Thrillers in Paradise

by Rob Swigart

  “Very good, Lieutenant, we may make some progress after all. Now, what of Mademoiselle Emmer?”

  Mathieu looked sheepish. “Not much, but Viginaire is helping her.”

  “Then she could have been the second killer after all. It’s more critical than ever that we find her.”

  “SNCF security spotted her and Viginaire early this morning approaching Gare Montparnasse. There was a big traffic jam because of the Gay Pride parade. This may imply they took a train, but his car is missing, so we can’t say for sure. They may have driven somewhere.”

  Hugo massaged his temple. “Viginaire! I’d like to ask him about Rossignol, too.”

  “Of course. We’re looking for the car and questioning employees at the station.”

  “What of Dupond?”

  Mathieu shifted uneasily. “He doesn’t answer his phone and we’re not sure where he is.”

  Hugo leaned back and placed his palms on the surface of his desk. “We’re not sure?”

  “He said something about going south.”

  “South?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Where south?”

  “I don’t know, sir. He just said south.”

  Hugo sighed. “Very well, Lieutenant, but we don’t have much time before our superiors at the Interior Ministry start asking why we haven’t made more progress. It would be best if we make some significant advancements by this time tomorrow.”

  24.

  “Pythia?” Lisa repeated. “Me? What are you saying? That’s absurd, I’m a papyrologist; I study old documents, household accounts or legal tracts. I don’t predict the future.”

  Marianne shook her head. “You’re the Pythia, dear, there’s no doubt about that. It’s in the protocols. You were to get the disk from the Rossignol, therefore you were chosen.”

  “By Raimond? All those years, the experiments, the discussions about consciousness, that’s what it was about, making me his successor? What if I refuse?”

  Ted cleared his throat. “I suppose you could, but no one ever has that we know of, isn’t that right, Marianne?”

  “That’s right, we don’t know of anyone, Ted.”

  “But of course it must be possible,” the librarian continued soothingly. “Reliable information’s rather spotty between four hundred and fifteen hundred of the Common Era. Or even later, for that matter. From the beginning more legend than fact gathered around the Pythos, and the beginning certainly goes much farther back than the historical records would lead us to believe. If some refused we might not hear about them. We can only tell you about a very few of those who accepted. And we have some idea how they are chosen, but it’s a rather complicated story and some other things are more pressing, so now, I believe, is not the time. You are only required to hear us out. Then you can decide.”

  “I’m not required to do anything,” Lisa declared. “I didn’t ask for this and want no part of it. It’s all a game or a joke, if not something worse. The Oracle was closed and that was the end of it. The world changed; Classical Greece is gone. I don’t want to be a Pythia! Not at all! I’m a papyrologist, damn it! I read old documents, I sit in a library, I transcribe, translate, file. People want to kill me, the police suspect me of murder, and frankly all I want is to find out who killed Raimond and why, and see them brought to justice so I can get back to my meeting at the Fondation Roulot and my old dusty documents.”

  “Of course, of course,” Ted said soothingly. “But there may be… difficulties.”

  “Finding out who they are or bringing them to justice?”

  “We know who they are, in a general sort way.”

  “This Order of Theodosius, I know, you said. But specifically, who are they?”

  Ted almost smiled. “That is precisely the challenge. Perhaps not impossible to discover, but difficult. We believe they represent a small faction, or some kind of spin-off of the Inquisition.”

  “Yes,” Marianne added primly. “The Inquisition.”

  “What Inquisition? Witch hunters?”

  Ted gave a thin smile. “That one, yes. Of course they don’t call themselves that any more, not at all, and never did. Now it’s the Order…”

  “Of Theodosius,” Lisa finished.

  “Precisely. They were certainly once Dominicans, an Order formed in 1216. Though Bernard Gui referred to St. Dominic as ‘the first Inquisitor,’ the actual Inquisition was in fact founded after his death in 1236. Although the struggle had been going on since the fourth century, the Inquisition did not formally create the secret Order of Theodosius until some time during the sixteenth century, so we believe, possibly to combat Giordano Bruno, who was, certainly, a thorn in their side. While the Inquisition was dedicated to rooting out the lingering heresies of the Gnostics, Bogomils, Waldensians, Cathars and others, the Order’s purpose was, and remains, to eradicate the Pythos.”

  “You’ve lost me.”

  “Well,” Ted swept his hand in a circle, taking in the house and walled garden. “Let us suppose there are two kinds of people…”

  “No jokes, please.”

  “This is no joke, I assure you. For the sake of argument, let us say that some people see the world in terms of the past, and some see it in terms of the future. To the people who look back, the past was the golden age, and things today are steadily getting worse. To the others the world is improving. It doesn’t matter what you call them – conservative or liberal, hawk or dove, communist or fascist, Apollonian or Dionysian, Classical or Romantic, intuitive or rational – these two groups see the world in completely different ways, as if they speak different languages. The problem is they both believe it’s the same language because the words are the same. But even the words mean different things to different people at different times. The major problem is they both think they’re right. Let us say, even, that they both are right.”

  “Very well, for the sake of argument.”

  “The Inquisition hunted heretics. The Order and its predecessors have always had a narrow mandate, to hunt down only the Pythos, perceived as a far more dangerous adversary than mere heretics. They believed – still believe – the Pythos, through some kind of secret technique or technology, really can see into the patterns of events. The Church has always depended on people’s belief it knows what happens after death and can offer the secret to eternal life. If the Pythos really can see through time, the Church would lose its monopoly, imagined as it may be, considering all the other religions that offer the same thing. It would lose its most important reason to exist! The Pythos has always exposed the Church’s failings, covertly, of course, since the Pythos is not supposed to exist. If the Pythos really can see, and it gets out, the result would be devastating for the Church, which is now fighting for its life.” He spread his hands. “They believe the ends justify the means. Eliminating heresy, suppressing pagan thought, and above all protecting the institution, is ordained by God and represents His true glory. They’re convinced the Pythos threatens the Church because it says that men, and women, of course, can know the future without the intercession of the clergy. What they fear most is that the Delphi Agenda will give the world this gift.” He sat back with a laugh. “If it is a gift.”

  He went on. “What sets the Pythos apart is that he or she looks equally toward past and future, through knowledge, intelligence and insight, among other things. But the opposition, they’re true believers, obdurate in their certainty. You cannot argue with them. They don’t believe in gnothi seauton, they believe in obedience to the commands of God. That means destroying or seizing for themselves the technologies of the Pythos.”

  “This is the twenty-first century, Ted, not the sixteenth. Why should it be so hard to stop them?”

  Ted folded his hands over his broad stomach. “Many reasons. For one thing the Order is so secret we doubt there are half a dozen people in the Vatican who know it exists, much less who they are, yet it has amassed considerable resources over the centuries. For another, they have only one objective, t
o eliminate the Pythos, which makes them hard to track. The Delphi Agenda, while it may be secret, is far more visible than the Order. And finally, they’re convinced that we who support the Pythos do incalculable, unpardonable wrong. In their eyes it is they who would bring you to justice.”

  Lisa looked at the clouds racing silently across the sky. Here in the garden there was no sensation of the air moving just a few hundred feet overhead. “I’ve done nothing except know and love Raimond Foix.”

  “I’m sure he would explain why he got you involved if he could.”

  “These people you describe, these very religious people, these believers in God and, I suppose, in Christ, have killed three people in the past day and a half.”

  Ted leaned forward and looked directly into Lisa’s eyes. “Three we know about; there may be more. Now, though, you’re certainly on their list.”

  “How can they get away with murder? The police, governments…”

  He leaned back. “Exactly. It wouldn’t surprise me if in the end the police say Dr. Foix committed suicide.”

  “What!” Steve interrupted.

  “I’m not a Pythos and can’t foretell the future, but history tells us they will also say the Rossignol died in an accident. Smoking in bed, perhaps.”

  “He didn’t smoke.”

  “An unusual Frenchman, then, but nonetheless. And the young man at your Institute, Miss Emmer. Another accident. No doubt he fell.”

  “Through a closed window? I don’t believe this,” Lisa said, exasperated. “Captain Hugo may not be the smartest there is, but he was serious about finding out what happened to Raimond. He won’t let it rest at accident.”

  “I’m sure he is serious, but he is only a captain, as you say. There are people more powerful than he.”

  “This simply can’t be possible today.” She looked at Steve, who shook his head. Anything could happen.

  “Oh, it’s not only possible, it began a long, long time ago.” Ted drummed his fingertips on his stomach for a moment before continuing. “To begin, I must tell you a story about a very smart and powerful woman in Alexandria at the end of the fourth century.”

  “If you’re going to tell me about Hypatia, her story is well known,” Lisa said. “After all, as a philosopher and teacher with a reputation for integrity and intelligence she’s been a feminist icon since the nineteenth century. Are you going to tell me she was the first Pythia?”

  “Oh, no.” Ted shook his head. “It’s a bit more complicated than that.”

  A slight breeze passed over the garden, tossing the blossoms and filling the air with fragrance. Lisa composed herself. “I’m listening.”

  “Very well.” The librarian took a sip of his Calvados and set it aside. “As you know the fourth century was a time of religious conflict among Christians, Jews, and pagans. In a city as sophisticated and cultured as Alexandria the violence was intense. At first pagan and Jewish observances were tolerated, but since Constantine had made Christianity the official religion of the empire, the empire itself was under many pressures from within as well as from the German tribes to the north.

  “Isis and Serapis, among others of the old gods, still had many adherents, but intolerance from the Christian community was increasing with its power. Philosophers like Hypatia tried to stay above sectarian conflicts, but the mystical Neoplatonism she taught had enough in common with Gnosticism to make the newly legitimized Church uneasy. Both she and the various Gnostic communities believed truth and enlightenment could only be found within, that people should not look to external authority, that the individual must be responsible for action and for salvation. Early in the century Constantine called the First Council of Nicaea, which had, with great difficulty, resolved such thorny matters of doctrine as the precise definitions of words like ‘created,’ ‘begotten,’ and ‘born.’ Which one was Jesus? Were they the same things? Did Jesus and God have the same essence or only similar natures? Today these may seem like distant quibbles, but at the time they inflamed passions.

  “The list of heresies would make your head spin: Arianism, Nestorianism, the Sabellian (or Patripassionist), Macedonian and Apollonian heresies, “the contamination of the Photinian pestilence,’ or the ‘crime of the Eunomian perfidy,’ as Theodosius put it. If God and Jesus had the same identity then Jesus was God and could not have suffered, an impossibility that undermined the foundations of Christianity. If He was a separate entity, but of the same essence, as Arius argued, then there were two Gods, not one, which smacked of Ditheism. If God created Him of the same essence then he was also a God, but an inferior one, Ditheism again. Further, under Theodosius the Holy Ghost appeared as a way of explaining how a mortal woman could give birth to a God, which now required three entities, the Trinity. Later the worship of Mary as the Mother of God added more confusion. One can see how bewildering and contentious monotheism became. Then there were the Manichaeans, followers of the Persian Mani, who, like the Gnostics, believed the world was divided between good and evil, light and darkness. But they were not Christians, and so aroused special hatred. In the seventh century Mohammed obliterated it all with one stroke by saying God Is One, period, a great relief to many but the beginning of yet another long and bloody conflict.

  “In Alexandria, the bishop Cyril was not the only one violently opposed to paganism, but he worked harder than most to stamp it out. He wasn’t the first to close temples and synagogues, and he wouldn’t be the last, but he was zealous. He started with the Jews. Once they were gone he turned his attention to the others. For this he was made a saint.

  “Hypatia wasn’t much interested in either paganism or Christianity – she had students from both camps. She taught contemplation, reason, and a fair amount of mathematics and astronomy. She didn’t even pursue, as her father had, the more occult sides of the science of the day, like astrology, theurgy, or various other forms of magic and divination. But she was an aristocrat, teaching difficult subjects to people with sufficient leisure, meaning the wealthy and influential. She had powerful friends, but they weren’t enough to save her.

  “Cyril’s ambition was to Christianize all of Egypt. Hypatia was in the way.

  “It is said that one day he passed her house and saw a crowd waiting to hear her lecture. From this he was consumed with jealousy, so he began spreading rumors among the lower classes that she was a pagan and a witch who practiced black magic.

  “She had indeed befriended Orestes, the prefect of Egypt, an implacable enemy of Cyril. Some suggested Orestes was a moderate politician struggling to maintain order in a time of high tension when Christians, Jews, and pagans were attacking each other, and recently a mob of monks had even assaulted the prefect himself.

  “Hypatia supported her friend, as did the leaders of the Jewish community. This was too much. Cyril believed that if he could get rid of the witch he would at the same time weaken or destroy the prefect. So in 415 he had her dragged from her chariot, hauled into the church of Caesarion and flayed alive with broken tiles. Her dismembered body was taken outside the city and burned.”

  “So she became a martyr to the cause of reason,” Lisa said. “But…”

  The breeze stopped momentarily and the flowers fell still, as if waiting for him to speak. “You’re going to ask me what this has to do with the Oracle.”

  “Yes, I’m going to ask you what this has to do with the Oracle.”

  “I’m getting to it,” he said, when a bell in the kitchen began to ring shrilly.

  Ted leaped to his feet, knocking his chair over backwards. “Are you expecting anyone?”

  Marianne started for the house without a word. It was as if they had rehearsed.

  “Of course not,” Steve answered. He and Lisa stood as well.

  “Wait here.” Ted went inside. Through the open door they saw him take a shotgun from a storage closet and follow his wife toward the front.

  Steve and Lisa exchanged glances. “Come on,” she whispered. They passed through the kitchen and hid behin
d the stacks of books in the next room. Lisa peeked around and saw Ted by the arch, out of sight of the front door, the shotgun held tight to his side.

  Marianne’s voice was saying, very clearly, “Can I help you?” Her French had a distinctly British flavor.

  “I’m very sorry,” a man apologized, speaking French with a slight southern accent, probably a local. “I’ve been looking for a couple, the Greens. She’s American, I believe. I seem to have the wrong address. I’ve tried all the houses along this street, but no one seems to be in.”

  “I’m most awfully sorry,” Marianne said. “I’m afraid I don’t know anyone with that name.”

  “Are you sure you haven’t seen a couple like that? He would be French, but she’s definitely American. It’s most important.”

  “Really, I’m very sorry, but no. We live here, you see, retired, from Brighton, but we seldom go out. Gardening, mostly. We do love to garden. I guess that’s a British thing, since the other yards along this street seem quite overgrown.”

  The man at the door said, “Very well, I’m sorry to have troubled you.” He started to turn away and hesitated. “You wouldn’t know why no one seems to be home along this street?”

  “No. I suppose some of these houses must be rented to foreigners, so probably they’re out sightseeing. It’s such a lovely afternoon.”

  “Yes, it is,” the man replied. “Well, goodbye then.”

  “Goodbye.” The door closed firmly.

  When Ted reappeared, Lisa and Steve were back in the garden beside the wrought iron table. Ted poured another round of Calvados.

  “Anything important?” Steve asked.

  “No.” Ted grimaced. “Nothing important, I hope. Just a man looking for some people called Green.”