The Cathari Treasure (Cameron Kincaid)

by Smith, Daniel Arthur

  “Have it your way. To whom am I speaking?”

  “That does not matter in the least. What does matter is that you seem to have come alone. Excuse the pun, but I pray you are not intending a ruse.” Cameron detected a subtle French accent, not Canadian French, or French proper, rather some other dialect.

  “I wanted to be sure I had an exit,” Cameron did not let his voice waiver, “and right at this moment I’m not overwhelmed with confidence.”

  “Our surroundings?”

  “You have to admit, this is a confined space.”

  “You are right sir. Feel free to step out into the open if it makes you feel better.”

  “It will I assure you.”

  “Fine then,” said the voice in an upbeat tone.

  Cameron reached for the latch to the confessional door.

  “Not that way Mister Kincaid,” said the man behind the screen.

  The panel behind the little screen slid shut. From around the edge of the confessional booth door came a rapid succession of clicks. Cameron was sure these were bolts locking the door in place. He unfastened the latch and pushed, not moving the door in the slightest.

  “C’mon, what is this?” asked Cameron.

  “What’s going on?” asked Pepe.

  Cameron was about to respond when the panel behind the little screen opened again, this time slowly and only half way. Cameron leaned toward the screen. “If you’re trying to get on my good side it’s not working,” said Cameron.

  Cameron heard the sound of an aerosol spray through the wooden screen and felt a mist on his face. Suddenly Cameron’s eyes were burning. Pepe spoke again, “Is everything ok? Give me a signal.”

  Cameron knew better than to try to talk, to even breathe. For him to resist the gas was futile in the closed space of the confessional. One word and Pepe would have the door in splinters. He tried to speak with no success. The code word was ‘Angel’. A word they agreed could be subtly slipped into any conversation Cameron would be having while in the church. Now any sound would suffice, a simple ‘help’ or a rapid tap on the wall. The burning had traveled into his throat, and he was unable to make a sound. Cameron decided to alert Pepe by knocking on the wall. His arms were weak and the walls were moving. The walls of the confessional began to melt and ripple. He felt himself falling and placed a hand on the wall in front of him to catch himself and then his other on the sidewall. Bracing himself did nothing to still the spinning box.

  Mustering all of his will, Cameron pushed himself back against the wall. His tear ducts flowed heavy and out of his twisted mouth, saliva shot out with each frantic tightening breath. For a moment, Cameron’s body seized tight and within his face, he felt his muscles ripping away. He could hear Pepe’s voice, nonsense words echoing and reverberating. Cameron separated from his body, only a mind behind eyes floating away from his head, watching the walls spin by as he fell away from them. Then the falling became so extreme Cameron could no longer focus. Everything went black.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 40

  Quebec

  Cameron awoke to total darkness, his muscles burning from the earlier seizing spasms. He tried to lift his hand to his forehead to no avail. When he jerked at his other hand, lightning shot up through his arm into his shoulder. Cameron’s hands were immovable, bound tight behind his back.

  Cameron widened his eyes, still unable to see.

  Cameron’s instinct kicked in to over ride his disorientation. He remembered the Rex Mundi, the enemy, subdued him. The epiphany that the Rex Mundi wanted him disoriented snapped him into action. Cameron had been trained for this and he was not about to give them the upper hand. In the Legion, disorientation training began early, before the elite training. Every candidate went through dauntless rigors after selection in Aubagne. Cameron had gone on to Corsica, home of the elite of the elite, the Second Foreign Parachute Regiment. He had been bound, electrocuted, water boarded, and that was in his first week as a recruit.

  Cameron started by measuring his breathes to ensure he was getting enough oxygen. He realized he could only breathe through his nose. As Cameron slowly squeezed his jaw tight he could feel a tug at the base of his skull, the balled knot of a gag tied tight around his head.

  The muscles throughout Cameron’s body were still on fire from the aerosol gas. He resisted the temptation to pull or struggle against his restraints. Cameron let his body go limp. Slowly Cameron identified each of his extremities and their positions. Through concentration, Cameron had a good mental picture of his situation. He was sitting on a chair, gagged, hooded, and bound by his hands with no tension on his legs, lap, or waist.

  Cameron focused on where he sensed the bindings were tight, around his crossed wrists, behind his back. He determined that the binding on his wrist was what held him to the chair. Fingers loose, Cameron sought to touch whatever he could only to find nothing in their reach. Unable to untie the bindings with his hands or maneuver the Opinel knife from his side, he thought of an alternative. Cameron knew a way out of being single bound from the back, a simple rookie maneuver. All he would need to do is find a way to throw himself back on his own weight, shattering the chair and maybe an arm, to free the bindings and allow him to wriggle loose. Cameron pressed both feet firm, they were solid, and to fall back could work.

  The room smelled like a barbeque, maybe this was the furnace room.

  Cameron tried to gauge his space, thwacking his head on the wall behind him might slow his fall and only leave him with a lump. To his right a drip hit a pool, easily a body length away. More important was the faint echo made each and every time a drop landed in the pool. Cameron was definitely not in a room as small as the confessional booth. He closed his mind off from his body and counted between the drops. When Cameron reached five another drip hit the pool. The echo circled him, drip, count five, drip, count five, repeated again and again until Cameron was confident he was in the center of the room. He decided there was plenty of room behind him. There may be debris or a hole waiting for him when he fell back. There may be a bottomless pit for all he knew. Cameron would take that risk, to not try to free himself was against his training and he had no doubt that the Rex Mundi had no plans of to let him go free.

  Applying slight pressure to the front of his feet, Cameron tried to lift the chair to test whether the chair was bolted to the floor and could even be tilted back. The front of the chair lifted. He gently lowered the chair back to the floor. The chair made a solid thud, perhaps built of wood. Throwing the chair back to free him was going to work. Cameron pulled his body as forward as he could manage. Ready to put all of his weight into the thrust back, he tensed his feet.

  Above Cameron’s head the voice of the man from the phone boomed through speakers, “I wouldn’t do that Mister Kincaid.”

  Cameron relaxed his feet and began to sit upright.

  “I am glad to see you awake,” said the voice.

  Cameron decided to take his shot and leaned forward again.

  “Really Mister Kincaid! I assure you that will not be in your best interest.”

  The abruptness in the voice jarred Cameron. He sat up again.

  “Good, relax for a moment longer. I will join you.”

  Cameron was not going to relax. He had been ready to throw the chair back to set himself free from his binds. He knew the man’s exclamation was sincere, whatever was behind the chair put Cameron’s safety in jeopardy. Cameron had no doubt that the man was nowhere near concerned for his future well-being. The man needed Cameron safe until he told the man where to find Nicole.

  Cameron heard a door bolt turn behind him, followed by a second. Cameron could even hear the handle turn. He knew when the man entered the room, even though he could not hear the door swing open. Near his head, he heard a pull chain and then suddenly there was enough light for him to see through the fabric of his hood. He could not make out any shapes, only the bright reflection of the light off the wall in front of him.

  With a sudden mo
tion, the hood was pulled from Cameron’s head. Exposure to the naked light overwhelmed his eyes. Cameron pulled his eyes tightly closed and then opened them widely again trying to force them into focus. The wall in front of him was warped and moving. Again, Cameron closed and reopened his eyes.

  The man spoke, “Sorry about that. It is from the salvia divinorum in the aerosol I used to knock you out. It’s an ancient shamanic drug native to the Sierra Mazateca in Oaxaca, Mexico, where it is still used by the Mazatec, primarily to facilitate shamanic visions in the context of curing or divination.” Cameron was still unable to focus. The man continued, now standing to the side of Cameron, “thus its name divinorum, which means ‘of the ghosts’ and should actually be divinatorum, ‘of the priests’. Mister Kincaid, you are not quite snapping out of it. Peter, would you?”

  From behind, Cameron heard a snap and then felt soft clammy leather as someone wrapped their hand tightly around his forehead and pulled his head back. Under his nose came a rush of ammonia, burning his eyes and sinuses. Cameron tried to thrash his head to either side, unable to slip from the grip of the gloved hand. The fumes of the ammonia fell away from his face and were replaced by fumes of something milder. The pain subsided and the gloved had released him. To Cameron’s right the man snapped his fingers once and then again. Cameron slowly turned toward the sound.

  “That’s right Mister Kincaid, this way.”

  Cameron’s eyes began to focus.

  “There you go Mister Kincaid, it will be only a minute more. Thank you, Peter. Now where was I, oh yes, salvia divinorum. So, the Mazatec shamans see the plant as an incarnation of the Virgin Mary, and begin the ritual with an invocation to Mary, Saint Peter, the Holy Trinity, and other saints. Of course, in their rituals, they use only the freshest leaves, and you ingested, well let’s just say you ingested quite a different concoction, a requirement you see, the leaves only last ten minutes and how would I ever get you to eat them.” The man laughed after he made the comment. Cameron did not find the words funny.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 41

  Quebec

  Cameron could now for the first time see the man in front of him quite well. Whatever they had shoved in his nose had made him quite lucid.

  The man was tall, well groomed, and had a very kind smile. Cameron thought the man’s looks were almost too good, artificial, like a model or an actor. The man wore all black with the exception of his white collar. The man was a priest. Cameron’s eyes were drawn to the large garnet set gold ring on the priest’s second finger.

  “There, you are doing better. I can see it. Peter, can you remove our guest’s…” The priest gestured to his mouth. Cameron felt the stiff blade of Peter’s knife slide up the side of his head and the pressure when Peter used the blade to cutaway the gag. The gag fell away.

  “Here, drink this.” The priest held a metal cup to Cameron’s lips. He tilted the offering into his mouth. The water contained in the cup poured down Cameron’s throat and onto his chin and shirt. Cameron sucked down what he could.

  When the priest lowered the cup Cameron spoke, “You’re a priest.”

  “Surprised,” said the priest.

  “Not really, you did have me meet you in a confessional.”

  “Well, a lot of priests go through here. Its easy to, what’s the word comme camouflage?”

  “Blend?” asked Cameron.

  “Yes, that’s it, it’s easy to blend.”

  The priest pulled a stool from Cameron’s side to the front of him and sat, “You see this is the primate church of Canada, the seat of the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Quebec, the oldest See in the New World north of Mexico.”

  “Thank you for the history lesson,” said Cameron.

  “That’s not the best of it all. Four governors of New France and the bishops of Québec are buried in the crypt, beyond that wall in front of you. That chancel lamp in the cathedral, did you see it?”

  “I saw it.”

  “It was a gift from Louis XIV.”

  “How special,” Cameron was regaining his strength.

  “You should have taken the tour. These places, these things, are all very important.”

  “I recently met someone who would say very different.”

  “Yes I know the rhetoric. There are no primates or bishops in the Bible, the physical church and the physical itself should be disregarded.” The priest lost his smile and turned his furrowed brow to Cameron adding in a serious tone, “That God himself should be disregarded.”

  “That’s about what I’ve heard.”

  “Those are dangerous thoughts, they always have been. You were smart to agree to meet, that woman is a threat that must be dealt with.”

  “Dealt with, what does that mean, and what happened to the believers that were supposed to be at the number where I called you?”

  The priest put his hand on Cameron’s shoulder, patted, pulled back and shrugged, “These people you call believers, that call themselves pure ones, good Christians, these bonnes gens, these Cathari, whatever name they go by, they are like rats. We exterminate as many as we can but some always get away.” The priest shook his head slightly. “We have been watching the local group for a long time, waiting for this opportunity, this precious opportunity, and now it has finally come,” the priest clasped his hands together. “Now Mister Kincaid, where can we find the her?”

  Cameron’s earpiece came to life, “Kincaid, I am in range. If you can hear me give the signal.”

  The earpiece was small and flesh colored, still Cameron was surprised the device had been missed by his captures. “About that,” said Cameron, “you will need an angel to help you now.”

  “Got you, I am on my way,” said Pepe.

  The priest was less than amused. “I am sorry you feel that it will need to come to that,” said the priest.

  Cameron realized now that the reason for the single bind was that his captures had bound him in a rush. They had not even removed his sport coat and with the layers of clothing had missed the P226 tucked in his behind his back and only taken the .357 from his side.

  Though the drug in the gas had been incredibly strong the effects only subdued Cameron briefly, and that made the Rex Mundi sloppy.

  “Peter, could you help our friend to understand?”

  Cameron was more than excited to know that Pepe was close. Under the circumstance he wanted Pepe to be closer, to be there.

  Cameron was not sure what hit him first, the burn of the thin metal wire beside his face or the smell of his own burning flesh.

  Cameron clenched his jaw. If he had to, he could do this all day. Where the hell was Pepe?

  “So you see Mister Kincaid,” the priest nodded to Cameron’s assailant, “we invented the art of interrogation.”

  Another stiff wire, glowing red, was thrust into Cameron’s thigh.

  Cameron felt the rod deeply and mistakenly let the priest know by gasping.

  “You do see,” the priest flicked his brow, signaling Peter to step back. The priest lifted himself from his stool and leaned into Cameron, placing a hand to either side of his face.

  “The Holy See charged our predecessors, the Dominicans, with establishing the Episcopal inquisition.” The priest nodded and Cameron felt the puncture of another skewer, this time he pushed the brilliant flash of pain into a leer toward the priest. The priest continued nonchalantly, holding Cameron’s face firmly, studying him. “Before that, heretics were dealt with on a local level, sometimes merely imprisoned. But in the name of the Pope all things changed.”

  “So you’re Dominican. The Rex Mundi is the church?”

  “Oh, I didn’t say that. Our people are there though.”

  Peter lanced Cameron in the thigh once more. The priest, still holding Cameron’s face, let loose one hand to caress his burnt cheek.

  “Our people have always been everywhere Mister Kincaid.” The priest moved his caressing hand to Cameron’s forehead and then pulled both hands back to his lap. “
That’s enough for now Peter,” said the priest.

  “Ironically this system of, well let’s call it what it is, torture, was created for the predecessors of your friends. For the same reason that we use it today.” The priest reached behind Cameron and brought back the metal cup and a matching pitcher. As the Priest spoke, he filled the cup full of water. “The problem is the same. Do you know what that problem is Mister Kincaid?”

  “I can’t say,” Cameron winced midsentence and then quickly pulled himself together. “I can’t say that I do.”

  “But of course you don’t. Here drink this.” The priest put the cup of water to Cameron’s lips. Cameron sipped all that was in the metal cup. “There you go. The problem is nothing.” The priest arched his brows.

  “Nothing,” said Cameron. “Then I guess we’re done here.”

  The priest chuckled. “That’s very good. Let me elaborate. The problem is what your new friends preach. That nothing matters. No church, no wealth, no property, all you need to do is be a good person and then,” the priest raised his hands above his head, “you accept him as you’re savior and all is ok.”

  “Doesn’t sound too bad to me.”

  “No not too bad at all, for you, but what about civilization? What about the economies? The idea of being one with his Holy apart from all else,” the priest wagged his finger, “it’s very dangerous. Who would work? Who would farm?”

  “You mean who would serve.”

  “Now that’s not nice.” The priest nodded again to Peter. A swift slap came across Cameron’s face. The priest kept speaking regardless of Cameron being struck, “If the truth of the pure ones got out, if the masses knew that truth. Where would order be? Tell me.”