The Templar legacy

FIFTY-TWO
1:00 AM

MALONE WAS IN RENNES, STROLLING INTO THE CHURCH OF MARY Magdalene, and the same garish detail gave him the same uncomfortable feeling. The nave was empty, save for a solitary man standing before the altar, dressed in a priestly black robe. When the man turned, the face was familiar.

Berenger Sauniere.

"Why are you here?" Sauniere asked in a shrill voice. "This is my church. My creation. No one's but mine."

"How is it yours?"

"I took the chance. No one but me."

"Chance of what?"

"Those who challenge the world always face risk."

Then he noticed a gaping hole in the floor, just before the altar, and steps leading into blackness.

"What's down there?" he asked.

"The first step along the way to truth. God bless all those who guarded that truth. God bless their generosity."

The church encasing him suddenly dissolved and he was surrounded by a treed plaza that spread out before the American embassy in Mexico City. People rushed by in all directions, and the sounds of horns blaring, tires squealing, and diesel engines grew loud.

Then gunshots.

Coming from a car that had ground to a stop. Men emerged. Firing at a middle-aged woman and a young Danish diplomat who were enjoying their lunch in the shade. Marines guarding the embassy reacted, but they were too far away.

He reached for his gun and fired.

Bodies dropped to the pavement. Cai Thorvaldsen's head exploded as bullets meant for the woman found him. He shot two of the men who'd started the melange, then felt his shoulder tear as a bullet pierced through him.

The pain jarred his senses.

Blood poured from the wound.

He stammered back, but shot his assailant. The bullet penetrated the dark face, which once again became that of Berenger Sauniere.

"Why did you shoot me?" Sauniere calmly asked.

The walls of the church re-formed and the stations of the cross appeared. Malone spotted a violin lying on one of the pews. A metal plate rested on the strings. Sauniere floated over and scattered sand on the plate. Then he drew a bow across the strings and, as sharp notes rang out, the sand arranged itself into a distinct pattern.

Sauniere smiled. "Where the plate does not vibrate, the sand stands still. Change the vibration and another pattern is created. A different one every time."

The statue of the grimacing Asmodeus came to life, and the devil-like form left the holy water fount at the front door and drifted toward him.

"Terrible is this place," the demon said.

"You are not welcome here," Sauniere screamed.

"Then why did you include me?"

Sauniere didn't answer. Another figure emerged from the shadows. The little man in the brown monk's robe from Reading the Rules of the Caridad. His finger was still to his lips, signaling quiet, and he carried the stool upon which was written ACABOCE A? 1681.

The finger came away and the little man said, "I am alpha and omega, the beginning and end."

Then the little man vanished.

A woman appeared, her face obscured, dressed in dark clothing with no detail. "You know my grave," she said.

Marie d'Hautpoul de Blanchefort.

"Are you afraid of spiders?" she asked. "They'll not hurt you."

Upon her chest Roman numerals appeared, bright like the sun. LIXLIXL. A spider materialized beneath the symbols, the same design from Marie's tombstone. Between the tentacles were seven dots. Yet the two spaces near the head were bare. With her finger, Marie traced a line from her neck, down her chest, across the blazing letters to the image of the spider. An arrow appeared where her finger had been.

The same two-tipped arrow from the tombstone.

He was floating. Away from the church. Through the walls, out into the courtyard, and into the flower garden where the statue of the Virgin stood upon the Visigoth pillar. The stone was no longer a dingy gray, worn by weather and time. Instead, the words PENITENCE, PENITENCE and MISSION 1891 gleamed.

Asmodeus reappeared. The demon said, "By this sign you will conquer him."

Lying before the Visigoth pillar was Cai Thorvaldsen. A patch of oily asphalt lay beneath him, crimson with blood, his limbs stretched at contorted angles, like Red Jacket from the Round Tower. His eyes were frozen open, alight with shock.

He heard a voice. Sharp, crisp, mechanical. And he saw a television with a mustached man reporting the news, talking about the death of a Mexican lawyer and a Danish diplomat, the reason for the murders unknown.

And the aftermath.

"Seven dead-nine injured."

Malone came awake.

He'd dreamed of Cai Thorvaldsen's death before-many times, in fact-but never in relation to Rennes-le-Chateau. His mind was apparently filled with thoughts he'd found difficult to avoid when he'd tried, two hours ago, to fall asleep. He'd finally managed to drift off, ensconced in one of the many chambers of Cassiopeia Vitt's chateau. She'd assured him that their minders outside would be watched and they'd be ready if de Roquefort chose to act during the night. But he agreed with her assessment. They were safe, at least until tomorrow.

So he'd slept.

But his mind had continued to play out the puzzle.

Most of the dream faded away, but he recalled the last portion-the television anchor reporting on the attack in Mexico City. He'd learned later that Cai Thorvaldsen had been dating the Mexican lawyer. She was a tough, gutsy lady investigating a mysterious cartel. The local police learned there'd been threats she'd ignored. Police had been in the area, but curiously none of them were around when the gunmen emerged from a roadster. She and the younger Thorvaldsen had been sitting on a bench, eating their lunch. Malone had been nearby, on his way back to the embassy, in town on assignment. He'd used his automatic to take down two attackers before two others realized he was there. He never saw the third and fourth men, one of whom planted a slug in his left shoulder. Before he lapsed into unconsciousness he'd managed to shoot his attacker, and the final man was taken out by one of the marine guards from the embassy.

But not before a lot of bullets found a lot of people.

Seven dead-nine injured.

He sat up from the bed.

He'd just solved the Rennes riddle.