Templar's Quest

34

‘La Pyramide Inversée, as you can see, is the inverted twin to the glass pyramid directly behind us,’ Cædmon said in passing, as the three of them trooped across the street.

‘As above, so below,’ Kate sagely remarked.

‘Indeed.’

Set in the middle of the four-lane thoroughfare, the inverted glass pyramid could only be viewed underground – the reason why the architectural curiosity was often overlooked by tourists strolling in the Cour Napoléon.

Taking a deep breath, Cædmon filled his lungs with muggy air. Despite the sun beating down on his head, neck and face, he’d had his fill of the Louvre. During the summer months, jam-packed with tourists, the museum often felt like a lavish sardine can, which was why he had suggested that they adjourn to the outdoors and view the Axe Historique in situ.

He cast a sideways glance at the grim-faced Finnegan McGuire. Since leaving the museum, the commando had gone on high alert. Although outwardly calm, the man’s gaze constantly shifted from person to person. The roving eye of a fugitive at large. Should the police try to apprehend him, he suspected McGuire would retaliate rather than run, the man a natural-born fighter. Not to mention a cocky son of a bitch.

Whatever does Kate see in him?

Leaving the Pyramide Inversée in their wake, they approached the blush-hued Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel, the second monument on the Axe Historique. ‘War and peace have never been so powerfully articulated,’ he commented, having always been drawn to the magnificent landmark. ‘Derived from the triumphal arches of the Roman Empire, the memorial was commissioned by Napoleon to commemorate his stunning victory at Austerlitz. Composed of not one, but three arches, it’s surmounted by a quadriga that depicts Peace holding the reins of a horse-drawn chariot. Flanked by the gilded Victories, the group perpetually gleams. Rain or shine.’

‘I’ve always thought that the rose marble on the columns and front panels softens the lines, adding a surprisingly feminine aura to a monument designed to celebrate the unabashed pursuit of war,’ Kate remarked as the three of them strolled through the centre arch of the monument.

‘Our thoughts run a similar course.’

‘This arch looks a lot like the big one down the road.’ McGuire’s aside was made in his typical blunt fashion.

‘You refer, of course, to the Arc de Triomphe de l’Étoile, the Triumphal Arch of the Star,’ Cædmon said in response. ‘Seen from the sky, the twelve evenly spaced avenues that radiate from the larger arch create a star pattern. I would posit that the star in question is none other than Sirius.’

‘An interesting premise.’ Kate raised her right hand, shielding her eyes from the afternoon glare. ‘But why do you think that?’

‘Because here –’ raising his arm, Cædmon gestured to the monument before them – ‘at the smaller Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel, the thick lines of hedgerow that you see radiating from the arch and extending into the adjacent garden have been carefully manicured to resemble the rays of the sun.’

Eyes opened wide, Kate’s head slowly swivelled from side to side. ‘Ohmygosh. You’re right. The summer I spent in Paris, I walked along this path quite a few times and never noticed that.’ Using her finger as a pointer, she counted the number of ‘rays’. ‘What do you know? There’re twelve of them.’

‘Every day, hordes of tourists rush past these monuments, digital cameras madly clicking, and not one of them truly sees what has been depicted in the landscape, the sun and the star harkening to the heliacal rising of Sirius. Indeed, the cloak of invisibility was part of the original blueprint,’ he said with added emphasis, Kate having ably made the point for him.

‘Were there any arches on the Egyptian axis at Thebes?’ Kate asked thoughtfully,

‘Instead of arches, the ancients built a series of pylons that were set along the Sacred Axis. The rectangular gateways served the same purpose as the arches in Paris; they created an enormous horizontal telescope through which astral and telluric energies were funnelled.’ Cædmon turned towards the Egyptian obelisk, clearly visible just beyond the garden. ‘What’s so utterly fascinating about the Axe Historique is that, from this position, as you head west along the axis, the distance between each monument precisely doubles. Even more astounding than that, the size of each of the three arches doubles as well.’

‘I’m wondering just how long it took to build this damned thing?’ McGuire enquired gruffly.

‘The Axe Historique was a project several hundred years in the making,’ Cædmon replied, surprised that the commando had even asked the question. ‘Officially it was begun in 1564 when Catherine de Medici ordered the planting of the Tuileries Gardens. It then took another four hundred years for the axis to finally be completed, the last monument, the Grande Arche, erected in 1989. All in all, the Axe Historique is a sophisticated piece of ancient technology.’

Kate’s brow wrinkled. ‘It certainly makes you wonder who’s got the instruction manual.’

‘Which brings up my next question: so far, you’ve given the “where”, the “why” and the “when”. Call me crazy, but I’m still waiting for the “who”.’ Point made, McGuire unhooked a pair of black sunglasses from the neck of his T shirt and slipped them on.

Carefully considering his reply, Cædmon shoved his hands into the pockets of his well-worn trousers. ‘Throughout history, there has always been a tight-knit cadre that operates in the shadows. Powerbrokers. Kingmakers. These men wield enormous influence. They do so because they are the keepers of the secrets. Secrets that they share only with the initiated few.’

‘In other words, you don’t have a friggin’ idea who’s responsible for building this axis.’

‘The Knights Templar, the Rosicrucians, the Freemasons, the Illuminati.’ He shrugged, McGuire having posed a thorny question. ‘I assume that at one time or another, each group contributed a piece to the axis. And while seemingly separate, all were germinated from the same seed. Indeed, these sects, orders and secret societies form an esoteric matrix that spans the ages. The names may change, but the agenda remains the same.’

‘I think you can guess at my next question … What’s the agenda?’

Cædmon took a moment to consider his reply, Kate’s query no more easily answered than her cohort’s.

‘These shadow groups are the designated guardians of a body of sacred knowledge which includes the Lost Science of the ancient world,’ he said, admittedly sloshing in murky water. ‘Over the centuries, that knowledge has been transmitted from one group to the next. The agenda, simply put, was to safeguard this knowledge so that it wouldn’t fall into the hands of a despot who would use it for maniacal ends. And then, of course, one must always stay two steps ahead of the black-robed gents in the Inquisition, jolly fellows who wouldn’t hesitate to consign the whole of ancient knowledge to the bonfire.’

‘That’s rather damning, don’t you think?’

‘Is it? In the thirteenth century, the Church not only exterminated the Cathars, but they managed to destroy all of the Cathars’ written texts and documents. Only the legend remains.’

Sliding a black rucksack off her shoulder, Kate unzipped the front pocket and removed a pair of blue-tinted sunglasses. The eyewear did little to hide the fact that her cheeks had suddenly flushed a bright shade of crimson red.

Jaw locked tight, McGuire wordlessly took hold of the rucksack and swung it on to his own shoulder. Then, taking her by the arm, he escorted Kate into the shadows of a nearby tree.

Watching them, Cædmon grudgingly acknowledged that the man’s only saving grace was the care he took with Kate.

‘The design and construction of the Axe Historique is one of the great mysteries of Paris,’ he continued, joining the pair in the shady patch. ‘A massive building project, the construction of each monument required an enormous outlay of cash, funds the French government didn’t always have at its disposal. Just when a project seemed doomed to failure, an anonymous largesse would suddenly be made and – voila! – the project would miraculously be saved.’

‘Do you mean that all of this –’ McGuire swept his arm from the pyramid to the obelisk – ‘was created by a secret sugar daddy?’

‘Some would say that it’s a centuries-old conspiracy.’

‘And you wanna know what I say? All of this was built to give Parisians something pretty to look at as they trudge to and from work every day.’

‘Oh, ye of little faith,’ Kate chided playfully, nudging McGuire with her shoulder.

Feeling a vibrating pulse, Cædmon unclipped his mobile from his waistband and checked the display screen.

‘I’ve just been emailed the dossiers on Fabius Jutier and the Seven Research Foundation,’ he informed them. ‘If we head back to the bookstore, I can open the attachments on the computer.’

‘No need.’ Kate patted the side of the rucksack that was slung over McGuire’s shoulder. ‘We’ve got a laptop with a wireless Internet connection.’

Ah, perfect.

‘I see a vacant bench on the other side of the hedgerow. Shall we?’