by Neil Howarth
Then the scroll appeared from Brother Thomas, and for just a moment he thought he had it. The means to tear apart all that Salus had been building. The ultimate proof, and the perfect banner to lead the greatest Holy War in history. Even when they had received the carbon dating results, in the midst of failure, he saw opportunity. This was too big. He could not allow it to fail.
As every conjurer knew, the secret to a great illusion is distraction and anticipation. And he had the perfect distraction to get everyone’s attention, while he silently moved in his Trojan horse. He only needed their attention for a short time.
But first, he had needed to convince the Vatican. He knew Salus would never go for it. He had too much to lose. But he also knew that his infallibility was about to expire. He had taken the scroll to Father Muller in Avignon. Poor Gerhard had almost wet himself when he saw it. He knew about the repatriation, but that was all. The carbon dating he was shown had been pure fiction. From there he had roped in Vogler, and the whole of the Curia followed on. After all, this was what they desperately wanted to believe.
And now the scene was set, the fuse was lit. The End Times were about to begin.
He took out his cell phone and called Blanchet. “Everything fine out there?”
Blanchet reassured him everything was under control.
De Vaux pondered that thought. Except for Fagan’s friend. The image of the fat priest sprang to the front of his mind. But what did he have? Nothing, at least nothing that anyone would believe. Now was not the time to be cautious. As the Grand Master would say, now was the time to be bold.
“Good,” De Vaux spoke into the phone. “You know what to do.”
66
Abbaye de Sainte Bernadette, Brittany.
Fagan sat up on the bed at the sound of activity in the outside passage. His body spasmed with pain as he struggled to get his feet on the floor.
“Are you okay?” Frankie got up from the bed on the opposite side of the cell.
“I’ll get back to you on that.”
A key scraped in the lock, and the door swung open.
“I hope the guest suite was to your liking.” Blanchet stood in the doorway. “I thought we’d take a little stroll.”
Two of Blanchet’s men stepped into the room, each holding a silenced automatic. Fagan recognized Marco. He stood there with a gun in his hand and a disturbing look of pleasure on his face. Fagan pulled in Frankie behind him and headed out into the passage. A figure dressed in a light colored robe stood back as he stepped through the door.
Fagan pushed his way forward to stand in front of the Abbot, Brother Fabian. “You call yourself a man of God.”
“You and I interpret that differently.”
“You can explain that to him when you meet.”
Blanchet put a hand on Fagan’s chest and pushed him back. “Somehow I think you’ll get the chance to speak to him first.”
Blanchet led the way along a narrow passageway. Down the left side were similar cells to the one they had left, each with a small barred window in the door. Blanchet stopped in front of the last one and nodded to the guard beside him. The man unlocked the door and stepped inside. He reappeared moments later propping up a battered and bloody figure.
Fagan didn’t recognize him at first, then it dawned.
“Brother Cedric?”
The monk who had been his guide around the monastery, a lifetime ago, looked at him slightly ashamed. “I wanted to tell you, that day. But . . .”
“It’s all right.” Fagan took hold of him. The man could barely stand.
“Come on, we have a tide to catch.” Blanchet urged them forward.
Fagan had a vague recollection of something Brother Cedric had told him on his first visit. They continued down two flights of steps, Fagan holding on to Brother Cedric with Frankie close behind. At the bottom, the guard used a key to unlock a large iron door and pushed it open. Beyond was a huge cave with a massive cathedral-like ceiling, dimly illuminated by strategically placed light bulbs in hardened glass covers. Stone steps continued down to the cave floor.
Fagan made his way down, holding onto Brother Cedric as he went. The steps became increasingly worn as they descended, until at the bottom they were nothing more than hollowed lumps of rock. The roar of the ocean rolled in from the darkness, echoing around the walls, and Fagan remembered what Brother Cedric had told him about this place.
It would seem that De Vaux’s questioning was over.
“Gentlemen, and Lady.” Blanchet nodded towards Frankie. “Welcome to the Devil’s Cauldron.”
Running the entire length of the rear wall of the cave was a single step, cut from the granite with a flat top about two feet wide. It was worn smooth as glass by centuries of scrubbing by the ocean on each high tide. Iron rings were spaced along the step, paired at intervals, each set firmly into the rock.
“Take a seat,” Blanchet said.
A guard manhandled them into position, first Frankie, then Fagan, followed by Brother Cedric. Marco appeared dragging behind him a long metal chain. He threaded it through the loops set into the rock, then as he approached Frankie he passed the chain through a loop then wrapped it around her wrist, once around her body then did the same with the other wrist. He worked more of the chain through the loops and gathered up the slack then did the same with Fagan and finally with Brother Cedric. He then pulled it tight, winding the free end around a hook set into the rock wall, effectively pinning them in place.
Blanchet stood with his arms folded, contemplating them. “They say that at high tide, when the ocean rushes in and fills up this cave, the tidal pull is so strong it can rip a man out of his chains. I believe it was used extensively as an effective disposal chute during the 13th century, when this place was a prison. Modern calculations reckon that a body dragged out from the Devil’s Cauldron will be carried far out into the ocean by the undertow, and then be caught up in the North Atlantic drift. You’ll eventually pop up somewhere north of the Arctic Circle.” Blanchet’s face beamed with amusement. “What’s left of you. They say it can take two or three tides to finally clean out the last of the bones.”
“Why all the theatrics?” Fagan said. “Why bring us all the way out here to get rid of us, like this? I’m sure if you’d dumped us in the salt marshes out in the Venice lagoon, no one would have found us. Besides, I thought a bullet in the back of the head was more your style.”
“Don’t get me wrong, Joe, I would love to do the job right this time, but Mister De Vaux insisted on all this.” Blanchet waved an arm at the vaulted ceiling. “He thought it fitting.”
“You mean he’s crazy.”
“Who cares. He pays me crazy money. But there is a practical side. If anyone should find you, which I doubt, there will be no incriminating evidence. You were just a victim of the ocean,” Blanchet’s smirk broadened into a smile, “and a long way from ground zero.”
Fagan’s body tensed and he strained at the chains.
“Yes, Joe, a comforting thought for the end. You were right all along.”
Fagan wanted to come back with a cutting reply, but no words would come.
“Anyway, I can’t stay jawing with you all day, I got work to do, loose ends to tidy up. And you got a tide to catch.”
He turned to look at the Abbot. “Speaking of loose ends, there was one particular job that Mister De Vaux asked me to do personally. Fabian, he asked me to tell you he appreciates all your help, but he really can’t take the risk.”
He reached under his jacket and pulled out a silenced pistol. The Abbot opened his mouth to protest. The gun spit twice rapidly. The Abbot pitched violently backward and collapsed on the rock floor.
“What were you saying about incriminating evidence?” Fagan nodded towards the fallen monk.
Blanchet gave a nonchalant shrug. “No plan’s perfect.”
Fagan glanced across at Frankie. The look was in her eye. He knew what she was going to say, but there was no way he could stop her.
“Was my brother a loose end?”
Blanchet looked across at her. She stared at him with fire in her eyes.
“Miss Lefevre, you seem upset.”
“Did you kill him?”
Blanchet seemed to ponder for a moment. “Ah yes, the young Frenchman.” He gave a dismissive shrug. “Alas yes, that was me. It was quite a challenge, running down Brother Thomas then crashing out through the sea wall. But a wetsuit, a miniature air supply and a lot of imagination, and voila, as you French would say. You should be comforted by the fact that we gave him a good send off.”
Frankie strained with anger against the chain, but it held her firmly in place.
“You should save your strength. The tide will be in soon. I would love to stay and watch, but unfortunately, I got things to do.”
Blanchet looked across to the guard standing over by the steps.
“Stay with them, until the tide is up to here.” He touched the top of his bald head. “We don’t want them wriggling their way out before the ocean comes to take them. You can stand at the top of the steps and keep your feet dry. Don’t forget to lock the door behind you when you leave.” He checked his watch. “Call me when it’s done.” He nodded to Marco and led the way back up the steps. The iron door clanged shut behind them.
Fagan turned to Frankie. “Are you okay?”
She gave him a nod.
He turned back to Brother Cedric. “Are you all right?”
The monk nodded. His eyes flicked across to the silent figure of the Abbot. A growing pool of blood seeped out from beneath him.
“He was not a bad man really. But he became set on a misguided path.”
A wave broke into the mouth of the cave spraying in sea water. Cedric winced at the irritation from the cuts on his face.
“They look painful,” Fagan said. “Why did they do this to you? What had you done?”
“I found Brother Thomas’s journal. He had hidden it in the scriptorium. It told the whole story. We knew that twenty years ago he had found a letter in the archives. It referred to the Sacred Secret of the Keeper. It also said the secret lies with St Martial. Sadly Thomas spent the rest of his life chasing down everything he could, that related to St Martial. It had proved a fruitless journey until he received a letter from an obscure monastery in the Holy Land, the Monastery of St Martial.”
“We’ve been to that monastery,” Fagan said. “And we know about the scroll.”
“Then you know why he was killed. I almost told you about it the day you came here. I had already decided I would tell you the next day when you came back, but events unfolded somewhat differently. After Brother Lucien,” he paused, “died, I unburdened myself in confession. Unfortunately, my confessor was the Abbot. Shortly afterwards, De Vaux’s men appeared, they wanted to know what else I knew. It was not a lot I’m afraid, but it proved a painful process convincing them.”
“What did you find out?”
“As I said, not a lot. Brother Thomas smuggled the scroll out of Israel using the Foundation network. He never got to see it again. But he did keep a sample which he had carbon dated.”
“I know I saw the report.”
“I should have given the journal to you that day.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Fagan turned his attention to the guard who was pacing the cave floor looking nervous.
“Hey boss,” Fagan called in Italian. “Why don’t you let us go, no one will know we weren’t dragged out into the ocean. We’ll just disappear. And I’ll make it worth your while.”
The guard shook his head. “Blanchet would cut me into little pieces if he ever found out. All your money is not worth that.”
“I wasn’t talking about money. Are you a Catholic?”
The man gave him a nervous look.
“You know what’s waiting beyond all this. And that lasts for all eternity. But it’s still not too late. I’m a priest. I could absolve you of your sins.”
Another wave broke into the mouth of the cave with a roar and seawater splattered across the rock floor. The guard seemed to make up his mind. He headed for the steps without looking back, he sprinted up them two at a time. The door clanged shut behind him and the key rattled in the lock, seeming to seal their fate.
“So much for my powers of persuasion.” Fagan looked across at Frankie. “If you can free one hand, the slack might just allow us to get out.”
“I’m trying.”
The problem was the chain was taut between the ring on Frankie’s left side and the ring on Fagan’s right, not allowing either one to relieve the strain on the other. He glanced back at Brother Cedric. The monk was straining hard, pulling on the chain between himself and the wall. It gave with a crack. Cedric fell backward, and the whole chain went slack.
“What was that?” Fagan called out.
Brother Cedric sat up and smiled. “That was health and safety. Before the De Vaux foundation took over here, we used to raise funds as a tourist attraction. We would give guided tours and people could even come down here and be chained up and have their photographs taken. But the health and safety people insisted that we had to have a safety break in the chain, a weak link, in case something went wrong and people panicked. It had to break under a certain amount of pressure.”
“Thank God for health and safety,” said Frankie climbing out of her chains.
Fagan quickly ran up the steps and tried the door, but it would not budge. “No way out that way.”
Brother Cedric was looking at Frankie. “I heard you mention your brother.”
Frankie gave him a puzzled look.
Cedric held something in his hand. He looked down at it. “Was his name Jean-Claude Lefevre?”
“Yes, it was. What have you got there?”
Cedric handed her a business card. “I found that in the back of Thomas’s journal. I am not quite sure why I kept it. But when they took the journal from me, the card was in my pocket. I believe it was from the young man who came here the day Thomas arrived back from his field trip. I know he tried to speak to him, but Thomas sent him away. I suspect that when he received the carbon dating results, Thomas got in touch with him again. That is what the last entry in his journal seems to indicate.”
“I was right.” Frankie studied the card in her hand then looked up at Fagan. Tears filled her eyes. “Brother Thomas called Jean-Claude, and that is why he left the office that day.”
Fagan put an arm around her and squeezed. “Frankie, you need to save it for another day. We have to find a way out of here, or he will have won.”
Frankie took a long sniffle and nodded.
Fagan moved over to the cave entrance. The floor disappeared abruptly, dropping to the ocean, which churned less than ten feet below. As the next wave rolled in, it came almost to his feet. He stepped back as the spray splattered into the cave.
He gazed up at the cliff face. It rose sheer to its peak about a hundred feet above. Frankie appeared at his side.
“How’s your rock climbing?” Fagan asked.
“My father used to take Jean-Claude and me climbing in the Alps. We never quite made the Eiger, but we still did some tough climbs. What about you?”
“I did my Navy SEAL training. I might be a bit rusty, and my movement is a tad restricted.” He lifted his left arm gingerly, and felt the painful tug on his bruised ribs. “But it’s all we’ve got.”
“What about him?” Frankie dropped her voice.
Brother Cedric stood beside Fagan looking down at the ocean.
“Don’t worry,” Fagan said. “Between us, we’ll manage him.”
Fagan turned back to Brother Cedric. “Look, there’s only one way out of here, and that’s up there.” He pointed with his finger. “But don’t worry, Frankie will go first and show you where to put your hands and feet, and I’ll follow behind making sure.”
Brother Cedric looked up at the cliff face, then shook his head. “I would probably end up killing all of us.”
“Cedric, it will be
all right. You just have to trust us.”
Brother Cedric put a hand on Fagan’s shoulder. “It is enough that I was able to get you free. You have to go on from here and stop that crazy man.”
“Listen to me. You can’t stay here.” Fagan pleaded with him.
But Cedric shook his head.
One moment he was standing there, a serene look on his face, and the next he had stepped out over the edge and disappeared into the boiling ocean below. His head appeared briefly on the crest of a wave then the undertow took him, and he was gone.
67
The Devil’s Cauldron, Abbaye de Sainte Bernadette.
The climb started out well, once they had moved above the reach of the ocean spray. Frankie led the way, first traversing along a broad ledge to a point where the cliff face was sheer, but there were plenty of hand and footholds. They had hugged briefly in the darkness and started the climb in earnest.
Fagan’s first problem was, his bruised ribs prevented him reaching up any distance. He could barely extend his arms above the height of his head. But he accommodated by moving up in short, economical steps. Luckily the terrain just about allowed him to do that. But it slowed him down, and already Frankie had moved well ahead and disappeared into the darkness.
The real problem came from the cold. The wind whipped in blasts of icy spray off the ocean, each one seemed to cut through to the bone, and he could feel his body temperature falling rapidly. He could no longer feel his fingers, and he had to stop periodically to warm a hand against his body, while desperately trying to hold on with the other.
There was no sign of Frankie. He stopped again, trying to blow some heat into his frozen fingers, while his calves and thighs screamed in protest. The ocean below was now just a dark roaring void, waiting to gather him in.