Getting to the grave of Pierre Augereau took less than two minutes after the squirrel incident.
The tomb stood out among those surrounding it. The structure was tall and thin with a steeply angled roof. The narrow doorway was blocked with an iron gate. An ornately carved crest loomed over the opening. A cluster of hardwood trees stood behind the division of graves, framing the space with a touch of peace the likes of which only nature could provide.
Sean looked around and then shuffled between two graves so he could reach the row where Augereau was laid to rest. Adriana followed behind, still checking their surroundings as she moved. She made no sound, though the breeze and the rustling of the trees around them would have prevented anyone from hearing much.
Sean stepped close to the crypt's entrance and peered inside. He glanced over his right shoulder, then his left, to ensure no one was watching, then took his phone in his left hand and turned on the flashlight. He pointed it into the darkness beyond the tomb's door and peered through the iron gate. Sean noted the stone vault that contained the man's remains and then scanned the walls for anything of note.
Pierre Augereau had risen to the rank of marshal under Napoléon Bonaparte and was one of the general's most trusted officers. Augereau died when he was fifty-eight years old, several years before Napoléon's passing. Despite the man's rank and his good standing with Napoléon, the tomb appeared relatively ordinary aside from the fact it was a small building compared to the in-ground graves surrounding it. There was nothing ostentatious about it, no wreaths or crowns or visages to glory that would be expected of an honored warrior.
There was none of that, only the man's name and the dates of his birth and death. Sean furrowed his brow and scratched the back of his head. He’d had a bad feeling prior to coming to the cemetery. That concern proved itself right before his eyes with a glaring lack of evidence that any kind of clue was going to present itself at this man's grave.
Adriana moved close, like a wraith hovering nearby. "Do you see anything?"
He knew what she meant. Was there an object, a word, anything that could be construed as useful in their search for the lost relic?
"No," Sean said. "Have a look."
He passed his phone to her and stepped back so she could peer into the darkness of the crypt. She turned the light one way, then the other, pointed it at the ceiling and then at the floor. Adriana came to the same conclusion.
"What do you think?" she asked, handing the device back to him.
"I think it's just what I was worried about. There's nothing here."
"So you weren't merely doing that for effect back in Villers-Cotterêts?"
Sean shook his head dejectedly. "Only partially," he admitted. "But I felt like we were missing something. I can't put my finger on it."
Adriana looked at him with pity in her eyes. He was too hard on himself sometimes—most times, if she was honest. Sean bore the weight of being the one with the answers, the one who could solve problems with his mind or his fists. He was, in her eyes, the ultimate hero, and she loved him for it. She wondered, even though he'd never said anything about it, if that pressure was taking its toll.
His phone vibrated in his palm and took away any opportunity to say something about what he was thinking or feeling.
Sean expected to see Tommy's number appear on the screen, but it was Tara.
"Hey, Tara," Sean said, keeping his voice low so as not to attract attention from other visitors. There were only a few walking by in that part of the cemetery, but he wasn't only lowering his tone for their benefit. They were, after all, in a cemetery.
"Hello, Sean. You guys back in Paris?"
"Yes. We're at Père Lachaise as we speak."
"Find anything interesting there?"
"I've never been here before, so it's all interesting."
"I always wanted to visit that place but haven't had the chance yet. Maybe I can take a little time off soon and get Alex off his rear to fly over there with me."
Sean smirked. "Sounds like you have a plan."
"I do," Tara said cheerfully. "I also have some information for you on the…artifact you asked about."
Sean appreciated that she was savvy enough to keep things vague on the phone, especially a mobile phone.
"Hit me."
"It's an interesting story, actually. According to what we found, Napoléon did visit Valletta on the island of Malta during his Alexandria Campaign. He took something like thirty thousand troops, ten thousand sailors, and sailed from the South of France to Malta, laid siege to the city there, and then proceeded to invade the place. There was some fighting there between Napoléon's forces and the Knights of Malta, also known as the Hospitallers."
Sean already knew all of this, but he let her continue. It was, after all, what he'd asked Alex and Tara to do.
She continued. "It was difficult to find any evidence about the story with Napoléon stealing the ring, though." Sean felt his heart sink for a second. "But we did find a couple of citations about it."
Sean's hope returned as quickly as it had left, his breath catching in his chest. "What?"
"There were some old texts, books that were probably scanned in the old-fashioned way a long time ago, like when they used to do that microfiche stuff for libraries back in the day."
"It wasn't that long ago," Sean countered.
Tara chuckled. "Easy there, old timer. You don't have to get defensive. I'm not judging, but yes, it was a long time ago. Like a couple of decades, at least."
Sean rolled his eyes, but she wasn't wrong. It had been a couple of decades since he'd been in the library at the University of Tennessee. That was one of the last times he'd seen microfiche.
He swallowed his pride and got back on track. "So, you were saying you found something about the ring story?"
"Oh yes. There were a couple of references to it in some historical texts. But here's the thing." She paused for effect. "Those texts are not available anywhere."
"What do you mean they're not available anywhere?"
"Just what I said. You can't find those books in any library. The site where I saw them was an underground history website that posts stuff like that. It took quite a bit of searching, but we were able to use the quantum computers back in the lab to speed things up."
"I thought you were in Portugal."
"We are. Haven't you heard of doing things remotely?" Her voice hit a sarcastic pitch at the end of the sentence.
"Ha ha," Sean blathered. "So, these books—where are they?"
"No one knows. They were scanned and uploaded to the archive of this website and one other that operates similarly. Both sites are kind of dumping grounds for all kinds of historical information. Most of it is useless, but there are some nuggets in there that are priceless, and in this case exactly what we needed."
So, that was their secret. Alex and Tara used some kind of secret conspiracy theory forum to extract information. He had to admit: It was better than just doing a simple Google search. The way she spoke about this mystery website made him wonder if there was more to it than she let on, as in maybe she and Alex were the site's creators.
He decided not to dive into that rabbit hole for the time being. It wasn't pertinent, and he had a mystery to solve.
"So, these records," Sean said, "they're legit?"
"Looks like it. I'd say that what we saw corroborates the story that Napoléon visited Valletta and stole a ring from what is believed to be the hand of John the Baptist. Does that help you at all?"
"Definitely," Sean said. "It's a big help. Now we know we're not out here on some wild goose chase."
"Yeah, the story seems to be legitimate. Good luck the rest of the way. You guys aren't getting into too much trouble, are you?"
It was Sean's turn to chuckle. "Nothing we can't handle."
"That's what I'm worried about."
Sean was about to end the call when a thought occurred to him. "Hey, Tara?"
"Yes?"
; "There wasn't anything unusual about the list of names you sent us from Saint Helena, was there? I mean, we saw the pictures, but sometimes little details don't come through on digital images. Know what I'm saying?"
"Yeah, I get what you're saying. It can be frustrating, especially so with old documents."
"Right. So, did you happen to notice anything odd about the document with the names?"
A brief pause of silence slid into the conversation like an evening fog slithering through a forest.
"No, not really."
Sean bit back the disappointment.
"Other than the fact that it was just a list of three random…people?"
"Yes, they were officers in Napoléon's army."
"Oh, okay. Well no, then. I don't suppose there was anything odd about it. There was the image of a rose at the bottom."
Sean knew that didn't mean much. They'd already been to the famous rose garden château and come up with the clue that led them to this moment. Visiting the tomb of Joséphine yielded nothing. As far as Sean could figure, the rose was simply a symbol that tied things together but had no bearing on the next step in the mystery.
He sighed in frustration. "Nah, I don't think the flower has anything to do with all this. I don't know what I was getting at by asking. I guess maybe there could have been some faded writing, invisible ink—cliché, I know—or like a combination of words or letters that seemed off." He snorted. "Then again, we could have seen that on the photo."
Sean was about to tell her goodbye again when Tara's voice cut him off. "Well, there was one thing I thought was strange, but I figured it was nothing. We both did, actually."
32
Père Lachaise
A familiar feeling crept into Sean's mind. He'd always been one to get his hopes up, in regard to pretty much everything. Usually, that ended in disappointment.
"The spacing on the list," Tara went on, "there was something off about it. We both figured it was nothing because it wasn't like they were using lined notebook paper or legal pads, but I guess if there was anything off about the document, that would be it."
"Margins," Sean muttered. That was all he had to go on? An incorrectly margined piece of parchment? Then he stiffened. "Wait. You said the spacing was off? Tell me again. What was wrong with it?"
"You can see it for yourself if you still have the images. "There's a little more space between two of the names. I can't remember which two, but I could look it up for you if you give me a second."
"No, that's not necessary," Sean said. "I have the images. I can probably see the difference."
"Well, we thought it was strange. Based on the spacing between the other names, it looks like maybe a name was missing?" She spoke as if she was uncertain, a question more than a statement of fact. "Yeah, now that I think about it, that's it. You could have fit another name in there."
"But there was none?"
"No," Tara said. "We sent you the image. There was no other document like that."
Sean looked up at Adriana, who'd drawn near. She stared him in the eyes. It was easy to tell the gears were churning through the two windows into his mind. Sean was on to something, and her ears tuned out nearly every other ambient sound to focus on his end of the conversation.
"Which means a fourth name was left out."
"Possibly, although we may never know what name. I honestly don't know how I would go about trying to find the fourth one."
A fourth name. That was the answer all along, not some coded message on the tombstones or some mathematical sequence to be extrapolated from the dates of birth and death regarding the three men in question. It was simply a missing name. Whose name, however, presented an even more perplexing issue. By comparison, taking the information from the three monuments to combine into some coded answer would have been easier than pulling a name out of thin air. On the other hand, the fact that there was a name missing from this list meant they must be close. Didn't it?
Sean wasn't sure, but one thing was certain: They weren't going to find what they were looking for in Père Lachaise. The answer, it seemed, was already on the piece of parchment the kids found on Saint Helena.
"See what you can figure out," Sean said after a long and thoughtful pause. "We'll do the same here."
"Oh…kay."
"Don't wear yourselves out. I know you two have been through a lot."
"You can say that again."
"I know you two have been through a lot." Sean cracked a smile he felt sure she could sense through the phones.
Adriana's face scrunched, not understanding why he had repeated himself.
"That was bad," Tara chided.
"I know." Sean snorted. "Just wanted to lighten the mood a little. Seriously, it's fine. If you can figure out who is missing from that list, shoot me a text. Apparently, we're spinning our wheels here at this cemetery. If we find anything, I'll let you know. I need to call Tommy and get out of here."
"You're not afraid of ghosts, are you?"
"No," Sean said. "But I am afraid of the living."
He ended the call and tapped the screen, returning to the home screen briefly before he tapped on the recent calls list.
Adriana continued to stare at him, waiting for him to fill her in.
Sean didn't disappoint. "This isn't where we're supposed to be," Sean said as he pressed the device to his ear. "There was a name missing from that document. I can't be sure, but I feel like if we find that name we can locate the ring."
"What name?" Adriana asked.
"That's what we have to find out."
Tommy stood next to the grave of André Masséna, gazing at the monument with rapt admiration and appreciation. The man in the tomb was a French war hero, a leader, and a confidant of Napoléon Bonaparte. Regardless of what some said or thought about General Bonaparte, the men surrounding him were usually intelligent and highly skilled in the art of war. Masséna was no different, though the similarities between him and the other officers stopped there.
André Masséna had been born a commoner. Most of the nobles and the members of the upper classes were promoted up through the ranks of the military as a result of their standing in society. Masséna had no such privilege. The son of a shopkeeper, he worked hard at everything he did, whether it was in day-to-day tasks or in the military commanding thousands of men.
After his father died and his mother remarried, Masséna went to work on a merchant vessel as a young man of only thirteen. He was a cabin boy and toiled as hard as any of the men. He learned a great deal about the sea during his time aboard the vessel, often listening in on the crew's conversations or paying close attention when the captain issued commands. Dealing with pirates was the most fascinating part of Masséna's nautical education. He learned tactics and strategies that, while not offensive strategies, were still militaristic in many ways. He always believed he would join the military someday and thought learning some of the finer points of naval strategy might not be a bad idea.
When he did join the army, André quickly rose through the ranks, reaching the level of warrant officer, which was the highest a non-noble could go at the time. He left the army for a short stint as a smuggler and made good use of the strategies he'd learned from the merchants, both aboard the ship from his youth and from traders he'd encountered along the way.
He made some money, and had some adventures, but the army was where his true talent resided. Masséna was an exemplary commander, and within a short time of rejoining the military he had risen to the rank of colonel.
Napoléon often bragged about him, regaling Masséna as "the greatest name of my military empire." The emperor general also gave Masséna the nickname Dear Child of Victory.
Tommy recalled all that information within seconds. He'd spent some time on his phone, looking up as much as he could about the man. The train ride wasn't terribly long, and so Tommy did his best to make maximum use of it, focusing on some of the highlights of the officer Napoléon hailed as such a valuable resource.
The monument of André Masséna was a four-sided granite plinth. The sides of the column angled in slightly, giving it the look of an obelisk that had been cut in half, leaving only the bottom in place.
A four-sided cross that looked ominously similar to the Templar Cross was carved into the front façade of the monument. The sight caused Tommy to arch one eyebrow in suspicion. He'd had his fill of the Templars.
Below the cross, a short list of names occupied the remaining surface until, at the bottom, the dates of Masséna's birth and death were cut into the granite. An image of Masséna adorned the base of the pillar, cradled by a wreath underneath it.
Tommy's eyes returned to the names above the base. They weren't names of people. They were places. He wondered if that somehow figured into the answer of the riddle. Perhaps those names were to be put together in some kind of coded message. Or maybe Tommy needed a map. What if the names on this grave were supposed to be pieces of some grid that pointed to the location of the relic? His mind spun with the possibility, imaginary lines being drawn from one place to another on the incorrect map in his vision.
His heart quickened at the possibility. He loved this kind of stuff, figuring out riddles and ancient mysteries that had lurked in front of ordinary people for hundreds, sometimes thousands of years. Right under their noses.
Tommy took a step back, partly in disbelief and partly to get a better look at the monument. From his new perspective, he could see the pillar wasn't cut off at all but was merely shallow angled at the top, making a complete obelisk.
He tapped on the Google app on his phone and entered the names from the stone. It didn't take long for a list of results to appear. He selected the first one and scanned through the information.
They were places, as he already knew, but now the connection was clear. Every name was a location where Masséna had led the army to victory in key battles. They were an acknowledgment of his incredible leadership and valor. It was a worthy tribute, but the locations of those battlefields were far away from where Tommy stood. They were in foreign lands where Napoléon had sought to vanquish enemies and expand his empire. Finding those sites wouldn't be a problem. If that was the answer, perhaps there was a grid to be created from the famous victories of all three officers. Tommy was certain if they sat down with a map and outlined the battlefield locations, they would find answers, perhaps a single answer.
The Napoleon Affair Page 26