"Bonjour," she said to Tommy as he approached.
"Bonjour," Tommy replied in kind.
"It is such a pleasure to meet you. My name is Monique. We spoke on the phone this morning."
The two shook hands as the other three caught up and halted behind Tommy.
"I'm Tommy. Yes, thank you so much for helping us out on such short notice," he said. His tone was as apologetic as he could make it. "I know it's a hassle."
She shook off his comments. "Not at all. We're more than happy to help you. You and your agency have done so much to preserve French history. It's the least we could do. Honestly, when I realized who was trying to contact me, I thought it was a joke."
Tommy's cheeks flushed, and he bowed his head. Fame never sat well with him, but it was something he'd had to deal with since the agency's first big find more than a decade ago.
"These are my friends," Tommy turned and motioned to the others.
They took turns introducing themselves and shaking hands. Once they were caught up with the introductions, Tommy continued. "So, we have about thirty minutes?"
"Yes, that's correct. I'm sorry we can't give you more time, but that's the best we could do."
"No, it's fine," he insisted. "Not a problem. We'll be in and out before you know it."
She grinned at his amicable demeanor and pulled back a loose strand of hair that had broken free from the bunch. She hooked it over her ear and then motioned for the four visitors to come inside the building.
They stepped through the blue doorway and into the atrium of the cathedral. The familiar scent of time filled their nostrils. It was a scent they'd grown to expect when entering an old building like this. The odor was a mixture of stone, ancient wood, and a musty feel that seemed to almost always permeate these structures.
A faint waft of incense floated through the space and tickled their olfactory senses as well, forcing a sort of sweet and pungent aroma to the mix.
"Right this way," Monique said as she motioned down one of the corridors.
The open doors across from the entrance gave the visitors a full view of the sanctuary, and rows of wooden chairs were set up for a mass. Once inside the building, it appeared far larger than it had when they were standing outside. The narrow sanctuary ran the length of the church. Unlike many of the more opulent cathedrals they'd seen before, this one appeared remarkably plain. There were no frescoes adorning the ceiling, no images of some long-dead master artist painted on the walls or columns. The floors were ordinary, made from stone and drab tiles. It was as if those who'd designed this place didn't want the distractions that other cathedrals had to offer. There were a few pieces here and there, a relief of a saint or an angel, but very little luxury that could be found elsewhere. Instead of a temple of worldly glory, this place looked like a church where parishioners could focus on the simple act of worship, undistracted by fancy trinkets and artistry.
Most of the color in the sanctuary came from behind the presbytery, where stained-glass windows displayed images of four men, two of whom were the saints for whom the church was named; another was Jesus; and the fourth was too difficult to make out as the group continued walking.
Sean noted alcoves along the side of the main sanctuary. Huge chandeliers hung from the ceilings in those recessed areas, casting bright light into the spaces, light that also spilled out onto the empty rows of wooden chairs.
Monique led them around a corner and down another passage where more light shone from above at the end of another domed room. The fixtures hanging from the ceiling and walls combined with light pouring in from windows fixed high up where the walls began to angle upward.
The beams of light seemed to point instinctively toward a single form in the center of the room, set against the back wall. As the group drew nearer, they made out the shape of a large stone box on the floor. Atop the container was the statue of a woman, kneeling in eternal prayer over an altar. She was dressed in the finest gowns of the period, and the tomb on which she knelt was adorned on all sides with wreaths and garland.
The detail of Joséphine's likeness was impeccably realistic, so much so that Sean and the others couldn't help but wonder if Napoléon himself had paid for the finest stone craftsmen and sculptors in all the world to come and create this final, lasting tribute to the woman he'd loved and subsequently detested.
"So," Sean said as he put his hands on his hips and stared up at the sculpture. "This is the tomb of Joséphine Bonaparte."
"Pretty spectacular," Tommy said.
"So regal," Adriana commented.
"Fitting for the former empress," Monique added. "Even though Napoléon and Joséphine were divorced, many people still considered her to be a queen-like figure. Despite some regrettable decisions in her life, she was still lauded as a popular public persona. Her rose garden is a popular attraction for tourists, and while she was alive she hosted several important dignitaries from around the world."
"The last of which was the Russian czar," Sean noted.
"Indeed. She died shortly thereafter."
Sean let his mind linger on that fact for a few moments longer. It was a strange occurrence that only days after hosting the czar, Joséphine died of a strange ailment. Of course, the doctors told everyone it was of natural causes, but Sean couldn't help but wonder if foul play was involved. At the moment, that didn't matter. They weren't there to figure out why or how Joséphine Bonaparte died. They were there to see if there was any kind of connection between her tomb and the note they'd been given by Cardinal Klopp.
14
PARIS
Sean looked over his shoulder, sensing movement at the other end of the corridor. The passage, however, was empty. He let his gaze linger for a moment. He'd learned long ago that if someone thought they'd been detected, they would take cover for a short time until their target had believed their senses were fooling them. Sean had used that very tactic on a mission in Tokyo. He'd been following his mark along a sidewalk in a city park when the man turned and looked back. Fortunately, Sean sensed the man's paranoia and ducked behind a tree a fraction of a second before he was spotted. There, behind a thick trunk, he waited until he was fairly certain the target had moved on before setting out to tail the man once more.
In this instance, Sean continued to look down the corridor while Monique spoke to the others about the history surrounding Joséphine Bonaparte and her late ex-husband, the former emperor.
There was no sign of movement, and no one appeared from behind the columns on the right or around either corner. Sean reluctantly turned his attention back to their liaison and listened as she finished her story.
He felt like he was on one of those guided tours in a museum or an art gallery, but didn't say anything for fear of offending their host, who'd been gracious enough to allow them private access to the cathedral.
Monique completed her five-minute spiel and excused herself, telling the visitors that they could take a look around and that if they needed anything she would be where they found her upon first arriving.
When Monique was out of sight and probably out of earshot, Tommy was the first to speak up. "So, we're here. What is it we're looking for?"
Sean stepped closer to the stone box. He stared up at the likeness of the dead empress and considered the riddle. His eyes drifted upward to analyze the ceiling, the supports that arched their way up to the top, and the stonework all around them. Then he dipped his head and scanned the floor.
The others did the same.
Adriana split off from the others and made her way to the side of the tomb, checking to see if there was anything hidden there that couldn't be seen from the front.
Bodmer worked his way over to the far wall and investigated the columns. He ran his fingers along the smooth surface, as if the act might reveal a secret doorway or hidden shelf.
Sean shifted a few steps to his right to stand next to Tommy. The two friends gazed at the shiny marble columns that supported a sort of portico-style arched
roof over the kneeling Joséphine. Rows of carved flowers lined the inside of the portico's ceiling. Over the roof, light poured in from a skylight carved to look like a flower, similar to those over Joséphine's final resting place. Perhaps thinking they were flowers was a stretch. The petals, if that's what they were, looked as much like stretched out teardrops as flower petals. Still, it was compelling.
"What do you think?" Sean asked.
"I…I don't know," Tommy confessed. He crossed his arms and tilted his head to the right, still staring at the tomb. Then he moved to his right and inspected that end of the marble box.
Adriana joined her husband in front of the tomb and looked up into his icy-gray eyes. She still hadn't decided if they were blue or gray. At the moment, they appeared gray, but she swore they changed from time to time, despite not believing that sort of thing was normal.
"I don't see anything here," she whispered. Even though she lowered her voice, the sound echoed off the marble façade of the tomb and the stone walls.
"No," Sean said with a shake of the head. "I don't, either." He stepped closer to the marble monument that gave the name of the woman buried there. The words À Joséphine Eugène Et Hortense and the year 1825 were chiseled into the façade. That date was around ten years after the woman's death, based on what Sean had studied on the subject. "I wonder if the wreaths bear some significance to our plight," he theorized.
Three wreaths adorned the front and back, all aligned at the same height and evenly spaced. Similar wreaths were carved into either end of the tomb.
"Eight wreaths," Adriana murmured. "One for every nation he conquered?"
"How many did he conquer? I never bothered to look that up."
"I don't know, but I'd guess it's more than that. Napoléon waged war in many places."
"So, perhaps that's not the answer. The letter said that he would have to win at Waterloo without his strength and without the relic. What if his strength was something else, not his former wife?"
Sean's question brought them to a point they all should have considered before hopping on a plane and flying to Paris from Italy. Had they all acted too hastily? No, certainly not. They were going on limited information, even more so than usual. Paris was the best answer. And this tomb made the most sense based on what little intel they had. Then again, that didn't mean they were in the right place. He'd been around long enough to know that there was always another way to do things, always another method of coming up with an answer.
He thought back to high school and college math classes where he found alternative ways, easier ways, to come up with answers to complex math problems. The teachers, of course, hated when he did that, especially when his solutions proved correct.
The thought gave him pause. "What else could we be missing?" he wondered out loud.
Adriana didn't immediately respond.
Tommy ambled up to his friend and looked at him sideways. "What did you just say?"
"Sean isn't sure we're in the right place," Adriana answered.
"Where else would it be?" Tommy asked. "Napoléon called Joséphine, Rose. She's the rose. She has to be. Doesn't she?"
"Not necessarily," Sean said. He moved backward a few steps to take in the entire scene. He knew their time was running out for this private visit. Soon, tourists would pour into the building, and then finding anything meaningful would be nearly impossible.
But time, Sean realized, wasn't their issue. They could stay there in the Church of Saint Peter-Saint Paul for days and not find what they were looking for. There was a striking absence in the quiet hall, indeed around the entire church.
"It's not here," Sean said.
"What's not?" Commander Bodmer asked, stepping closer to find out what was going on.
"I don't know, but whatever it is, it's not in this place."
"What are you saying? I hope you haven't wasted our time coming here."
Sean took a step toward the entrance, but upon hearing Bodmer's insinuation a spark flared in his gut that attempted to ignite a fast-burning fire. He spun on his heels and faced the commander. "Waste our time?" Sean took a menacing step toward the man. "We are here at no cost to you or your church, Commander. We are helping you because that's what we do. If you think it's a waste of your time, then feel free to head back to the Vatican and we’ll be on our way. It may seem like we always have the answers, are always on a quick and easy path, but that isn't the case. We strike out. A lot. That's what you do if you want to hit home runs now and then."
The commander looked confused by the baseball analogy, but he seemed to get the gist of what Sean was saying.
"There must be another place," Sean went on before the man could speak up again. "I am going to find out where that is."
He whirled around again and stormed toward the entrance.
Adriana followed quickly behind while Tommy lingered back, attempting to apologize. "He…well, he's actually right. So, you know, maybe let us do our thing. Okay? Pumpkin?" Tommy patted the man on the shoulder and scuffled ahead to catch up with his friends.
Bodmer stared at them as they strode down the corridor. He'd never been put in his place like that before, and it unsettled him. He also found a sense of respect for the man who was willing to stand up for himself. That was a commendable trait and one he admired. He shrugged off his irritation, swallowed his pride, and caught up to the others.
"I…apologize," Bodmer said as he fell in line behind Sean. "I didn't mean to insult you. You're right. I was out of line. The cardinal believes you are the best people for this. I should believe, too."
Sean looked over his shoulder at the commander, but he only slowed his pace, not stopping completely.
"It's okay," Sean said. "I'm as frustrated as you are. Even when we strike out, we don't have to like it." He winked at the man, and that seemed to disarm his concern.
"So, what are we going to do now?" Bodmer asked.
Tommy and Adriana were wondering the same thing, but it appeared their friend had an idea.
"Talk to the tour guide, of course.”
They passed through the entrance and spotted the young woman in her blue-and-white dress standing exactly where she said she'd be. There was a short line of tourists waiting to get in. A few of them were wearing berets, others had shirts with the French flag on it. A few were clearly Americans, sporting their favorite college football team's logo on their shirts.
Monique greeted them with a polite smile and then glanced down at her watch. "Is everything all right? You still have five more minutes. Or did you get enough time?"
"No, we had plenty of time," Sean said. "And thank you again for being so accommodating. Really, it's been extremely helpful."
"We were happy to do it." She narrowed her eyes at him with suspicion. "You look like you're about to ask me a question, though. Is there something else I can help you with?"
"Actually, there is," Sean said. The other three stood slightly behind him, Adriana to his right. "What do you know about the mythological gods, Apollo and Minerva?"
"Not much," she said after a brief moment of thought. "My area of expertise is more on French history, not Greek and Roman history."
Tommy jumped in, seeing where his friend was going with his line of questions. "We were hoping maybe you could tell us if there are any signs of those two deities in this area, specifically anything related to Napoléon."
Monique's jaw set firm and she pressed her lips together as she considered the request. At first, nothing came to mind. A full minute passed before she spoke up once more. "I'm sorry," she said. "I don't believe I know of anything like that around here, or that has to do with Napoleonic history or the revolution. However, if you're looking for something regarding Napoléon, might I suggest visiting the château? That is where you can find the rose garden and the personal library of Napoléon."
"Personal library?" Adriana asked.
"Yes. When he was still alive, the collection was quite impressive. Many of the volumes still re
main as he left them. In fact, from what I understand, his study has not undergone any major refurbishment since he died."
"So the place will be almost exactly as he left it?" Sean clarified.
"Yes, I believe so."
Sean turned and looked at his friend, then his wife, and then Bodmer last. The Swiss Guard commander gave a curt nod. Even the pragmatic commander appeared to think that was a good bet.
"Great," Sean said. "Thank you so much for your help. We'll check it out."
Tommy stepped forward and shook the woman's hand. "Thank you. Truly, we appreciate all of this. You have been very accommodating. If there is anything I can ever do to help you, please do not hesitate to ask."
Monique smiled shyly. "Merci," she said. "And you are most welcome. Anytime."
"Merci," Adriana said.
Bodmer added his own thanks, and the group made their way across the plaza toward the Château de Malmaison. There was no reason to take the car since they could reach their destination on foot in a matter of minutes. Plus, it was a nice morning so far. The sky was crystal clear, and the air was cool, but not cold.
Tommy took a moment to enjoy the weather. He loved Paris when it was warm and the flowers were out in their planters, some hanging from windows of homes, others placed in city gardens and parks or along the sidewalks next to trees.
Sean tripped and nearly fell on his face. Luckily, the other two men didn't notice since they were walking in front, but Adriana did.
She braced him with a firm hand on his shoulder to keep him from falling over completely. As he regained his balance, he noticed what had caused the clumsy trip. The shoestring on his left shoe was undone.
"One sec," he said, and his wife stopped next to him.
"Guys," Adriana said. "Hold up."
Tommy and Commander Bodmer paused and looked back at Sean, who was down on one knee rapidly tying his shoelace. He made quick work of the loose strand and had started to rise when he saw something that made him freeze in place.
The Napoleon Affair Page 12