Steve Berry - The Templar legacy

"I conceal the secrets of God," Mark said, translating the last line. "Anagrams were common in the fourteenth century, too."

"So de Molay was ready?" Malone asked.

Mark nodded. "He came to France with sixty knights, a hundred fifty thousand gold florins, and twelve pack horses hauling unminted silver. He knew there was going to be trouble. That money was to be used to buy his way out. But there's something contained within this treatise that is little known. The commander of the Templar contingent in the Languedoc was Seigneur de Goth. Pope Clement V, the man who summoned de Molay, was named Bertrand de Goth. The pope's mother was Ida de Blanchefort, who was related to Gilbert de Blanchefort. So de Molay possessed good inside information."

"Always helps," Malone said.

"De Molay also knew something on Clement V. Prior to his election as pope, Clement met with Philip IV. The king had the power to deliver the papacy to whomever he wanted. Before he gave it to Clement, he imposed six conditions. Most had to do with Philip getting to do whatever he wanted, but the sixth concerned the Templars. Philip wanted the Order dissolved, and Clement agreed."

"Interesting stuff," Stephanie said, "but what seems more important at the moment is what the abbe Bigou knew. He's the man who actually commissioned Marie's gravestone. Would he have known of a connection between the de Blanchefort family secret and the Templars?"

"Without a doubt," Thorvaldsen said. "Bigou was told the family secret by Marie d'Hautpoul de Blanchefort herself. Her husband was a direct descendant of Gilbert de Blanchefort. Once the Order was suppressed, and Templars started burning at the stake, Gilbert de Blanchefort would have told no one the location of the Great Devise. So that family secret has to be Templar-related. What else could it be?"

Mark nodded. "The Chronicles speak of carts topped with hay moving through the French countryside, each headed south toward the Pyrenees, escorted by armed men disguised as peasants. All but three made the journey safely. Unfortunately, there's no mention of their final destination. Only one clue in all the Chronicles. Where is it best to hide a pebble?"

"In the middle of a rock pile," Malone said.

"That's what the master said, too," Mark said. "To the fourteenth-century mind, the most obvious location would be the safest."

Malone gazed again at the gravestone drawing. "So Bigou had this gravestone carved that, in code, says that he conceals the secrets of God, and he went to the trouble of publicly placing it. What was the point? What are we missing?"

Mark reached into the rucksack and extracted another volume. "This is a report by the Order's marshal written in 1897. The man was investigating Sauniere and came across another priest, the abbe Gelis, in a nearby village, who found a cryptogram in his church."

"As Sauniere did," Stephanie said.

"That's right. Gelis deciphered the cryptogram and wanted the bishop to know what he learned. The marshal posed as the bishop's representative and copied the puzzle, but he kept the solution to himself."

Mark showed them the cryptogram and Malone studied the lines of letters and symbols. "Some sort of numeric key unscrambles it?"

Mark nodded. "It's impossible to break without the key. There are billions of possible combinations."

"There was one of these in your father's journal, too," he said.

"I know. Dad found it in Noel Corbu's unpublished manuscript."

"Claridon told us about that."

"Which means de Roquefort has it," Stephanie said. "But is it part of the fiction of Lars's journal?"

"Anything Corbu touched has to be suspect," Thorvaldsen made clear. "He embellished Sauniere's story to promote his damn hotel."

"But the manuscript he wrote," Mark said. "Dad always believed it contained truth. Corbu was close with Sauniere's mistress up until she died in 1953. Many believed she told him things. That's why Corbu never published the manuscript. It contradicted his fictionalized version of the story."

"But surely the cryptogram in the journal is false?" Thorvaldsen said. "That would have been the very thing de Roquefort would have wanted from the journal."

"We can only hope," Malone said, as he noticed an image of Reading the Rules of the Caridad on the table. He lifted the letter-sized reproduction and studied the writing beneath the little man, in a monk's robe, perched on a stool with a finger to his lips, signaling quiet.

Something was wrong, and he instantly compared the image with the lithograph.

The dates were different.

"I spent this morning learning about that painting," Cassiopeia said. "I found that image on the Internet. The painting was destroyed by fire in the late 1950s, but prior to that the canvas had been cleaned and readied for display. During the restoration process it was discovered that 1687 was actually 1681. But of course, the lithograph was drawn at a time when the date was obscured."

Stephanie shook her head. "This is a puzzle with no answer. Everything changes by the minute."

"You're doing precisely what the master wanted," Geoffrey said.

They all looked at him.

"He said that once you combined, all would be revealed."

Malone was confused. "But your master specifically warned us to Beware the engineer."

Geoffrey motioned to Cassiopeia. "Perhaps you should beware of her."

"What does that mean?" Thorvaldsen asked.

"Her race fought the Templars for two centuries."

"Actually, the Muslims trounced the brothers and sent them packing from the Holy Land," Cassiopeia declared. "And Spanish Muslims kept the Order in check here in the Languedoc when the Templars tried to expand their sphere south, beyond the Pyrenees. So your master was right. Beware the engineer."

"What would you do if you found the Great Devise?" Geoffrey asked her.

"Depends on what there is to find."

"Why does that matter? The Devise is not yours, regardless."

"You're quite forward for a mere brother of the Order."

"Much is at stake here, the least of which is your ambition to prove Christianity a lie."

"I don't recall saying that was my ambition."

"The master knew."

Cassiopeia's face screwed tight-the first time Malone had seen agitation in her expression. "Your master knew nothing of my motives."

"And by keeping them hidden," Geoffrey said, "you do nothing but confirm his suspicion."

Cassiopeia faced Henrik. "This young man could be a problem."

"He was sent by the master," Thorvaldsen said. "We shouldn't question."

"He's trouble," Cassiopeia declared.

"Maybe so," Mark said. "But he's part of this, so get used to him."

She stayed calm and unruffled. "Do you trust him?"

"Doesn't matter," Mark said. "Henrik's right. The master trusted him and that's what matters. Even if the good brother can be irritating."

Cassiopeia did not push the point, but on her brow was written the shadow of mutiny. And Malone did not necessarily disagree with her impulse.

He turned his attention back to the table and stared at the color images taken at the Church of Mary Magdalene. He noticed the garden with the statue of the Virgin and the words MISSION 1891 and PENITENCE, PENITENCE carved into the face of the upside-down Visigoth pillar. He shuffled through close-up shots of the stations of the cross, pausing for a moment on station 10, where a Roman soldier was gambling for Christ's cloak, the numbers three, four, and five visible on the dice faces. Then he paused on station 14, which showed Christ's body being carried under cover of darkness by two men.

He remembered what Mark had said in the church, and he couldn't help wondering. Was their route into the tomb or out?