Steve Berry - The Templar legacy

Malone understood. "An anagram?"

"Quite common in Bigou's time. After all, it's doubtful Bigou would have left a message that easy to decipher."

"What about the words in the center?"

Claridon jotted them onto the pad.

" Reddis means 'to give back, to restore something previously taken.' But it's also Latin for 'Rennes.' Regis derives from rex, which is 'king.' Cella refers to a storeroom. Arcis stems from arx -a stronghold, fortress, citadel. A lot can be made of each, but together they make no sense. Then there's the arrow that connects p-s at the top with pr?-cum. I have no idea what the p-s means. The pr?-cum translates as 'pray to come.' "

"What is that symbol at the bottom?" Stephanie asked. "Looks like an octopus."

Claridon shook his head. "A spider, madame. But its significance escapes me."

"What about the other stone?" Malone asked.

"The left one stood upright over the grave and was the most visible. Remember, Bigou served Marie d'Hautpoul for many years. He was extraordinarily loyal to her and took two years to produce this headstone, yet almost every line in it contains an error. Masons of that day were prone to mistakes, but this many? No way the abbe would have allowed them to remain."

"So the errors are part of the message?" Malone asked.

"It would seem. Look here. Her name is wrong. She was not Marie de Negre d'Arles dame d'Haupoul. She was Marie de Negri d'Ables d'Hautpoul. Many of the other words are also truncated. Letters are raised and dropped for no reason. But look at the date."

Malone studied the Roman numerals.

"Supposedly her date of death. 1681. And that's discounting the O, since there is no zero in the Roman numeral system, and no number was denoted by the letter O. Yet here it is. And Marie died in 1781, not 1681. Is the O there to make clear that Bigou knew the date was wrong? And her age is wrong, too. She was sixty-eight, not sixty-seven, as noted, when she died."

Malone pointed to the sketch of the right stone and the Roman numerals in the bottom corner. LIXLIXL. "Fifty. Nine. Fifty. Nine. Fifty."

"Most peculiar," Claridon said.

Malone glanced back at the lithograph. "I don't see where this painting figures in?"

"It's a puzzle, monsieur. One that has no easy solution."

"But the answer is something I'd like to know," a deep male voice said, out of the darkness.

MALONE HAD BEEN EXPECTING CONTACT FROM THE WOMAN, BUT this voice was not hers. He reached for his gun.

"Stand still, Mr. Malone. Weapons are trained on you."

"It's the man from the cathedral," Stephanie said.

"I told you we'd meet again. And you, monsieur Claridon. You weren't that convincing in the asylum. Insane? Hardly."

Malone searched the darkness. The sheer size of the chamber produced a confusion of noise. But he spotted human forms standing above them, before the upper row of shelving at the wooden railing.

He counted four.

"I am, though, impressed by your knowledge, monsieur Claridon. Your deductions about the headstone seem logical. I always believed there was much to be learned from that marker. I, too, have been here before, rummaging through these shelves. Such a difficult endeavor. So much to explore. I do appreciate you narrowing the search. Reading the Rules of Caridad. Who would have thought?"

Claridon made the sign of the cross and Malone spotted fear in the man's eyes. "May God protect us."

"Come now, monsieur Claridon," the disembodied voice said. "Do we need to involve heaven?"

"You are His warriors." Claridon's voice trembled.

"And what brings you to that conclusion?"

"Who else could you be?"

"Perhaps we are the police? No. You wouldn't believe that. Maybe we're adventurers-searchers-like you. But no. So, let's say for the sake of simplicity that we are His warriors. How can you three aid our cause?"

No one answered him.

"Ms. Nelle possesses her husband's journal and the book from the auction. She'll contribute those."

"Screw you," she spat out.

A pop, like a balloon bursting, sounded over the rain and a bullet careened off the table a few inches from Stephanie.

"Bad answer," the voice said.

"Give them to him," Malone said.

Stephanie glared at him.

"He'll shoot you next."

"How did you know?" the voice asked.

"That's what I'd do."

A chuckle. "I like you, Mr. Malone. You're a professional."

Stephanie reached into her shoulder bag and removed the book and journal.

"Toss them toward the door, between the shelves," the voice said.

She did as instructed.

A form appeared and retrieved them.

Malone silently added one more man to the list. At least five were now in the archive. He felt the gun wedged at his waist beneath his jacket. Unfortunately, there was no way to retrieve it before at least one of them was shot. And only three bullets remained in the magazine.

"Your husband, Ms. Nelle, managed to piece together many of the facts, and his deductions as to missing elements were generally correct. He was a remarkable intellect."

"What is it you're after?" Malone asked. "I only joined this party a couple of days ago."

"We seek justice, Mr. Malone."

"And it's necessary to run down an old man in Rennes-le-Chateau to achieve justice?" He thought he'd jostle the barrel and see what spilled out.

"And who would that be?"

"Ernst Scoville. He worked with Lars Nelle. Surely you knew of him?"

"Mr. Malone, perhaps a year of retirement has dulled your skills. I'd hope that you were better at interrogating when you were working full time."

"Since you have the journal and the notebook, don't you have to be going?"

"I need that lithograph. Monsieur Claridon, please be so kind as to take it to my associate, there, beyond the table."

Claridon clearly did not want to do it.

Another slap from a sound-suppressed weapon and a bullet thudded into the tabletop. "I hate repeating myself."

Malone lifted the drawing and handed it to Claridon. "Do it."

The sheet was accepted in a hand that trembled. Claridon took a few steps beyond the spill of the weak lamp. Thunder pounded the air and rattled the walls. Rain continued to burst forth with fury.

Then a new noise erupted.

Gunfire.

And the lamp exploded in a burst of sparks.

DE ROQUEFORT HEARD THE GUNSHOT AND SAW THE MUZZLE flash from near the archive's exit. Damn. Somebody else was here.

The room was plunged into darkness.

"Move," he screamed to his men on the second-floor catwalk, and he hoped they knew what to do.

MALONE REALIZED SOMEBODY HAD SHOT OUT THE LIGHT. THE woman. She'd found another way in.

As darkness overtook them, he grabbed Stephanie and they dropped to the floor. He was hoping the men above him had been likewise caught off guard.

He brought out the gun from beneath his jacket.

Two more shots exploded from below, and the bullets sent the men above scurrying. Footsteps pounded on the wooden platform. He was more concerned about the man on the ground floor, but he'd heard nothing from the direction where he'd last seen him, nor had he heard anything from Claridon.

The running stopped.

"Whoever you are," the man's voice said, "must you interfere?"

"I could ask you the same question," the woman said in a languid tone.

"This is not your business."

"I disagree."

"You assaulted two of my brothers in Copenhagen."

"Let's say I ended your attack."

"There will be retribution."

"Come and get me."

"Stop her," the man yelled.

Black shapes rushed across overhead. Malone's eyes had adjusted and he made out a staircase at the far end of the catwalk.