And the aftermath.
'Seven dead-nine injured.'
Malone came awake.
He'd dreamed of Cai Thorvaldsen's death before-many times, in fact-but never in relation to Rennes-le- Chateau. His mind was apparently filled with thoughts he'd found difficult to avoid when he'd tried, two hours ago, to fall asleep. He'd finally managed to drift off, ensconced in one of the many chambers of Cassiopeia Vitt's chateau. She'd assured him that their minders outside would be watched and they'd be ready if de Roquefort chose to act during the night. But he agreed with her assessment. They were safe, at least until tomorrow.
So he'd slept.
But his mind had continued to play out the puzzle.
Most of the dream faded away, but he recalled the last portion-the television anchor reporting on the attack in Mexico City. He'd learned later that Cai Thorvaldsen had been dating the Mexican lawyer. She was a tough, gutsy lady investigating a mysterious cartel. The local police learned there'd been threats she'd ignored. Police had been in the area, but curiously none of them were around when the gunmen emerged from a roadster. She and the younger Thorvaldsen had been sitting on a bench, eating their lunch. Malone had been nearby, on his way back to the embassy, in town on assignment. He'd used his automatic to take down two attackers before two others realized he was there. He never saw the third and fourth men, one of whom planted a slug in his left shoulder. Before he lapsed into unconsciousness he'd managed to shoot his attacker, and the final man was taken out by one of the marine guards from the embassy.
But not before a lot of bullets found a lot of people.
Seven dead-nine injured.
He sat up from the bed.
He'd just solved the Rennes riddle.
FIFTY-THREE
1:30 AM
DE ROQUEFORT SWIPED THE MAGNETIC CARD ACROSS THE SENSOR pad and the electronic bolt released. He entered the brightly lit archives and threaded his way through the restricted shelves to where Royce Claridon sat. On the table before Claridon were stacks of writings. The archivist sat to one side, watching patiently as he'd been ordered to do. He motioned for the man to withdraw.
'What have you learned?' he asked Claridon.
'The materials you pointed me to are interesting. I never realized the extent of this Order's existence after the 1307 Purge.'
'There's much to our history.'
'I found an account of when Jacques de Molay was burned at the stake. Many brothers apparently watched that spectacle in Paris.'
'He walked to the stake on March 13, 1314, with his head held high and told the crowd, It is only right that at so solemn a moment, when my life has so little time to run, I should reveal the deception that has been practiced and speak up for the truth. '
'You memorized his words?'
'He's a man to know.'
'Many historians blame de Molay for the Order's demise. He was said to be weak and complacent.'
'And what do the accounts you've read say about him?'
'He seemed strong and determined and planned ahead before he traveled from Cyprus to France in the summer of 1307. He actually anticipated what Philip IV had planned.'
'Our wealth and knowledge were safeguarded. De Molay made sure of that.'
'That Great Devise.' Claridon shook his head.
'The brothers made sure it survived. De Molay made sure.'
Claridon's eyes looked weary. Though the hour was late, de Roquefort functioned best at night. 'Did you read de Molay's final words?'
Claridon nodded. 'God will avenge our death. Woe will come ere long to those who condemned us.'
'He was referring to Philip IV and Clement V, who conspired against him and our Order. The pope died less than a month later, and Philip succumbed seven months after that. None of Philip's heirs produced a male son, so the Capetian royal line extinguished itself. Four hundred and fifty years later, during the Revolution, the French royal family was imprisoned, just like de Molay, in the Paris Temple. When the guillotine finally severed the head of Louis XVI, a man plunged his hand into the dead king's blood and flicked it into the crowd, shouting, Jacques de Molay, thou art avenged. '
'One of yours?'
He nodded. 'A brother-caught up in the moment. There to watch the French monarchy be eliminated.'
'This means a lot to you, doesn't it?'
He wasn't particularly interested in sharing his feelings with this stranger, but he wanted to make clear, 'I'm master.'
'No. There's more here. More to this.'
'Is analysis part of your specialty, too?'
'You stood in front of a speeding car, challenging Malone to run you down. Then you would have roasted the flesh from my feet with no remorse.'
'Monsieur Claridon, thousands of my brothers were arrested-all for the greed of a king. Several hundred were burned at the stake. Ironically, only lies would have liberated them. The truth was their death sentence, since the Order was guilty on none of the charges leveled against it. Yes. This is intensely personal.'
Claridon reached for Lars Nelle's journal. 'I've some bad news. I've read a good part of Lars's notes and something is wrong.'
He did not like the sound of that statement.
'There are errors. Dates are wrong. Locations differ. Sources incorrectly noted. Subtle changes, but to a trained eye they're obvious.'
Unfortunately, de Roquefort was not knowledgeable enough to know the difference. He was actually hoping the journal would increase his awareness. 'Are they merely entry errors?'
'At first I thought so. Then, as I noticed more and more, I came to doubt that. Lars was a careful man. A lot of the information in the journal I helped accumulate. These are intentional.'
De Roquefort reached for the journal and paged through until he found the cryptogram. 'What of this? Correct?'
'I would have no way of knowing. Lars never told me if he learned the mathematical sequence that unravels it.'
He was concerned. 'Are you saying the journal is useless?'
'What I'm saying is that there are errors. Even some of the entries from Sauniere's personal diary are wrong. I read some of those myself long ago.'
De Roquefort was confused. What was happening here? He thought back to the last day of Lars Nelle's life, to what the American had said to him.
'You couldn't find anything, even if it were right before your eyes.'
Standing in the trees, he'd resented Nelle's attitude but admired the man's courage-considering a rope was wrapped around the older man's neck. A few minutes earlier he'd watched as the American fastened the rope to a bridge support, then looped the noose. Nelle had then hopped onto the stone wall and stared out into the dark river
