A crowd gathered below the stage in seats or sprawled on blankets on the stone floor. From the stage, a few figures stood amid a pile of bodies. An actor spoke in French, but Kat was fluent.
“I am dead, Horatio. Wretched queen, adieu!”
Kat recognized one of the last lines of Hamlet. The play was indeed rounding toward the end.
Vigor drew her to the side. “The courtyard here divides two different sections of the palace—the new and the old. The back wall and the one to the left are a part of the Palais Vieux, the old palace. Where we stand and to the right is the Palais Neuf, the section built later.”
Kat leaned closer to Vigor. “Where do we begin?”
Vigor pointed to the older section. “There is a mysterious story connected to the Pope’s Palace. Many historians of the time report that at dawn on September 20, 1348, a great column of fire was seen above the old section of the palace. It was noted by the entire town. Many of the superstitious believed the flame heralded the Great Plague, the Black Death, which started about the same time. But what if it wasn’t? What if it was some manifestation of the Meissner field, a flux of energy being released when whatever secret was sealed here? The appearance of the flame might mark the exact date the treasure was buried.”
Kat nodded. It was something to follow.
“I pulled down a detailed map from the Internet,” Vigor said. “There’s an entrance into the old palace near the Gate of Our Lady. One seldom used.”
Vigor led the way to the left. An archway opened. They ducked inside as a great peal of lightning split the sky overhead. Thunder boomed. The actor on the stage stopped in mid-soliloquy. Nervous laughter tinkled through the audience. The storm might end the play early.
Vigor motioned to a stout door off to the side.
Kat dropped and set to work with her lockpicks, while Vigor shielded her work with his body. It did not take long to free the latch. Kat clicked it open.
Another flash of lightning drew Kat’s eye back to the courtyard. Thunder cracked and the skies opened. Rain fell heavily from the low clouds. Cries and cheers erupted from the audience. A mass exodus began.
Kat shouldered open the door, held it for Vigor, then closed it behind them.
It bumped closed with a solid snap of the latch. Kat relocked it.
“Do we have to be worried about security?” she asked.
“Sadly, no. As you’ll see, there’s nothing really to steal. Vandalism is the greater concern. There might be a night watchman. So we should be cautious.”
Nodding, Kat kept her flashlight off. Enough light filtered through the high windows to illuminate a ramp leading up toward the next level of the castle.
Vigor led the way up. “The private apartments of the pope lie in the Tower of Angels. The rooms were always the most secured area of the palace. If something was hidden, we should probably wind our way there.”
Kat pulled out a compass and kept it fixed in front of her. A magnetic marker had led them to Alexander’s tomb. It might here, too.
They traversed several rooms and halls. Their footsteps echoed hollowly through the vaulted spaces. Kat now understood the lack of real security. The place was a stone tomb. Denuded of almost any decoration or furniture. There was no evidence of the opulence that must have once frilled the palace. She tried to picture the flow of velvet and fur, the rich tapestries, the lavish banquets, the gilt and the silver. Nothing remained but stone and timbered rafters.
“After the popes left,” Vigor whispered, “the place fell into disrepair. It was ransacked during the French Revolution, serving eventually as a garrison and barracks for Napoleon’s troops. Much of the place was whitewashed and destroyed. Only a few areas still retain some of the original frescoes, such as the papal apartments.”
As Kat walked, she also sensed a strange conformation to the place: halls that ended too abruptly, rooms that seemed oddly small, staircases that dropped to levels without doors. The thickness of walls varied from a few feet to some eighteen feet thick. The palace was a true fortress, but Kat sensed hidden spaces, passages, rooms—features common among medieval castles.
This was confirmed when they entered a room Vigor designated as the treasury. He pointed to four places. “They buried their gold under the floor. In subterranean rooms. It was always rumored that other such vaults were yet to be discovered.”
They crossed other rooms: a large wardrobe, a former library, an empty kitchen whose square walls narrowed down to an octagonal chimney over a central firepit.
Vigor finally led them into the Tower of Angels.
Kat’s compass had not twitched a beat, but she concentrated more fully now. Worry mounted. What if they didn’t find the entrance? What if she failed? Again. The hand holding the compass began to shake. First her failure with Monk and Rachel…
And now this.
She gripped her compass tighter and willed her hand steady. She and Vigor would solve this. They must. Or all the sacrifice by the others would be for nothing.
Determined, she climbed from one level to the next of the papal apartments. With no sign of any caretaker, Kat risked switching on a small penlight to help illuminate their search.
“The pope’s living room,” Vigor said at the entrance to one room.
Kat crisscrossed the length of it, studying her compass. The walls here were decorated with swirls of peeling paint, and a large corner fireplace dominated the room. Thunder echoed through the thick walls.
Once finished with her pass, she shook her head.
Nothing.
They moved on. One of the most spectacular rooms came next: the Room of the Stag. Its frescoes depicted elaborate hunting scenes, from falconry, to bird nesters, to frolicking dogs, to even a rectangular fish-breeding pond.
“A piscarium,” Vigor said. “Fish again.”
Kat nodded, remembering the significance of fish to their own hunt. She searched this room with an even tighter pattern of surveillance. Her compass refused to budge. With no clue, she waved Vigor onward.
They climbed another level.
“The pope’s bedroom,” Vigor said, sounding disappointed and worried now, too. “This is the last of the rooms in the apartments.”
Kat entered the chamber. No furniture. Its walls were painted a brilliant blue.
“Lapis lazuli,” Vigor said. “Prized for its luster.”
The rich decoration depicted a nighttime forest, hung with birdcages of every shape and size. A few squirrels scrambled among the limbs.
Kat searched the room, from one end to the other.
Still nothing.
She lowered her compass. She turned to find the same understanding in Vigor’s eyes. They had failed.
3:36 A.M.
LAUSANNE, SWITZERLAND
GRAY WAS shoved into a stone cell. It was sealed with Lexan glass, bulletproof and an inch thick. The door slammed shut. He had spotted Rachel in a cell two spaces down…along with her grandmother.
It made no sense.
Raoul growled at his men and headed away, gold key in hand.
Seichan stood at the door, smiling at him. With his hands still bound behind his back by plastic ties, he threw himself bodily at her, crashing into the glass wall.
“You goddamn bitch!”
She only smiled, kissed her fingertips, and pressed them to the glass. “Bye, loverboy. Thanks for the ride here.”
Gray fell away from the door, turning his back, cursing under his breath, calculating. Raoul had confiscated his pack, given it to one of his underlings. He’d been patted down, his weapons taken from his shoulder and ankle holsters.
He overheard talk by Rachel’s cell. A door was opened.
Raoul growled to one of his guards, “Take Madame Camilla up to the trucks. Have all the men ready. We’ll be leaving for the airport in a few minutes.”
“Ciao, Rachel, my bambina.”
No response to her grandmother. What was going on?
Footsteps marched away.
&nb
sp; Gray still sensed a presence by the other door.
Raoul’s voice spoke again. “If only I had more time,” Raoul whispered icily. “But orders are orders. It all comes to an end in Avignon. The Imperator will be returning here with me. He wants to watch as I take you for the first time. After that, it’s just the two of us…for the rest of your life.”
“Fuck you,” Rachel spat back at him.
“Exactly right.” Raoul laughed. “I’m going to teach you how to scream and properly pleasure your superior. And if you don’t bend to everything I demand, you won’t be the first bitch Alberto lobotomized for the Court. I don’t need your mind to fuck you.”
He stalked away with a final order to a guard. “Keep a watch down here. I’ll radio when I’m ready for the American. We’ll have a short bit of fun before we leave.”
Gray listened as Raoul’s footsteps faded.
He didn’t wait any longer. He kicked the toe of his boot hard against the solid rock wall. A three-inch blade sprang from the heel. He crouched and sliced free the ties that bound his wrist. He moved quickly. Timing was everything.
He reached into the front of his pants. Seichan had shoved a thin canister past his belt buckle when he’d thrust himself against the glass wall. Her left hand had passed through an air vent, while her other hand distracted with her feigned kiss of good-bye.
Gray pulled the canister free, stepped to the door, and sprayed the hinges. The steel bolts began to dissolve. He had to give it to the Guild. They had cool toys. While Gray could not contact his superiors, nothing had stopped Seichan from coordinating equipment from hers.
Gray waited a full minute, then yelled to the guard stationed a few steps down the hall. “Hey! You! Something’s wrong over here.”
Footsteps approached.
Gray retreated back from the door.
The guard came forward.
Gray pointed to the smoky sizzle billowing by the door. “What the hell?” he yelled. “Are you assholes trying to gas me?”
With a crinkled brow, the guard stepped closer to the door.
Good enough.
Gray leapt forward, slammed into the door, popping the hinges. The plate of hard glass slammed into the guard. He crashed against the far wall, striking his head hard. As he slumped, he tried to free his pistol.
Gray shoved aside the door and pivoted off it to swing around. He planted his boot-heel blade into the man’s throat, then ripped it free, taking out most of the man’s neck.
Bending, he liberated the pistol from the guard’s holster and a set of keys. He ran to Rachel’s cell.
She was already up and at the door. “Gray…!”
He keyed the lock. “We don’t have much time.”
He yanked the door open—and she was in his arms. She wrapped tight to him, lips at his ears, breath on his neck.
“Thank God,” she whispered.
“Actually, thank Seichan,” he said. Despite the urgency to keep moving, he held the embrace a bit longer, sensing she needed it.
And maybe he did, too.
But finally they both separated. Gray pointed his pistol toward the end of the hall. He checked his watch. Two minutes.
3:42 A.M.
SEICHAN STOOD at the foot of the stairs that led up to the main keep. She knew the only escape was out the front door. Steel blast doors sealed the back exit under the castle.
In the brilliantly lit courtyard, a caravan of five SUVs was being loaded. Men yelled orders. Crates were shoved into the backs of the trucks. Dogs barked in kennels.
Seichan studied it all from the corner of her eye, tracking one man among the throng. Maximum mayhem would be needed. She had already confiscated a set of keys to the last Mercedes SUV. A silver one. Her favorite color.
Behind her, a door opened. Raoul stepped out, along with an old woman.
“We’ll take you as far as the airport. A plane will get you back to Rome.”
“My granddaughter…”
“She’ll be taken care of. I promise.” This last was said with an icy smile.
Raoul noted Seichan. “I don’t believe we’ll be needing the Guild’s services any longer.”
Seichan shrugged. “Then I’ll head out with you and be on my way.” She nodded to the silver SUV.
Raoul helped the old woman down the steps and strode toward the lead vehicle, where Dr. Alberto Menardi waited. Seichan continued to track her target. Motion along one wall of the courtyard drew her eye.
A door opened. She spotted Gray. He had a pistol. Good.
Across the courtyard, Raoul lifted a radio to his mouth. Most likely calling down to the cells. She could wait no longer. The man she’d been tracking wasn’t as close to Raoul as she’d hoped—but he was still in the thick of things.
She fixed her eyes on the soldier who still carried Gray’s pack over one shoulder. It was always easy to count on avarice among the foot soldiers. The fellow was not letting his booty out of his sight. The pack was stuffed with weapons and expensive electronic gear.
Unfortunately for the soldier, the bottom lining of the pack also had a quarter kilo of C4 sewn into it. Seichan pressed the transmitter in her pocket, hopping over the balustrade of the front staircase.
The explosion blew out the center of the caravan.
Men and body parts flew into the dark sky. Gas tanks ignited on two of the cars. A ball of fire rolled upward. Flaming debris scattered to all corners of the courtyard.
Seichan moved quickly. Waving to Gray, she pointed her pistol at the silver SUV. Its windshield was cracked, but it was otherwise intact. Gray and the woman dashed out. The three zeroed in on the vehicle.
A pair of soldiers tried to stop them. Gray took out one, Seichan the other. They reached the SUV.
The rev of an engine drew her eye toward the castle gate. The lead truck jumped forward. Raoul was making his escape. Gunfire pelted toward them as soldiers tumbled into a second truck. Its engine was already running.
Raoul popped up out of the sunroof of the lead truck, facing back toward them. He raised a massive horse pistol in his fist.
“Down!” Seichan barked, dropping flat.
The gun sounded like a cannon. She heard the windshield collapse and the back window blow out. The thick slug passed completely through the vehicle. In plain sight, she rolled toward the rear, keeping the truck between her and Raoul.
Gunfire spat from the other side. Gray, on his belly, in a better position to snipe, shot at Raoul as the lead truck fishtailed toward the exit. The second truck followed.
Raoul continued to shoot, fearless of the hostile fire.
A slug slammed through the front grille of the SUV.
Shit.
The bastard was taking out their truck.
The front headlamp exploded. From her viewpoint on the ground, Seichan watched a stream of oil flow out of the engine compartment and pool on the stones.
The slide of Gray’s pistol popped open. Out of ammo.
Seichan crab-crawled to join him, but it was too late.
One truck, then the other, shot out of the gate. Raoul’s laughter carried back to them. The portcullis gate dropped behind the last vehicle, its teeth slamming into the stone notches, sealed tight.
A trundling noise penetrated the echo in her ears.
She rose to a crouch. Steel shutters dropped over all the windows and doors to the castle. Modern fortification. The Court took their security seriously. They were trapped in the courtyard.
A new sound followed.
The click of a series of heavy latches.
Seichan turned along with Gray and Rachel. She now understood the trailing laughter by the escaping bastard.
The gates to the line of twenty kennels rose up on motorized wheels.
Monsters of muscle, leather, and teeth stalked out, snarling, frothing, driven mad by the thunder and blood. Each pit-dog stood chest-high, massing close to a hundred kilos, twice the weight of most men.
And the dinner bell had just rung.
3:48 A.M.
AVIGNON, FRANCE
KAT REFUSED to concede defeat. Holding despair at bay, she stalked the length of the blue bedroom atop the Tower of Angels. “We’re looking at this the wrong way,” she said.
Unlike her, Vigor remained stock-still in the room’s center. His eyes were somewhere else, calculating. Or was it worry for his niece? How focused was he on the task at hand?
“What do you mean?” he mumbled.
“Maybe there’s not a magnetic marker.” She held up the compass, drawing his eye, attempting to engage him fully.
“Then what?”
“What about all that talk earlier? The Gothic history of the town and this place?”
Vigor nodded. “Something built into the structure of the building. But without a magnetic marker, how are we to find it? The palace is huge. And considering the state of disrepair, the clue might have been destroyed or removed.”
“You don’t believe that,” Kat said more firmly. “This secret society of alchemists would’ve found a way to preserve it.”
“Still, how do we find it?” Vigor asked.
Lightning crackled out the nearby window. It lit up the gardens below the tower and the spread of city below the hill. The dark river snaked past below. The rain had begun to fall harder. Another fork of lightning scintillated across the belly of the black clouds.
Kat watched the display and slowly turned to Vigor, conviction firming with sudden insight. She pocketed her compass, knowing it was no longer needed.
“Magnetism opened Saint Peter’s tomb,” she said, stepping back to him. “And it was magnetism that led us to Alexander’s tomb. But once there, it was electricity that ignited the pyramid. The same might lead us to the treasure here.” She waved a hand at the dazzle of the storm. “Lightning. The palace was built atop the largest hill, the Rocher des Doms, the Rock Dome.”
“Attracting lightning strikes. A flash of light that illuminates darkness.”
“Is there some depiction of lightning that we missed?”
“I don’t recall.” Vigor rubbed his chin. “But I think you’ve struck a significant chord. Light is symbolic of knowledge. Enlightenment. It was the primary goal of Gnostic faith, to seek the primordial light mentioned in Genesis, to reach out for this ancient font of knowledge and power that flows everywhere.”