The Priests' Code

by B. B. Balthis

  ‘Stay down, Caro,’ I shouted.

  ‘Peter, you’re out of your mind. What would Merry say if she saw you like this?’

  ‘I couldn’t give a damn. I saw whose side she was on when she gave you that church report. She can go to hell for all I care.’

  He raised the gun, and Caro screamed again.

  ‘BENOÎT.’

  At that moment, another shot was fired, and a small wound on Peter’s forehead began to seep blood as he collapsed onto the black and white tiles, almost in slow motion. I quickly looked round, but, seeing no one, I grabbed Caro, pulling her up from the floor, where she had been hiding behind a pew. We ran to the car as fast as we could, Caro losing a shoe in the process. I almost threw her in and, within seconds, we were speeding down the small road that curved around the hillside. Caro was sobbing and I was shaking all over. This was the first time I’d had a gun pointed directly at me, and it was terrifying.

  ‘When we get back, keep your head down, and stay there until I’ve unlocked the house door. Do you hear me? Stay right down until I shout.’

  ‘You’re shouting now. It’s nearer to my house. Should we go there?’

  ‘Not safe enough. Too many ground-floor windows. Do as I say.’

  There didn’t appear to be anyone following us, and we took the normal route, pulling up outside my house some ten minutes later.

  Caro did as she was told and disappeared from view. I leapt out and opened the two doors as quickly as I could, dropping the keys at one point. I opened them wide.

  ‘Right, now, Caro. Run! Now! NOW!’

  She sped inside and I slammed the house doors shut, locking them as quickly as I could.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  I sat on the old stone staircase that led down to the salon and took some deep breaths; my hands still shaking. Caro was standing at the bottom of the steps and seemed to have returned to her normal, composed self, or perhaps she was in shock.

  ‘You left the bread in the car, Benoît. Can you go out and get it, please?’

  ‘In your dreams. What the hell happened there? The man’s insane… insane and dead! I’d better call Niort.’ I went down into the salon on shaking legs and picked up the phone. I was told that the police had already been notified and were on their way. Niort would be in touch shortly.

  ‘Poor Merry. Who’s going to tell her? Do you think we should?’

  ‘No, I don’t. Leave it to the police. We’ve got enough on our plates already. I hardly recognised Peter… he looked so strange, like he was on drugs or something, and had been sleeping rough. I know I thought he was a bit odd, but he was an attractive man all the same, although definitely not today. What did he mean when he said you could call him “grand master”? Benoît, I was so scared. I thought he was going to kill you. And how come everyone seems to know that we’re siblings except us? That’s really weird, and who killed him? I was peeping out from between the benches, and whoever it was, they were a very good shot. What are we going to tell the inspector?’

  ‘Nothing. I mean, obviously, we know Peter, we have to tell him that, and the bit about him seeming to have gone mad, but that’s it. There are cameras in the church at Rennes-le-Château these days, so they’ll probably have it all recorded. I suspect it was the Italian or one of his henchmen that shot him. I mean, who else could it have been? I wish I knew more about him… the Italian, that is. As for grand master, like you I only know it as a Templar name for leader, but maybe some other crackpot organisation uses it. Obviously not from the Vatican though. He clearly hates Catholics, or should I say hated! And he knew about Saunière and didn’t think much of him either. I must say, I’m beginning to rather like the man myself, and how he coped with the position he found himself in. I think we should have a drink of something strong. There’s some Armagnac in the dresser… I’ll get it.’

  There was a loud bang at the door. I went upstairs and looked out of the window from the first floor. Shouting would have been no good, since the door was very thick, and virtually soundproof. It was Niort. En route, I picked up my car keys to get the bread, since any more shootings were unlikely whilst the inspector was standing there. Letting him in, I nipped out to the car. Niort looked the bread, but made no comment.

  ‘So, more trouble, I see. Are you both OK?’

  Caro answered. ‘Yes, we’re both very shaken obviously, but we’re OK. I take it he’s dead?’

  ‘Yes, instantly. There are recordings, and we’re going through them now. What were you both doing up there?’

  She answered again. ‘Taking photographs, inspector. I’m writing a book on the history of the area, and I needed a few extra photos. We’d just been into town to see the solicitor.’

  ‘And you know the man?’

  ‘Yes, I do, inspector, although Caro has only met him briefly. His name’s Peter Lacy and he’s an Anglican vicar, from the village where I’ve been working in England. I don’t know him that well, mostly we just wave or say good morning, that sort of thing, but lately I had tea with him and his wife, and when Caro came to England to see me, they invited us for drinks. He’s married, with three grown-up children. That’s about all I know, really. Seemed like a nice enough man.’

  ‘You said that about Adrian Harcourt. Can you tell me what happened from the beginning please?’

  ‘Are you saying that you’ve found out more about him? We’re really in the dark here.’

  ‘I’m not at liberty to say any more about Harcourt at the moment, sorry.’

  ‘That’s really disappointing, inspector. Anyway, this is what happened. We walked into the church, and Caro started to take her photographs. It was lunchtime and there weren’t many people about. We looked around, especially at the Stations of the Cross, for Caro’s research. I then walked towards the altar to look at the relief painting under it, and heard a noise. Even with the lights on, it’s quite dark in there, so I didn’t see anything at first. The next thing I knew, Peter was standing in front of me. I barely recognised him. He looked odd, a bit insane really, and was very grubby and unkempt, quite unlike how he normally is. I told him to put the gun down, that he wasn’t well, and that I would help him. He fired a shot to one side, then aimed the gun at me. I heard another shot, and the next thing I knew, he was on the floor. We didn’t see anyone else but we were so scared that we ran.’

  ‘I see. What seems clear is that Lacy wanted to kill you, and came here to do so. Have you been followed at all? Or noticed anything else that was unusual? Are you involved in anything else that might put either of you in danger?’

  Caro looked at the Niort and spoke. ‘The only thing I can think of is the connection to my aunt. Do you think that her Secret Service work might have implicated us in some way? I’m a historian as you know, which can make one unpopular at times, but surely not enough to want to kill me.’

  ‘What work were your parents involved in, both of you?’

  ‘Well, my mother was a housewife, and my father was an archaeologist,’ said Caro.

  ‘My father used to repair clocks and watches from home, and my mother bought and sold a few antiques. They liked to travel too, and were often away. My grandparents lived with us, so it didn’t really matter if they were there or not. I do know that they were all active in the Resistance, and my mother used to talk about it sometimes. I’m sorry it isn’t much to go on.’

  ‘Before Lacy was shot did he say anything to you?’

  ‘He said he hated all Catholics, and would bury us with Saunière. When I mentioned his wife, he said she could go to hell for all he cared. Just pleasant chit chat, you know? Look, sorry, inspector, I’m upset, but we’ve no idea what going on and would really appreciate being told anything that you might know.’

  ‘There isn’t any more that I can tell you; I’m conducting every investigation that I can. Meanwhile, if you think of anyth
ing else please call me. I suggest you stay inside as much as possible. One of my officers will be coming over in a couple of hours to take a full statement from you both. The coroner has released your aunt’s body, so you’re free to arrange her funeral whenever you like. Perhaps under the current circumstances, it might be best to delay this for a while. Anyway, let me know what you decide.’

  ‘Thank you. We’ll be as careful as we can. Has anyone told Peter’s wife yet? What an awful thing for her and the family.’

  ‘That’s being dealt with right now. Goodbye, and please get in touch if you think of anything else – anything at all.’

  * * *

  I let him out, bolting the doors behind him. Meanwhile, Caro had poured us both an Armagnac, and I sipped mine slowly, trying to make sense of what had happened.

  ‘I think that Peter was involved in some sort of born-again Templar group. I’ve heard of them, of course. And there are the Freemasons, but I don’t think they’re involved in murdering people. I do remember a colleague of mine in London coming up against one of these organisations when he tried to reveal some important wall paintings in a church that had been whitewashed over. He had archaeological backing and the funds but it got quite nasty and he was threatened. He left in the end. I heard from him a few months ago and he’s in the USA now, having a great time. There’s definitely something going on in Peter’s church, and Hortense’s photographs confirm that. Let’s go through it all again later. Are you hungry? I’ll make a sandwich.’

  ‘Do you know what I would really like? A chicken casserole like grandmother used to make over the fire. Can we have that? You still have the old iron pot, don’t you?’

  ‘I do. It’s a warm day, though… can you cope with the fire too?’

  ‘Of course.’ In seconds, she was on her knees, putting paper and sticks in the grate. I made a couple of cheese sandwiches and coffee, and then started to fill the old iron pot that I usually only used in the winter. The chicken in the fridge needed eating, so it wasn’t such a bad idea. I chopped it into eight pieces and put in onions, carrots, potatoes, white wine, water, salt, pepper, and some fresh herbs from the terrace. The stand had been placed over the newly lit fire and I put the pot on the top. It would take a few hours to cook, maybe three, but that was fine. We had other things to do, including going through the contents of the brown envelopes from Couderc and the arrival of Niort’s officers.

  Poor Merry and the boys. I wondered how they were coping, especially when they found out that Peter was at the point of killing me. I decided that I wouldn’t contact her for a few days; she might not want to speak to me, and she had my email address if she wanted to make contact.

  I opened the door to the terrace, and took my sandwich outside. The warmth was blissful and Caro came out to join me. One could quite see why people had worshipped the sun, and it was one of the things that I missed so much when I was living in England.

  ‘Shall we go through those envelopes, Benoît? Maybe we’ll get some answers there. I’ll get them.’

  I went back inside. The two envelopes were addressed to us both, and we tipped them out onto the table. The first contained three smaller white envelopes, each with a date on, and we put these in order. In the second were two thicker packets, which we decided to look at last. I picked up the first of the dated envelopes, opened it, and read it out aloud.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  January 2015

  My dear Benoît and Caro

  If you are reading this, then I am no longer with you. I had hoped I would live for ever, but alas, this was not so. Over the last few years, I have been collecting together the things that I think you need to know that have been kept from you. Please believe me when I say that I have never agreed with this, but it was what your parents wanted, and I have had no choice in the matter.

  Hopefully, you will already know that you are not cousins but brother and sister, since it is my intention to tell you myself. You were both very much loved, but I think you know this. Your birth parents, Celestine and Henrikas, didn’t intend to have children. Christiane, your birth mother’s twin, and Charles were unable to have children. Between them, they decided to have one each, and this is what they did. I thought it would be wise to tell you, but they thought there would be upset about which one was given up and why, and so they decided against it. I can tell you that there was no favouritism at all. They were adamant that they would never want to be accused of this, and quite literally drew straws to decide who would have which one of you. It was their intention that you would grow up together and be a part of each other’s lives, and in this, at least, they were successful.

  I know that my brother Charles and Christiane loved you both as their own, and I believe that this too was a success. I have also loved you as if you were my blood family, and as far as I am concerned you are. I intend to leave my entire estate to you both to do with as you wish, with a few bequests.

  I now want to tell you a little more about your birth parents. As you know they met during the war when they were very young. They were both in the French Resistance, as indeed was I. They were hard times. We witnessed things that no person should ever have to see, and it coloured the rest of our lives and altered the paths that we chose.

  In their battle against the Nazis towards the end of the war, your parents were helped on many occasions by an emissary from the Vatican. I never met him, and your parents refused to talk about him, but it’s my belief that his name was Angelo Roncalli who, I’m sure you know, went on to became Pope John XXIII. They continued to work for the Vatican for many years, perhaps because of this connection. Your mother was deeply affected by the murder and slaughter that had become part of our everyday lives. She was only sixteen when she became involved in the Resistance. She came to fervently believe that people needed a firm and decent structure to live their lives by. Interestingly, she didn’t believe in God, none of us did, but she had seen what evil there was in the world and sought to control it. This was absurd, and it’s my belief that she was not entirely sane after the war ended.

  I certainly didn’t believe in her cause nor the work she undertook, but she set out on that path, and Henrikas went along with her. He had already witnessed mass slaughter with the Nazis in Lithuania, and knew that worse was to come with Stalin. He and some of his friends managed to escape and ended up in France. That I am aware of, all his family was killed. Peace was also of utmost importance to Henrikas, although I’m not sure that he entirely agreed with some of the missions that they were sent on, which often involved suppression of the truth regarding Christianity. Given where we live and the evidence that was all around us, particularly for educated people, I always found it ludicrous and, if I am entirely honest, my relationship with them was often a difficult one. Christiane played no part in any of it and contented herself in staying at home to look after her family.

  They were in their seventies when they were summoned to Rome to look for some parchments that the Vatican had heard of. They were of great importance, and several other organisations of considerable power were also searching for them. They were thought to disprove the very foundations of Christianity, and so you can understand why the mission was so dangerous. Henrikas told Charles that they had been trying for some years to remove themselves from this type of work, and they had been doing less and less, that was true. He also told Charles that they no longer had any faith in suppression and wanted to live out their retirement in peace. Anyway, one way or another they ended up in Rome, and that was the last time we saw them alive. As you know, they were killed in a car crash. Or murdered, I should say. I have no doubt about that. It’s my belief that they were brought to Rome solely to be removed and silenced for good. They were too old to be of much use anymore and knew far too much.

  I am sorry to spring so many surprises on you at once, but I need to tell you the full story. I worked for the Secret Service here in Fr
ance. They were the best years of my life, although not always easy. As you know, I never married, and that has always been a great regret. I did, however, have you, and that was a blessing. My job also gave me access to certain information. Your parents worked with another Italian agent and had done for many years. They were the best of friends. His name was Franco D’Alessandro, although of course he may have changed his name by now. It was he who sent your parents back to France after they were killed. He seemed to disappear after that, although I believe he is still alive. Anyway, I gave up my job some years ago. He may have the parchments or they may have long ago been reduced to ash, like so many others.

  I will write more for you shortly.

  Your loving Aunt Hortense

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  ‘That explains a few things, especially why they kept disappearing, and she said about Roncalli is interesting, too. He was well known for his work in the Second World War and did a huge amount to rescue Jews from the Nazis, amongst other things. He was given the title of Apostolic Nuncio to the recently liberated France on the 22nd December 1944, but I never doubted that his involvement here began way before that. I studied him and his life a few years back, and he was a fascinating man.’

  ‘And interesting dates!’

  ‘There’s more of that. It was thought to be highly odd that he chose “John” to be his papal name. There had been 22 Pope Johns before that, the last one more than 600 years before. His reasons included him saying it was a sweet name to him, his father’s name was John, that he was baptised in a church dedicated to John the Baptist, that “22 Johns of indisputable legitimacy” had been pope, and that “we have preferred to hide the smallness of our name behind this magnificent succession of Roman Popes.”’