Steve Berry - The Templar legacy

"She has a heart. It's encased in iron, I know, but it's still there."

Mark smiled. "Appears you know her."

"I've had some experience."

"At the moment, we need to concentrate on whatever the master has concocted."

"You two dodge the issue well."

Mark smiled again. "Comes with the genes."

He glanced at his watch. "It's eleven thirty. I need to head out. I want to pay a visit to Cassiopeia Vitt before nightfall."

"I'll draw you a map. It's not a long drive from here."

They left the Calvary garden and turned toward the main rue. A hundred feet away Malone spotted a short, rugged-looking man, hands stuffed into the pockets of a leather jacket, marching straight for the church.

He grabbed Mark's shoulder. "We've got company."

Mark followed his gaze and saw de Roquefort, too.

Malone quickly assessed their options as he spotted three more short-hairs. Two stood ahead at the Villa Bethanie. Another blocked the alley that led up to the car park.

"Any suggestions?" Malone said.

Mark stepped toward the church. "Follow me."

STEPHANIE OPENED THE DOOR AND ROYCE CLARIDON ENTERED the house. "Where did you come from?" she asked, motioning for Geoffrey to lower his weapon.

"They took me from the palace last night and drove me here. They kept me in a flat two streets over, but I managed to slip away a few minutes ago."

"How many brothers are in the village?" Geoffrey asked Claridon.

"Who are you?"

"His name is Geoffrey," Stephanie said, hoping her compatriot understood to offer precious little.

"How many brothers are here?" Geoffrey asked again.

"Four."

Stephanie stepped toward the kitchen window and gazed out at the street. The cobbles were deserted in both directions. But she was concerned about Mark and Malone. "Where are those brothers?"

"I don't know. I heard them say you were in Lars's house, so I came straight here."

She didn't like that response. "We couldn't help you last night. We had no idea where they'd taken you. We were knocked unconscious trying to catch de Roquefort and the woman. By the time we woke up, everyone was gone."

The Frenchman held up his palms. "It is all right, madame, I understand. There was nothing you could do."

"Is de Roquefort here?" Geoffrey asked.

"Who?"

"The master. Is he here?"

"No names were given." Claridon faced her. "But I heard them say that Mark is alive. Is that true?"

She nodded. "He and Cotton walked to the church, but they should be back shortly."

"A miracle. I thought he was gone forever."

"You and me both."

His gaze raked the room. "I've not been inside this house in some time. Lars and I spent a lot of time here."

She offered him a seat at the table. Geoffrey positioned himself near the window, and she noticed an edge to his otherwise cool demeanor.

"What happened to you?" she asked Claridon.

"I was bound until this morning. They untied me so I could relieve myself. In the bathroom, I climbed out the window and came straight here. They will surely be looking for me, but there was nowhere else to go. Getting out of this town is quite difficult, since there is but one way in and out." Claridon fidgeted in the chair. "Might I trouble you for some water?"

She stood and filled a glass from the tap. Claridon downed it in one swallow. She refilled the glass.

"I was terrified of them," Claridon said.

"What do they want?" she asked.

"They seek their Great Devise, as Lars did."

"And what did you tell them?" Geoffrey asked, with a hint of scorn in his tone.

"I told them nothing, but they asked precious little. I was told that my questioning would be later today, after they tended to something else. But they failed to say what that was." Claridon stared at her. "Do you know what they want from you?"

"They have Lars's journal, the book from the auction, and the lithograph of the painting. What more could they want?"

"I think it's Mark."

The words visibly stiffened Geoffrey.

She wanted to know, "What do they want with him?"

"I have no clue, madame. But I wonder if any of this is worth bloodshed."

"Brothers have died for nearly nine hundred years for what they believed," Geoffrey said. "This is no different."

"You talk as though you're of the Order."

"I'm only quoting history."

Claridon drank his water. "Lars Nelle and I studied the Order for many years. I have read that history you speak of."

"What did you read?" Geoffrey asked, amazement in his voice. "Books written by people who know nothing. They write of heresy and idol worship, of kissing each other on the mouth, of sodomy, and of the denial of Jesus Christ. Not a word of which is true. All lies designed to destroy the Order and take its wealth."

"Now you truly speak like a Templar."

"I speak like a man who cherishes justice."

"Is that not a Templar?"

"Should that not be all men?"

Stephanie smiled. Geoffrey was quick.

MALONE FOLLOWED MARK BACK INTO THE CHURCH OF MARY Magdalene. They hustled down the center aisle, past nine rows of pews and gawkers, toward the altar. There Mark veered right and entered a small anteroom through an open doorway. Three camera-toting visitors stood inside.

"Could you excuse us?" Mark said to them in English. "I'm with the museum and we need this room for a few moments."

None questioned his obvious authority and Mark gently closed the door behind them. Malone looked around. The space was naturally illuminated by the light from a stained-glass window. A row of empty cupboards dominated one wall. The other three were all of wood. No furniture was inside.

"This was the sacristy," Mark said.

De Roquefort was no more than a minute from being upon them, so he wanted to know, "I assume you have something in mind?"

Mark stepped toward the cupboard and searched with his fingertips above the top shelf. "Like I told you, when Sauniere built the Calvary garden, he constructed the grotto. He and his mistress would go down into the valley and collect stones." Mark continued to search for something. "They'd come back with hods full of rocks. There."

Mark withdrew his hand and grabbed hold of the cupboard, which swung open to reveal a windowless space beyond. "This was Sauniere's hiding place. Whatever else he brought back with those rocks was stored here. Few know of this addition. Sauniere created it during the church remodeling. Plans for this building, prior to 1891, show it as an open room."

Mark withdrew an automatic pistol from beneath his jacket. "We'll wait in here and see what happens."

"Does de Roquefort know of this room?"

"We'll find out shortly."

DE ROQUEFORT STOPPED OUTSIDE THE CHURCH. ODD THAT HIS targets had fled inside. But no matter. He was going to personally tend to Mark Nelle. His patience was at an end. He'd taken the precaution of consulting with his officers before leaving the abbey. He wasn't going to repeat the former master's mistakes. His tenure would at least carry the appearance of a democracy. Thankfully, yesterday's escape and the two shootings had galvanized the brotherhood onto a singular path. All agreed that the former seneschal and his ally must be returned for punishment.

And he intended to deliver.

He surveyed the street.

The crowd was growing. A warm day had brought out the tours. He turned to the brother standing beside him. "Go inside and assess the situation."

A nod and the man walked off.

He knew the church's geography. Only one way in and out. The stained-glass windows were all fixed, so they would have to shatter one to escape. He saw no policemen, which was normal for Rennes. Little ever happened here except the spending of money. The commercialization sickened him. If it was his decision, all tours of the abbey would be stopped. He realized the bishop would question that move, but he'd already decided to limit access to only a few hours on Saturdays, citing the brothers' need for more solitude. That the bishop would understand. He fully intended on restoring many of the old ways, practices that had long been abandoned, rituals that once separated the Templars from all other religious orders. And for that he would need the abbey's gates locked far more than they were open.