Templar's Quest

36

In dire need of a drink, Cædmon glanced at his watch.

Mmmm … wonder if it’s too early to suggest an aperitif at a nearby café?

‘We’re not keeping you from anything, are we?’ Kate enquired pleasantly.

‘No, no,’ he assured her. ‘Although I was wondering if –’ Hit with a sudden change of heart, he waved the errant thought away. ‘Never mind.’

On edge, Cædmon paced in front of the granite retaining wall where Kate had set up a makeshift office beneath a towering maple tree. Uncertain as to the cause of his unease, he glanced to and fro. In the near distance, the Louvre’s two Neoclassical wings flamboyantly defined the open-ended courtyard. A typical August afternoon, the Cour Napoléon was a veritable hive, hundreds of people swarming about in the sweltering heat. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Then why the bloody hell am I so apprehensive?

‘Cædmon, sit down.’ Kate smiled winsomely. ‘You’re making me nervous.’ Prising the laptop open, she pressed the ‘on’ switch.

‘My apologies.’ Hoping he didn’t appear as anxious as he felt, he obediently sat beside her.

Kate playfully nudged him with her elbow. ‘Much better.’

‘Is it?’ He held her gaze. Only to sheepishly glance away an instant later, afraid that Kate would suddenly see him for what he was – a wreck of a man who lacked the wherewithal to put his life in order.

Standing sentry some thirty feet away, Kate’s brooding mastodon openly glared at him.

Soldier and spy … never the twain shall meet.

‘Pardon me if I’m out of line –’ Cædmon lowered his voice to a conspiratorial tone – ‘but he doesn’t seem your type.’

‘Wh-why would you say that?’ Kate stammered, clearly taken aback. ‘Have you lost your mind?’

‘Still intact last time I checked.’

‘Then why would you ever think that Finn and I –’

‘What else was I to think? The two of you seem rather chummy.’

‘Like you said, he’s not my type.’ The telltale blush belied the denial.

‘I see,’ Cædmon replied, thinking ‘the lady doth protest too much’. Particularly since he’d caught Kate and McGuire sharing more than a few sly glances. Although he was rusty when it came to affairs of the heart, those telltale exchanges implied a mutual attraction. One which Kate was taking great pains to refute.

‘So, I would greatly appreciate it if you, um, not mention anything to Finn about this conversation. He doesn’t need the distraction. As for me, without going into the details, what happened in Washington was –’ Kate paused, a shadowed expression on her face – ‘ harrowing. So I thought it might be a good idea to have my own personal bodyguard. In case you haven’t noticed, Finn McGuire is a human predator drone.’

‘Yes, well, he’s a trained commando. Quick to grab the battering ram. Sleeping with one eye open. All that.’ Concerned that she captained a listing ship, he placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘I imagine that McGuire has a full plate, what with being a fugitive-at-large. If the authorities try to apprehend him, you could find yourself in a very dangerous predicament. I can have you placed in an MI5 safe house,’ he offered, hoping to lure her away from the shoals.

‘But you can’t give me a trained commando who will lay down his life to protect me.’ Kate set the notebook computer on his lap. ‘All booted up and ready to go,’ she said, effectively changing the subject.

As he accessed his email account, Cædmon noticed that McGuire, a belligerent swagger to his step, was headed in their direction. He gave the man full marks for ably toting his gargantuan chip.

‘All right, so what’s in your little spy report?’

Determined to prove himself the better man, Cædmon strove for a civil tone. ‘I’ve been sent two dossiers: one for Fabius Jutier, the other for the Seven Research Foundation.’

‘Since the French dude’s dead, let’s first check out the foundation.’

‘Right.’ Opening the attachment, he obligingly read the summary bullets aloud. ‘Founded in 1981 by Dr Ivo Uhlemann, a German national, the Seven Research Foundation is headquartered in Paris. My, my, I’m impressed. Uhlemann has a doctorate degree from Göttingen University in theoretical physics.’

‘The group of physicists that my father always refers to as the mathematical daydreamers.’ Turning to McGuire, Kate said in a quick aside, ‘It’s a branch of physics that relies heavily on mathematical equations rather than physical experimentation.’

‘Albert Einstein, also a theoretical physicist, might take exception to that characterization,’ Cædmon remarked before continuing with the particulars. ‘A nonprofit foundation, the Seven awards academic grants across a diverse research spectrum. Everything from physics to electrical engineering to archaeology.’

‘No smoking gun there.’ Leaning close, Kate propped her cheek against his jacket-clad arm as she peered at the dossier. ‘Downright respectable, actually.’

‘Yeah, that was real respectable what they did to my two buddies.’ Punch-line delivered, McGuire yanked a leafy sprig from the imposing hedgerow that grew just behind the retaining wall.

Ignoring the other man, Cædmon skimmed through the next few paragraphs. ‘Now this is interesting. Not only do they maintain office space in the Grande Arche building, but the Seven Research Foundation was instrumental in getting the building project off the ground.’

Kate’s eyes opened wide. ‘Then all of this murder and mayhem does have something to do with the Axe Historique.’

‘Moreover, a cloud of suspicion still hovers over the Grande Arche and its design,’ he told her, assuming she’d be more interested in the information than her surly companion. ‘Although no proof has ever been tendered, that hasn’t stopped the chattering café classes from claiming that a secret esoteric group was involved in the construction project.’

‘That’s scary.’

‘That’s bullshit,’ the commando muttered.

‘That’s the least of your worries.’ Cædmon glanced up, stunned by what he’d just read. ‘According to the dossier, each and every member of the Seven’s Board of Trustees is a direct descendant of an SS Ahnenerbe officer.’ He paused, assailed with a dark foreboding, his earlier anxiety having come full circle. ‘I fear that you’re dealing with a very dangerous enemy.’

McGuire shrugged and said, ‘Tell me something I don’t know.’

Troubled by a niggling thought, Cædmon ran a hand over his unshaven cheek. ‘There’s a piece of the puzzle that we’ve not yet considered. The Seven Research Foundation is desperately trying to recover the Montségur Medallion on which, reputedly, there’s an encrypted map that leads to a long-lost Cathar treasure. How does that come into play? And, more importantly, is there a connection between the Axe Historique and the Cathar treasure?’

Cheeks noticeably flushed, Kate grabbed hold of McGuire’s wrist. ‘Finn, I think you’d better show him.’

‘I’m not showing him jack.’

‘You’ve been falsely accused of killing two men. Do you next want to be falsely accused of associating with a bunch of latter-day Nazis?’

‘Pardon me for interrupting your tête-à-tête, but what the bloody hell is going on?’ Cædmon demanded to know, the two of them behaving like criminals in the dock.

‘If you won’t do it, I will.’ Ultimatum issued, Kate made a futile grab for the canvas satchel that McGuire wore, bandolier-style, across his chest.

‘Shit.’

With that muttered oath, McGuire capitulated. Unzipping the canvas satchel, he shoved his hand inside. When, a few seconds later, he pulled out a gleaming gold pendant, Cædmon’s eyes opened wide.

Shite.

‘You actually stole the Montségur Medallion. You lying bastard!’ Shoving the computer on to Kate’s lap, Cædmon lurched to his feet. Fists clenched, he was sorely tempted to bash McGuire in the face.

‘I can assure you that Finn had the noblest of intentions,’ Kate exclaimed, quick to defend her mastodon. ‘The only reason he took the medallion was to keep it out of the hands of men who would profit from it.’

Pitying Kate for being so sadly deluded, Cædmon thrust out his hand. Glaring at McGuire, he silently dared the commando to refuse the request.

Wearing his trademark sneer, McGuire dropped the medallion into his palm. ‘Read it and weep.’

For several long moments Cædmon stared at the relic, the gold pendant divided into four separate quadrants, each containing a unique image.

‘You do know that this may actually be the Cathars’ only material legacy, making it an incredible historic find?’

‘Well, don’t get any ideas about putting it in a display case at the Louvre,’ McGuire shot back.

‘Any guesses as to what it means?’ Kate enquired in a conciliatory tone.

‘No need to guess. Its meaning is perfectly clear. These symbols are a hieroglyph of the heliacal rising of Sirius. Viewed as a pictorial depiction of the cosmos, the setting sun is seen in the west with the star, Sirius, in the east and the moon directly overhead. Clearly, the medallion is connected to the Axe Historique.’

‘What about these four As?’ Kate pointed to the fourth quadrant. ‘Instead of the usual horizontal cross bars, they all have an angled crossbar.’

‘A stylistic flourish, and as such, inconsequential. As to what they mean, I’m no expert on the Cathar religion, but the “A”s may represent the Four Ages of Man. Difficult to say.’ He flipped the medallion over to examine the back.

‘We were hoping you could translate the inscription.’

Cædmon tapped the first two incised lines with his index finger. ‘These are inscribed in medieval Occitan, the lingua franca of the Cathars. The inscription reads “In the glare of the twelfth hour, the moon shines true.” The last line, Reddis lapis exillis cellis, is written in Latin.’ Belatedly realizing the meaning of what he’d just said, his heart slammed against his breastbone. ‘I don’t bloody believe it!’

‘Believe what?’

He brought the medallion several inches closer to his face. Squinting, he reread the inscription, verifying the translation.

‘The inscription is written in grammatically incorrect, corrupted Latin. That said, it roughly translates, “The Stone of Exile has been returned to the niche.”’

‘What the hell does that mean?’ McGuire asked gruffly.

‘A great deal to anyone who has read Wolfram von Eschenbach’s Parzival. In that classic medieval tale, von Eschenbach refers to the Grail as the Lapis Exillis. The “stone in exile”.’

Hearing that, Kate gasped. Even the dour-faced commando seemed genuinely taken aback.

‘As in the Holy fucking Grail?’

‘Yes, that Grail. Which means –’ Suddenly noticing a pinprick of light in his peripheral vision, Cædmon stopped in mid-stream. Glancing down, he was horrified to see a red laser dot on his chest, centred over his heart.

Jesus!