by Darren Swart
He looked up. “I would say so. Or at the very least, we should find some information that will help us find what we need to know.”
She stayed on the objective. “What about the hits?”
“I’m sorry. What were they again?”
Patiently, she replied, “The top hits were Notre Dame Cathedral, Skull of Descartes, and Trinity Chapel.”
She studied the screen, while Marty began to move about the room. One book drew his attention like a moth to a flame. The binding glowed beckoning him. Slowly, he crept toward it, almost he were afraid that it would disappear.
Gillian was continuing to scroll down the list. “Wait, here are a few more… Roslyn chapel. No wait… that’s in Scotland.” She was fixated on the monitor and didn’t look up.
The rolling ladder moved smoothly on well-oiled tracks. Marty climbed, transfixed on the volume. He barely remembered hefting it from its resting place. The tall leather bound volume was located over his head. It was the size of a World Atlas and about as heavy. Moving the volume to the table where Gillian was seated, he carefully he laid it down beside him.
She looked at him, crossly. “Honey, if we’re going to find this book you need, we can’t look for it one at a time.”
He opened it to the title page, Le History de Rennes de Chateau published in 1925. He carefully flipped through the pages until he stopped and stared at a full size lithograph.
Quietly, he said, “That’s it. That’s where we need to go.”
She squinted at him. “You’re sure? Don’t you want to look some more?”
He looked at her drolly. “I’m sure.” He pointed to the center of the lithograph.
She found herself looking at a skull and cross bones in a stone arch. She shook her head. “Man, that’s just weird.”
He stared at the page. Without looking up, he said, “Yeah, welcome to the wonderful world of Martin Wood. Every time I look up, something bizarre happens. I think we’re going to need that French guy, unless you can read this.” Carefully, he turned the yellowed pages, his nose wrinkled at the dust.
Gillian didn’t respond, but simply strode cat-like to the green button on the wall and punched it like a sparring dummy. She asked him, “So, how did you just know which book it was?”
He shrugged, as he looked up. “I know this won’t make any sense, but it stood out to me. It was like the only book I could see.”
Within moments, the young attendant entered the room, with Franz behind him like an expectant child. The pitch in Marty’s voice rose slightly, as he tried to contain his excitement. “Can you interpret some the transcript for me?”
“Oui, Monsieur.”
Marty began turning to pages and pointing. The young man droned in English. Marty furiously scribbled notes trying to filter through the young man’s accent. He stopped him only occasionally to make sure that nothing was lost in translation.
“So does it say anything about a statuette of the Lucifer? “
“Oui.”
“Stop there.”
The young man looked up.
“Does it say where the Lucifer is?”
“It is not very clear, but it appears to be inside the church, beneath an angel.”
Marty patted the young man’s shoulder. “That’s perfect. Thank you.”
The young man looked strangely gratified by the gesture. “Oui, Monsieur. Is there anything else?”
“Where is this place?”
“It is North of Marseille. Do you need a map?”
Marty stared at him for a moment. “You have that?”
“Of course. We can plot it from here?” He began tapping at the computer keyboard.
Marty looked up to find Franz staring at him. As Marty looked back, Franz smiled disarmingly.
The Docent called for his attention. “Will you be taking the book with you Monsieur?”
“No, thank you. I have all the information I need.”
The young man was noticeably relieved.
Marty looked at Franz. “We’ll meet at the hotel in one hour. We’ll check in with Digger.”
Gillian stared at Marty. Suddenly, he seemed to be in charge.
Franz nodded, awkwardly. “Of course. One hour.”
Marty smiled. “We’ll be there.”
****
Marty’s mind raced at the prospect of finding the church. There was so much to do; so many important details to consider. Yet, his one prevailing thought was of her.
On a whim, he snuck a kiss on Gillian’s ear lobe. She giggled and pulled away. “That tickles.”
He grinned, impishly. “Well, if you think that tickles…”
The elevator stopped and the door opened. The old man eased carefully over the threshold and reached back for his wife. She stepped through the doorway and regarded them both, suspiciously. Her starched white hair was pulled tightly into a bun, while her piercing hazel eyes silently communicated that she was in no mood for monkey business. The elevator hummed, filling the car with an awkward silence. Marty felt like teenager who had just been caught by his parents making out—or far worse, his grandparents. The little old man said nothing and jabbed the floor button. The old couple seemed to relax when Marty and Gillian smiled pleasantly and greeted them with, “Bon jour.” The car chimed for the third floor. Both Marty and Gillian hurriedly exited the car. The elderly couple stayed on the car, as it went down. As soon as the door shut and it moved away from them in unison, they burst out in laughter. “Wow talk about your awkward moments.”
She smiled at him. “You were so busted.”
Her arm linked comfortably in his, as they took their time walking to Digger’s room. She hated to break the moment, but it was necessary. “I’ll get Digger moving. You go ahead and pack up your stuff, and we’ll meet back at Digger’s in twenty minutes.”
He nodded. “Aye, Aye, Captain. Digger in twenty.”
Gillian turned to walk away. Marty caught her by the arm and swung her easily back to him—all-the-while hoping she wouldn’t use some obscure martial art and render him unconscious. It was so spontaneous, making it alien to him. He pulled her to him and met her luscious lips in a wet passionate kiss. Her body responded, wrapping him in a clinging embrace. Pent up desire burned unchecked between them for a moment, as Marty wondered whose idea this had been. He gave up on logic and yielded to her hot embrace. His hunger for her crept down his spine like the flood gates on a dam lifting. She did not hesitate, or push him away. They remained locked in an eternal kiss until the chime of the elevator wrenched them back to the moment at hand. They reluctantly peeled apart locked in a gaze that screamed for more. Marty smiled, as he looked down at her. “I don’t think we properly said goodnight last night.”
Her cheeks flushed red, as she bit her bottom lip. “We have some unfinished business, you and I. We’ll finish this later.”
He nodded. Paris or not, they both knew, there was no time for this. He cleared his throat. “Yes. Later.”
Her look was smoldering. “Yeah. Later.”
Slowly, they backed away, neither wanting it to end. But both resolved that this was not the time. With every bit of resolve he had, Marty turned and walked away. He knew that their time together would be fleeting, and that their time apart would seem like an eternity.
Chapter 29
The one thing Digger never left behind was his laptop. He was surprised and pleased that his notebook detected a strong signal and had dropped him right into the internet. He smiled, as he opened a note from Billy:
Yo Dude, that was one hairy ride. What a total deal. Richy Rich popped one of them knuckle heads and dropped him back into the pit. We called Five Oh and split. Be cool. Later.
It was typical Billy. His dialog was a visual snapshot of him in life, full of enthusiasm and moving forward to the next adventure. The curious thing was that he didn’t mention that anything else unusual. Neither did the other three who wrote him. In a small town, stolen cars, high speed chases and dead bodies would be all a
nyone would talk about for days. And yet, there wasn’t even a whisper in chat from his other friends. It made him pause. A knock at the door rousted him from his revere. He peeked through a crack in the door to unveil a radiant Gillian on the other side, waiting to be let in. He gave her a sideways glance. “What’s up with you?”
She ignored the question. “How soon can you be ready to leave?”
With a flip of his hand, he stared at his fingernails from afar. With a fake yawn, he covered his mouth with the back of his hand, pretentiously he said, “Oh, I don’t know…a few days, perhaps? French women are oh-so-complicated, you know. I really don’t know how I’ll fit them all in.”
She playfully backhanded him on the belly, as she pushed her way into the room. “Yeah, whatever. Really, Dude, when can you be ready?”
He gave her a dour look. “We’ve been here less than a day. What’s the hurry?”
“Marty has a lead on a town south of here called Rennes le Chateau…something about a church. We need to go there.”
His eyes narrowed, as he studied her. “So, how are you and Mr. Wood getting along?”
Her toe betrayed her. She unconsciously traced it over the carpet, as she spoke. “He’s fine, we’re fine… everything’s just fine. Now get ready.”
He reached out, caught her wrist and spun her toward him. “Spill it.”
She looked at the floor. She never could lie to Digger. “I kind of like him.”
“Is that like, as in, share an ice cream cone or is that like, as in share a cottage at the shore?”
She squirmed a little. “I’d say we’re past the ice cream but not ready for the beach. I wouldn’t mind a nice cozy evening, going over some old issues of Guns ’N Ammo. So there it is, I said it. Are you happy?”
He smiled and pulled her toward him in a hug. “I always knew you’d find the right guy. He has a good heart, you know.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m just not used to that.”
“Well, maybe after all this, you can hang up the old cloak and dagger and settle into a normal life. You know picket fence, puppies, apple pies…stuff like that.”
“What century are you living in?”
He grinned. “Clearly, not this one. I’ll be ready in ten minutes.”
****
In less than an hour, the Range Rover was headed south for Orleans. Franz drove with Digger beside him, giving Marty and Gillian the back seat to themselves. Franz seemed oblivious to the couple. Digger decided to keep it that way.
“So, Franz, any new finds under the Weeping Wall?”
Their conversation spun off from there. Marty and Gillian snuck their hands together at any opportunity. Their conversation flowed like a stream. Slowly and steadily, they began to realize that even with very different backgrounds, they shared many of the same views on music, books and politics. It surprised Marty at how comfortable he was telling her things about himself that he would never tell anyone else.
Occasionally, Digger would steal a glance at the back seat. He watched, as she happily laughed and talked. Her fingers caressed the back of Marty’s hand. The move was subtle and subconscious. Digger smiled, thinking that they were perfect for each other. Seeing her carry on a normal conversation that wasn’t laced with words like operation, mission and objective was a blessing. She seemed very different. He thought, She deserves this. For the first time ever, he could see genuine happiness in her eyes. Marty was certainly at ease.
Gillian realized somewhere around the second pit stop near Nevers that she didn’t have a clue as to how long they had been on the road, or even where Nevers was. It surprised her that she didn’t care. It seemed like such a simple thing, but for the first time in her life she was not considering a mission critical timeline. It would be another hour before Marty told her his favorite joke involving a camel, an old Arab trader and two bricks. She nearly shot soft drink through her nose. Her snorting laughter drew Franz’s and Digger’s attention. Marty assured them that “it’s nothing” which made her laugh even harder.
It was nightfall when they rolled through the ancient gates of Rennes le Chateau. A hush fell over the cab of the Range Rover. Franz eased over the rough cobblestones to park in an empty lot. All the cars were gone. There was no one left. Even the attendant was gone. A gust of cold mountain wind reminded them that it was not summer here yet. It made them shiver, as they exited the vehicle. They walked in pairs through the calm of the deserted streets of the tiny village. The distant bay of dog was the only thing that challenged the whistling of windswept evergreens. Were it not for the occasional amber light peeking from behind drawn drapes, it would be difficult to tell whether the small village was inhabited at all. Marty strained in the dim light of a lamppost to find a landmark. The narrow cobblestone streets seemed familiar, but his perspective was off. He wished he could look from above. After a few minutes of walking, Marty spied the familiar spire piercing a newly risen moon. “That’s it,” he whispered excitedly, pointing in the direction of the steeple.
The trio followed him faithfully toward the landmark. They walked down narrow alleys and across dim dirt pathways in vacant lots. The spire beckoned them, as they drew closer. A cool breeze made Gillian shiver. It wasn’t so much the chill of the wind, as it was the sense of foreboding in the air. It was an intangible warning for all those capable of perceiving it. Instinctively, she looked behind her, not knowing what she was looking for. Small hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She remained vigilant in rear guard in her head, her eyes in constant movement. All this is just too easy.
As they cleared the corner of an ancient row of shops, the walls of the small chapel loomed before them. Marty followed the wall in the dim light to the arched courtyard entrance. He stopped at the sight of the crudely carved skull and bones at the keystone of the entrance. His voice was so low that it was barely discernable over the wind. “We found it. This is the place.”
The windows were like ink against the windswept courtyard. A small hand-painted sign of Fermé clattered against the door. The small group huddled next to the stone wall out of the wind. Marty posed the question. “So do we try to find someone to let us in, or what?”
Franz volunteered, “We might find a caretaker. Let’s take a quick look around. If we don’t find anyone, we can come back tomorrow.”
They all nodded in agreement. Marty and Gillian walked around one side of the chapel, while Franz and Digger navigated the other. The light was dim under a waning moon. There were no street lamps to warm the path around the church. The grounds were deserted. The small group met on the opposite side of the church and rejoined. Quietly, they walked as a group back to the arch. Marty spotted the oddly hunched figure sitting in the darkness, waiting for them. Marty was sure he had not been there before. As they drew closer, he raised himself slowly, painfully. Marty knew him, he recognized him from his dream. He smiled and raised his hand. “Bon jour.”
The old man said nothing, but smiled and nodded in return. Everything had been so clear during the dream. Marty cringed when he realized he didn’t know what to do beyond a simple salutation. Franz stepped from behind and placed a hand on his shoulder. Smiling, he eased past Marty. “Allow me.”
Franz’s French was as fluid as a river. He smiled and began a lengthy dissertation about their reason for the late-night excursion. The old man occasionally nodded, showing that he understood. But still he offered no response. Gillian remained in the back, her gaze moving about. The little man seemed harmless enough, but her flesh felt prickly, like the air was charged with electricity. She sensed a trap and readied herself for it. The old man’s gaze left Franz for a moment. He looked directly at her. Her ears rung, it was like there was a fire alarm in her head. In that instant, she saw it; the soulless void in the old man’s eyes. She saw the cold dark energy swirling around him. There was something very wrong about him; and that he was the only one that could guide them. It was a classic dichotomy. The only person who could help them was also the one who would be
tray them. The old man returned his attention to Franz. Gillian steeled herself for what lay ahead.
Franz slipped a Ten Euro note from his pocket and handed it to the old man, who silently stuffed the bill into his coat pocket. He turned slowly and carefully moved up the steps toward the main door. From the angle he was standing at, Marty caught a brief glimpse of an evil little grin on the old man’s face. In the dim light, he shrugged it off, attributing it to shadows and an overactive imagination. Without so much as a word, the old man twisted the knob on the door and swung it open. It wasn’t locked. Franz wore a pained look. Marty couldn’t tell if it was because it was too simple, or that he had just wasted five minutes of explanations and ten Euros for nothing.
The heavy wooden door silently swung wide on well-oiled hinges. The old man pushed a switch that even predated him, bathing the room in the glare light of a single bulb hanging in a tarnished brass fixture overhead. Marty’s mind raced. In the light, he could see their guide more clearly now. He wore a tattered old coat. His bald head had wild sprigs of gray hair sprouting over the ears. The old man’s watery, hazel eyes seemed to stare right through him. The group quietly spread out in the vestibule of the church. The harsh light cast deep shadows, making the figures in the small room look garish. A sudden breeze pushed its way through the open door and caused the overhead light to swing back and forth, making the statuettes appear animated and alive. Marty spied the figure of Lucifer and timidly eased toward it. The others were busy gazing about the room taking in the eclectic collection of pieces.
He stood before the squatted demon. Its hideous face gave him the willies. The last time he had encountered this thing, it attacked him. While it showed no outward signs of an unnatural life, he was still cautious. He summoned up the courage and reached inside the mouth, hoping that the gem from his dream would fall into his hands. There was nothing here. Marty swallowed hard. If they had come all this way to find nothing, it would be a very long trip home.
He began to examine the figure more closely. He could feel goosebumps rise on his arms and crawl up the back of his neck. He stemmed the growing panic that threatened to overcome him. He cautiously approached the statue in the dim light. He couldn’t see the figure’s back in stark light, so he blindly ran his finger between the wings. He could feel a narrow crevice like a seam. He felt past the seam to the opposite side. The small ridge felt like a button. Could it be that simple? He pushed in the center of the ridge to hear a faint click and a small rattling sound. The mouth of the devil clicked, allowing the jaw to drop from hidden hinges. He eased his fingers into the cavity and touched something soft in the hole. Carefully, he removed the object wrapped in soft cloth. Marty looked up and around the small vestibule. The old man was nowhere to be seen. Softly, he said, “Guys, I found something.”
