Destiny

SIXTY-SEVEN

As Marcus drove from the port in Calais, he called Gisele Fournier. “Gisele, what is the name of the person you spoke with at the Paris police department?”

“Inspector Victor Roux, why?”

“Because I hope he is taking your warning seriously. I have even more reason to believe the threat on the prime minister’s life is very real.”

“Paul, what is happening?”

“Layers of complicity maybe connected to events around World War II.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m trying to figure that out. I need to ask you something else.”

“Of course, what is it?”

“Your grandfather…did he ever mention Solomon’s Temple to you?”

“Yes. He told me he wished he could have seen it because he saw it in a dream.”

“Did he say what it looked like?”

“He only told me that there was perhaps one cathedral on earth that was built with something my grandfather called sacred geometry. And he believed it was very close to the size of the Temple Solomon built.”

“Where is that cathedral?”

“It is the same one we talked about earlier — the Chartres Cathedral. Chartres is believed to have been built in secret by those who refused public recognition because they wanted the Virgin Mary, in her home on earth, to receive respect and acknowledgment.”

“Do you remember if your grandfather ever mentioned to anyone in your family about a spear he might have found?”

“Spear? What kind of spear?”

“The ancient kind, like something a Roman soldier might have carried.”

“No, but remember, I told you my grandfather was in Rome, after the war, when he saw a statue of an angel on the bridge over the River Tiber leading up to the Castel Sant’Angelo. The statue held a lance in her hands, and Grandfather said the face reminded him of the weeping angel in the Garden of Peace.”

“Do you know if he ever returned to Rome or the Vatican in later years?”

“Not that I know of, no. Paul, I am at our cottage north of Bordeaux Saint Clair. My grandfather kept some of his things here. He wrote poetry and letters to friends when he was by the sea. He tended a small garden here before he died.”

“Did he ever write anything about a spear or a lance?”

“I’m at his old desk in our cottage. Grandmother never tossed out his poems, letters and things. Let me look around — hold on a minute.”

Marcus drove through the French countryside toward Paris. He could hear her opening and closing desk drawers. Gisele said, “Here’s a sealed envelope, and it’s addressed to a woman…looks like a nun named Mother Pascalina Lehnert. The address is the Vatican in Rome.”

“Can you open and read it?”

“I feel strange, like I’m violating a trust with my grandfather.”

“Did he ever ask you not to open it?”

“No.”

Marcus could hear her ripping through the envelope. There were a few seconds of silence. “This looks like a copy of a letter. The beginning is written in French. The ending paragraph seems to be in something that looks like a cross between Hebrew, Latin and Arabic. I can’t read that, but the French says, ‘Dear Mother Pascalina, please inform the Pope that we are praying for a swift recovery in France and the rest of Europe from the aftermath of such a terrible war. It is my hope and sincere prayers that never in the future of mankind will such inhuman activity be resurrected. We must remember that soon a rose without thorns blooms under a new sun. Like the flower beneath a spring snow, it will rise. The cornerstone left from the Temple will stand tall in the shadows and support a future built on faith and love. I close in leaving the Pope with the assurance of spiritual delivery and the words found below that were written by John and left with Longinus.’ Paul, that’s all I can make out.”

“Can I get a copy of that?”

“No problem. Where are you?”

“Halfway between Calais and Paris.”

“I can meet you in a couple of days back in Paris.”

“Thank you, Gisele.”

“Paul, I found something else in my grandfather’s desk.”

“What is it?”

“It looks like a badge or a medallion. It’s gold and there is an image of an angel standing on a rock. The angel, a male figure, is holding a spear and he’s stabbing a snake. I have never seen this before now…but now it makes sense.” Her voice dropped to a whisper.

“Gisele, what make’s sense?”

“It wasn’t talked about much in the family. My grandfather was believed to have been one of the few remaining members of a secret group of Frenchmen who belonged to a faction that went all the way back to the fifteenth century. They were called the Order of Saint Michael.”

“Who are they, or who were they?”

“I don’t know. Paul, I must go. Someone’s coming.”

They disconnected and Marcus thought about what she told him. He thought about the words in the letter. Was it a code? Why address it to a nun at the Vatican to be given to the Pope? Marcus picked his phone back up and punched in a text message to Alicia: See what you can find on Mother Pascalina Lehnert. Probably dead. Worked at the Vatican — WWII period. Who was she?