The Simeon Scroll

by Neil Howarth

The Grand Master gave him a knowing smile but said nothing. Others around the table nodded, others shook their heads but didn’t speak.

  “Very nice, Dominic,” Lawrence Percival spoke. “A nice idea but full of risks, and opportunities to go wrong. And even if you succeed, there’s no guarantee you’ll get the reaction you want.”

  “I think I have covered the risks in my plan and the contingencies to deal with each one. And as for the reaction, I can assure you it will have the desired effect.”

  Percival shook his head. “I’m afraid you don’t convince me.”

  De Vaux stood looking at him. No one around the table spoke. Eventually, the thin, reedy voice of the Grand Master broke the silence.

  “Gentlemen, please. Lawrence, you have your task. I suggest you get on with it.”

  Percival gave De Vaux a hard look but kept silent.

  “Dominic,” the Grand Master allowed the hint of a smile. “A bold plan, a visionary plan, a risky plan.” The old man’s smile broadened. “We wish you well with it, and look forward to hearing of its progress.”

  “Dominic.”

  De Vaux turned as Konrad Krueger caught up with him on the steps leading down to the grand hall. His business partner’s boyish looks belied the fact that he was a Special Forces combat veteran, who behind the blue eyes and charming smile, was a ruthless and extremely capable operator, which was why he was running Excalibur Security.

  “You were pretty impressive back there. Percival can be one mean son of a bitch.”

  “Don’t worry. I can handle Percival.”

  “He’s been the golden boy around here for a long time. You made him look bad today in front of the old man. He won’t forget that.”

  “Today I threw down the gauntlet, and he knows it. He needs to be the one on the lookout from now on.”

  “I’m just telling you to watch your back.”

  De Vaux’s phone chirped in his pocket. He pulled it out and checked the caller ID. “Excuse me a second.” He nodded at Krueger. “I need to take this.”

  De Vaux put the phone to his ear. “Yes,” he said and turned his head away from Krueger. He let the caller talk, saying nothing.

  “Listen to me,” he said eventually. “This is not unexpected. We will carry on as we discussed.” The caller still wasn’t finished. De Vaux took a long slow breath while the caller ranted on. De Vaux eventually spoke. “Do nothing. I will take care of it.” He hung up and put the phone in his pocket.

  “Trouble?” Krueger asked.

  “Always.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Where is Blanchet at the moment?”

  Krueger raised his eyebrows briefly. “I believe he’s in Paris.”

  Krueger’s expression was not missed on De Vaux. Konrad was well aware that if he wanted Blanchet, then he had a serious problem.

  “Do we have a company jet in Paris?”

  “My pilot took off twenty minutes ago to come and pick me up.”

  “Well turn him around. I can give you a lift.”

  Krueger pulled out his phone. “No problem, I’ll call him right away.”

  “Can Blanchet be ready to go in an hour?”

  “I’m sure he can. What do you want him to do?”

  De Vaux’s steel blue eyes looked into Krueger’s. “What I always want from Blanchet. I want him to make my problem go away.”

  10

  Le Bouquet, Brittany

  Fagan left the hotel dressed in a sweatshirt, jeans, and a ski jacket. It was just after seven and was already dark. He drove as far as the causeway, then parked his car amongst the trees a few yards back from the beach. He had no intention of announcing his arrival.

  A bright silver moon lit the way as he started out on foot. The causeway was clear, running away in front of him, the island, a ghostly silhouette in the distance. It was a strangely tranquil walk, despite the chill wind blowing in off the ocean. The tide was in, the waves splashing up against the causeway occasionally tossing a fine spray into his path. It took him a good half hour to make the crossing, and by the time he approached the main gate, clouds had obscured the moon, cloaking the place in an eerie darkness.

  Something made him turn around. He peered back into the gloom of the causeway, but he could see nothing. Something was poking at him. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what, but in a past life, it was something he had relied on, at a time when noticing things like that kept you alive. Maybe he was just getting spooked. He turned back towards the gate and continued on.

  There were no street lamps, but an occasional light peeked out from a window here and there as he followed the paved pathway upwards in the darkness towards the Abbey. He had checked a tourist leaflet back at the hotel. The western lookout was a spot on the cliff, out beyond the main Abbey entrance.

  He stopped and stood in the darkness, listening. He caught something. Maybe the scuff of a foot on the stone steps below him. Or the sound of the wind.

  He moved quickly on. The clouds had thinned a little, and he could make out a tiny graveyard tucked into the hillside, he remembered it from that morning. A short set of steps ran off the main path, up towards a small stone chapel. He hurried up the steps and waited, trying to let his breathing fall into an almost meditational pattern, just the way he had been taught.

  He heard it again, this time he wasn’t imagining. A step a few yards back down the track gave a little thunk, as someone put their weight on it. A dark figure appeared on the path below him. The moon did him a favor, brightening up the sky at just the right moment. Somehow, he wasn’t surprised at all.

  “Taking an evening stroll?”

  She didn’t react. She stopped, turned, and looked up towards him. Even in the half light, he could see her smile.

  “Father, how nice to see you.”

  “Want to tell me why you’re following me?”

  “I like to walk before I sleep. I had no idea you were here.”

  “Isn’t it a little dangerous, a young woman out here alone at night.”

  She shrugged. “I can take care of myself.”

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  Fagan descended the steps towards her. His foot caught a loose stone, and he slipped. He pushed forward, leaping out onto the path to save himself.

  She was good. He had to give her that. She had taken a step back, and the smile was still there, but suddenly she was holding an automatic pistol, and it was pointed right at him.

  “I think that will be close enough, Father.”

  There was a time when maybe he would have seen that coming, but she was still very good.

  “Miss Lefevre. It is Miss Lefevre? Why the gun? I’m a simple priest.”

  “I have still to make up my mind about that.”

  Fagan shook his head. The gun didn’t waver in the slightest.

  “You really do have me confused.”

  The woman slipped her free hand into the back pocket of her jeans. She pulled out what appeared to be a leather wallet and flipped it open.

  “What’s that?”

  “My credentials.”

  “I can’t see them from over here.”

  “Let’s just say I’m a police officer.” She tucked the wallet back in her pocket. “Now, why don’t we keep this simple. I have the badge and the gun, so I ask the questions. What are you doing here?”

  “If you are the police, then you know why I’m here, and that I’m on official Vatican business.”

  “Out here, at this time.”

  “I’m not breaking any laws.”

  “You obviously don’t know much about the anti-terrorism laws in this country.”

  “Look, I have a meeting. I didn’t choose the time or place, but there it is. If I don’t leave, now my contact will be gone. He has something he wants to tell me. I think it may be important.”

  “Well lead the way.”

  “If he sees you and that gun, he’ll definitely be gone.”

  “Let me worry about th
at.”

  The gun never wavered nor did her eyes. The lady was a pro. He shook his head and started up the path.

  He found himself assessing his options. It was dark, and he had the terrain, the high ground. But that part of him was all a long time ago. So he kept his eyes on the path ahead and walked.

  They passed the steps that ran up to the main Abbey entrance and continued on, following the narrow path along the cliff top. A low stone wall separated the pathway from the cliff face. The crash of waves dashing across the rocks below rolled up out of the darkness.

  They reached a spot where a flight of stone steps ran up to the next level. Fagan stopped. According to what he remembered from the tourist brochure, the Western Lookout should be just above.

  “Why are we stopping?”

  “My contact should be waiting up there,” Fagan spoke in little more than a whisper. “Let me talk to him alone. Once I’ve gotten his confidence you can come up.”

  She studied him, still pointing the gun.

  Fagan insisted. “If he sees you, he’ll be gone.”

  Finally, she gave a nod and tucked the gun into her waistband. “You have five minutes. Then I am coming up.”

  Fagan turned and climbed the steps. The moon had disappeared again. He ran his hand across the top of the stone wall to guide him.

  “Brother Lucien.” He needed to raise his voice to counter the howling of the elements. But only the wind and the breaking of the waves responded. His hand felt the wall curve outwards. This had to be the lookout. His eyes went out to the ocean, the finest of moonlight was beginning to filter down, and he could make out the surface of the water, swaying and dancing in the distance.

  He took a step backward. Something nudged him in the upper back. Fagan whipped around dropping to one knee, his hands coming up in defense. He looked up and stopped.

  “Dear God, no.”

  The moon cast just enough light for him to see the large oak tree above him, and a dark figure swinging gently in the breeze, hanging from the rope tied to the bough above.

  His first instinct was to grab the figure’s legs and take the strain. “Can I get some help?” he yelled.

  He heard her scrambling up the steps. A flashlight illuminated his pathetic struggle.

  “You are wasting your time,” she said.

  The flashlight shone directly into the face of the frightened rabbit. Only Lucien wasn’t frightened anymore. Fagan struggled to breathe, as if someone had struck him in the gut.

  Had he done this? Had he pushed too hard? He had been warned. He had seen the signs, but he had ignored them. He reached up and took Brother Lucien’s lifeless hand. It was already turning cold. He placed his other hand over the top, closed his eyes and started to pray.

  “We need to leave.” The woman said, behind him.

  Fagan opened his eyes and stared up at Lucien’s lifeless face. He began speaking out loud. “I commend you, Brother Lucien, to almighty God, and entrust you to your creator. May you return to him who formed you from the dust of the earth.”

  “I said we need to leave.”

  Fagan looked across at her. “Help me get him down.”

  “That is not a good idea.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We need to leave, and we need to leave him just as he is.”

  “We can’t leave him. We have to call the police. You need to call for some kind of backup.”

  “Joseph, you don’t mind if I call you Joseph.” She was quite calm not rushing things. “Trust me. This is only going to complicate things. You can do nothing more for him. We need to leave everything as it is, and go - right now.”

  Fagan regarded the woman. She appeared unmoved by all of this.

  “Just who are you?”

  Bright lights illuminated the night. Spotlights high up on the walls of the Abbey lit up the whole area. Fagan was blinded, but as his eyes adjusted, he could make out an arch in the wall, with a large wooden door. It was open.

  “What is going on here?” A voice called out. The Abbot and Brother Cedric, stepped out into the glow of the spotlights, followed by a dozen other monks. The light illuminated where they stood, a large circular area paved with stone slabs, with a curved wall bordering the cliff edge. In the center was a large, stout oak tree. More monks crowded out around them and stood looking up at the hanging, lifeless body of Brother Lucien.

  Fagan glanced back towards the woman, but the battlements behind him were deserted.

  11

  Excalibur Security, Executive Jet.

  “A call for you sir.” The tall, brunette flight attendant handed the man an in-flight telephone.

  He took the phone and held it to his ear. He recognized Dominic De Vaux’s voice on the other end.

  “Everything went fine,” he said. “I nipped your little problem in the bud.” He spoke with a distinct southern US drawl.

  His name was Blanchet. He killed for a fee, a rather large fee, and more than a little pleasure. He was a big man, but trim, his body a mass of honed and taught muscle that easily filled the generous executive aircraft seat. His head was completely hairless, but he had a strangely attractive face, despite the bullet scar that ran from the corner of his mouth to below his left ear. It gave him a permanent hint of a smile, as if he found the world constantly amusing.

  De Vaux asked him a question. Blanchet glanced at his watch then looked out the aircraft window, at the lights twinkling in the distance far below. “I’m heading back to Paris. I guess we’ll be starting our approach anytime,” he said in response.

  He continued to listen, then nodded. “Not a problem, consider it done. What about the priest? Do you want me to take care of him?”

  The voice on the other end of the phone was clear. “No. I think that is maybe a coincidence too many. We need to get him away from all this. Somewhere far away, then we can take care of him.”

  Blanchet hung up the phone, and his smile widened as he handed the phone back to the flight attendant. More zeroes in his bank account. “Would you tell the pilot, we have a slight change of plans. It seems I have an urgent appointment in Rome.”

  12

  Brest, Brittany.

  Captain Jacquot wore the same suit he had worn when Fagan had met him at the hotel. It was beginning to look a little crumpled, and he still didn’t look happy. He placed a styrofoam cup of black coffee in front of Fagan and sat down. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Smoke?”

  Fagan shook his head.

  Jacquot helped himself and lit the cigarette from a gold lighter.

  Fagan had given his statement to a police officer who spoke English, back at the Abbey. He had then been brought back to the police station in the local town. They had not put him in a cell but sat him in Jacquot’s office. Maybe it was a professional courtesy, or perhaps it was just his Vatican diplomatic passport. He had since repeated it all to Jacquot, who was now back for another round.

  Jacquot ran through Fagan’s written statement on the desk in front of him. “Let me tell you what is bothering me, Father Fagan.” Jacquot took a long pull on his cigarette then exhaled a plume of smoke, as if considering what he wanted to say. “We have interviewed the Abbot, Brother Fabian, and his assistant Brother Cedric. They both say they warned you that Brother Lucien was unstable and vulnerable, but it seems that you still took the opportunity, when you were alone with him, to push him for answers to your little investigation.”

  “With respect Captain, that’s not true. I asked him questions, gently. I didn’t push him. He seemed to want to speak to me. He asked to meet me later.”

  “Did he? Or did you tell him he had to meet you”?”

  “That’s ridiculous. I can prove it. I have his note.”

  Jacquot held out a hand, palm upwards.

  Fagan slipped a hand in his pocket then realized he was wearing his ski jacket. “It’s in my other coat, back at the hotel.”

  Jacquot shook his head wearily. “Father Fagan. I have been doing a l
ittle,” he gave a Gallic shrug, “digging. I have some contacts in Paris. What they told me makes me wonder about you.”

  Fagan looked across at Jacquot. He knew what was coming.

  “Am I talking to the priest, or am I talking to the soldier? And not just any soldier, an ex-Navy SEAL, decorated in battle.”

  “If you know that much about me, then you also know I have not been that for a long time. I am an ordained Catholic Priest, I work for the Vatican, but I spend most of my time in Africa.”

  “I know all about that, spreading the word of God to the natives.”

  “Teaching vulnerable people how to fend for themselves, to feed themselves, and how not to get sick. If that’s the word of God, then I’m proud to spread it.”

  “Father Fagan, I am not questioning your work. I am trying to understand why Brother Lucien took his own life.”

  “Are you sure he took his own life?” Fagan had had some time to think about it. There was some sense to it. It was better than blaming himself.

  “Do you have any reason to believe that was not the case?”

  “All I know is, he seemed to be afraid. He wanted to speak to me but was afraid to do that with others around. And those around did not want him speaking to me.”

  “Are you sure about that? I am told there is some confidentiality agreement in place with the De Vaux Foundation. Not unusual from what I can gather. And from what I hear from the Abbot, he had already spoken to the Foundation, and they had granted permission for you to speak to Brother Lucien in the morning.”

  “Which considering events, is not going to be possible.”

  “There is not one shred of evidence to suggest anything other than Brother Lucien took his own life.”

  “Look, talk to the woman who was with me, Miss Lefevre. She said she was a police officer, that she was investigating something going on out there. She was interested in what Brother Lucien had to say. Ask her.”

  “Ah yes, the mysterious Miss Lefevre.”