Map Of Bones Part 49

Kat shook her head. "But what does the Philosopher's Stone have to do with Gothic architecture?"

"More than you'd think. An early-twentieth-century Frenchman named Fulcanelli wrote a best-selling treatise t.i.tled Le Mystere des Cathedrales Le Mystere des Cathedrales. It elaborated on how the Gothic cathedrals of Europe were coded with arcane messages, pointing to a vein of lost knowledge, including how to prepare the Philosopher's Stone and other alchemical secrets."

"A code in stone?"

"Don't be surprised. It was what the Church was doing already. Most of the populace at the time was illiterate. The decorations of the cathedrals were both instructional and informative, biblical storytelling in stonework. And remember who I said built these ma.s.sive Gothic story-books."

"The Knights Templar," Kat said.

"A group known to have gained secret knowledge from the Temple of Solomon. So perhaps, besides telling biblical stories, they incorporated some additional coded messages, meant for their fellow Masonic alchemists."

Kat wore a doubtful expression.

"One only has to look closely at some of the Gothic artwork to raise an eyebrow or two. The iconography is full of zodiac symbols, mathematical riddles, geometric mazes right out of alchemical texts of the time. Even the author of The Hunchback of Notre Dame The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Victor Hugo, spent a whole chapter decrying how the artwork of Notre Dame was contrary to the Catholic Church. Describing its Gothic art as 'seditious pages' in stone."

Vigor pointed ahead, through the trees. The park ended as they neared the Palace Square. "And Fulcanelli and Hugo weren't the only ones who believed something heretical was involved with the Knights Templar's artwork. Do you know why Friday the thirteenth is considered unlucky?"

Kat glanced to him and shook her head.

"October 13, 1307. A Friday. The king of France, along with the pope, declared the Knights Templar to be heretics, sentencing them to death, and crucifying and burning their leader. It is well believed that the real reason the Knights were outlawed was to wrest power from them and gain control of their riches, including the secret knowledge they possessed. The king of France tortured thousands of Knights, but their storehouse of riches was never discovered. Still, it marked the end of the Knights Templar."

"Truly an unlucky day for them."

"The end of an unlucky century century, really." Vigor led the way out of the park and along the tree-lined street that led toward the center of town. "The division between the Church and the Knights started a hundred years earlier when Pope Innocent III brutally wiped out the Cathars, a sect of Gnostic Christians with ties to the Knights Templar. It was really a century-long war between orthodoxy and Gnostic belief."

"And we know who won that," Kat said.

"Do we? I'm wondering if it wasn't so much a victory as an a.s.similation. If you can't beat them, join them. An interesting paper turned up in September 2001, t.i.tled the Chinon Parchment. It was a scroll dated a year after that b.l.o.o.d.y Friday the thirteenth, signed by Pope Clement V, absolving and exonerating the Knights Templar. Unfortunately, King Philippe of France ignored this and continued his country-wide ma.s.sacre of the Knights. But why this change of heart by the Church? Why did Pope Clement build his Avignon palace here in the Gothic tradition, constructed by the same heretical masons? And why did Avignon become in fact the Gothic center of Europe?"

"Are you suggesting the Church did an about-face and took the Knights into their fold?"

"Remember how we'd already come to conclude that some aspects of the Thomas Christians, Christians of Gnostic leanings, were already hidden inside the Church. Perhaps they convinced Pope Clement to intervene to protect the Knights from King Philippe's rampage."

"To what end?"

"To hide something of great value-to the Church, to the world. During the century of the Avignon papacy, a great surge of building occurred here, much of it overseen by the Children of Solomon. They could have easily buried away something of considerable size."

"But where do we begin looking?" Kat said.

"To the work commissioned by that wayward pope, built by the hands of the Knights, one of the largest masterworks of Gothic architecture."

Vigor waved forward, where the street emptied into a large square, populated by merrymakers from the festival. Colored lights framed a dancing area, a rock band on a makes.h.i.+ft stage pounded out a riff, and young people writhed, laughed, and yelled. Along the fringes, tables had been set up, crowded with more festival partic.i.p.ants. A juggler tossed flaming brands into the night sky. Clapping encouraged him. Beer flowed, along with paper cups of coffee. Cigarette smoke billowed, along with special hand-rolled herbs.

But backdropped against this party rose an immense, dark, and looming structure, framed by square towers, fronted by ma.s.sive archways of stone, and set off by a pair of conical spires. Its stone face was a sober contrast to the merriment below. History weighed it down...and an ancient secret.

The Palace of the Popes.

"Somewhere within its structure lies some seditious page of stone," Vigor said, stepping closer to Kat. "I'm sure of it. We must find it and decode it."

"But where do we begin looking?"

Vigor shook his head. "Whatever had frightened Robert Boyle, whatever terrible secret finally forged an alliance between heretical Knights and the orthodox church, whatever mystery required a Mediterranean-wide treasure hunt to solve...the answer is hidden here."

Vigor felt a sharp wind blow up from the river. Avignon was named after the constant breezes off the river, but he sensed the true storm to come. Overhead, the stars were gone. Dark clouds lowered.

How much time did they have left?

2:48 A A.M.

LAUSANNE, SWITZERLAND.

THAT'S HOW we calculated it was Avignon," Rachel finished. "The French Vatican. That's the next and last stop." we calculated it was Avignon," Rachel finished. "The French Vatican. That's the next and last stop."

She was still on her knees on the linoleum. Her grandmother remained strapped to the table. Rachel had told them everything, leaving out no detail. She had answered every one of Alberto's questions. She had attempted no prevarication. She could not risk the prefect testing her veracity upon the flesh of her grandmother.

Monk and Rachel were soldiers. Her nonna nonna was not. was not.

Rachel would not let any harm come to the old woman. It was up to Gray now to keep the gold key from the Court. She had turned all hope and trust over to him. She had no other choice.

During her dissertation, Alberto had jotted notes, stepping back into his office to get pen and pad, along with Rachel's map. He nodded once she was done, obviously convinced.

"Of course," he said. "So simple, so elegant. I would've eventually figured this out, but now my efforts can best be put to unraveling the next mystery...in Avignon."

Alberto turned to Raoul.

Rachel stiffened. She remembered what had happened last time. Even though she had told them the truth about the gold key, Raoul had still chopped off Monk's hand.

"Where are Monsignor Verona and the other American now?" Alberto asked.

"Last I heard, they were heading to Ma.r.s.eilles," Raoul said. "In their private jet. I thought they were following orders. Staying close, but clear of Italy."

"Ma.r.s.eilles is only twenty minutes from Avignon," Alberto said with a scowl. "Monsignor Verona must already be en route to work on the mystery. Find out if his plane has landed."

Raoul nodded and pa.s.sed the order to one of his men, who ran down the hall.

Rachel slowly gained her feet. "My grandmother..." she said. "Can you let her go now?"

Alberto waved a hand, as if he had forgotten about the old woman. Clearly he had grander things on his mind.

Another of the men stepped forward and ripped free the leather straps that held her grandmother. With tears streaming down her face, Rachel helped her nonna nonna from the table. from the table.

Rachel silently sent out a prayer to Gray. Not just for herself and Monk, but now also for her grandmother.

Her nonna nonna shakily gained her feet, leaning one hand on the table for support. She reached out and wiped Rachel's tears. "There, there, child...enough with the crying. It was not all that awful. I've been through worse." shakily gained her feet, leaning one hand on the table for support. She reached out and wiped Rachel's tears. "There, there, child...enough with the crying. It was not all that awful. I've been through worse."

Rachel almost laughed. Her grandmother was attempting to console her.

Waving Rachel aside, her grandmother stalked toward the prefect. "Alberto, you should be ashamed of yourself," she scolded, as if speaking to a child.

"Nonna....no..." Rachel warned, reaching out an arm.

"Not believing my granddaughter was capable of keeping secrets from you." She hobbled over and gave Alberto a kiss on the cheek. "I told you Rachel was too clever for even you."

Rachel's outstretched arm froze. The blood iced in her veins.

"You must trust an old lady sometimes, no?"

"You are right as ever, Camilla."

Rachel could not breathe.

Her grandmother motioned for Raoul to give her his arm. "And you, young man, maybe now you see why such strong Dragon's blood is worth protecting." She reached up and patted the b.a.s.t.a.r.d's cheek. "You and my granddaughter...you two will make bellissimo bambini bellissimo bambini. Many beautiful babies."

Raoul turned and weighed Rachel with those cold, dead eyes.

"I will do my best," he promised.

15.

HUNTING.

JULY 27, 3:00 A A.M.

LAUSANNE, SWITZERLAND.

GRAY FOLLOWED Seichan up the pine-studded mountainside. They had abandoned the motorbike at the bottom of a narrow gorge, hiding it among some flowering Alpine rose shrubs. Prior to that, they had ridden the last half-mile in the dark, headlamp off. The extra caution had slowed them down, but it couldn't be helped. Seichan up the pine-studded mountainside. They had abandoned the motorbike at the bottom of a narrow gorge, hiding it among some flowering Alpine rose shrubs. Prior to that, they had ridden the last half-mile in the dark, headlamp off. The extra caution had slowed them down, but it couldn't be helped.

Seichan led the way now on foot, no lights, climbing up a slope of loose scree toward a sheer rockface. Gray tried to pierce the weave of pine branches. Earlier, he had caught a glimpse of the castle as they rode up out of Lausanne and into the surrounding mountains. The chateau had sat like a hulking granite gargoyle, square faced, eyes glowing with lamplight. Then it had disappeared as they pa.s.sed under a bridge that spanned far overhead.

Gray stepped up beside Seichan. She held a GPS device before her as she climbed. "Are you sure you can find this back entrance?"

"They had me hooded the first time here. But I had a GPS tracker hidden"-she glanced to Gray-"somewhere private. I recorded the approach's position and elevation. It should lead us to the entrance."

They continued to the towering cliff face.

Gray studied Seichan. What was he doing trusting her? In the dark forest, worries mounted. And not just about his choice of teammate. He began to doubt his own judgment. Was this the action of a true leader? He was risking everything in this rescue attempt. Any tactician would have weighed the odds and gone straight to Avignon with the key. He was placing the entire mission in jeopardy.

And if the Dragon Court won...

Gray pictured the dead in Cologne, the tortured priests in Milan. Many more would die if he failed.

And for what?

At least he knew the answer to that.

Gray continued up the hillside, lost in his own thoughts.

Seichan checked her GPS unit, then moved to the left. A crack in the cliff appeared, half hidden by a tilted slab of granite, covered in moss and tiny white s...o...b..ll flowers.

She ducked under it and led the way up into a narrow tunnel. She clicked on a penlight. A short way inside, an old grate blocked the way. Seichan quickly picked the lock.

"Any alarms?" Gray asked.

Seichan shrugged and pushed open the gate. "We'll find out."

Gray searched the walls as they entered. Solid granite. No wires.

Ten yards past the gate, a set of crude stairs led upward. Gray took the lead from here. He checked his watch. The train from Geneva should be pulling into the Lausanne station in another few minutes. His absence would be noted. Time was running out.

He sped faster up the stairs, but he kept a watch for any surveillance or alarm devices. He climbed the equivalent of fifteen stories, tension mounting with each step.

Finally the tunnel dumped into a wider room, a domed cavity in the rock. At the back wall, a natural spring spattered and flowed down into a cut in the rock, flowing toward the roots of the mountain. But in front of the spring stood a large slab of cut stone. An altar. Stars were painted on the ceiling. It was the Roman temple Seichan had described. So far, her intel was spot-on accurate.

Seichan stepped into the room behind him. "The stairs up into the castle are over there," she said and pointed an arm toward another tunnel leading out.

He took a step toward it when the darkness at the mouth of the tunnel s.h.i.+fted. A large shape stepped into the meager light.

Raoul.

He bore a submachine gun in his hands.

Light flared to his left. Two other gunmen rose from hiding behind the slab. Behind Gray, a steel door slammed shut across the lower pa.s.sageway.

But worse, he felt the cold barrel of a gun at the base of his skull.

"He's carrying the gold key around his neck," Seichan said.

Raoul strode forward. He stopped in front of Gray. "You should be wiser in your choice of companions."

Before Gray could respond, a meaty fist slammed into his belly.

Gray coughed out his air and fell to his knees.

Raoul reached to his throat and grabbed the chain. He yanked the key free, ripping the pendant from Gray's neck with a snap. He held it up to the light.

"Thank you for delivering this to us," Raoul said. "And yourself. We have a few questions for you before we leave for Avignon."

Gray stared up into Raoul's face. He could not hide his shock. The Court knew about Avignon. How...?

But he knew.

"Rachel..." he mumbled.