"Eight o'clock will be fine,” Julian agreed. Then to Nicole he said, “I will pick you up at seven-thirty."
"Oui, Monsieur. Seven-thirty will be perfect."
De Charny said, “If you will both excuse me, my father requires my attention. I look forward to seeing you again, Monsieur Valjean. Adieu."
* * * *
"THE FISH WAS very good, Angelino,” Jesus said. “Thank you both for inviting me. It was good to be with different people."
There was a knock on the cabin door. Susan jumped. The door opened. It was Steven Hamilton. “Excuse me for barging in on you, but I was looking for.... “He stopped short when he saw the inhabitants of the cabin. It was difficult to tell who was more surprised, Susan or Steven. “It's you!” he said to Susan. Before she could respond, he spotted Jesus sitting at the table, “There you are. I'm glad I found you. Armand is having kittens back at the cabin."
"Hello, Steven,” Jesus said. “I was out walking and these good people offered to have me join them for dinner."
"What are you two doing out here?” Steven asked Susan and Angelino.
"At the moment, we are finishing up dinner, Doctor Hamilton,” Angelino said. “I'm afraid there is no more to offer you."
"How long have you been out here?"
"A couple of weeks. We came here after leaving your laboratory,” Angelino said. “It's peaceful here. Peace is something we will all be longing for before too long."
Jesus said, “Angelino was telling me how he brought the shroud to you."
Angelino said, “Armand Mathias has done a good job teaching him English. I am most impressed."
"Well, here we are. One big happy family,” Steven said lightly. An awkward pause followed, broken at last by Angelino.
"You two should get home. It will be dark soon,” he said. Susan was about to protest but was stopped by a glance from Angelino. He knew what she was thinking, that they would leave and disappear and they would not see them again. He would explain later to her it was unlikely just yet. He could sense from Steven that they were quite undecided about what to do with Jesus. Even if they did disappear, how long could they hide this secret? Steven and John would want to announce this event to the world. They would not be contained for long. He knew Mathias also had his plans for Jesus. Everything was unfolding as it should, he noted with a private smile. There was so much he could never explain to any of them, not even Susan and especially not to Jesus. Jesus would play out his role without any prompting from him. Destiny, as she always did, had placed her players exactly where they needed to be. Before too long, it would all come together.
Chapter 12
JULIAN MICHAELS WAS not easily impressed, but he could not help but feel a sense of awe as he drove up the long driveway to the de Charny estate. The origins of the estate extended back to a long forgotten past. No one could recall a time when it was not inhabited by the first family of France, the de Charnys, who had been entrusted with the guardianship of the burial shroud of Jesus Christ. This sacred trust dated back to a shadowy time before the 14th century. There was simply no equivalent in America to the centuries-old palatial estates dispersed throughout the countryside of Europe. He did his best to conceal his awe from Nicole. It was important to his cover that all of this opulence appear to be second nature to him. But to himself, Julian smiled and said, Damn!
"It is beautiful, no?” Nicole said. “It is one of the oldest estates in all of France."
Julian nodded as casually as he could. They pulled up to the front of the house. If it seemed large from a distance, the house was positively huge up close. It was just shy of being a bona fide castle. Large gray bricks held together by primitive mortar made up the outer facade. There seemed to be a never-ending procession of windows on all three floors which extended to the east and west of the tall wooden front door. A large circular driveway led up to the front door.
Julian stepped out of his car and was immediately met by a valet who took his keys. Another valet opened the door and assisted Nicole from the passenger seat. She wore a tight form-fitting beige silk gown. The front dipped tastefully and was decorated with a loose fringe of the same material as the gown itself. He noted how Nicole seemed to look ravishing in any color.
He came around and offered his arm, which she immediately accepted, and they walked together up to the large wooden door. One of the valets drove off with the car.
Soon they were standing in a large entrance area. A tall staircase stood directly in front of the doorway. It climbed directly to the back of the room but then split into a “Y” with branches continuing up to either side of the stairway.
A stately butler led them into a greeting area furnished in expensive and clearly very old furniture. “Please wait here, Monsieur Valjean. I shall announce you to Monsieur de Charny.” He bowed.
"Thank you."
The butler disappeared behind a sliding wooden door.
Julian could not resist surveying the greeting area. If money had an odor ... and he had always been convinced that it did ... this room was permeated with it.
The butler reappeared, followed by Gerrard de Charny. He greeted them warmly. “Monsieur Valjean ... Nicole ... Welcome to my home."
"Thank you again for your invitation. I look forward to seeing some of your heirlooms. I'm sure they will prove to be quite interesting."
"If I do say so myself, they are, indeed, Monsieur Valjean,” he beamed. “Come with me. I have had my chef prepare his specialty for you. After we have dined, I will give you a tour of the house.” They followed him into a huge dining room. A long wooden table seemed tiny and alone in the center of the room. It was covered with a white linen tablecloth. Julian noticed it was set for four.
"I hope you do not mind, but I invited my father to join us this evening. I thought you might enjoy his company. He has lived very long and has seen much."
"I would like that very much, Monsieur de Charny."
"I think we may dispense with formalities. Please call me ‘Gerrard.’ May I call you ‘Frederick'?"
"By all means. It's my name."
"Yes,” de Charny said without smiling. “Let us dine, shall we?"
* * * *
CARDINAL MACARTHUR WAS deeply worried about his old friend. Pope Timothy was a broken man. He sat in a chair staring out into the courtyard all day long, self-condemned to his own private purgatory. MacArthur did not know what had made Timothy retreat into his own mind. He had been like this ever since Number One had visited him two weeks ago. MacArthur knew the order to eliminate Susan Morgan had been the straw that had broken the camel's back.
"Ronald, my dear friend,” he whispered to the Pope. “I promise you Angelino will pay for your pain."
As always, there was no response from the inanimate form in the chair. MacArthur's eyes moistened with tears. The Pope had been such a vital and energetic man. To see him reduced to this state was more than he could bear.
MacArthur had taken over the day-to-day functions of the papacy. Word had been put out that the Pope was suffering a mild illness to explain his absence from public view. MacArthur knew that cover story would not hold indefinitely. Sooner or later the Pope's condition would have to be revealed.
"Rest, my good friend,” MacArthur whispered tenderly.
Father Mancini entered the room. “Excuse me, Cardinal. There is someone here to see you."
"Oh? Who is it?"
Number One appeared in the doorway.
"You!” MacArthur gasped. “What do you want?” He gestured for Father Mancini to leave the room, which he did obediently.
"Relax, Cardinal MacArthur. I am here to talk to the Pope."
"He is not in any condition to see anyone."
"He will see me,” Number One said firmly. He walked past MacArthur to the Pope and pulled up a chair to sit beside him. Timothy did not show any sign of recognition. He continued to stare blankly out the window. Number One leaned forward and whispered into the Pope's ear.
MacAr
thur was shocked to see Timothy slowly turn his head toward Number One. He placed his head on Number One's shoulders and began to sob.
Then he slumped over in his chair. Number One twisted the knife slowly then withdrew it. He placed it in Timothy's hand, and whispered to him evenly, “As I told you once before, I have no problem doing what is necessary. Rest in peace, Pope Timothy."
It took a moment for it to register with Cardinal MacArthur. He rushed to the side of his lifelong friend. “My God. Why?” He looked up at Number One with tear-filled eyes.
"He was weak, Cardinal MacArthur. Your love for him blinded you to that. But I removed the burden he was carrying from his soul before he took his own life. Let us hope you will be a stronger Pope than he.” With that, Number One turned and left the room without a word. It was with that kind of cavalier casualness The Council decreed the fate of Popes ... and Popes to be.
* * * *
"THAT MEAL WAS extraordinary, Gerrard,” Julian said to his host sincerely. “You have quite a chef."
"Yes, Frederick. He has been with my family for many years. My father hired him away from the Café d'Paris many years ago."
The elder de Charny spoke up with a shaking but firm voice. “He was the finest chef in all of France ... in all the world. The de Charny family has always felt worthy of the best France has to offer us."
For the next half-hour, Julian listened with delight as Geoffrey de Charny recounted stories of the Resistance to the Nazis in Word War II. His voiced snarled with disgust at the mention of those Frenchmen who had collaborated with the Germans. To him they were the lowest form of traitor imaginable. De Charny carried a love for his country that only one who had been born into a long line of French descendants could hold.
After several glasses of fine French wine and more tales of history by Geoffrey, Gerrard said lightly, “Father, I promised Frederick I would show him some of our more historic keepsakes. I do not want to renege on that promise."
"By all means,” Geoffrey said, his blue eyes twinkling. With great effort, he rose from his chair. “Gerrard, show Monsieur Valjean and Mademoiselle Chambleau around."
Julian smiled and rose. “Your stories have been a pure delight, Monsieur de Charny. Thank you for sharing them with us tonight."
De Charny nodded his head in a slight bow of acknowledgment.
"Come,” Gerrard said. “Follow me.” He led them through several rooms filled with antiques and relics. The entire estate was a virtual museum of French history, extending back almost to the time of Christ. One of the wings had the obligatory hall of portraits of the de Charny family. Gerrard pointed out his father's namesake, the de Charny who had been entrusted with the famous Shroud. The family resemblance was unmistakable. The long, Roman nose, high forehead, and the slight wave to the hair were easily seen in the modern incarnations of the de Charny family.
Finally, Gerrard led them to a closed door. “Frederick, this room contains the greatest of the de Charny family treasures. Very few people have seen what I am about to show you."
Alarm bells rang in Julian's head. Why was he being entrusted with the knowledge of that room? For all intents and purposes he was a total stranger to the de Charnys. He did not imagine they opened up their inner circle to many outsiders. Nevertheless, de Charny was about to share with him a family secret. A skeleton in their closet? He doubted that. No one eagerly shares those, even with close friends.
De Charny produced a large key from his pocket and inserted it into the ancient lock. The door opened with a creak into a pitch-black room.
"We have never put electricity in this room,” de Charny explained. “We have always preferred to keep it in its original state from the time the house was built."
"When was that?"
"In the early fourteenth century."
Julian whistled and said, “Wow.” He looked toward Nicole, who seemed to be avoiding eye contact with him. She had been silent since dinner, but he hadn't really given it too much thought, having been absorbed in the tour.
Gerrard lit a candle and entered the room, beckoning to them to follow. Inside the room, he used the small candle to light a couple of larger ones. The mustiness of old linen wafted through the air. Gradually, Julian's eyes adjusted to the candle-lit darkness. What he saw before him made him catch his breath.
Hanging on the opposite wall, was the Shroud.
"I don't understand,” Julian said, not attempting to hide his confusion. “I thought the Shroud had been stolen. I thought it was kept in Turin."
"You asked me the other night what had become of the Shroud, Monsieur Valjean. As you can now plainly see, my family never relinquished its guardianship of it. It has been right here for the past six hundred years.” Answering Julian's unasked question, he added, “The Shroud which has been kept in Turin is a forgery, created for the purpose of protecting the safety of the original, which you see before you."
"So you mean Father Angelino does not have the real Shroud? He stole the forgery?"
"Oui, Frederick. Even the Pope himself believed the Church possessed the authentic Shroud. The Church was never told of the existence of the second Shroud. It was safer to allow the world to believe they had the real one. The pope was finally told the truth tonight before he died. He felt he had failed us. We thought it only decent he be able to die knowing the real Shroud was still safe and secure. I am told he died with his soul at peace."
"What? Pope Timothy is dead? When? How?” He did not miss the use of the plural pronouns. Who was—'us'?
"Just this very evening. He died of ... natural causes, Monsieur Valjean. Or should I call you ‘Monsieur Julian Michaels'?"
"What?” Julian felt like he had been kicked in the stomach. They knew! But how? He attempted a feeble bluff. “I don't know what you mean. My name is Frederick Valjean."
"Please, Monsieur Michaels. You gravely underestimate us.” The plural pronoun again. Did he mean the de Charny family or did he mean...
"Congratulations, Monsieur Michaels ... may I call you ‘Julian?’ You have found what you came here for and I must congratulate you on your skill as an investigator. I don't recall anyone ever finding us quite so quickly without us allowing them to.” He was smiling triumphantly. “You wanted to know if The Exalted Council of Most Highs existed. Now you know that, unlike Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and ... God, we do, indeed, exist."
Julian's head was reeling. He looked at de Charny, who was still grinning with almost maniacal glee, unable to deny, unable to speak at all. De Charny's evil grin was the last thing Julian saw. Nicole thrust the long knife expertly into his back, piercing his heart. He was dead instantly. The weight of his body wrenched the knife from Nicole's hand as he crumbled to the floor.
"Well done, Number Two,” de Charny said. He looked upon Julian's lifeless body and said almost sadly, “It is a pity. He was almost intelligent enough.” Then to Nicole he said. “Come. We have done our duty yet again."
Chapter 13
"SUSAN, YOU UP for a walk this morning?” Angelino seemed to be in a particularly bright mood. He walked over to the door and opened it to reveal a gloriously sunny morning.
Susan smiled quizzically. A walk? He had never asked her to go for a walk before. “Sure, Father Angelino. That would be nice. I'm getting cabin fever."
Angelino clapped his hands and said, “Great! Let's go."
"You mean now, this minute?"
"Sure. No sense in wasting time. We have to go and visit our new neighbors."
Susan was happy at that thought. She liked Steven and she was eager once again to spend time with Jesus. She felt drawn to him. “Okay, let me throw on some shoes and we'll be on our way."
She appeared momentarily and they headed off, following the directions they had gotten from Steven.
They walked about a mile without talking, both content to enjoy the day. It was an unusually warm fall day for that altitude. It would not be too long before the hills would be covered in snow. The aspens were fully
yellow and beginning to shed their leaves. Winter was not very far off. It was Angelino who finally broke the silence.
"You have been very quiet and thoughtful lately. Something is troubling you."
Susan's stomach tightened. She was ashamed of the doubts she had felt and would just as soon have forgotten them. But many times she found her thoughts drifting back to that incident, wondering what had created such a deep reaction inside her, never able to come up with an answer that satisfied her.
"Yes, Father Angelino, I am troubled, but I am uncertain what the source of it is."
"It is Jesus, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is,” she admitted. “I can't put my finger on it. It was something in his eyes."
"I see."
"Father Angelino, I have to confess something to you,” Susan said tentatively.
"Confession was once my business, Susan. Go ahead."
She smiled gratefully at this attempt to make her feel more comfortable. Nevertheless, she still found it hard to speak the words. “For a few moments ... the day Jesus was visiting ... I doubted you.” She looked over toward Angelino to see if that caused any reaction. He appeared unmoved.
"Please continue, Susan,” he said, after it became apparent she was struggling to do just that.
"I ... I ... for a moment I felt Jesus was afraid of you. And when I saw that, I told myself Jesus might fear you because you were.... Oh, Father Angelino, I am so sorry.” Tears filled her eyes.
"Because I was evil?” He finished the thought for her. Susan could only nod her head in response, as tears streamed down her cheeks. She could not bring herself to look at him.
"Susan,” he said, gently. “Remember how often I have cautioned you that things are not always what they seem to be? That is not something one does on a part-time basis.” They walked a little further in silence as Susan considered his words. He then said, “I am pleased you would have the courage to question. That kind of self-honest thought will serve you well as you confront your destiny.” He stopped walking and Susan halted with him. He placed his hands gently on her shoulders and looked into her eyes.
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