The Napoleon Affair

by Ernest Dempsey

  As he gazed out at the land around them, the land that his kind had dominated so long ago, he knew that the time had come for a resurrection. Once they had the relic, there would be no stopping them.

  Berger mused over the notion, allowing an ever-so-slight grin slip to one corner of his lips. The world had been misled. It had fallen into disrepair, much the same as happened in ancient Israel. He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes falling on the open Bible on his desk. It was open to a chapter he'd read many times, in a book he'd pored over for years.

  The book of 1 Kings had become his guiding light. Within the pages of that section of the Bible were the tales of a kingdom of God's chosen people who continually rebelled against the Lord and his teachings. After a time of punishment and pain, the people would repent and come back to God.

  Berger believed—no, he knew—that this was a similar time in history, when the people of Earth had turned away from the holy path. They'd rejected God, the Word, all of it, just as the kings of ancient Israel had done.

  During every one of those moments in the history of Israel, God had sent a prophet to warn the leaders, to correct them in their ways. Often, this meant harsh punishment to teach the people a lesson, one that they wouldn't forget for a generation or more.

  Berger didn't consider himself a prophet. He would never allow himself to think such a thing. To do so would be blasphemy. He'd never had a vision, never performed a miracle. He was an instrument, a tool for the Almighty.

  He might not be a prophet, but he could certainly be a shepherd. Now, all he needed was the staff, and when he had that, he could return the flock to their home.

  9

  THE VATICAN

  "He warned you?" Tommy blurted. The words were lathered in disbelief. "What do you mean, he warned you?"

  Klopp sat up a little straighter and then eased back into his seat once more. The chairs weren't comfortable; then again, they were in a holding cell, so the fact that they had chairs at all was a luxury.

  "Jarllson approached me the day he was murdered. He told me that there was a man—he didn't give me a name—who was looking for something that had been stolen from him long ago."

  "The letter," Sean realized.

  "Yes," Klopp said. "The letter. Cardinal Jarllson had a fondness for history. I share that same interest. Knowing that, he sent me a message about it, though I'm not entirely certain why he didn't just tell me in person. We saw each other that day at lunch, but there was something off about him."

  "Off?"

  Klopp nodded. "He looked afraid—worried about something. Now, it seems, his concerns were valid."

  Adriana pressed the conversation. "Did he mention anything about who was coming to see him?"

  "No," the old cardinal said with a shake of the head. "He said nothing to me about a visitor. It was only after lunch that day when he pulled me aside and told me his concerns. He said that someone knew about the letter he'd found and he was worried it could lead to trouble. He didn't say what kind of trouble but asked if I would hide it for him, keep it safe. I asked whom he wanted to keep it safe from, but he didn't say."

  "The relic," Sean said.

  The priest's eyes twitched open a little farther. "I'm sorry?"

  "The letter you sent with Commander Bodmer, it spoke of a relic, something powerful that Napoléon needed. He said something about how not having it would result in his defeat at Waterloo."

  "Good memory," Klopp said. "I believe you are correct. There was some mention of a relic."

  "That would jibe with the story about the message Jarllson received, as well," Tommy added. "If the guy was looking for something…you said something that had been stolen from him?"

  Klopp affirmed with a nod.

  "The relic in the letter must be what this guy was talking about."

  "Or gal," Adriana corrected.

  "Right. Male or female. Whoever took it must have known the letter mentioned the relic."

  "Which means," Sean continued, "that the letter you sent us was no ordinary correspondence. We initially thought it was some kind of undiscovered memoir from Napoléon on his deathbed. Now, I'm not so sure."

  "You don't know what relic the letter is talking about, do you?" Tommy asked.

  "Unfortunately, no," the priest said with a twist of the head. "I have no idea what relic it could be talking about, and I certainly don't know where it is."

  "The killer," Sean said, making the short leap to the conclusion that whoever sent Jarllson the message was also the one who killed him, "said the relic was stolen. Thievery doesn't seem like it's the church's thing."

  "Indeed," Klopp agreed. "I doubt any of our order would have done such a thing."

  "Napoléon's letter suggests the thing was missing. He didn't say anything about it being stolen, but maybe it was taken from him," Tommy offered. "Could it be one of his heirs, a descendant of the Bonaparte line? I know there are still some of them around."

  "Yes," Klopp said. "They hold a special mass for his descendants at his tomb every year in Paris."

  That was something that none of the visitors knew.

  Sean started connecting the dots. As he ran through the logical order of things, the timelines, the messages, the threat, the information contained in the letter, he began to form a new hypothesis.

  "So," he said, "if Napoléon was missing this relic, that means it was either stolen or lost; or there is one other option."

  The others looked at him with eager interest.

  "He hid it."

  Klopp pressed his lips together. His brow furrowed as he tried to understand what exactly Sean was saying. "Hid it?"

  "Yes, but it's just a theory."

  "The problem with that is," Tommy picked up the conversation, "is that we don't really have much of a clue."

  "Clue?" Klopp asked.

  "Yes, sir. We've seen this kind of thing before, more times than I can remember. Every single time we've stumbled on some kind of note or letter like that, it’s contained a clue that leads to something else."

  "Like a treasure map?" the cardinal managed.

  "Yes, just like that. Sometimes, we even encounter real maps. Hiding precious items, valuable jewels or treasures, relics, artifacts, money, is ingrained into human nature. People don't want to lose what they've worked hard for."

  "Or have those things stolen," Sean added.

  "Right. During the American Civil War, soldiers from both sides would secure loot during various expeditions and missions. Sometimes, those men fought away from civilization for weeks or months at a time. There were no banks around, especially if they were in enemy territory. So they would bury their plunder and leave markings on trees, rocks, or even use existing landmarks to identify where the secret stash had been left."

  "Jesus told a parable about a man who was given money and buried it in a hole to protect it," Sean said. "It's not a new thing to hide something valuable and leave clues that only the person who hid it, or a very clever hunter, could find."

  Klopp suddenly felt overwhelmed. It was a lot to take in, and he struggled to wrap his mind around it all—despite the fact that he was a highly intelligent man.

  "So, you think that the letter is a treasure map?" the cardinal asked after he felt like he'd grasped what they were saying.

  "Maybe," Sean said. "But that's just it: We don't really see much on there that could give us a jumping-off point. I'm sorry, but I'm not sure how much help we can be beyond offering an idea of how the killer got into Cardinal Jarllson's apartment." Sean's tone was despondent. He regretted not being able to help more, but what else could he do?

  He glanced at Tommy to see if his friend had any ideas. He could see the gears turning through the windows of Tommy's eyes. The answer wasn't clear, but Tommy wasn't giving up, and Sean recognized the look on his friend’s face; the one that always seemed to get them into trouble.

  As he gazed at Tommy, Sean started to wonder about himself. What was he thinking, giving up so easily on someth
ing like this? They'd flown to Europe to assist with a murder case, which he felt like they'd done, but that wasn't the real reason behind Klopp's invitation, or not the only reason. The cardinal must have had his own suspicions about the letter, but the man was keeping something from them. The question was, what?

  Klopp looked defeated. He lowered his palms to the armrests and started to rise, but Sean stopped him.

  "What else is there, Your Eminence?"

  The old priest froze in place and cocked his head to the side. "What do you mean?"

  "There was something else, something we needed to see. Bodmer alluded to it before."

  The cardinal's cheeks swelled with pale red circles. He couldn't lie. Maybe he could try, but Sean was fairly certain there was a rule against that in the church doctrines. Sean was well aware of the commandment about bearing false witness.

  Tommy and Adriana focused their intense stares at the man, as if their eyes alone could seize the information he had locked away in his mind.

  "It…it's embarrassing."

  "What is?" Tommy asked, a confused frown contorting his face.

  "The letter I sent you; it bears a mark at the bottom."

  "Right, two people staring at a rose."

  Cardinal Klopp nodded. "Yes. Well, there was another fragment of that included with the letter. I…I'm ashamed to say, I disposed of it."

  "Disposed of it?" Sean asked. He did his best not to sound upset, but this was a two-hundred-year-old piece of history, and this priest had just thrown it in the trash?

  "The figures," Klopp explained, "they're pagan gods. We do not permit such things in the house of God."

  "But the letter?" Adriana persisted.

  "I returned it to the archives within our vaults."

  "So, it's okay in the vaults, but not up above ground?"

  "I know it sounds silly," Klopp admitted, "but I was torn between my devotion to preserving history and my devotion to the church."

  Tommy let out a sigh of relief for the document not being damaged, not that he would ever get a chance to put his hands on the original letter. Getting down into the vaults of the Vatican was no small task, and he felt like he'd already pushed his limitations on a prior visit.

  "I compromised," Klopp finished.

  "So…that means the emblem was present in two places. The letter and on another document."

  "There was nothing else on the other piece of paper. I believed, from my analysis of it, that it was the envelope at one time, or perhaps a kind of wrapper. I'm not certain. It didn't look like the traditional size of an envelope."

  "But Jarllson gave both to you, which means they were together when he found them," Tommy stated.

  "That is correct."

  Sean stood and paced to the other side of the room.

  Bodmer watched him, his ears pricked as he absorbed the conversation going on before him.

  Sean stopped at the wall, spun on his heels, and took two more steps back toward the center of the room. He paused there again and tossed his arms over his chest. His white button-up shirt was rolled up at the sleeves, untucked at the waist so the tails and front could hang over his khaki shorts. He raised his right hand to his mouth, and the beads of his bracelets jingled momentarily.

  He pressed his palm to his cheek and sighed. "So, we know that those symbols are important for some reason, but why?"

  Tommy agreed with a nod and turned his focus back to the priest. "You said the images were pagan. I thought they looked familiar. Pagan deities, you said?"

  "Yes," Klopp answered curtly.

  "I knew it. At first, that's what I thought, but then I figured it could have been two heroes or kings or emperors."

  "Which deities?" Adriana asked, inching forward in her chair, hands folded on top of her knees.

  Klopp hesitated, as if contemplating whether or not he should answer the question. "Minerva and Apollo." The cardinal crossed himself for even saying the names within the walls of the church.

  "Minerva and Apollo," Sean repeated. “Now why on earth would Napoléon have put two Greek gods on his letter and on the, whatever that other thing was, along with a rose in the middle?"

  "Napoléon loved roses," Bodmer spoke for the first time in what seemed like a year.

  Every other head in the room spun around and stared at him.

  Sean swiveled his torso to fully face him. "What?" he asked.

  "Napoléon Bonaparte, that's who you're talking about, yes?"

  The others all nodded simultaneously.

  "The general…he loved roses. I thought everyone knew that."

  Sean arched one eyebrow. "Um, no." He turned to Tommy. "Did you know about that?"

  "Actually, yeah, now that he mentions it, I recall reading about Napoléon's fondness for roses." It all started coming back to him at that point. "Something about his wife, Joséphine. She loved them, too."

  Bodmer beamed proudly as if he'd just solved the entire mystery. In fact, it was the first time any of them had seen the hardened man smile since they had met him. "Yes, General Bonaparte's wife was passionate about roses. He built her a château with an immense rose garden that still stands to this day."

  Tommy smiled, head bobbing excitedly. "That's right," he exclaimed. "It gets tons of visitors every year. I've never really thought much about going there before now."

  "So…we're going to France then?" Sean asked, cutting through the bonding moment Tommy and Commander Bodmer seemed to be enjoying. "Is that what I'm hearing?"

  "It would seem to make the most sense," Tommy said. "We could investigate the property and see what we could dig up." He noted the suddenly disturbed look on the cardinal's face. "Not literally dig up—I hope. I'll make a few calls and see if we can get private access to the place, though it would likely be in the evening when they close to the public."

  "That could make our search efforts somewhat more difficult."

  "True, although maybe we won't need to look long. Asking the head of the property for some assistance might cut down on the search time and focus our efforts."

  "Sounds good," Sean said.

  "There is one other thing to consider," Adriana said.

  All eyes turned to her. She leaned back in her chair, raising her right arm to prop it up on the top of the chair's back. Her hand dangled behind it, making Adriana look like she was just hanging out at a friendly poker game.

  "What's that?" Tommy asked.

  "Napoléon had a nickname for his wife, Joséphine. He called her Rose."

  10

  THE VATICAN

  Tommy's eyes lit up like they always do when he gets excited about a case.

  Sean internally scoffed at the word case, thinking it a funny way to express what they were doing. Then again, it seemed to fit. They were embarking, once more, on what was undoubtedly a dangerous adventure filled with intrigue, murder, and tantalizing clues from history.

  Cardinal Klopp allowed a thin smile to crease his lips, and he again steepled his fingers together over his lap. "It would appear I've called on the right people for this job," he said. He cast a glance over to Bodmer that was probably meant to gloat, but the priest wouldn't permit himself something so trivial. Saying I told you so wasn't really in his nature.

  "Indeed, Your Eminence," Bodmer agreed. His cold, unfeeling demeanor returned, and he stood at the door with his arms crossed, wearing a statuesque expression.

  "So," Sean said, "I don't mean to break up this lovefest and dampen the excitement, but we need to do a little research first. We also need to come up with a plan. Flying to Paris is one thing. Traipsing around the city and the property where Napoléon and his wife lived without some idea as to what we're looking for doesn't sound like the best use of our time."

  "Agreed," Tommy said. He turned to Adriana. "You said Napoléon called his wife Rose?"

  She nodded. "Yes, from time to time. Though I wonder what he called her after their divorce."

  "Probably nothing sweet, I'd guess." He snorted a shor
t laugh.

  "Maybe we're not looking for something in the garden or at the estate," Sean offered.

  All heads turned toward him as the rest of the group stared his way. It didn't bother him. He was accustomed to being put on the spot, sometimes stickier spots than this.

  "What if we're looking for something related to Joséphine? It might be that the rose we're trying to find is actually her." Sean turned to the cardinal, who was listening with rapt attention. "Is there a place in here we can do a little research?"

  "Certainly," Cardinal Klopp answered. "What do you need?"

  "An internet connection," Tommy answered for his friend. "And I need to make a phone call."

  "Of course. Cell service down here isn't the best, but you're welcome to use the landline. And our internet service is fast. You may use my computer if you like, although I suspect you may have brought your own."

  "We did. But we don't want to intrude. It's a little cramped in here, too." Tommy tried not to sound ungrateful.

  "No problem," the cardinal said. He wasn't offended in the least. "You're right. You need a place where you can spread out." He turned to Bodmer. "Commander, take them up to your headquarters and put them in the conference room—unless it's being used at the moment."

  "It isn't, sir. I'd be happy to show them there," Bodmer spoke like a true military man, concise and to the point. "Is there anything else?"

  "No," Klopp said with a shake of the head. "That's all for now. I appreciate you bringing them here, Commander. I know it was a strange ask and one that required no small measure of travel on your part."

  "Not at all, Your Grace. I am at your service."

  "I appreciate that, but you know me, I'm a simple priest, nothing more."

  He could tell Bodmer was ready to argue that point, so he raised his hand and waved off the forthcoming rebuttal. "You may show them to the conference room now." He turned and looked at the other three. "If you need to speak to me again, you know where to find me." There was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "I'm not going anywhere."