The Treasures of Saint Germain

CHAPTER ONE

Coincidence didn’t sit well with Tyler Webb. There was always a man — or a plan — behind even the most innocent-seeming flight of chance.

Take the French city of Versailles, for instance. Founded by the will of Louis XIV, it had been the capital of the Kingdom of France for the whole of Saint Germain’s lifetime, then just a few short years after the Count’s death, that particular honor had been bestowed upon Paris.

Take the gruesomely bloated and romanced legends that surrounded the immortals of Transylvania for example — and then consider that the Count was born and raised there. Take the endless sightings after his supposed death in 1784, right up to this very day…

Webb shivered involuntarily. The emotion was not physical, he knew, but it should be. Now reduced to a gutter rat, the once great leader of the Pythians, in his opinion the greatest shadow organization that had ever been formed, whilst finding many parts of his new life greatly odorous, delighted in a certain few. In fact they were so juicily magnificent that the entire collapse of his organization and previous life was almost worth it.

He stood amongst a gaggle of tourists, staring at the black gates of the Palace of Versailles, grateful for the cold day as it enabled him to use a scarf and hat to help conceal his features. It was getting late too, the slow creep of ink across the skies aiding those who skulked and crept and loitered everywhere.

Stalking was so much easier when you were a lowly civilian. But three times now, Webb had let it interfere with his ultimate quest. Each time the sensations grew, the payoff increased, and the obsession deepened. The dark shadows sang to him in a way they never had before. The molten thrill of lurking outside windows and doors, trailing victims from empty bus stops, hounding a lonesome figure down a dark alley even here in Versailles, was hotter now than at any other time in his life. Maybe he had more to lose. Maybe the ever-present danger to himself had lit a different inner fire. A laughing couple marched by, their happiness interrupting his reveries.

Should he?

The man looked wimpy, kind of bookish. No doubt the submissive in that relationship. The woman was loud, confident, athletic and vigorous. Webb liked the look of the challenge. He almost started to move, practically put one foot in front of the other, before remembering the crucial and time-dependent significance of his situation.

The scroll led you here. The first clue led you here. Despite everything that has happened you still have… contacts…

Webb had maintained just a few, mainly those who could facilitate his efforts, turn a tricky situation into a manageable one. Take the Palace of Versailles, for example. Only a man with clever and secretive means could sneak in there uninvited, at night, with a dark, clandestine purpose in mind. Webb surveyed the scene. Too many tourists, too much light. One shady character across the way who almost seemed to be studying him.

Webb shook off the paranoia. It wasn’t good. It was what he did to others.

But still…

The already-thick miasma that surrounded his intrigues and schemes had recently thickened. Another party was in play, one Webb had not counted on. Chiefly, because he’d never heard of them and still didn’t really understand their agenda. Webb shrugged. Those were the breaks, the twists and turns of lifelong dreams and maneuvers coming to fruition. You rolled with it or you lost.

Rather than branching off any of his Pythian dealings, Webb thought the new players were centered around the Saint Germain conspiracy and had been alerted to him purely because of his most recent investigations and breakthroughs. He had the same people who’d facilitated entry into the palace tonight looking into them and their plots. It wouldn’t take too long and should prove to be an interesting new dossier of information when complete.

It was time to lose even the barest hint of a trail and enjoy a good hunt in the process. The couple had melted away, much to his chagrin, but he soon saw another acceptable candidate — a man and wife, probably locals — hurrying past the palace without even a glance, heads down, and carrying a heavy shopping bag between them. How quaint, Webb thought. How sweet. A shame he didn’t have the time to utterly destroy all they held dear.

Webb slipped away quickly, careful to take note of faces, colors of clothing, backpacks and other stand-out items at all his peripherals so he could later double-check any that might stay with him. The man and wife hurried along, not speaking, and he followed in their wake. He took a while to move up close, made his presence felt, then pretended to dally so they pulled ahead. Already he could see the tell-tale signs in the woman, the half-glances backward, the increase in pace, the tense set to her shoulders.

A quick check of the time revealed he could take things a bit further, so he pushed ahead and made eye contact with the woman, unable to hide the smirk that creased his features. Her look of fear mingled with distaste excited him. He made a move toward them. The woman slowed, then took in her immediate surroundings so fast Webb worried her neck might snap.

Sadly, there were many others around so Webb melted into the background. No longer a threat. It was time to return to the palace, but then a familiar perverse craving pulled him up short.

Take it a little further.

He ran across the road, making a beeline for the woman and her daughter, grinning from ear to ear. She stopped and now her husband noticed, staring at Webb with narrow eyes. He reached into the waistband of his trousers, hoping they’d think he had a gun there but not really caring which way they took it. The man stepped in front of the woman, visibly trembling. Passersby stared at him with curiosity. Webb ran hard, straight up to him, and then slowed, leaning in.

“Be seeing you later,” he whispered, then ran on.

Dark excitement and deep pleasure bubbled through him.

Score one to Webb, he thought.

And left them staring at his back.

Chuckling then, he slowed and blended back in with the tourist crowd as the gates to the palace once again came into view up ahead. In all his vicious diversions he now realized he’d failed to carry out the one task he’d set out to do. Lose any tail. He put it down to enthusiasm and moved on. In a previous life as leader of the Pythians he’d have dropped someone down a well for such insubordination.

Webb was different now. This new life had changed him. He blended with the other peasants and riff-raff without any sign of distaste, and was pleased to see how far he’d come in just a few weeks. Give him another month and he’d be riding the freakin’ bus.

A chirp alerted him to a cellphone message. It was time to get serious. Webb saw many tourists were now drifting away, which made him more noticeable in the wide expanse before the main golden gates. Flat, paved ground stretched out in all directions, broken only by the low walls and railings that surrounded the great palace.

The French chateau was a magnificent structure, filling the horizon. Webb left the main gate behind and wandered around the perimeter for a while, moving purposely but carefully toward a predesignated spot. Now, his heart was pounding. Now, he would seek out and find the second clue on the road to St. Germain’s greatest treasures.

So far the scroll he’d bought from Ramses had proven utterly invaluable.

Webb thought about the scroll as he moved in. The tattered mishmash of parchments had paid off; Leopold had spent decades searching for St. Germain, closely, jealously guarding every secret he’d found until dying in the 1940s. Webb wasn’t entirely sure what had happened to the scroll after that and how it came to Ramses, and didn’t care a jot. All he cared about was that it was now tucked safely inside his coat pocket, double-zipped and wrapped in plastic. Webb had already studied it at length, though had taken care not to get too far ahead. Some pleasures were worth savoring.

The pages were in the order they had been written; and in the order Leopold had traveled whilst on his great quest. Each passage an insight into what had happened that very day, sometimes even written as the German walked and searched. Webb found he could get into the man’s mind, feel his excitement just by reading a paragraph. Many musings, thoughts and random ideas littered the passages — it took some doing to pick the bones out of it.

Purpose? Or circumstance? Leopold must have been a lonely man, living with himself and his notes, his obsession. Webb wanted it all, but knew he had to progress at Leopold’s pace, not his own.

The ciphers were the key.