Excerpt: The Prologue
June 30, 1942
Carl Jung, tall and scholarly, faces a pair of massive brass doors gleaming in morning sunlight. Above them, an over-sized Nazi eagle spreads golden wings, clutching a globe in its talons. Jung looks up at it and scowls, thinking, God forbid that the world should fall into Hitler’s claws.
He signals his readiness to enter with a nod. Two stone-faced SS men swing the doors apart in perfect synchronization to reveal a dark tunnel. The warm sun at Jung’s back casts his shadow, a gaunt giant, far into the mountain.
Beside the doors, a guard throws a switch marked Tunnel Lichter, and a line of dim ceiling lamps every six meters flickers on. Even so, the far end of the passageway cannot be seen.
Jung stiffens and takes a deep breath and a few tentative steps. Then he strides forward, gradually moving faster and faster, his footsteps echoing as he silently counts off his paces, One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . .
Without warning, the outer doors boom shut. Jung looks behind him, then continues a bit slower. No turning back, now; he waits for me at the end of the tunnel.
Fifty nine . . . sixty . . . sixty one . . . The lights die, plunging Jung into blackness. He swears and snaps on a flashlight.
As he walks, the beam turns yellow, then fades to orange. Jung reaches out to guide himself along the wall. Soon, he is in total darkness again, wondering whether he will live long enough to complete his journey into the mind of Adolf Hitler.
Excerpt: The Visitation
What if Carl Jung, the world’s leading analytical psychologist, were sitting in his Zurich office one evening in 1942, and a man was shown in. He wore tweeds, but had a German military haircut.
“Dr. Jung, I come on the behalf of my employer, Mr. Wolff, who desperately needs the kind of healing you specialize in.”
Jung waved the idea away. “My practice is closed. I am taking no new clients.”
“You might find this a most fascinating case.”
This piqued Jung’s curiosity. “Fascinating in what way?”
“Financially. And professionally.” The man arced a hand from side to side.
“But I am not fascinated.”
The man became less confident. “Perhaps if you heard some of the details—”
Jung was tempted to ask him to explain, but fear overruled his curiosity. “No, no. I am not interested.”
“Please, Dr. Jung. Mr. Wolff has met you and wants you in particular.”
“We have met? I don’t recall a ‘Mr. Wolff?’ Who is this Mr. Wolff?”
The man leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. “Adolf Hitler.”