The Napoleon Affair

by Ernest Dempsey

  Lucien redirected his thoughts to the task at hand. He had received word from two of his knights, and things were looking promising. They'd tracked down Sean Wyatt and his companions, cornering them in the little town of Villers-Cotterêts. The Americans visited a grave there, though Berger's men were unable to determine which grave, but that didn't matter now. Not after what had happened.

  His men reported something troubling, something Berger should have anticipated. But how could he have? There were no signs that his old enemy was still alive, much less on the hunt for the ring.

  He loathed the word. Hunt. Of the sacred orders, that one was, in Lucien's mind, the most unnecessary. That was putting his opinion mildly.

  In their first years, perhaps they served some purpose. Back then, the church was scrambling to find whatever relics they could, and if the objects couldn't be located, substitutes were created as placeholders until the legitimate ones were discovered. Of course, Lucien knew that many of the placeholder relics were still being touted as the real thing to millions of unwary pilgrims.

  Few knew that truth. His old nemesis, Bertrand Wagner, was one of the select. He had to be, though, considering his station. It was his job to find the authentic relics, if possible, and return them to where they belonged.

  That last thought caused Berger to laugh out loud. Where they belonged. What that meant was where the church claimed they should be. Berger clenched his jaw in frustration. What authority did they have? They'd abandoned their ideals, their beliefs, the doctrines that had been preached to millions for thousands of years. They'd forsaken the very orders that had protected them.

  The knights had given Christianity an empire, and what was their reward? Exile. Humiliation. Poverty. Death.

  Hardly justice.

  Berger knew what Bertrand Wagner was up to. The man's objective was simple enough to deduce: Wagner was looking for the ring so he could return it to Malta, to the church in Valletta from where Napoléon stole it over two hundred years prior.

  Wonderful idea, Berger mused. Take the ring back to the place where it was stolen. He scoffed at the ridiculous notion.

  The church and the people of faith who managed it had already proved themselves incapable of protecting such an important and powerful relic. Returning the ring to Valletta would be a colossal mistake.

  There was, however, another reason Berger could not allow the ring to return to its island home in the Mediterranean.

  Napoléon stole the artifact because he'd heard of the legend surrounding the ring of John the Baptist. While he wasn't one to be given to superstition, Napoléon was also a philosopher and an advocate of science. He understood that there were many things in the universe that man had been unable to explain through logic, reason, and experimentation. Those things, the general believed, were possibly supernatural. That open-minded approach caused Napoléon to occasionally dip his toes into the metaphysical, and even the superstitious.

  It was by pure accident that Napoléon had learned about the power the ring possessed. Initially, he merely sought the relic because of its heritage and the prestige it would bring. The general also believed that if he had the ring of the Baptist, no one anywhere in the Christian world could dispute his authority as emperor. He would be unquestioned and could unite the Christian world against all others. Not because he was so devout to his religion. He was a game player, a master manipulator. It was one of the reasons he ordered his men to respect people of all beliefs when they ventured into foreign lands.

  Lulling the enemy into a false sense of security was one of the more powerful tactics Napoléon had adopted during his reign. His military prowess grew. He was feared in every nation across Europe, from the grandest throne room to the humblest tavern. No one believed Napoléon could be defeated.

  Unfortunately for him, the general soon realized that bearing the ring of John the Baptist didn't just bring great fortune.

  He felt hollow, discontented. With every victory, he grew more bitter, almost to the point of anger. He felt his energy being sapped, his life essence being sucked out of his body.

  His officers grew concerned and worried the general might die before they completed their conquest. This illness was not one that received a great deal of documentation, but Lucien knew about it. He possessed one of the few letters containing information about the general's malady and his subsequent remedy.

  Napoléon took the ring from his finger and gave it to one of his men. He ordered him to hide it and gave specific instructions as to how and where it should be taken.

  Later in his life, Napoléon would resurrect the relic, but when people around him started getting sick and dying, he decided the effects of the object were too dangerous. With a heavy heart, he put it in hiding once again, leaving it to be discovered someday by someone who would know what to do with it and how to control it.

  The ring of the Baptist, it seemed, came with a blessing and a curse.

  Berger didn't care about either. The only thing he wanted the ring to do was give him total power. He could declare himself the true pope and usurp the power of the church for himself.

  He scoffed internally at the idea of the church. While he was a religious man, one who still believed in the tenets of Catholicism, he felt no true loyalty to the organization. It had conspired with secular rulers to bring about the downfall of the order. His order.

  Berger found himself in a tricky situation in which he believed strongly in the doctrines and teachings of the church but held on to bitter…resentment. That was the only way he could describe it. He hated what had been done to his order, to the men who were so much like him hundreds of years before, merely performing a task that was set before them with honor and perseverance. They served their church and their kingdoms with fierce loyalty, and for what: To have everything they earned, everything they built, ripped away from them by greedy monarchs and a paranoid pontiff?

  The church had turned its back on him and his order. Until he came along, there was no one who'd been able to find a way to right the wrongs. They'd been slowly building up their resources over the decades—centuries, even—always waiting and watching for the right moment to emerge from the shadows once again.

  Now, they were closer than ever before to uncovering the one thing that would right all the wrongs. Berger had waited for this day, as had the grand masters before him. Each of his predecessors hoped they would be the one to lead the order back to its prior greatness. It seemed the burden was Berger's, though, and he felt honored to bear it.

  With the ring of the Baptist, he could wage a new Crusade against the enemies of God.

  Things weren't going according to plan, though Berger knew life rarely did.

  Wyatt and company were on their way back to Paris. He knew where they were going based on the information he'd received from his man in Villers-Cotterêts. Berger was…disappointed that the targets were able to escape. That should never have happened, despite the circumstances.

  The surviving knight would have to be dealt with, though Berger would be merciful. He'd always been understanding with those who served under him. It was one of the reasons they were so loyal. He walked the walk, which was why he was here, in Paris, to oversee the final leg of this centuries-long journey.

  Wyatt was close to finding the ring. Berger could feel it. Perhaps Wyatt's survival thus far had been divinely orchestrated, a blessing from above as the Almighty pulled strings one way and the other. Berger convinced himself that was the case, that God himself was doing all of this for the benefit of his most fiercely loyal warriors.

  Berger arrived in Paris earlier that morning, choosing a hotel close to the Champs-Élysées. It was a location he loved in the grand old city. He'd stayed there on many occasions in the past. While some may have looked down on his frivolous spending on the lavish hotel suite, he was the grand master and by rights should afford himself a few luxuries from time to time.

  Besides, it was in a central location and within view of the Arc de
Triomphe. Now, more than ever, he believed his choice of accommodations to be fitting. A monument to Napoléon and his victories, the Arc de Triomphe was now a perpetual reminder to Berger of what had to be done to right the wrong of the brash general. Napoléon had stolen the ring.

  Now Lucien Berger was going to get it back.

  Wyatt and his friends were on their way to Paris via train. Berger would make certain they received the welcome they were due.

  30

  Villers-Cotterêts

  Wagner's eyes narrowed and his lips creased in a grin, as if looking into the face of an innocent child.

  "My dear," he said, "we have been searching for this ring for over a century. We've seen the names on the document on Saint Helena. Unfortunately, that is where our trail ends. I can point you to the graves in Père Lachaise. That will save you time—considering it is an immense cemetery."

  "So, you've been to the graves. The one we just left, as well?" Tommy jerked a thumb to the back of the train.

  "Yes, though we have been to many graves. You, however, were the first to discover the clue at the Château de Malmaison; not that it would have helped us much. We discovered the document on Saint Helena but could not figure out how it was related to the ring, or what the names meant. We looked them up, of course, but were unable to decode anything from the monuments. We tried everything we could think of—mathematical sequences from the dates on the headstones, mixing the letters from the names to form new words. None of it was helpful, and in the end we failed."

  "You learn more from failure than success," Sean quipped.

  "Indeed. And those are wise words to live by," Wagner said. "In this case, however, failure means a crazy person will begin a new worldwide Crusade that will tear apart all of civilization."

  "When you put it that way," Sean snorted a laugh.

  Tommy's face twisted into a frown. "And you think we are going to be able to make the connection, figure out the code that you and your…order could not? I honestly don't see how that's possible. You guys would be some of the best in the world—if everything you're saying is true."

  "It is true. And we are some of the best code breakers and mystery solvers on the planet. This one, however, has vexed us."

  Tommy slumped back in his seat and turned his head toward the window. He watched as they passed by a farmhouse. Fields of golden grain waved around the building. In the distance, up on a lush green hill, the ruins of a gray stone castle stood watching over the region, probably the former seat of a duchy or barony, perhaps a regional kingdom from long ago.

  Wagner looked around at the other faces. He could see that his words produced a significant amount of doubt.

  "There is no sense in worrying about it," he added. "Worry solves nothing."

  Sean chuckled. "I used to tell people that all the time. Is worry helping or hurting, I would ask. It's never helpful."

  "Precisely," Wagner agreed. "Now, we will be in Paris soon. Tell me what you found that led you to the names of Napoléon's three officers."

  The others exchanged uncertain glances.

  The looks were not lost on Wagner. "I don't purport to know anything other than you four would not have come to Villers-Cotterêts had you not discovered something at Napoléon's château."

  Their expressions didn't change with his explanation.

  And so, Wagner continued. "And yes, I have been following you since you arrived in Paris, which you know since Sean spotted me." At that, Wagner sounded a touch embarrassed.

  Sean wondered how he'd figured they would go to Paris, but that question would lead to the same answers. Bertrand Wagner had considerable resources behind him, not to mention that it sounded like his order was the only one that managed to escape the wrath of a king or pope. They were still active, still working to find holy items for the church. Wagner's order was, in many ways, similar to the IAA. They were both dedicated to safely recovering and restoring priceless artifacts. From what Wagner said, he and his order also spent a good amount of time following clues and solving riddles.

  Those things they had in common still didn't prove this man was who he said he was. In fact, Sean suddenly realized that bringing him along was a huge safety risk. They were all putting a tremendous amount of trust in a person they'd just met within the last hour, and who had pretended to be holding them at gunpoint.

  That last piece actually did set Sean's mind at ease, at least a little. If the guy was a real threat, he would have produced a real weapon, and he could have killed Sean when he had the chance.

  "We found a clue in Napoléon's library," Sean said, deciding to go with his gut. He would trust the man until he proved that trust unfounded. "That's why we were arrested."

  "Yes. I knew about the arrest," Wagner said, stroking the stubble on his chin. "I wasn't able to figure out why you were arrested."

  "Vandalism," Tommy added. "We…moved some things in Napoléon's library, things that, apparently, hadn't been moved in a few hundred years."

  Wagner's right eyebrow rose. He stared at Tommy for what felt like half an hour. "You…you vandalized Napoléon's study?" There was a lull, and then the man broke out in a full belly laugh.

  Tommy looked at the others in an attempt to figure out what was so funny, but everyone else appeared just as confused.

  It was Sean who first realized what the man thought was so hysterical.

  "Oh, no, we didn't paint graffiti or anything like that in the general's study," he explained. "We pulled back a rug and then pulled up a section of the floor. That's where we found the clue. It was in a wooden box."

  Wagner slowed his laughter and met Sean's gaze. The older man's eyes were full of tears from laughing, but he managed to pull it together as he realized the situation wasn't what he'd imagined.

  "You…you found something in the study?"

  "We did," Sean confessed. "And in that box was the clue that led us to the cemetery in Villers-Cotterêts.

  Wagner thought for a moment, glancing down at the floor to collect his thoughts. He had so many questions, but he narrowed them down to just one. "What did the clue say?" he hedged.

  "It gave the names of the three men you already know of," Tommy answered. "It talked about their eternal sacrifice or victory or something." Tommy knew exactly what it said, but he wasn't going to give away all the details yet. This man, Wagner, was part of an old, secret organization. Someone with those kinds of secrets and that sort of pedigree could be trouble, and they'd only met the guy that day. Tommy could tell from the look in Sean's eyes that he didn't fully trust the man, either, but didn't distrust him enough to part ways. Not yet.

  The kids squealed again in the next car. The noise disrupted the conversation for a moment. Off in the distance, the Eiffel Tower climbed into the sky. It was one of the first things that could be seen on the train ride back into the city and signaled the journey to Paris was nearly over.

  "So, we are all on the same footing now," Wagner said.

  "Unless you are keeping something from us," Adriana said with suspicion in her voice.

  "No," Wagner said offhandedly. "If I had more information, I would have probably already located the ring and delivered it safely to Malta."

  It was a fair point but one that also showed the man was still on the hunt. His desire was to return the ring to the cathedral in Valletta. If that was the proper place for the object to go, Tommy and Sean wouldn't have a problem with it. They would need to fact-check everything first to make sure Wagner's story was true, but if the ring came from Valletta, then that was where it needed to be.

  Sean pulled out his phone and sent a quick text message to Alex. The message was meant to be a request for information about the missing ring of Valletta, but what he got instead was an immediate return phone call.

  "Hello?" Sean said, putting the phone to his ear. Then it hit him. Alex and Tara had been out of communication with them for…what was it, a day or two? Sean was losing track of time and what day it was. He rubbed his temples
, one with a finger and the other with a thumb.

  "Sean, thank goodness. We were out of cell range. Did you get the picture I sent?"

  "We did," Sean said. "It helped. We're still investigating those names."

  "Okay, good." Alex sounded relieved. "Our signal was really bad on Saint Helena."

  "Are you two okay?"

  "Yes. We…we had a run-in with a couple of assassins."

  Sean's heart skipped a beat and he stood up, took two long steps away from the group, and lowered his voice. "What do you mean assassins?"

  "We don't know that," Tara said in the background.

  "They were trying to kill us," Alex said, now arguing with his young wife.

  "That doesn't mean they were assassins."

  "Guys," Sean interrupted. He looked back at the group. Every pair of eyes was staring at him, so he took another step away, lowering his voice again. "Guys, seriously. Someone tried to kill you?"

  "Oh, sorry. Yes. A man and a woman were shooting at us, but your training came through, Sean. We took them down. Well, one of them, anyway. The female. The other one, he escaped. We left the island before the police showed up or before anyone could find the body."

  "You…just left it there?"

  "Um…yes?" Alex answered with uncertainty.

  "No one saw what happened?" Sean pressed.

  "No. We don't think so. We went back to Cape Town and tried to find the other gunman, but we couldn't locate him or his boat. We had…plane trouble."

  Sean wasn't sure what that meant, but he figured it had something to do with the old plane they were no doubt chartering. Most of the readily available pilots in Cape Town were flying airplanes that should have been retired long ago. It was all they could afford, though, and many of these pilots found that a little duct tape here and some grease there could save them a good amount of money on a new rig.

  "Do you know who they were?" Sean asked. "Who they were working for?" He had a feeling he already knew, but asking for some confirmation wasn't a bad idea.