult. I won’t bore you with all the details, but the Secret Doctrine teaches that the Earth is wrapped in layers of etheric forces. A form of energy, called vril, may be derived from these forces. Occult theorists speculate that vril could be used to manipulate the astral plane, as well as to tap into the telluric currents that crisscross like a grid all over the etheric body. But vril is said to be like any other form of energy-it must be channelled to be useful. Perhaps the Habuh is the controller.”

The professor set his pipe down and folded his arms. “But that’s neither here nor there.

We may never learn its purpose. The fact is that the brotherhood seems to be preparing for the culmination of thousands of years of waiting. What their plans are, and when they will be set into motion, I don’t know. I can only hope that they overestimate the power of their prophecies and fail, as the Nazis failed.”

Professor Perriman leaned forward and clasped his hands tightly.

“If they succeed… God help us.”