The Devil's Path (An Alexander Scott Novel Book 1)

by Richard Turner

  “Signed, your humble servant, John Bigelow”

  “How do you want this to go out, sir?” asked Donald.

  “In code of course,” said Bigelow. “That damn telegraph cable can be intercepted anywhere along its route.”

  “Yes…yes of course, sir,” said Donald, rushing out of the room to have the message encoded and then dispatched immediately.

  “Now, you’ll both be my guests her in the embassy until I receive a reply,” said Bigelow to Scott and Kate.

  “Sir, you are far too kind,” said Kate.

  “Nonsense, this is…or will be, your embassy too once the troubles at home are put behind us,” said Bigelow with a smile.

  Scott could feel the conversation steering towards politics, a world Bigelow lived in, but one Scott was trying to avoid at all costs while he and Kate looked for her father. “Sir, I echo Miss O’Sullivan’s thanks,” said Scott, picking up his coffee, the rich chicory aroma reminding him of coffee brewed around campfires by soldiers in the field.

  “Sir, how long will it take for a reply to come?” asked Kate.

  “Well, it depends on the Transatlantic cable,” Bigelow said. “If it is working, then we should expect a reply in two to three days.”

  Kate smiled and then said, “Sir, where is the best library in Paris?”

  Chapter 14

  Vienna, Austria

  Karl Wollf took the latest bad news with considerable sangfroid. He was disappointed, to say the least, but refused to show it. Folding up his latest telegram from Duval, Karl placed it in his vest pocket and then took out his gold-plated pocket watch and that saw it was nearly time for his twin sister, Viktoria, to arrive. Sitting down behind his large mahogany desk, Karl’s thoughts turned to his father, wasting away while the solution to his problem seemed to elude him at every turn. If only Professor O’Sullivan would talk.

  There was a knock at his office door.

  “Come,” said Karl.

  The door opened. A broad-shouldered bodyguard held it open as his sister strode in with a storm already brewing in her violet-colored eyes. Her long blonde hair hung down around her shoulders. She was tall and athletic. As was her style, she was wearing high leather boots, tan pants, and shirt along with a snug hunter green jacket. Karl disapproved of the way his sister always dressed like a man, but he had long since given up arguing with her. She was just too much like him…stubborn.

  Karl stood and walked over to embrace his sister.

  She held up a leather-gloved hand. “Spare me the pleasantries today, Karl. Your men have failed again and let the Americans slip through their fingers,” said his sister bitterly. “This situation is becoming farcical. We are supposed to be smarter than this.”

  “It is always a pleasure to see you too, Viktoria,” said Karl, stepping back from his irate sibling.

  “Don’t forget, Karl, that I get all the same messages as you do. So I, unfortunately, get to read a steady stream of bad news from your incompetent agents,” said Viktoria icily as she strolled over to a side table covered in bottles. She ran her fingers over the top of the bottles before grabbing a green-glassed bottle of Stroh, a strong Austrian rum. She poured herself a tall glass and then took a seat on a luxurious green leather couch across from her brother; between them was a marble chessboard. Viktoria studied the board for a moment, slowly leaned forward picked up a black knight, twirled it in her fingers, before placing it back down on the board.

  “Checkmate in three,” said Viktoria with a smile. Swirling her glass below her slight upturned nose, she savored the dark amber colored rum in her crystal glass.

  Fighting his growing anger at his sister’s immature attempts to provoke him, Karl knew all too well that this was a game, which Viktoria loved to play with him. With a practiced smile, Karl looked down at the chessboard and saw she was correct. She would win in three. Taking a seat in the chair opposite Viktoria, Karl asked, “What word do you bring from The Council?”

  Viktoria took a drink and then looked over at her brother, her violet eyes cold as snakes. “They told me to pass on that they are thoroughly unimpressed with your efforts so far to learn the resting place of the Holy Grail,” said Viktoria, looking for a hint of a reaction in Karl’s eyes.

  There was none. Karl sat there stone-faced. “Anything else, my dear sister?”

  “None that I can remember.”

  “Very well then, please pass on to the members of The Council that I have decided to take over operations in the field,” said Karl, looking straight into Viktoria’s violet eyes. “I also agree that this has gone on far too long. From now on, I will personally take charge of finding and getting our hands on Professor O’Sullivan’s daughter.”

  Viktoria shook her head. “You know The Council will never countenance a member of The Order of the Three-Hundred becoming directly involved in any operation. Think of the consequences should you be caught and your ties to The Order and its executive council become known publically. It would set us back generations, or even ruin us.”

  Karl shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t intend to fail or get caught as you put it. We need the Grail just as much as The Order does…more in fact,” stressed Karl. “Father is getting sicker by the day. He does not have long to live. They want it for its purported martial qualities, but I need it for its healing powers. I would say that my needs and those of our father are more important at this time.”

  Viktoria shrugged her shoulders with indifference. “I think you are taking a great risk with this course of action, Karl, but I will pass on your message.”

  Karl sat forward in his chair and locked his eyes with his sister. “Viktoria, I need you to make them see things my way. I know that you have, how shall I say…a special relationship with one of the key members of The Council,” said Karl, trying to be delicate. “You must convince him to support us in this radical change from the norm.”

  Victoria’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve been spying on me, my dear brother, haven’t you?” she said accusingly.

  “Of course, I have,” said Karl honestly. “Just like I know that the man at my door is one of yours. We both know how the game is played…trust but verify.”

  “Very well,” said Viktoria. “I will do all I can to make The Council see things your way.”

  “All it takes is one dissenting voice. Without unanimity, The Council cannot go against a member of The Order…just get me that one vote.”

  “How is father?” asked Viktoria hesitantly. She did not worship the man like her brother did, but she still loved him.

  “He is lucid most days, but I fear that he does not have much life left in him.”

  “Well, I guess you will get your wish and be the family patriarch soon,” said Viktoria snidely.

  Karl once again did not rise to the bait.

  “Now, Viktoria, if there is nothing else we need to discuss today I have to make plans to depart without delay,” Karl said standing up, his eyes already on the door.

  Viktoria stood up and joined him. “Do you really believe that they will have gone to Paris, as Duval has suggested?”

  “Yes I do,” Karl said as he escorted his sister to the door. “Duval has all of their money and possessions, including several journals belonging to her father. They will go to Paris because Colonel Scott will need more money and support from his government if he is to carry on his search for Professor O’Sullivan. He is a soldier. He will do things dogmatically. Trust me, we will find them there.”

  The door opened. Both Viktoria and Karl looked at the man holding the door neither saying a word.

  “You had better be right,” warned Viktoria. “I can buy you some time, but without results, even I cannot protect you forever.”

  Karl smiled. “It was a pleasure seeing you again, Viktoria,” said Karl as if their previous conversation had never occurred. “You will hear from me soon enough.”

  Viktoria turned on her heels and walked away from her brother. She knew what she had to do. Leaving her
brother’s stately home, she climbed into her waiting carriage and then headed straight for the Empress Elizabeth Train Station in the west end of Vienna. She needed to get to Rome before the Council sat in two days’ time or her brother risked being excommunicated, or worse, for breaking The Order’s explicit directions to remain out of sight and operate exclusively in the shadows of the world around them.

  Chapter 15

  Paris, France

  Kate’s exploration of the massive Imperial National Library proved to be unbelievably frustrating; she and Scott had been there for the better part of two days and had concentrated on finding anything written about Philippe of Normandy or his Squire, David, during the First Crusade. However, with over 500,000 books and over 80,000 manuscripts spread throughout the spacious library Kate figured it could take days, if not weeks, for them to find even the smallest clue.

  The stolen journal from Mont Saint Michael told the tale of how Philippe had taken the Grail to the Holy Land, and with its help, he had defeated the Saracens in battle. However, Philippe soon afterwards became stricken with fever. Refusing to drink from the cup, an act he considered blasphemous, he was forced to leave the Holy Land to seek help in overcoming a strange affliction that seemed to sap his strength. Where they had gone was the mystery that needed to be solved. Kate was frustrated that the squire’s recounting of events seemed deliberately vague as if he were purposefully hiding the truth. He wrote of their sailing from the Levant back to the west, but it seemed to skip over several years, until the squire’s return home to France as a knight coming to claim his family’s land before going to meet god himself.

  “Find anything,” asked Scott, looking over Kate’s shoulder.

  “No, you?” said Kate, stretching out her aching back. She had been hunched over for hours and wanted nothing more than to go for a long walk and clear her head. However, she knew that she had to stay and find the clue that would tell her where her father had gone after Normandy.

  Scott shook his head in defeat. “There is an awful lot written about the crusades, but I can’t find much more than a passing reference to Philippe and absolutely nothing on his young squire.”

  “No surprise, the books I have looked in are all written more about the richer Dukes from Flanders, Boulogne, and Blois. It seemed that you had to have a lot of money to get your name in print, even back then,” said Kate with a chuckle.

  Scott set his book down and then opened a scroll with a map of the Near East. Studying it for a moment, a grin crept across Scott’s face. “Kate, what if we are looking at this the wrong way.”

  “How so?”

  “You told me that Philippe became sick and left the crusades to seek help. I know I wouldn’t want one of our modern sawbones working on me after a battle, as they’re more than likely to cut off the wrong limb, but where could a knight have gone back then if he were sick?”

  Kate grabbed the map from Scott’s hands. Her eyes darted over the map searching for something, anything that might help.

  “Byzantium,” mumbled Kate. “He would have sought help from a healer in the Byzantine Empire…but where?”

  “Are you sure there isn’t anything in the squire’s journal on it?”

  Kate scrunched up her face, dug out David’s journal once more, and then re-read the passages from their departure from the Holy Land until his return to France.

  Scott sat there, the anticipation rising with every page that Kate turned over.

  “I’m an idiot, it’s right here,” Kate said, pointing to a line in the journal.

  “Ok, I’ll bite,” said Scott. “What does it say?”

  “David wrote cryptically about his regret at never meeting Helios,” said Kate.

  “Helios was a Greek God or something like that, wasn’t he?” Scott said trying to remember the Greek mythology, he had learned as a child.

  “Yes, he was the personification of the sun, but think about it for a moment; David said he regretted having never seeing Helios that’s because he - or more correctly his likeness - wasn’t there. It had been torn down by an invading Arab force and sold for scrap well before David and Philippe ever set foot there.”

  “And where would that be?”

  “Rhodes, Alex, they went to Rhodes,” said Kate.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Alex, think about it. Rhodes is close to the Levant and was liberated during the First Crusade. However, more importantly, the Colossus of Rhodes was a bronze statue that once towered over the harbor entrance to the City of Rhodes. It was built to resemble Helios,” said Kate with a wide smile on her face. “My father went to Rhodes and so should we.”

  Grabbing everything they could find on Rhodes, Scott and Kate headed straight back to the embassy. Upon their arrival, Bigelow’s secretary Donald was waiting for them. Ushering them inside, Donald went in search of his boss. A few minutes later, Bigelow walked in and got straight to the point.

  “Colonel Scott, I received a telegram while you and Miss O’Sullivan were out. It says that I am to give you all the support I can and to make you aware that the Captain Moore commanding the USS Phoenix, about to put in at Toulouse, is at your service,” said Bigelow. “It would appear that the War Department takes the safe return of Miss O’Sullivan’s father to the United States as seriously as the two of you.”

  Scott thanked Bigelow and told him about their suspicion that Kate’s father had gone on to Rhodes, in the Mediterranean. He then asked if Bigelow could spare a couple men to accompany them to Toulouse. Without hesitating, Bigelow offered up two of his Marine guard detachment to help safeguard Kate and Scott. With a quick handshake, Scott and Kate went to pack.

  Across the busy street, a vendor selling apples dressed in torn pants with a threadbare shirt quickly scribbled down a note, and then with a couple of francs he handed it to a young, skinny boy, who smiled at the generous payment before running off to deliver the message. The vendor, one of Duval’s agents, smiled to himself; the word on the street was a payment of 1,000 francs in gold to whoever first alerted Duval to the whereabouts of the Americans. He rubbed his hands together, thinking of all the food and wine he could buy with 1,000 francs.

  Duval read the note. He almost salivated at the news that someone in his net of informants had finally found his prey. Quickly jotting down a note, he handed it back to the boy and told him to return it to the vendor. Leaving the small hotel café behind, Duval waved down a carriage and then headed across the Seine River to the luxurious Hotel Napoleon. Telling his driver to wait, Duval walked inside the palatial hotel’s front lobby, walked over to the concierge and asked to speak with Karl Wollf. A few minutes later, a severe looking, blue-jacketed hotel security guard with a square jaw came over and escorted Duval to a private dining room at the back of the hotel’s lavish restaurant.

  A guard standing outside the room contemptuously looked over Duval before opening the door. With a wave of the hand, Duval was ushered inside. Karl Wollf sat alone at a table eating his supper meal. Duval could smell the freshly cooked lamb and roasted potatoes; his stomach grumbled.

  “Yes, do you have news?” said Karl in impeccable French without looking up from his meal.

  “Yes, sir, I most certainly do,” Duval said, hungrily looking at the meal spread out on the table. “May I join you monsieur?” asked Duval.

  “No, you may not,” replied Karl coldly. “Now what do you have for me?”

  Duval bristled at the man’s arrogance, but decided to keep his thoughts to himself. He had heard it whispered that those that had foolishly challenged Karl Wolff in the past had never been seen, nor heard from, again. Duval did not relish disappearing.

  Removing his tall black stovepipe hat, Duval collected his thoughts before speaking. “Sir, I have been able to confirm that the Americans are at their embassy as you thought. I have a man who saw them there in the past hour,” said Duval. “Would you like me to send additional men there to grab the woman when she comes out again?”

 
“No, you may not. I don’t want a scene anywhere near the U.S. Embassy, do you understand me?” said Karl firmly.

  “Yes, sir,” stammered Duval. “But what of the Americans, what would you like me to do?”

  “I want them followed everywhere they go. Tell your men to keep their distance for now. Place as many men as you need to on this task, but don’t lose them…again,” said Karl bluntly.

  “Yes, sir, I’ll get on it right away,” said Duval, backing out of the room.

  Karl sat there looking down at his evening meal, his appetite suddenly gone. Grabbing a glass of red wine, he stood and walked to the window and watched the sun as it began to set over Paris, a deep pink hue filling the sky. He took a sip of his wine and wondered if his sister had been able to sway The Council on his plan to allow him to get involved in the retrieval of the Grail. Deep down, he did not care what their decision would be, he needed the Grail…his father needed the Grail. All else was becoming secondary to him. He knew he had turned a corner in his relationship with The Order, but he no longer cared. If he was going to die, so be it, as long he never broke his oath to his father, an oath to find the Grail and save him from death itself.

  Chapter 16

  USS Phoenix, Mediterranean Sea

  Kate looked down and smiled as a pair of dolphins raced along beside the ship, playfully jumping in and out of the water as the USS Phoenix made its way through the warm, deep-blue waters of the Mediterranean. She heard that dolphins were a sign of good luck and surely hoped so.

  The ship had just rounded Sicily and was making its way towards its next port of call, Rhodes. The USS Phoenix was a three-masted steamship officially classed as a sloop-of-war by the US Navy. Built in 1861, the vessel measured just over two hundred feet long with a beam of thirty-three feet. At over a thousand tons, and a crew complement of 350 officers and men, the USS Phoenix was the largest US vessel in the woefully undermanned United States’ Mediterranean Squadron. However, compared to the other ships in the squadron, the Phoenix was well equipped with a mix of smoothbore and rifled cannons with two thirty pounders capable of ripping a lesser armed foe to tinder. She had sailed to her station in the Mediterranean at the beginning of the Civil War. Her tour of duty nearly over; she was due to return home to the States at the end of the year.