»Where do we start?« Peter asked after they had left the underground parking garage and were standing on the rain-swept Place du Palais.
»At the main entrance?« Maria suggested in a cheerful tone and strode towards the main gate, which was flanked by two minaret-like towers overlooking the wall. »The priority is to get out of the rain!«
Peter bought two admission tickets and an English guidebook about the palace. And he was stunned. As repellent and vicious as the palace looked from the outside, the interior in all its pompous magnificence was just as playful and luxurious. The interconnecting halls and chambers were richly decorated with frescos and had once been filled with the most refined furniture.
Peter was enthused. »Fortress outside, castle inside,« he said. »Have you noticed how much this resembles Arabic architecture? Strictness on the outside, playfulness on the inside. The crusaders slaughtered the Saracens but were inspired by their lifestyle.«
Maria did not seem overly impressed by the magnificence of the palace. »Let’s get started. What exactly are we searching for?«
Peter tore his eyes away from the ceiling fresco that depicted an amorous tête-à-tête.
»For clues connected to the Templars. If they really found refuge in this palace, then they’ll have left signs behind. Encrypted clues. It’s doubtful that they put their treasures into the closest archive or into some treasury. If they did it, they hid their secret very well. At the same time, they had to make sure that future generations of Templars could find it as soon as the Order was resurrected.«
»But the Templars do exist,« Maria said. »They have their headquarters in Paris. They have always existed, throughout the centuries. Perhaps they beat us to it a long time ago.«
Peter made a face. »Listen, Maria, I don’t have a Plan B. And I only have 24 hours to find something that might put my life right and perhaps even save the Vatican. Let’s just search for clues and hope for the best, okay?«
»No problem,« she said sharply, »you go that way, and I’ll go this way. And in three hours we’ll meet back here for a situation report.«
Peter sighed. »Oui, mon général.«
The situation report turned out to be disappointing.
»Did you find anything?«
»Nope. No skull and crossbones, no Baphomet, no Templar seal, no gravestone inscriptions with the usual secret signs. I asked one of the tour guides, but he only shrugged his shoulders.«
»Maybe we’ve overlooked something. The palace is huge. We should look again.«
»Or we are on the wrong track and the document is not even here.« Peter looked at his Jaeger-LeCoultre. »Let’s go and have a bite to eat. Perhaps we’ll come up with a better idea.«
The rain was taking a short breather when they came out of the palace. They walked to a little restaurant down a side street within sight of the palace and were lucky to snag the last table for two in a corner. They ordered fish and a Sauvignon Blanc. The bald-headed owner of the restaurant could not stop staring at Maria, who was fighting with a strand of hair that had slipped loose from her coif. Peter watched her as she was put the unruly hair back in its place with a hand movement that was as determined as it was eternally feminine.
»Why are you staring at me? Is something wrong?«
»Uh, no. Everything’s fine. I’m sorry. I was just thinking about something.«
She didn’t believe him. »You think that I’m attracting too much attention, don’t you? A nun in her full habit.«
Peter shrugged his shoulders. »Is there an alternative?«
She looked at him as if she could read his mind.
»No, there isn’t.«
Peter was glad when their food was served so that he could focus on something other than Maria’s face and her eyes and her lips and her hands.
This is not some frigging day trip, Romeo! Pull yourself together, damn it!
The excellent fish and the cool Sauvignon were sufficient to make them feel a little bit more centered and relaxed.
But if it were a day trip, it would be perfect.
»What are you thinking right now?« she asked. »And don’t say ›Nothing!‹«
»Perhaps they hid the document in a nearby monastery so that the Pope would not have immediate access to it.«
»Do you have any idea how many monasteries there are in and around Avignon?«
»Do you have a better idea?«
She gave a resigned sigh and finished her wine.
They asked for directions to the nearest internet café, a bleak and joyless place filled with adolescents staring at their screens. Peter paid for a computer and began to search.
»Which religious order do you want me to look for?«
»Bernard was a Cistercian, Maria thought aloud. »The Cistercians were originally the reform movement of the Benedictines. So, how many Benedictine and Cistercian monasteries are there in Avignon?«
»Not a single one.«
»Excuse me?«
»Not within the city limits of Avignon. The nearest Cistercian monastery is in Senanque, 25 miles to the east. The nearest Benedictine monastery is the Sainte Madeleine du Barroux abbey in Le Barroux, 30 miles to the north.«
Maria seemed disappointed. »Too far away. It has to be closer.«
She thought for a while.
»Look for Carthusian monasteries.«
»Why the Carthusians?«
»Because they are also a contemplative order and they were very close to the Cistercians.«
Peter entered the keyword.
»Well, hello! Look at that!«
Villeneuve-les-Avignon was right across the Rhône River, opposite Avignon. The community with less than 12,000 inhabitants had always been a preferred residential area for the wealthier people of Avignon, as it offered the best views of their marvelous hometown. From the moment Peter and Maria entered the small charterhouse that was located on a hill overlooking the Rhône, they knew that, this time, they were in the right place.
Bingo!
The monastery complex was not large. Behind a small Gothic church was a u-shaped group of low buildings enclosing a little courtyard. But what was standing in this courtyard was anything but hidden or subtle, and a rather self-confident sign: a small open temple with eight pillars, which looked at first sight like a secluded gazebo in a palatial park. But Peter recognized the layout right away.
»That’s how the Templars used to build their churches!« he called out. »Octagonally like Solomon’s Temple!«
He did not waste a second and began to examine the little temple. It didn’t take him long to find something.
»I don’t believe this! Maria, take a look at this. They were totally brazen!«
He pulled Maria into the small temple and pointed at a relief under the vaulted ceiling. It showed a depiction of the three-headed Baphomet.
»These Templar guys must have felt pretty safe in Avignon.«
Maria seemed skeptical. »A little bit too obvious, don’t you think?«
Peter was electrified. »Perhaps these are only clues to the real hiding place,« he called out, »continue to look around.«
They checked each and every corner of the little temple, Peter on the outside, Maria on the inside. On one of the exterior walls of the temple, Peter found a second relief. A square divided into 25 smaller squares. Each of the squares seemed to have some sort of inscription, but 700 years of weather and cold winters had done so much harm to the sandstone that it was impossible to decipher the writing.
»Damn it, what could this be?«
Maria ran her fingers over the relief.
»I know what this is!« she called out. »It’s a Sator Square!«
»A what?«
»A magical formula from the early Christian times. In Austria, alpine dairy farmers still decorate their front doors with these squares as a protection against demons.«
»What does it mean?«
»It’s a palindrome, some form of magical square that contains letters instead of
numbers. The letters can be read horizontally and vertically and in both cases they form the same Latin sentence. If you read it from top to bottom, it says, ›Sator Arepo Tenet Opera Rotas.‹«
Peter thought for a moment and then he furrowed his brow, visibly dissatisfied. »What does Arepo mean?«
»Nobody knows that. It might be a name.«
Peter made a first attempt at a translation. »The sower Arepo struggles to hold the wheels?«
»Not bad. But it could also mean, ›The sower holds the works.‹«
»And, of course, no one has ever found out what these words mean and the entire world has been speculating for centuries about what kind of secret knowledge might be hidden in this nonsense.«
»Otherwise it would not be a magical formula.«
Peter was not satisfied. »Let’s keep searching.«
»I already found something. Come.«
She led him to a place in the interior of the open octagon and pointed at a spot on the stone wall, which was approximately at head height and almost exactly opposite the Sator Square. At first, Peter couldn’t see anything.
»It’s pretty weathered,« Maria said. She took his hand and let it slide over the rough stone. His fingers felt grooves in the stone, straight and crossed grooves and pits. Then Peter recognized what it was that had been weathering in the sandstone for the last 700 years. His hand jerked away as if he had received an electric shock.
»The symbol!«
XXXVIII
May 13, 2011, Headquarters of the Swiss Guards, Vatican City
The machine in question is a ground-penetrating radar,« reported Guard Egger in his stereotypically slow Bernese accent. »It is used to…«
Bühler interrupted him harshly. »I know what a GPR is used for,« he said. »But what business did these people have taking a ground-penetrating radar into the Necropolis? Steiner?«
»We found evidence of surface drilling on the second level of the catacombs,« reported the guard. »They look like exploratory drillings.«
»Where exactly?« Bühler took a topographical map of the Vatican and spread it out on his desk.
Steiner pointed at the west wing of St. Peter’s Basilica. »Here.«
»How did the dog react?«
»The whole time that we were down there, Spitzi was very excited, almost anxious, I would say. But she did not bark, not even once.«
»Take your men and go down there again. I want you to search every fucking inch of the Necropolis! – Favre, what did you find out about this mining company?«
»Well, that’s all very strange,« reported Guard Favre. »There is an official contract between the Fratec company and the Governorate for the reinforcement of some of the vaults in the Necropolis. However, nobody in the Governorate can remember signing the contract. And the signature can’t be matched to anyone either.«
»What kind of company is it?«
»That’s also very strange. They have an official entry in the commercial register but they have neither an office nor company grounds. The company address is Via della Camilluccia 306. But this address does not exist.«
Bühler froze.
»Repeat the address, please.«
»Via della Camilluccia 306.«
»Shit, what a fucking idiot I am!« Without giving any explanation, Bühler stormed out of his office. He was gone before he could hear what Favre added – that Fratec had left special instructions with the Italian Post Office to forward all their mail to the address of a luxury hotel in downtown Rome.
However, it was not important for Bühler to hear this. Because Urs Bühler already knew the true meaning of the bloody sequence of numbers that Loretta Hooper had left behind. It had not been ›3 by 6,‹ as he had initially thought and therefore it was not a hint at the Book of Revelation. It was much simpler: 306. A simple number. No wonder Bühler had thought the whole time that it had a familiar ring. During his drive downtown, he cursed himself for not seeing it sooner.
306.
Suite 306.
If there were any blessed and cursed places in this world, then in Bühler’s opinion Suite 306 definitely belonged in the ranks of the cursed. Within the last ten years alone, a series of mysterious deaths had occurred in this suite and not a single one of them could be solved. One of the victims had been a cardinal, which was the only reason why Bühler knew about the suite. Cardinal Quintigliami had died from a sudden heart attack, even though he had never had any heart problems. Other guests who stayed in Suite 306 had simply disappeared without a trace and had never returned.
Dead guests and police investigations were the worst-case scenario for any hotel. Bühler was not surprised that the Hotel Casa Spagna, which was steeped in tradition, had changed owners several times over the last few years and now belonged to a Japanese chain. He was only surprised that the hotel still existed.
Twenty minutes later, he entered the lobby of the Hotel Nakashima Villa Spagna in Via Sistina, Rome’s most expensive five-star hotel. It was mainly frequented by Russian oligarchs, young American internet billionaires, pop stars, sheiks, politicians or cardinals from wealthy families. Bühler asked for the general manager and showed him his credentials.
»Is Suite 306 currently occupied?«
The manager pulled Bühler aside, away from the guests.
»No, it is not occupied. But Suite 306 is booked, for the entire year.«
»What? The room is booked but not occupied? Who the hell can afford that?«
»Unfortunately, I am not at liberty to share this information with you.«
The manager in his black Issey Miyake uniform cast a glance towards the two hotel security officers who were standing by the entrance. Apparently he had a hunch that the beefy Swiss man might cause problems.
And the hunch was dead on.
»Listen to me, you little fairy,« Bühler hissed at the manager, »you know damn well what the deal is with Suite 306. How would you like to read about it in the press again, as of tomorrow? How would you like it if I saw to it that no cardinal will ever stay in this hotel again or jamboree the night away?«
The two security guys were already staring at him. Bühler flexed his muscles. But the young manager gave them a dismissive wave.
»A Colombian investment consortium,« he said, caving in. »They booked it and paid for a year in advance.«
»I need the name of the consortium and the key card for the suite.«
»No! That is absolutely impossible.«
Bühler gave the manager a stare. »I’ll just be looking around. It won’t take long. And you can come with me.«
The elegant suite had three bedrooms in over sixteen hundred square feet of living space. The rooms looked unused and tidy. A quick mental calculation told Bühler that the annual rent for the suite amounted to roughly one million euros.
»When was Suite 306 last occupied?«
»About a month ago. But the staff clean the rooms every day, of course.«
»Who are the guests?«
»Excuse me, but this is something that I really cannot discuss with you. … Hey, wait a minute!«
Bühler ignored him and marched through the individual rooms. He began to remember. Even the furnishing was still the same. Only the best and the most exclusive. But Bühler could feel, exactly as he had felt back then, that this room exuded a certain aura. Bühler was not an esoteric man; he simply knew from experience that there was always a good reason when his skin began to crawl. He knew how it felt when death was in the room.
»Good heavens! Stop that!« The manager was beside himself when Bühler began to search the wardrobe in the first bedroom. Bühler did not even listen. And nor did he hear the manager’s scream when he opened the wardrobe in the last bedroom and the corpse of a young man toppled out.
The man was completely wrapped in transparent plastic; like a hay bale in summer. His head had been cut-off and was also packed in plastic wrap. Bühler had to cut the plastic with his Swiss Army knife to identify the face of the victim. He h
ad seen this face on a photo only a few hours earlier. Bühler could even remember the name of the doctoral student who had been reported missing: Giovanni Manzoni.
XXXIX
May 13, 2011, Avignon
I don’t want any trouble!«
The owner of the small guesthouse in the Rue de la Bancasse cast suspicious looks at the strange couple without luggage who were standing in front of her asking for two single rooms for the night. A German man and a nun.
»Don’t worry, Madame,« Maria said to her, »if it eases your mind, you can call my convent.«
This seemed to ease the owner’s mind. She checked their identification thoroughly and then did it again, even more thoroughly, and finally she gave them the look of an inquisitor along with two room keys, announcing that she would come by frequently to check if everything was in order.
»We have to be back at the airport in a few hours,« Maria said fifteen minutes later, when they met in her room.
»Perhaps that’s time enough.«
Peter spread the copy of the Sator Square on Maria’s bed. They had not discovered any additional Templar symbols in the charterhouse, just the Baphomet relief, the Sator Square and the crossed symbol.
»So let’s assume that these three items are clues to something that the Templars have hidden in the charterhouse or maybe even in the Palace of the Popes. The question remains of how we interpret the clues.«
He pulled the parchment with the Trismegistus text and the amulet from his jacket pocket, put them next to the Sator Square onto the bed, and then he began to stare at the items, as if this were enough to pry their secret out of them.
Talk to me! What are you hiding?
With Maria’s assistance he tried to translate the Trismegistus text. But this was not of much help either, as the text indulged in preposterous metaphors about the divinity of the light.
Apocalypsis I Page 19