one with a flesh wound to his thigh after Geoffrey shot at him. That made three wounded men, along with two dead. He'd sent word that he wanted a council with his officers when he returned to the abbey, which should quell any discontent, but first he needed to know where his quarry had gone.
'Up ahead,' the driver said. 'Fifty meters.'
He stared out the window and wondered about Malone and company's choice of refuge. Odd that they would come here.
The driver stopped the car, and they climbed out.
Parked cars surrounded them.
'Bring the handheld unit.'
They walked and, twenty meters later, the man holding the portable receiver stopped. 'Here.'
De Roquefort stared at the vehicle. 'That's not the car they left Rennes in.'
'The signal is strong.'
He motioned. The other brother searched beneath and found the magnetic transponder.
He shook his head and stared at the walls of Carcassonne, which stretched skyward ten meters away. The grassy area before him had once formed the town moat. Now it served as a car park for the thousands of visitors who came each day to see one of the last existing walled cities from the Middle Ages. The time-tanned stones had stood when Templars roamed the surrounding land. They'd borne witness to the Albigensian Crusade and the many wars thereafter. And never once were they breached-truly a monument to strength.
But they said something about cleverness, too.
He knew the local myth, from when Muslims controlled the town for a short time in the eighth century. Eventually, Franks came from the north to reclaim the site and, true to their way, laid a long siege. During a sally the Moorish king was killed, which left the task of defending the walls to his daughter. She was the clever one, creating an illusion of greater numbers by sending the few troops she possessed running from tower to tower and stuffing the clothing of the dead with straw. Food and water eventually ran out for both sides. Finally, the daughter ordered the last sow be caught and fed the final bushel of corn. She then hurled the pig out over the walls. The animal smashed into the earth and its belly burst forth with grain. The Franks were shocked. After such a long siege, apparently the infidels still possessed enough food to feed their pigs. So they withdrew.
A myth, he was sure, but an interesting tale of ingenuity.
And Cotton Malone had shown ingenuity, too, transferring the electronic tag to another vehicle.
'What is it?' Claridon asked.
'We've been led astray.'
'This is not their car?'
'No, monsieur.' He turned and started back for their vehicle. Where had they gone? Then a thought occurred to him. He stopped. 'Would Mark Nelle know of Cassiopeia Vitt?'
'Oui,' Claridon said. 'He and his father discussed her.'
Is it possible that was where they'd gone? Vitt had interfered three times of late, and always on Malone's side. Maybe he sensed an ally there.
'Come.' And he started for the car again.
'What do we do now?' Claridon wanted to know.
'We pray.'
Claridon still had not moved. 'For what?'
'That my instincts are accurate.'
FORTY-SIX
MALONE WAS FURIOUS. HENRIK THORVALDSEN HAD KNOWN FAR more about everything and had said absolutely nothing. He pointed at Cassiopeia. 'She one of your friends?'
'I've known her a long time.'
'When Lars Nelle was alive. You know her then?'
Thorvaldsen nodded.
'And did Lars know of your relationship?'
'No.'
'So you played him for a fool, too.' Anger punctuated his voice.
The Dane seemed forced to submerge his defensiveness. After all, he was cornered. 'Cotton, I understand your irritation. But one can't always be forthcoming. Multiple angles have to be explored. I'm sure that when you worked for the U.S. government you did the same thing.'
He did not rise to the bait.
'Cassiopeia kept watch on Lars. He knew of her, and in his eyes, she was a nuisance. But her real chore was to protect him.'
'Why not just tell him?'
'Lars was a stubborn man. It was simpler for Cassiopeia to watch him quietly. Unfortunately, she could not protect him from himself.'
Stephanie stepped forward, her face set for combat. 'This is what his profile warned about. Questionable motives, shifting allegiances, deceit.'
'I resent that.' Thorvaldsen glared at her. 'Especially since Cassiopeia looked after you two, as well.'
On that point Malone could not argue. 'You should have told us.'
'To what end? As I recall, you both were intent on coming to France-especially you, Stephanie. So what would have been gained? Instead, I made sure Cassiopeia was there, in case you needed her.'
Malone wasn't going to accept that hollow explanation. 'For one thing, Henrik, you could have provided us with background on Raymond de Roquefort, whom you both obviously know. Instead, we went in blind.'
'There's little to tell,' Cassiopeia said. 'When Lars was alive all the brothers did was watch him, too. I never made actual contact with de Roquefort. That's only happened during the past couple of days. I know as much about him as you do.'
'Then how did you anticipate his moves in Copenhagen?'
'I didn't. I simply followed you.'
'I never sensed you there.'
'I'm good at what I do.'
'You weren't so good in Avignon. I spotted you at the cafe.'
'And your trick with the napkin, dropping it so you could see if I was following? I wanted you to know I was there. Once I saw Claridon, I knew de Roquefort would not be far behind. He's watched Royce for years.'
'Claridon told us about you,' Malone said, 'but he didn't recognize you in Avignon.'
'He's never seen me. What he knows is only what Lars Nelle told him.'
'Claridon never mentioned that fact,' Stephanie said.
'There's a lot I'm sure Royce failed to mention. Lars never realized, but Claridon was far more of a problem for him than I ever was.'
'My father hated you,' Mark said, disdain in his tone.
Cassiopeia appraised him with a cool countenance. 'Your father was a brilliant man, but he was not schooled in human nature. His was a simplistic view of the world. The conspiracies he sought, the ones you explored after he died, are far more complicated than either of you could imagine. This is a quest for knowledge that men have died seeking.'
'Mark,' Thorvaldsen said, 'what Cassiopeia says about your father is true, as I'm sure you realize.'
'He was a good man who believed in what he did.'
'He was, indeed. But he likewise kept many things to himself. You never knew he and I were close friends, and I regret you and I never came to know one another. But your father wanted our contacts confidential, and I respected his desire even after his death.'
'You could have told me,' Stephanie said.
'No, I couldn't.'
