Steve Berry - The Templar legacy

"You know, don't you?" Malone asked.

"I think I do."

They all waited.

"In the tenth century a wealthy baron named Hildemar came to know a man named Agulous. Hildemar's relatives resented Agulous's influence over him, and, in direct opposition to his family, Hildemar turned over all his lands to Agulous, who converted his castle into an abbey that Hildemar himself joined. While kneeling in prayer inside the abbey's chapel, Agulous and Hildemar were slain by Saracens. Both were eventually made Catholic saints. There's a town there still. About ninety miles from here. St. Agulous." She reached for the pen and converted lagustous into St. Agulous.

"There were Templar sites there," Mark said. "A large commandery, but it's gone."

"That castle, which became an abbey, is still there," Cassiopeia made clear.

"We need to go," Henrik said.

"That could be a problem." And Malone cut a glance to Cassiopeia. They'd not told the others about the men outside, so he did now.

"De Roquefort will act," Mark said. "Our hostess, here, allowed him to have Dad's journal. Once he learns the thing is worthless, his attitude will change."

"We need to leave here unnoticed," Malone said.

"There's a lot of us," Henrik said. "Such an exit would be a challenge."

Cassiopeia smiled. "I like challenges."

DE ROQUEFORT THREADED HIS WAY THROUGH THE FOREST OF tall pines, the ground beneath him silvered with white heather. A honey scent hung in the morning air. The rocky clefts of red limestone surrounding him were shrouded by a wispy fog. An eagle soared in and out of the haze, on the prowl for breakfast. He'd eaten his with the brothers, the meal taken in the traditional silence as Scripture was read to them.

He had to give Claridon credit. He'd deciphered the cryptogram with the seven, nine combination and unlocked the secret. Unfortunately, the message was useless. Claridon told him that Lars Nelle had found a cryptogram within an unpublished manuscript by Noel Corbu, the man who'd promulgated much of the fiction about Rennes in the mid-twentieth century. But had Nelle changed the puzzle or had Sauniere? Was the frustrating solution what drove Lars Nelle to suicide? All that effort and when he finally deciphered what Sauniere left, he was told nothing. Was that what Nelle meant when he'd declared There's absolutely nothing to find?

Hard to know.

But he was damn well going to find out.

A horn blared in the distance from the direction of the castle. The workday was probably about to begin. Ahead, he spied one of his sentries. He'd communicated with the man by cell phone on the trip north from the abbey and learned that all was quiet. Through the trees he caught sight of the chateau, a couple of hundred meters away, bathed in a filtered morning glow.

He approached the brother who reported that an hour ago a group of eleven men and women had arrived on foot from the construction site. All period-dressed. They'd been inside ever since. The second sentinel had reported that the rear of the building remained quiet. No one had entered or left. Plenty of inside movement came two hours ago-lights on in rooms, servant activity. Cassiopeia Vitt herself emerged at one point and walked to the stables, then back.

"There also was activity around one AM, " the brother said to him. "Bedroom lights came on, then a downstairs room was lit. About an hour later the lights went off. Seems they all woke up for a while, then went back to sleep."

Perhaps their night had been as revealing as his own. "But no one left the house?"

The man shook his head.

He reached for the radio in his pocket and communicated with the team leader for the ten knights he'd brought with him. They'd parked their vehicles half a mile away and were hiking through the forest toward the chateau. He'd ordered that they quietly ring the building, then await his instruction. He was now informed that all ten were in place. Counting the two already here and himself, thirteen armed men-more than enough to accomplish the task.

Ironic, he thought. The brothers were once again at war with a Saracen. Seven hundred years ago, Muslims defeated the Christians and retook the Holy Land. Now another Muslim, Cassiopeia Vitt, had involved herself in Order business.

"Master."

His attention was diverted to the chateau and the front entrance, where people were exiting, all dressed in the colorful peasant garb of the Middle Ages. The men in plain brown cottes with cords tied about their waists, legs sheathed in dark hose, feet covered by thin shoes. A few sported cockers tied about their ankles. The women wore long gray gowns and heuks tied around their hips with apron strings. Straw hats, broad-brimmed caps, headrails, and hoods covered the heads. Yesterday, he'd noticed how all of the workers at the Givors site wore authentic clothing, part of the anachronistic atmosphere the place was surely designed to evoke. A couple of the workers started jostling with one another in good humor as the group turned and slowly headed for the lane leading back to the castle site.

"Perhaps some sort of meeting," the brother standing next to him said. "They came and are returning to the construction site."

He agreed. Cassiopeia Vitt personally oversaw the Givors project, so it was reasonable to assume workers would meet with her.

"How many went in?"

"Eleven."

He counted. The same had exited. Fine. Time to act. He raised the radio to his lips and said, "Move in."

"What are our orders?" the voice on the other end of the radio asked.

He was tired of toying with his opponent.

"Do what is necessary to contain them until I get inside."

He entered the chateau through the kitchen, an enormous room loaded with stainless steel. Fifteen minutes had passed since he gave the order to take the house and the siege had proceeded without a shot. In fact, the occupants had been eating their breakfast when the brothers made their way through the ground floor. Men stationed at all the exits and outside the dining room windows had destroyed any hope of escape.

He was pleased. He did not want to attract any attention.

As he moved through the many rooms, he admired the walls covered in colorful brocade, the painted ceilings, carved pilasters, glass chandeliers, and furniture sheathed in varying shades of damask. Cassiopeia Vitt possessed taste.

He found the dining room and prepared himself to face Mark Nelle. The others would be killed, their bodies buried in the forest, but Mark Nelle and Geoffrey would be returned to face discipline. He needed to make an example of them. The death of the brother in Rennes must be avenged.

He stepped through a spacious foyer and entered the dining room.

Brothers ringed the room, their weapons drawn. His gaze raked the long table and he registered six faces.

None of which he recognized.

Instead of seeing Cotton Malone, Stephanie Nelle, Mark Nelle, Geoffrey, and Cassiopeia Vitt, the men and women gathered around the table were strangers, all six dressed in jeans and shirts.

Workers from the construction site.

Damn.

They'd escaped right before his eyes.

He contained his rising anger. "Hold them here until I return," he said to one of the knights.

He left the house and calmly strolled down the treed lane toward the car park. Only a few vehicles present this early. But Cotton Malone's rental, which had been parked there when he arrived earlier, was gone.

He shook his head.

Now he was at a loss, with no idea where they'd gone.

One of the brothers he'd left inside the chateau ran up from behind. He wondered why the man had left his post.

"Master," the man said. "One of the people inside the chateau told me that Cassiopeia Vitt asked them to come to the chateau early today, dressed in their work outfits. Six of them switched clothing and were all told by Vitt to enjoy their breakfast."