eyes and tried to focus on him.
'That hurt,' she muttered.
'Tell me about it.' He stared around the expansive hall. Outside, the rain had slackened. 'We need to get out of here.'
'What about our friends?'
'If they wanted us dead, we would be. I think they're through with us. They have the notebook, the journal, and Claridon. We're unnecessary.' He noticed the gun lying nearby and motioned. 'That's what kind of threat they think we are.'
Stephanie rubbed her head. 'This was a bad idea, Cotton. I should have never reacted after that notebook was sent to me. If I hadn't called Ernst Scoville, he'd probably still be alive. And I should have never involved you.'
'I believe I insisted.' He slowly came to his feet. 'We need to leave. At some point cleaning personnel have to come through here. And I don't feel like answering any police questions.'
He helped Stephanie up.
'Thanks, Cotton. For everything. I appreciate all that you did.'
'You make it sound like this is over.'
'It is for me. Whatever Lars and Mark were looking for will just have to be found by somebody else. I'm going home.'
'What about Claridon?'
'What can we do? We have no idea who took him or where he might be. And what would we tell the police? The Knights Templar have kidnapped an inmate from a local asylum? Get real. I'm afraid he's on his own.'
'We know the woman's name,' he said. 'Claridon mentioned it was Cassiopeia Vitt. He told us where she is. Givors. We could find her.'
'And do what? Thank her for saving our hides? I think she's on her own, too, and more than capable of handling herself. Like you say, we're not deemed important any longer.'
She was right.
'We need to go home, Cotton. There's nothing here for either of us.'
Right again.
They found their way out of the palace and returned to the rental car. After losing the first tail outside Rennes, Malone knew they'd not been followed to Avignon, so he assumed either men were already waiting in the city, which was unlikely, or some sort of electronic surveillance had been employed. Which meant the chase and shots before he managed to send the Renault into the mud was a dog-and-pony show designed to rock him to sleep.
Which worked.
But they were no longer deemed players in whatever game was unfolding, so he decided they would head back to Rennes-le-Chateau and spend the night there.
The drive took nearly two hours and they passed through the village's main gate just before two AM. A fresh wind raked the summit and the Milky Way streaked overhead as they walked from the car park. Not a light burned within the walls. The streets were still damp from yesterday's weather.
Malone was tired. 'Let's get a little rest and we'll leave out around noontime. I'm sure there's a flight you can catch from Paris to Atlanta.'
At the door, Stephanie opened the lock. Inside, Malone flipped on a lamp in the den and immediately noticed a rucksack tossed into a chair that neither he nor Stephanie had brought.
He reached for the gun at his belt.
Movement from the bedroom caught his eye. A man appeared in the doorway and leveled a Glock at him.
Malone brought his weapon up. 'Who the hell are you?'
The man was young, maybe early thirties, with the same short hair and stocky build that he'd seen in abundance over the past few days. The face, though handsome, was set for combat-the eyes like black marbles-and he handled the weapon with assurance. But Malone sensed a hesitancy, as if the other man was unsure of friend or foe.
'I asked who you are.'
'Lower the gun, Geoffrey,' came a voice from inside the bedroom.
'Are you sure?'
'Please.'
The weapon came down. Malone lowered his, too.
Another man stepped from the shadows.
He was long-limbed and squarely built with close-cropped auburn hair. He, too, held a pistol and it took Malone only an instant to register the familiar cleft, swarthy skin, and gentle eyes from the photo that still angled on the table to his left.
He heard the breath leave Stephanie.
'My God in heaven,' she whispered.
He was shocked, too.
Standing before him was Mark Nelle.
STEPHANIE'S BODY SHOOK. HER HEART POUNDED. FOR A MOMENT she had to tell herself to breathe.
Her only child was standing across the room.
She wanted to rush to him, to tell him how sorry she was for all their differences, how glad she was to see him. But her muscles would not respond.
'Mother,' Mark said. 'Your son is back from the grave.'
She caught the coolness in his tone and instantly sensed that his heart was still hard. 'Where have you been?'
'It's a long story.'
No shade of compassion tempered his stare. She waited for him to explain, but he said nothing.
Malone came toward her, placed a hand on her shoulder, and broke the awkward pause. 'Why don't you sit.'
She felt disconnected from her life, a jumble of confusion violating her thoughts, and she was having a hard time settling her anxiety. But dammit, she was the head of one of the most highly specialized units within the U.S. government. She dealt with crises on a daily basis. True, none was as personal as the one now facing her from across the room, but if Mark wanted their first reception to be a chilly one, then so be it, she'd not give any of them the satisfaction of thinking emotion ruled her.
So she sat and said, 'Okay, Mark. Tell us your long story.'
Mark Nelle opened his eyes. He was no longer eight thousand feet high in the French Pyrenees, wearing spike shoes and carrying a pick, hiking a rough trail in search of Berenger Sauniere's cache. He was inside a room of stone and wood with a blackened beamed ceiling. The man standing over him was tall and gaunt with gray fuzz for hair and a silver beard as thick as fleece. The man's eyes were a peculiar shade of violet that he could not recall ever having seen before.
'Careful,' the man said in English. 'You're still weak.'
'Where am I?'
'A place that has been for centuries one of safety.'
'Does it have a name?'
'Abbey des Fontaines.'
'That's miles from where I was.'
'Two of my subordinates were following and made rescue when the snow began to engulf you. I'm told the avalanche was quite intense.'
He could still feel the mountain as it shook, its summit disintegrating like a great cathedral falling apart. An entire ridge had shattered above him and snow had poured down as blood would from an open wound. The chill still gripped his bones. Then he recalled tumbling downward. But had he heard the man standing over him right?
'Men were following me?'
'I ordered it. As with your father before you sometimes.'
'You knew my father?'
'His theories always interested me. So I made a point to know both him and what he knew.'
