by Rob Swigart
A sedan with darkened windows rolled to a stop before them and the back door swung open.
“Let’s go.” Ted pushed Lisa and Marianne into the back and climbed in after them. Steve sat in the front with Alain. As soon as the door was closed the car started toward the house they had so recently left.
“Hello, Alain,” Steve said to the driver. “Good to see you again.”
He nodded. “You also, M. Viginaire. Everyone is safe, I see.”
“Thanks to you, and these folks.”
They rolled past the house. Smoke was pouring from the front windows. In the next block two people, a workman in blue overalls and a nun were moving away without apparent hurry, as though out for a stroll. Lisa stared back at them. There was a slight hesitation in the nun’s gait. She was favoring one foot.
“All right,” she said, turning back. “What the hell was that about?”
Alain replied, “The monk’s name is Defago. She is Sister Teresa Williams, a Dominican nun and former Lieutenant in the United States Marines. They are with the Order of Theodosius and are certainly responsible for the deaths of Dr. Foix and Rossignol.”
“And you know this how?” She could feel the looming presence of a fugue coming on, her escape from stress. This time, though, there was something different, as if instead of removing her, it might somehow be helpful. This was something she would have to consider later on, this change in quality.
Alain turned briefly. “We’re in full emergency mode,” he said with a thin smile. “I’ve begun a number of inquiries with various entities in and out of government and have gained some useful intelligence.”
They passed a side street and something twitched in the back of Lisa’s mind. They crossed the intersection and she saw, like a sudden photograph, the parked cars, a few people running toward the fire, and, by itself on the other side of the street, a gray van with orange writing on the side. Then the house on the corner blocked her view and she turned back to the front. “Shouldn’t we go back, stop them, tell the police?” she asked, but she was preoccupied and spoke without much enthusiasm.
Steve turned in his seat. “They’re armed and we aren’t, and remember Dr. Foix’s message: no police. It is a rule of the Delphi Agenda not to use violence, though I would love…. No, never mind.”
Moments later they were accelerating away from Mirepoix on the regional highway.
Ted said. “There’s a jet waiting at Carcassonne. We must return to Paris. There is much to do, and very little time. There are too many interested parties, including the police. Our security is growing more and more difficult. For a secret war, this has become far too public.”
“I think you’d better fill us in,” Steve suggested.
“On the plane,” Ted suggested. “Things are a bit too energetic at the moment. We will tell you everything on the plane, won’t we, Marianne.”
“Yes, we’ll brief you on the plane when we can be a bit more relaxed.”
27.
During the half hour drive to Carcassonne, Lisa nervously watched the road behind them. Ted and Marianne were discussing something in whispers. She caught an occasional phrase but bided her time. Clearly they were organizing their presentation to her, and she would just have to be patient. She thought her situation was like a complex and badly preserved papyrus, the kind she had to contemplate, move around, turn upside down, squint at, and gradually tease out the letters and words. A certain sense was just beginning to form out of the turmoil of the last days. Yes, she could be patient.
When at last they pulled into the private parking spaces by the civilian hangers, Ted assured her it made no difference if they had been followed or not, now they were here they were safe.
They listened to the ticking of the engine as it cooled. The hangar doors were open. Two pilots chatted together at the foot of the stairs of an enormous corporate jet.
Lisa laid her head against the back of the car’s leather seat. “I’m thinking of something on the skytale,” she said slowly. “It’s the way Raimond wrote his name, FOI instead of FOIX. I thought it was a mistake, that he was in a hurry, but now I think it was deliberate. He meant foi. He was telling me to have faith, to trust myself.”
“And what does your self say?” Steve asked.
She whispered, “My self says I don’t want to do this, to be the Pythia. It has nothing to do with me. I’m a scholar, a kind of scientist.”
Steve nodded. “I understand.”
“You do?”
“Of course. This is all new to me, too. It sounds like nonsense, a fairy tale, like another product of the Conspiracy Nut Factory. I haven’t said yes, either.”
She started to agree with him, to say they could just stop, go home, take themselves out of this fray. Instead she said, “Oh, damn.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t want to do it, but I loved Raimond, and he went through a lot at the end to pass this on. I don’t know if I really have a choice. If I say yes, I think I’ll need you.”
“I’ll think about it, but I don’t see how we can stop these people, stop the Order.”
She regarded the back of her hand and said slowly, “I see three ways: we can convince them we no longer exist, and then they’ll leave us alone; we can eliminate them ourselves; or we can expose them publicly. Publicity, not to mention the legal system, might take care of them for us.”
“Or drive them further underground,” Steve countered. “They’ve had a lot of practice at stealth.”
“So, should we follow option one? Convince them we’re gone?” she asked the group.
It seemed she had already made her choice.
Alain, stepping out of the car, heard her and leaned inside. “They know who you are, and they’re after you. You could try to disappear but they’d keep looking. They aren’t known for giving up.”
“I see now that you’re right,” she agreed. “The Pythos has been an important if unseen force for a long time. After the Oracle was closed it didn’t just suddenly vanish, and it wouldn’t do so now. The Order would never believe it, especially since their existence depends on having the Pythos as an adversary. Without us they would cease to exist.” She paused to contemplate this. “No, it’s more than that. They’re truly desperate. Raimond must have gotten close to something important.” She smiled at Steve. “That’s all I’ve got. We need more information. A lot more.”
Alain said they had filed a flight plan and should get going.
Lisa realized she had spoken of herself as the Pythia. She was the Delphi Agenda. Her eyes snapped open. “Right, I see now what I have to do, but I don’t know enough. What has the Pythos been doing for the past fourteen hundred years? Where has it intervened, and why? How does it work?”
Ted opened the door. “Marianne and I will brief you as best we can on the flight, but there is much you’ll have to discover for yourself.”
They followed him to the plane. The name Apollonair ran along the side in large red cursive. “Apollon Air? Not Appollinaire the poet, anyway. Apollo, patron of Delphi and prophesy?” Lisa said. “Cute.”
“A charter company,” Ted said. “It’s yours. More or less,” he added.
“Excuse me? How much does one of these things cost?”
“A little over eighteen million euros for a Citation X like this, the fastest in the fleet. I didn’t mean to say you own it personally: Apollonair is a privately held corporation, part of a loose conglomerate of such legal entities that make up the Delphi Agenda. We could say that Elizabeth Sybilla Emmer is the CEO, but of course no one would know your name. It’s not official, not public.”
“You can’t be serious. That’s a lot of money.”
“Never been more serious. In effect you, as Pythia, are the reason the extensive network of companies, research centers, think tanks, and banks exist. Delphi Agenda itself is not a legal entity.” He chuckled. “It could hardly be secret if it were registered, could it, Marianne?”
“No, Ted, it could not.
And as Mr. Maintenon has said, the Pythos, or in your case, Pythia is not exactly a CEO, either.”
“That’s correct, but I assure you, Lisa, the components like Apollonair are all legitimate. By way of example, Apollonair owns several aircraft of various sizes and configurations. It’s a thriving plane hire business that turns a tidy profit. Some of that profit is in turn invested back into the network, the rest returned to the business. Like any normal charter company it has a board of directors and a president and over a dozen crews. But there is always a plane available for the Pythos… or the Pythia.”
Lisa shook her head. “Then why did Steve and I have to take the train this morning?”
Ted nodded. “There wasn’t time. The attacks only happened yesterday. Even Alain can’t arrange things that fast, but we’re getting ready now, thanks to him. Now come along, we’re wasting time.” He started up the stairs.
The beige interior was all wood paneling, smooth plastic and indirect lighting. Eight comfortable leather seats were set up in two groups of four around polished mahogany tables. In the back was a restroom, bar and small galley.
Alain took a seat in the back grouping and pulled a laptop from a storage unit. He was already at work when the others took their places in front. The pilot closed the doors and within a few minutes they were leaping off the runway in a long sweeping turn to the north. Apparently rules about not using electronic equipment during takeoff didn’t apply on Appolonair.
Once they were airborne Marianne brought some refreshments from the galley and they settled down for the briefing.
“Now,” Ted began, slowly peeling an orange. “We have a little over forty minutes to fill you in on structure, global assets, and sixteen hundred years of history so I’ll begin.” He popped an orange section into his mouth and chewed slowly, collecting his thoughts. “Most of the people who work for the Delphi Agenda think their immediate employers are private corporations and know nothing of the Delphi Agenda, which is confined to a core – that is, Marianne and I, Alain, the Rossignol and the Pythos.”
“That’s all? Five people? And two of them are dead.”
“Not dead. You’re the Pythia and Steve is the new Rossignol.”
Steve jumped. “What?”
Ted continued smoothly. “Although they don’t know about Delphi, we have a number of agents we trust in cities around the world.”
“What cities?” Lisa demanded.
“Wait a minute,” Steve protested. “I didn’t ask for this job. Antoine was the Rossignol. He had training, preparation. He knew what he was doing. I don’t.”
“Please, we’ll get to your role, which as I’m sure you know is vital to the Agenda’s operations, but Lisa asked an important question, and she’s the Pythia.” Ted held up his hand and turned in his seat. “Alain?”
“The cities where we have agents have changed over time,” he said, looking up from his laptop. “Traditionally Rome, Istanbul, Paris and London. For the past couple of hundred years we’ve had people in Washington, San Francisco, Tokyo, and New Delhi. Recently we added Shanghai, Johannesburg, Santiago and Rio.”
Steve had settled back and crossed his arms.
“Who are they?” Lisa was poised to take notes.
Ted put his hand over her pad. “We have always been instructed not to keep physical records whenever possible. I believe your memory is good enough.”
She nodded. “Of course.” She put the pen away. “Go on, Alain.”
“Many are retired intelligence officers from various countries. They work on background, general intelligence, fact checking, analysis – in general, keeping their eyes and ears open.”
Lisa squeezed Steven’s forearm. “Spies, you mean.”
“Informants. Researchers. Analysts. We need them.”
“Of course.” She turned to Ted. “And where does the money for all this come from? It must be expensive, not to mention the eighteen million for this plane.”
He began peeling another orange, offered her a section, and when she declined popped it in his mouth. He swallowed and said, “As early as the sixth century BC Delphi was very rich. Many client cities had huge treasuries there and the temple acted as a kind of central bank. Some of that wealth was saved, and has been growing through the end of the Roman Empire, the dark ages, the crusades. Today its assets are considerable.”
He went on to describe the extent of the enterprises in which the Delphi Agenda was a silent partner. The list of corporations, real estate holdings, technology companies and hidden cash reserves went on far a long time and left Lisa speechless. “Almost as rich as the Church,” she murmured.
“Not quite that rich,” Ted replied gravely.
“How is it possible to keep it hidden so long?”
“Practice, of course.” Ted considered for a moment. “The small number of people who know about it. High trust, close attention to detail, belief in its importance, and certainly luck.”
“I see. Has the core group always been confined to five?”
“Five, yes.” Ted shifted uncomfortably, putting the orange peel aside. He cleared his throat and glanced at Marianne, gazing out the window with a distracted air. Finally he added, “It’s a terrible breach of protocol for us all to travel on the same plane. If something happened the Delphi Agenda would disappear, but this is an emergency. It won’t happen again. I can’t name a time in history when both the Rossignol and the Pythos were killed at the same time, can you, Marianne?”
She turned away from the window. “This is the only time on record they travel together.”
“Anything else?”
Ted cleared his throat. “About our agents around the world: you should get to know them – the next Pythos might be among them. They‘re the best we could find.”
“What exactly am I supposed to look for?”
Ted spread his hands. “Among other qualities, a certain gift for intuition, I think. True, though the Delphi procedure is still much as it has been for over three thousand years, the task is more complex and the technology has had to evolve to keep pace. But in the end it comes down to people. The shape of the future has always been clearer to some than others.”
“Well, I’ve never been one of them.”
“Are you sure? Raimond Foix chose you for a reason.”
She leaned back. The fugue was closer, over her shoulder, breathing on her neck, but this time she could see it, feel it. She felt her whole body relax. Suddenly the fugue felt like an old friend, something she could trust. Ted was right, she did sense things others couldn’t. It was what made her so good at papyrology, seeing patterns, connections, meanings. She was one of them, after all. “Very well, go on.”
“Consider that in Hypatia’s time the Pythos knew the Roman Empire was splitting apart and that the eastern part would continue for a long time. Eventually, of course, the balance would shift back, so the Pythos laid plans to accommodate historical changes. Although the vision is normally partial and blurred, it can be very sharp indeed at times. Giordano Bruno, for instance, became known to the world because the way was prepared for him.” A somber look passed across the librarian’s face. “He did something no Pythos had done before, he tried to act in the world, to change things. This was beyond the mandate of the Pythos, but he knew the western world was tearing itself apart. He spied for Queen Elizabeth during the years he lived in London, trying to help Protestant England counter the power of the Church, a political as well as a religious goal.”
“And was burned at the stake. Was it worth the risk?” Lisa asked.
Ted tried to draw Marianne into the conversation, but she was staring once more out the window. “You’d have to ask him. The Inquisition stopped him, but he saw the general shape of the future and tried to change it. Perhaps he did, just a little. Who can say?”
“All right.”
“One more thing,” Ted added. “There’s the disk, the one the Rossignol was to give you.”
“Which we don’t have.”
&
nbsp; Steve stirred. “We’ll duplicate it or get it back.” He put his other hand over hers and she gave him a quick smile.
He nodded. If she was in, so was he.
Alain said, “It belonged to Bruno. We think he enciphered whatever he wrote there, in anticipation of this day, and that’s why you need it.”
“Come on, it can’t be that important,” the banker objected. “As you said, if what Rossignol was going to give Lisa was the outer part of an Alberti cipher disk, then all it has on it is the alphabet; anybody could make one. The inner disk scrambles the letters and creates the cipher. That’s the important part.”
Lisa asked, “Where is it?”
Steve shrugged. “I wish I knew.”
“And the Order now has part of the disk,” she said.
“The unimportant part,” Steve insisted.
“Unless there’s something else about it, something besides the alphabet.” Lisa spoke more to herself than the librarian. “All right, where does this take us?”
“Perhaps to the Founding Document,” Ted said somberly.
“Ah. And what is the Founding Document?”
Ted sighed. “All we know for certain is that it contains information that could destroy the institution of the Church, something so explosive no Pythos has used it before.” He sighed. “I wish I could say more, but before we discuss it further, I think you should examine the papyrus you have with you. We believe it is in there you will learn more, don’t we Marianne?”
Marianne nodded without turning away from the view of cloud tops through the window.
Lisa said, “Even if Bruno wrote it, which I doubt since I think it’s a forgery, there’s nothing on it but some Gnostic texts.”
Ted arched his eyebrow. “Are you sure? Why don’t you take another look?”
28.
Captain Jean-Paul Hugo was struggling to contain his fury. “Lost again?”
His assistants looked at one another. One found something interesting about his shoes. Mathieu coughed delicately. “Dupond said the Emmer girl and Viginaire had arrived in Mirepoix. They went to a house where there was some kind of incident, an explosion, fire. They were inside but when the fire department arrived there was only one dead man in the basement identified from his prints as Cedric Saint-Ange, a Dominican friar. The place was full of burning books; the girl was gone.”