The Napoleon Affair

by Ernest Dempsey

  "You failed me," Berger said. "I assume I don't have to remind you of the price of failing me, do I?"

  "No…no, sir. You don't. Please, I will go back and recover your daughter's body."

  "No," Berger snapped. "You have already failed at that task once. I will send another. Wait for him there, and then when he arrives you will return home."

  That didn't sound so bad to the young knight, though he expected a berating when he got back to Malbork. He would not be well received, to say the least. "Yes, sir, Grand Master. Thank you."

  "Do not thank me yet, boy. Stay there until otherwise ordered."

  Berger didn't wait for a reply. He ended the call and set the phone on the table. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, doing his best to push emotions out with the air in his lungs. His heart tightened at the thought of his daughter's death.

  She was young, full of life, and was to take over the order someday as the first woman to become Grand Master. She would have been there for his glorious triumph in recovering the relic and reclaiming all they'd lost so long ago.

  Now, she was dead, lying in the grass or on the beach on some faraway island. He didn't know for certain who had pulled the trigger, but whoever it was would pay. That much was certain.

  Berger would find these brigands and bring them to justice, and he would have his revenge. He picked up the phone and dialed a number. The man on the other end sounded gruff, older than the young knight he'd just spoken to.

  "Yes, Grand Master?"

  "I need you to go to Cape Town, South Africa. There's something there I need you to take care of."

  25

  Villers-Cotterêts

  Sean stepped off the train and onto the platform. He took a moment to survey the quaint town.

  Villers-Cotterêts was small and looked like it hadn't changed much in the last century or so, perhaps longer. A massive church rose up from the center of the village, encompassing a vast footprint in the city proper. The cathedral was equal in size, if not greater than, the old castle that rested atop a rise in the middle of the town.

  The village was surrounded by plains on all sides. Sean had noted the farms on the train ride in. That told Sean most of the townspeople were likely involved in some form of agriculture or another.

  The others looked out on the scene as they stood on the train platform. New passengers scrambled into the cars, some of them apparently in a hurry to get on board.

  Sean felt someone brush against his side, and he glanced back to see a small boy being dragged along by his mother. The woman was holding the child's hand as she hurried to get on the train. The kid looked back at Sean, who offered a smile and a wink.

  The boy smiled back and then followed his mother up the stairs.

  Sean rechecked his hip to make sure nothing had shifted. The pistol was still there, concealed under his belt.

  He'd been impressed that Bodmer's pull was able to get their weapons back from French police. Carrying a weapon in Paris, or anywhere in France, was illegal without a hunting or sporting license. Those had to be renewed every year, along with an annual psychological evaluation. Some studies suggested that there were twice as many illegal guns in France as legal ones, a fact that merely reinforced Sean's opinion on the matter: Bad people were always going to get weapons one way or the other. It wasn't fair to keep them out of the hands of law-abiding citizens.

  Whatever Bodmer had done had worked, though, and Sean was glad to have his gear back. He wondered how the cops in Paris felt about that.

  Sean would have to ask the commander about how he pulled that trick, but that question would have to wait. They had more pressing matters.

  The group made their way out of the train station and onto one of the main streets leading into the heart of the village. They strolled at a brisk pace but did their best to look casual, as if they were nothing but tourists taking in the sights.

  They passed a bakery and a coffee shop, a pharmacy, a clothing store, and a collection of other retail shops.

  Sean noted the windows of the two- and three-story buildings surrounding them, checking each one to make sure no one was watching them. Perhaps that was a tad overzealous on his part. No one knew the group was there, and if they'd been followed, whoever was on their tail would be behind them not in some building ahead, unless they'd called in advance. Doubtful. Still, doing a little recon was never a bad idea, and it kept his senses on alert.

  The two left streets opened up into a square. A rectangular fountain pool occupied the center. Water sprayed up into short arcs and splashed down again. Overlooking the pool, a statue stood tall, staring out across the little city. It was the figure of a man in a heavy cloak that dated from the mid-1900s, unless Sean missed his guess. His hair was thick and unkempt, as was also stylish at that period in history. He held a hand away from but across his chest. His fingers clutched a pen while the other hand rested on a stack of papers atop a pedestal.

  The group drew near and realized that the figure was that of the great writer Alexandre Dumas.

  Sean caught his breath for a moment.

  Tommy swallowed with an audible gulp. It wasn't the burial place of the famous author, but it was the next best thing.

  The two friends had been fans of Dumas most of their lives. His adventures were the model, the blueprint, of what they imagined archaeology and history could bring to their lives. They hadn't been wrong about that.

  Sean reached out and touched the base of the monument. He grazed it reverently with his fingertips, as if the act itself might bring down the entire thing.

  "So, is this where we will find the grave?" Bodmer asked, insensitively.

  "No," Tommy said, clearing his throat. "The cemetery is that way." He pointed down the street leading away from the fountain and statue.

  Adriana put her hand on Sean's shoulder. "Come on, tough guy. We need to find his father's grave. I'll bring you back here later if you want."

  He smiled at her with a childlike look in his eyes. It was a look she'd seen before and one that she imagined few others had beheld. It softened him, a man who'd fought against evil, taken lives in battle, and who was constantly forced into the fire again and again. This hardened man still possessed the unflinching passion and curiosity of an innocent child. It was only one of the many reasons she loved him.

  Sean nodded. "Yeah, you're right. Time for sightseeing later. We have a relic to find."

  The group made their way out of the square and down the adjacent street. The foot traffic dissipated, and soon they found themselves very much alone save for an occasional pedestrian wandering lazily down the sidewalk or walking their dog.

  Villers-Cotterêts was a stark contrast to the busy city of Paris. Here, it seemed life was much more laid back. No traffic. No throngs of people moving around on the concrete, scurrying to get to their jobs or to a meeting or to get a quick bite before returning whence they came.

  Sean appreciated it. He enjoyed the slower life. It was one of the reasons he kept a residence in Chattanooga. While Atlanta was fun and had lots to offer as far as entertainment, it was busy and sprawling. Traffic always got in the way, and without a solid metro system it was only getting worse.

  This place was the kind of town he wouldn't mind living in.

  They walked around the corner and then made a left, following the directions on Tommy's phone. The blue line on the screen's map said it was only three more minutes until they arrived at their destination, the cemetery where Thomas-Alexandre Dumas was buried.

  The next street was lined with thin trees, planted forty feet apart. The sidewalks were cracked and beaten from neglect. Old homes dotted the lane, much older than most houses in the United States. They were classic French designs, probably built by merchants several hundred years ago or possibly by local or regional dignitaries. Now, they were just average people's homes, no longer a statement of success or political prowess.

  Still, the buildings were beautiful. Sean and Tommy appreciated the
m with quiet contemplation as they walked by.

  Of course, Bodmer and Adriana didn't think much of it. Being from Europe, they were accustomed to such things. It was stuff they'd grown up with their entire lives.

  The group made their way to the right at the next intersection, and the cemetery came into view. It was occupied by several large oak trees to provide shade to those in eternal slumber, and was surrounded by a black iron fence. The barrier was little more than decorative, and it had started to fall apart in some places where oxidation had taken its toll over the years. The grass and landscaping, however, were well maintained, and it looked as though the lawn had been mowed recently.

  Tommy led the way in, and the group stopped once they were through the gate. It was a public cemetery and had no place for security or guards.

  Sean panned the entire area before turning his attention to his friends. "We can cover more ground if we split up," he said. "I'll take that corner and work my way in. Tommy, you go over there," he pointed at the opposite corner. "Adriana, there, and Bodmer, there." He finished by jabbing a finger to the prescribed zones.

  The others nodded and started toward their corners.

  "Remember. We're looking for Thomas-Alexandre Dumas."

  More nods came from his companions, and he started off toward his own corner.

  Sean walked between the rows of simple headstones and gaudy monuments, his eyes scanning each surface for the name Dumas. He reached the end of one row and met Adriana as she was finishing her pass.

  "Anything?" she asked, though she immediately regretted the question since, if Sean had found something, he would have alerted the others.

  "Nope. Lots of graves to check, though."

  She nodded and turned away, proceeding back the way she came on the next row.

  Each of the four investigators kept moving, sweeping through one row and then the next. Sean's progress was slower than the others because he took on the task of also watching for trouble with every step. His method was simple enough. He checked a headstone, checked the fence. Checked a headstone. Checked the fence again in a different area. He didn't know why, but the strange man he'd seen at the café earlier that day made an impression on him, and that impression was of someone who wasn't going to stop just because he'd been caught once. Well, sort of caught. Sean regretted not being able to catch up to the guy. Maybe Sean had scared him, though he doubted it.

  He turned at the end of another row and began the process all over again. Sean didn't have to go far before he found what he was looking for.

  The grave was simple, not what he would have expected from one of the great heroes of Napoléon's legion of officers. It was no different than some of the other graves surrounding it. Then Sean recalled what he'd learned about the man, about how he had fallen into poverty after enduring several injuries with the army. His pension hadn't supported his family after his death, and this simple monument was likely all they had been able to afford.

  Sean thought the tale a tragic one, righted only by the son who went on to become one of the most celebrated writers in history.

  He read the name to himself and noted the birth year as well as the year of death. It matched up with what he'd seen regarding Dumas.

  "Guys?" Sean shouted to the others, though he tried not to sound disrespectful in the cemetery. Graveyards had always been a reverent place to Sean. He'd grown up near one that his grandmother took care of. When he was old enough, about eleven or maybe even twelve, she started paying him to mow the grass. Even as a youngster, he felt a deep respect for those who had passed and did his best not to tread heavily on the ground within the confines of the cemetery's boundaries.

  The other three joined him where he stood to the side of the headstone and gathered around.

  "Good," Tommy said. "Now what?"

  Sean knelt down, pressing his right knee into the grass next to the sunken earth where the man's coffin had been placed so many years ago. He stared at the writing carved into the stone, but there was nothing unusual, no clue as to what they should be trying to find there.

  He heard a sound like a twig snapping and turned his head to the right but saw nothing. A few birds chirped in an oak tree on two low-hanging branches. Other than that, there were no signs of life save the sounds of the occasional car rolling down the road or intermittent hammering coming from a construction project nearby.

  Sean's head twisted back and forth. There was nothing here. Surely they weren't really supposed to dig up this man's bones to find the next clue. That wouldn't fly with him or anyone in his group, much less the people of the little town. And they couldn't afford to go back to jail again. He doubted Bodmer would be able to pull the same strings twice.

  "There's nothing here," the commander so aptly noted.

  Tommy spun around on his heels, scanning their surroundings. A tree stood nearby with low-hanging branches and a thick trunk. It provided shade from the afternoon sun. Other than that, there wasn't much to distinguish this part of the cemetery from any other.

  Adriana took a step away and stared out over the property, looking for clues in the terrain or perhaps the houses beyond the perimeter of the graveyard. Sean simply stared at the monument for a long minute, as if the simple act of observation would reveal some long-hidden secret of the stone.

  He shook off his wandering mind and stood. There was nothing here, no sign, no clue pointing them to the next spot on the map. And there was certainly no X.

  Sean pulled out his phone and took a picture of the headstone. Then he looked at Tommy. "Let's go."

  "Go?" Tommy groused. "What do you mean? We just got here, and we haven't found anything yet."

  "I know."

  "So…why are we leaving?"

  "Because there isn't anything to find, and we aren't going to dig up this grave to see if the man was buried with a clue."

  "Well, obviously," Tommy managed. "Still, we can't just leave."

  "I took a picture of the marker," Sean said. "The only thing I can figure is that the dates must line up with the dates on the other markers we're supposed to find. Or maybe those stones have a clue that goes with these dates."

  "Coordinates?" Adriana ventured, putting her hands on her hips.

  "Maybe," Sean said. "Maybe not. But we aren't going to find out until we visit the other two graves. Lucky for us, those two are in the same cemetery."

  "Yes, but what if they're not?" Tommy asked. He felt his voice rising a little.

  "Then we come back."

  "Sounds like a lot of wasted time."

  "Maybe," Sean agreed. "But there's nothing here. If you want to stay and have a look around, that's fine. I'm going back to Paris."

  Sean started toward the gate.

  Adriana lingered for a moment and then followed.

  "Seriously?" Tommy asked, throwing up his hands in indignation. "We've been here less than five minutes, and you're going to just give up like that?"

  "I'm not giving up," Sean said. "I'm going to the next grave to see what else I can find."

  Sean trudged through the entrance to the cemetery and back out onto the sidewalk. Then he thought for a moment. He couldn't leave his friend behind like that.

  He looked back at Tommy and shouted over his shoulder. "Hey, we're gonna wait for you in that restaurant we passed on the corner of the square. When you're done looking around, come find us."

  "What's with you?" Tommy countered. "Why are you acting like this?"

  "We'll save you a seat,” Sean blathered.

  "Fine. Whatever."

  Bodmer's head swiveled back and forth as he watched the exchange.

  When the two were done talking, Tommy said, "Come on, let's keep looking. There must be something here."

  "That or you're going to have to get a permit to dig up the body."

  Tommy sighed. "Yeah, let's hope not. That could take months. And we don't have that kind of time."

  26

  Villers-Cotterêts

  Sean and Adria
na sat at the patio table on the cobbled patch of street that ran into the café's outdoor seating. He watched people passing by, a few kids playing in and around the fountain, and the birds that were perched on a dangerously close gutter across the street.

  "You're not mad about something, are you?"

  Sean furrowed his brow. "Me? No."

  "Because you sounded angry back there—or, at the very least, frustrated."

  He cracked his neck to the right and then rolled his shoulders. "Nah. We don't have time to beat around the bush. There's a dead cardinal back in Rome, and we're supposed to find the killer or what the killer wanted. My problem with all of this is that Klopp doesn't seem to know what we're supposed to be looking for. No one does. We have the commander of the Swiss Guard with us, which is really weird by the way. I mean, who is running things for him back at base?"

  "The Vatican."

  "Yeah, exactly. My point is, yes, it's frustrating. We spent nearly two days in jail. Who knows where Tara and Alex are at this point, and we can't seem to get through to them. On top of all that, we come here and find nothing but a poor man's grave."

  "Maybe Tommy will find something out there." She was trying to be helpful, but it didn't feel like it.

  "Maybe," Sean said. "It just gets frustrating sometimes."

  "These things are never easy," Adriana said. "If they were, anyone could do what we do. What you do." She cocked her head to the side and tilted her wine glass to the right. The red liquid shifted but didn't spill. She eyed it thoughtfully, considering what to say next. "Honestly, I'm glad stuff like this isn't easy. I enjoy the challenge, the roadblocks. It makes the triumph that much sweeter."

  "Triumph," Sean muttered. Then he chuckled to himself. She had a point. Easy wins were rarely worth celebrating. He wasn't going to give up. That wasn't his point. He'd assessed the situation in this town and believed there was nothing to find. Did he make that call too quickly? Perhaps, but he stood by it. That didn't mean he was giving up.