In the Shadow of Men

by Darren Swart

  Silently, Marty followed her into the bathroom, not quite sure what to expect. She shut the door and turned on the shower. Throwing two towels on the floor to sit on, she motioned for him to sit beside her. With their backs against the tub, she cocked her head and looked at himgravely. “When we were at the church, you said there was traitor among us. I need to understand how you know that and who it is.”

  Marty nodded. “I’ll tell you what I saw, but please realize that I don’t have control of the vision. It’s unpredictable.” He closed his eyes and concentrated on the vision. “There were two men talking. I was behind them. I couldn’t see either one of them clearly. One man was seated at this huge desk. He spoke with an accent, like German or something like it. He was telling the other man, ‘Bring them to me.’ The other guy responded with, ‘I’ll take care of it, Duke’. This duke fellow told him, ‘You were smart about how this played out. Do you think they suspect anything?’ The next thing they say is garbled. I tried to understand them, but couldn’t make it out. I really got the idea that they were talking about us, but I can’t be sure of it.”

  “Then what?”

  “You woke me up.”

  She sat there silently for a moment. “You’re sure it wasn’t just a dream?”

  “I can’t be sure of anything at this point, but my dreams are somehow different. But it felt like the time I dreamed of Bess telling me about the stone. It’s hard to explain, but I can feel a difference between my dreams and the visions I’m having. I know that sounds crazy.”

  She looked at him, sincerely. “If you had told me this a week ago, I would have said you were crazy. Right now, you’re the best intel I’ve got. You’re sure he called him Duke?”

  “Yeah. I’m pretty sure.”

  “The guy who ambushed us at the airport said someone called the duke had hired him.”

  “Should we ask Franz?”

  She slowly shook her head as she were still thinking about it. “No. We keep this between us. If we don’t know who we can trust, then we trust no one.”

  Marty’s stomach twisted when she said that. They sat silently for a moment. He smiled at her. She gave him a quizzical look. “What?”

  “Nothing…it’s just something about you. You remind me of Bess.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “I remind you of your deceased grandmother?”

  He knew he would say something stupid. He scowled and shook his head. “No, nothing creepy like that. I always admired the way Bess was straight and to the point. I always knew where I stood with her. You’re like that.”

  This time, she was a more good-natured. “So you’re telling me I’m too direct?”

  He stuck to his guns. “No. You’re direct and to the point. Just like her. I really admired her. She was a strong person.”

  She studied his eyes. She didn’t meet many honest people. He was so innocent, so pure. He returned her gaze with the comfortable ease. Something panged deep within her and she struggled against her true feelings for him. She wanted him, but unlike the usual throw away romances, it was much deeper, much more personal. It scared her. Marty could see the conflict in her eyes. He knew it was dangerous for them to be involved. Yet he couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like.

  He moved so that he was facing her. He reached out and gently took her hands. She didn’t resist. She looked at him expectantly, not quite knowing what he would say or do. He smiled at her. Her response was impulsive. She flushed and looked down, bashfully.

  “Gillian?”

  She didn’t look up, but murmured, “Yes?”

  “You are everything I would want in a woman. You’re smart, you’re resourceful…” Her gaze rose to meet his. “You are the most amazing girl I’ve ever met.”

  Her eyes widened, her breathing quickened.

  “There’s nothing I would like better than for us to disappear into the night. But we both know what would never happen. We have to finish this, but when it’s over I want to be with you.”

  She gave him a wicked smile. “I’ll just bet you do.”

  He snorted. The only sound in the room was the shower running behind them. They held hands and sat on the tile floor. It was Marty who broke the silence. “Gillian?”

  “Yes?”

  “I don’t know about you, but my butt hurts.”

  She laughed. “Well, I think it’s pretty evident that you have some Bess in you, too.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, just not in the right location at the moment.” She gracefully scissored her legs up off the floor, pulling him toward her. They walked arm-in-arm to the door. Instead of opening it, she flipped the latch, locking it securely. She turned, meeting his gaze. The soulful look said more than an hour of talking. Marty tried to keep from skipping, as he went back into the bathroom to change into a pair of shorts. There was no need to be presumptuous. His heart was pounding, as he came back into the room. The room was a silky darkness, as he eased into the bed next to her. She smelled like baby powder. Next to his, her body was almost hot to the touch. He reached toward her, as the sound of her snore nearly startled him. His arm stopped in mid-air and retreated. He smiled, as he laid back. It was a complement, really. She didn’t trust many people enough to sleep with them. It was a good sign. He listened to her deep comfortable breathing for a moment before drifting into a peaceful slumber.

  At the front desk below, Jean Claude made a mental note to ask Franz why Americans used so much water.

  Chapter 28

  The air conditioning vent gently pushed the curtains aside, allowing daylight to wink through the heavy drapes and teasing Marty awake from a deep sleep. He reached out to find the other side of the bed empty. She was gone, but he detected the hint of baby powder on the sheets beside him. Lost in thought over the previous evening, he cupped his hands behind his head and stared at the intricacy of the medallion over his head. He kept drifting back to where she was curled against him; her leg over his, her arm over his chest, breathing in and out in a deep peaceful slumber. He wondered how long it had been since she’d slept that soundly. Nothing had happened between them. And yet, he lay there reveling in the moment. He yearned for her touch, but there was far too much at stake at the moment.

  He took his time making his way downstairs. He sat in the dining room, munching on golden-buttered croissants and marmalade when Digger wandered in in nothing more than shorts and a T-shirt, yawning widely. He seemed completely unmoved by his surroundings. Tufts of hair zigged and zagged in every direction, making his appearance comical. Unfazed by the pair, a waiter dutifully poured coffee into a clear-stemmed cup. Marty watched, as the cream eddied through the dark rich liquid. Digger stirred the mixture immune to the visual symphony of the mingling liquids. He sipped the dark liquid, gingerly. “Man, that stuff’s stout.”

  Marty smiled, with one side giving him a rather lopsided look. “Yeah, I’d hate to see their Espresso.”

  Digger grunted in acknowledgement and continued to sip. Franz entered the room, his eyes bright and his smile broad. He joined them at the table. “So, Lads, did everyone sleep well last night?” He looked at Marty and smiled.

  Marty wondered if Franz knew. He smiled pleasantly and said, “Best night’s sleep I’ve had in days…literally.”

  Franz chuckled. “I don’t doubt it.”

  Gillian glided in, as radiant as the morning sun. She paused to fill her own cup of coffee and coasted like a figure skater among the tables dotting the room between them. Her fingers brushed along Marty’s back, as she moved to her chair. Franz was talking to Digger, but his quick eyes didn’t miss the gesture.

  She waited for a moment before asking, “So guys, what’s the plan?”

  Three sets of eyes turned to Marty. He suddenly realized that they were looking to him for an answer. “We’re looking for a church. It would probably be best if we could go to a library or somewhere with a church archive, but I believe I could probably recognize the church. It was very unique.”

  Franz smiled. “W
ell, that’s easy enough. But I must warn you: There are thousands of churches in this region alone. If you have a photograph, perhaps we could show it to someone?”

  Cautiously, Marty replied, “I’m afraid the photograph is in my head. But I will recognize it when I see it.”

  Skeptically, Franz nodded. “We’re in walking distance from the best historical library in Paris—The Hotel de Lamoignon. If you can’t find what you need there, I have friends in the Academic world we can ask.”

  Marty smiled. “Sounds like a good starting point.”

  Digger looked up from his coffee. “Dudes, you mind if I sit this one out?”

  Gillian patted him on the hand. “You go ahead and catch some beauty sleep, Sweetie. We’ll get you when we’re done.”

  He smiled, gratefully. His eyes were bleary and his normally smooth face was covered in stubble. She wondered if he had made it to bed at all.

  Franz seemed a tad eager. “Okay, so I guess we’re all set.”

  Marty took another sip of coffee before standing. He tried to look more confident than he felt. He didn’t have a clue, as to what they would look for in the library, but he was hoping that it would all work out.

  The morning was bright and new growth on the Parisian trees shimmered in the cool morning breeze. Throngs of morning pedestrians showed no interest in the trio, as they maneuvered through the crowd. In less than three blocks, they faced the imposing façade of the Hotel de Lamoignon. Thick white walls surrounded the tall featureless walls through a towering archway, making it resemble a fortress rather than a library. Once past the arch, Marty found himself staring at the sheer splendor of the garden in the spring. Pink roses bloomed with abandon, as did dozens of other flowers he could not identify. They entered the great hall where Franz left them in search of a curator. It seemed only moments before he waddled back with a tall gangly youth in tow. The pair was painfully odd; Franz with his short dumpy stature and curly balding hair, while his companion stood a head taller, a mere wisp of a young man. He flipped a shock of straight black hair from his eyes, as he approached the couple. He spoke to Franz in French. While he occasionally flipped his hair, his tone was that of a man directing but not helping. Patiently, Franz negotiated with the young man, trying to keep his tone civil, while the youth sighed and rolled his eyes, disinterested. Sensing he was at an impasse, Franz reached into his wallet. Anticipating a gratuity, his thin lips curled into a thin smile; the kind of smile reserved for victory.

  The smile fell, as Franz produced a thin gold business card and handed it too him. Marty watched with fascination, as the docent’s demeanor dramatically changed. Nervously, he smiled. In perfect English, he said, “This way please.”

  Marty’s and Gillian’s eyes met in utter astonishment. Franz extended his hand for the card back. The young man returned it, dropping it like it would burn him. Marty found it curious, but then the whole exchange struck him as such. He couldn’t imagine what could possibly be printed on a business card to garner such an attitude change, nor had he ever seen anyone take back a business card. He made a mental note to get one of Franz’s cards later. There had to be something really amazing for a card like that. As they walked, Franz gradually steered the guide to Marty.

  With narrow eyes, he glanced at Marty, guardedly. “What is it you seek, Monsieur?”

  “I’m researching period chapels. I came across some pictures of an unusual chapel I would like to find. There was a skull and cross-bones at the entry. Do you know of any chapels like that?”

  The young man raised an eyebrow and curled his lip in what looked like a half-smile. It was hard to tell. “This way, please.” He moved into the lead. They traveled down long hallways and cut across short hallways leading back to longer halls. The longer they walked, the less inhabited the area around them became. They walked for several minutes, without speaking. Their feet clicked hollowly on the marble floors. They crossed into roped-off areas that were not accessible by the public. Gillian kept track of the number of cameras in the halls. The frequency was steadily increasing.

  Franz smiled at Gillian, disarmingly. “You’re in good hands. I’ll meet you in a few minutes.” Suddenly, he veered down a connecting hall and disappeared in the maze of artifacts.

  Gillian walked behind the docent by a few paces. She sized him up. His long bony fingers were stained with nicotine, his sallow complexion and long sleeves hid the tracks on his arms. She would have guessed Heroin addict. If he gave Marty any trouble, she would find a quiet corner out of camera range and snap him in two like a twig. She allowed herself a tiny feral smile, when the realization struck her that she would die for Marty. It was something she had never felt before; something different, something quite scary.

  Marty looked back at her quizzically . “What?”

  Her eyes glinted, mischievously. “I’ll tell you later.”

  He smiled and then returned his attention to the young man. It seemed as though they had been walking for hours, when in fact they had only been traveling for a few minutes.

  Gillian muttered. “Jeez, maybe we should have left a trail of bread crumbs.”

  Marty smiled back at her.

  The curator looked back, expectantly. “Pardon?”

  “Nothing. Are we almost there?”

  “Oui. It is only a short way now.” The young man caught the look in Gillian’s eyes and he quickened his pace. They moved down a small side hall and stopped in front of a door capable of fitting a Mini Cooper through it. Yet for all its size, it was actually quite plain in comparison to the rest of the surroundings.

  The curator removed a clunky iron key from his pocket and carefully twisted it in the lock. In an age of smart chips, it seemed odd that with all the priceless artwork around them, they secured a room with books. The young man proceeded into the room and began to flip on lights at a bank of switches. Soft light bathed the room, except over the carved mahogany reading tables where reading light illuminated the deep luster of the wood. It was cool and quiet. The smell of polish and old leather greeted them as they entered which was soon overcome by the scent of antiquity. This hallowed refuge was not open to the public. It was only for special guests or special occasions. Richly carved bookshelves stretched twenty feet to the ceiling, making three tiers of shelves accessible from balconies stretched around the cavernous room. The volumes stored here were both ancient and rare, many of which were the last known copies in existence. Beautifully crafted bindings sang of a different time, when the written word was reserved for the most elite. It was a trove of neglected thought, preserved only for the novelty of what it represented, not for what it contained. Gillian heard a small gasp from Marty, as he sat at the nearest chair. The curator looked at him, curiously.

  Gillian moved quickly to his side whispered, “Are you okay?”

  Without a word, he nodded his face drained and his lips tight. She placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. The curator walked over to a pedestal table centered in the room and tapped the table top, awakening a computer hidden within the glass top. A white glow made the docent’s face look hollow and garish, as the terminal awoke. The young man spoke aloud to no one in particular, describing how the catalog system worked. “It is in a basic search engine which uses the Dewey decimal system to provide the location. You should be able to navigate a computer. You should have no problems.”

  Marty wasn’t listening. His gaze drank in the room like a parched mouth. This place was the exact room from his vision with Peter.

  “I have formatted the system for English to make your search easier…”

  Marty looked at the young man. “How many books are in here?”

  For the first time since they had been with him, he smiled. His teeth were perfect. “There are over two hundred thousand first editions in this room. Many date back to the Sixteenth Century. Many were rescued from the book burnings of the Third Reich.”

  Marty looked at him, earnestly. “They’re beautiful.”

  The young man se
emed pleased and gave him a respectful nod. “Merci, If there is anything else I may be of assistance with, please ring the chime by the door. I will be with you directly.”

  Marty looked at him, curiously. “Are there any conditions that we should be aware of?”

  The young man regarded him with a hint of surprise. “Pardon? What do you mean?”

  Marty struggled for the right words. “Are there any books we should not touch?”

  “No Monsieur. You may take as many books as you like. Consider this your personal library.”

  Marty looked at Gillian. For the second time, they were caught off guard. Nodding at the young man, he said, “Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.”

  The young man smiled again. “Oui, Monsieur. It is my pleasure. If you need any further assistance, please do not hesitate to call.” He pointed to a square green button on the wall by the door. “I will be paged.” He opened his blazer to show them a digital pager on his belt. “Adieu.”

  Without awaiting a response, he was gone.

  Marty looked at Gillian. “What kind of a place lets two complete strangers into a room full of books worth more than the GNP of a small country?”

  Gillian shook her head. “Sometimes, it’s better if we don’t know.”

  “I guess you’re right.”

  Gillian walked straight to the computer. “What search criteria should we start with?”

  Marty looked up. Distantly, he said, “Skull and bones, Chapel.”

  Without looking up from the terminal she said “Sixteen thousand, two hundred and ninety one hits. Top hits, Notre Dame Cathedral, Skull of Descartes, Trinity Chapel…” It was very similar to an internet search engine. As she scrolled through the screens, she looked up to find that Marty had not moved from his large leather chair. “What’s up, Marty?”

  The sound of her voice brought him back. He smiled at her. “This is the same room that I first met with the Peter in. It even smells the same.”

  She considered this, carefully. “Does this mean we are supposed to be here?”