C. Palov - Templar's Quest

‘Right.’ Opening the attachment, he obligingly read the summary bullets aloud. ‘Founded in 1981 by Dr Ivo Uhlemann, a German national, the Seven Research Foundation is headquartered in Paris. My, my, I’m impressed. Uhlemann has a doctorate degree from Göttingen University in theoretical physics.’

‘The group of physicists that my father always refers to as the mathematical daydreamers.’ Turning to McGuire, Kate said in a quick aside, ‘It’s a branch of physics that relies heavily on mathematical equations rather than physical experimentation.’

‘Albert Einstein, also a theoretical physicist, might take exception to that characterization,’ Cædmon remarked before continuing with the particulars. ‘A nonprofit foundation, the Seven awards academic grants across a diverse research spectrum. Everything from physics to electrical engineering to archaeology.’

‘No smoking gun there.’ Leaning close, Kate propped her cheek against his jacket-clad arm as she peered at the dossier. ‘Downright respectable, actually.’

‘Yeah, that was real respectable what they did to my two buddies.’ Punch-line delivered, McGuire yanked a leafy sprig from the imposing hedgerow that grew just behind the retaining wall.

Ignoring the other man, Cædmon skimmed through the next few paragraphs. ‘Now this is interesting. Not only do they maintain office space in the Grande Arche building, but the Seven Research Foundation was instrumental in getting the building project off the ground.’

Kate’s eyes opened wide. ‘Then all of this murder and mayhem does have something to do with the Axe Historique.’

‘Moreover, a cloud of suspicion still hovers over the Grande Arche and its design,’ he told her, assuming she’d be more interested in the information than her surly companion. ‘Although no proof has ever been tendered, that hasn’t stopped the chattering café classes from claiming that a secret esoteric group was involved in the construction project.’

‘That’s scary.’

‘That’s bullshit,’ the commando muttered.

‘That’s the least of your worries.’ Cædmon glanced up, stunned by what he’d just read. ‘According to the dossier, each and every member of the Seven’s Board of Trustees is a direct descendant of an SS Ahnenerbe officer.’ He paused, assailed with a dark foreboding, his earlier anxiety having come full circle. ‘I fear that you’re dealing with a very dangerous enemy.’

McGuire shrugged and said, ‘Tell me something I don’t know.’

Troubled by a niggling thought, Cædmon ran a hand over his unshaven cheek. ‘There’s a piece of the puzzle that we’ve not yet considered. The Seven Research Foundation is desperately trying to recover the Montségur Medallion on which, reputedly, there’s an encrypted map that leads to a long-lost Cathar treasure. How does that come into play? And, more importantly, is there a connection between the Axe Historique and the Cathar treasure?’

Cheeks noticeably flushed, Kate grabbed hold of McGuire’s wrist. ‘Finn, I think you’d better show him.’

‘I’m not showing him jack.’

‘You’ve been falsely accused of killing two men. Do you next want to be falsely accused of associating with a bunch of latter-day Nazis?’

‘Pardon me for interrupting your tête-à-tête, but what the bloody hell is going on?’ Cædmon demanded to know, the two of them behaving like criminals in the dock.

‘If you won’t do it, I will.’ Ultimatum issued, Kate made a futile grab for the canvas satchel that McGuire wore, bandolier-style, across his chest.

‘Shit.’

With that muttered oath, McGuire capitulated. Unzipping the canvas satchel, he shoved his hand inside. When, a few seconds later, he pulled out a gleaming gold pendant, Cædmon’s eyes opened wide.

Shite.

‘You actually stole the Montségur Medallion. You lying bastard!’ Shoving the computer on to Kate’s lap, Cædmon lurched to his feet. Fists clenched, he was sorely tempted to bash McGuire in the face.

‘I can assure you that Finn had the noblest of intentions,’ Kate exclaimed, quick to defend her mastodon. ‘The only reason he took the medallion was to keep it out of the hands of men who would profit from it.’

Pitying Kate for being so sadly deluded, Cædmon thrust out his hand. Glaring at McGuire, he silently dared the commando to refuse the request.

Wearing his trademark sneer, McGuire dropped the medallion into his palm. ‘Read it and weep.’

For several long moments Cædmon stared at the relic, the gold pendant divided into four separate quadrants, each containing a unique image.

‘You do know that this may actually be the Cathars’ only material legacy, making it an incredible historic find?’

‘Well, don’t get any ideas about putting it in a display case at the Louvre,’ McGuire shot back.

‘Any guesses as to what it means?’ Kate enquired in a conciliatory tone.

‘No need to guess. Its meaning is perfectly clear. These symbols are a hieroglyph of the heliacal rising of Sirius. Viewed as a pictorial depiction of the cosmos, the setting sun is seen in the west with the star, Sirius, in the east and the moon directly overhead. Clearly, the medallion is connected to the Axe Historique.’

‘What about these four As?’ Kate pointed to the fourth quadrant. ‘Instead of the usual horizontal cross bars, they all have an angled crossbar.’

‘A stylistic flourish, and as such, inconsequential. As to what they mean, I’m no expert on the Cathar religion, but the “A”s may represent the Four Ages of Man. Difficult to say.’ He flipped the medallion over to examine the back.

‘We were hoping you could translate the inscription.’

Cædmon tapped the first two incised lines with his index finger. ‘These are inscribed in medieval Occitan, the lingua franca of the Cathars. The inscription reads “In the glare of the twelfth hour, the moon shines true.” The last line, Reddis lapis exillis cellis , is written in Latin.’ Belatedly realizing the meaning of what he’d just said, his heart slammed against his breastbone. ‘I don’t bloody believe it!’

‘Believe what?’

He brought the medallion several inches closer to his face. Squinting, he reread the inscription, verifying the translation.

‘The inscription is written in grammatically incorrect, corrupted Latin. That said, it roughly translates, “The Stone of Exile has been returned to the niche.”’

‘What the hell does that mean?’ McGuire asked gruffly.

‘A great deal to anyone who has read Wolfram von Eschenbach’s Parzival. In that classic medieval tale, von Eschenbach refers to the Grail as the Lapis Exillis. The “stone in exile”.’

Hearing that, Kate gasped. Even the dour-faced commando seemed genuinely taken aback.

‘As in the Holy fucking Grail?’

‘Yes, that Grail. Which means –’ Suddenly noticing a pinprick of light in his peripheral vision, Cædmon stopped in mid-stream. Glancing down, he was horrified to see a red laser dot on his chest, centred over his heart.

Jesus!

37

‘Christ!’

His reflexes honed from three wars, Finn roughly shoved Cædmon Aisquith in the shoulder, knocking the other man off-centre. The bullet, intended for the Brit’s heart, ploughed into a maple tree instead, a chunk of sheared bark blasted into the air.

The next instant, seeing a red laser light bounce in Kate’s direction, Finn spun on his booted heel and dived straight at her, lifting her up and over the retaining wall. The two of them crash landed in the narrow gully behind the concrete barrier – just as another piece of bark chipped off the tree trunk.