Son of Perdition (Chronicles of Brothers) (21 page)

Chapter Twenty-two

The Robes Are Behind the Suits

Mont St Michel, Western Coast of Normandy, France

Nick watched through the camera lens, unseen from the window in the darkness, his eyes riveted on a pulsating blue glow moving rapidly in from the sea. It stopped a hundred feet above Mont St Michel.

The enormous dome-shaped object stayed suspended in mid-air for a full minute. There was complete silence apart from the rapid fire clicking of Nick’s camera.

* * *

Adrian strode past the columns of the refectory, followed by Laurent Chastenay and Guber.

‘Our guests are well looked after?’ Adrian continued at his steady pace.

‘Yes, Mr President,’ Chastenay replied. ‘They are gathered in the cathedral. Dinner is being served as we speak.’

‘We must have no interruptions until we have taken delivery.’

He stopped in mid-stride and turned to Guber.

‘Everything is proceeding according to plan?’

‘Like clockwork. The Phoenix has landed. The package will be unloaded in precisely 3 minutes and 20 seconds.’

Adrian nodded. ‘Return to your posts.’

The two men disappeared.

Adrian walked alone through the deserted corridors to the huge doors of the drawing-room terrace and flung them wide open.

A deafening howling erupted from the Rottweilers and Dobermans guarding the perimeter. The powerful beams of the Mont St Michel searchlights went dark.

An instant later every light in the mansion switched off.

Adrian walked onto the balcony and stared out at the hanging garden between sea and sky – then he looked up at the pulsating blue light hovering over the ocean.

He stood mesmerized by the descending object.

Then he smiled.

* * *

Nick walked through the master bedroom to the library and games room.

He stopped in front of rows of massive yew bookshelves and ran his hand over the palace’s vast collection of first editions just as the whole wing plunged into pitch darkness.

Walking over to the window, he gazed out at the West Wing, now shrouded in darkness.

Who was Adrian’s special guest? Beatrice had said he was staying in the West Wing. A prince? Nick frowned. He pressed his face to the window.

To his right, on the West Wing terrace, Nick could make out the silhouette of a man, a tall, lean figure dressed in black robes.

A prince? No. More like a priest.

He grabbed his camera and zoomed in on the form.

Yes. Definitely a religious order. Maybe Jesuit.

The man’s face was raised in ecstasy to the skies, his black robes billowing in the wind. His hair was loose and fell past his shoulders, lashing against his face in the fierce storm.

Nick stared in fascination through the camera lens.

The priest swept a bow with long, passionate strokes over the strings of a violin. Nick hurried to the far side of the library and cranked open the huge casement windows. The West Wing terrace was now directly opposite him. The rain lashed through the windows, drenching his hair and T-shirt.

Nick stared, oblivious to the rain, lost in wonder.

The sound of the single violin echoed on the ocean winds.

Haunting. Exquisite. Poignant.

The priest’s long fingers moved deftly. His eyes were closed in rapture, his mouth moving softly to the refrain.

Nick stood in the lashing rain. It was as though the music drew his soul. It was mesmerizing. Hypnotic. Then abruptly, the priest stopped playing.

Nick stared, transfixed. The man was somehow strangely familiar. Though the face was scarred, the features were almost beautiful. The rain beat down on the chiselled cheekbones, the full passionate lips.

The priest lowered the violin and turned, as though sensing something. Someone.

Nick stood frozen. He knew he was now directly in the other man’s line of sight.

Suddenly, the priest dropped the violin, cradling his head as though in agony. Then he stared up at Nick, his features turning to ferocious rage.

It was the priest from St Cartier’s photograph.

Nick slammed the window shut and flung himself against the wall in the darkness, his mind racing. For the first time in his entire life, Nick sensed an overshadowing evil.

‘The Robes are Behind the Suits.’

The old man’s words rang in his ears.

‘Some legends have it – he
was
the devil incarnate.’

There was no doubting it. There, on the terrace of the West Wing, less than fifty feet away, stood Lorcan De Molay.

* * *

Adrian walked through the drawing room into his private elevator. A minute later, he strode outside. He shielded his eyes from the lights and wind.

The domed flying object, some two hundred feet in diameter, hovered a full ninety feet above the lawn. Adrian stared in awe as the massive metal ship’s doorway opened. A brilliant arc of light radiated over the Abbey.

* * *

The entire East Wing balcony lit up as though it were broad daylight.

Nick shielded his eyes from the intense flashing strobe. His head throbbed intensely.

He scrabbled for a lens in his satchel, adjusted it, then lifted the camera back up as the mysterious hovering craft descended.

Nick stared through the lens, fascinated. He’d never seen anything like it in his life. He took shot after shot.

He could make out figures standing in the open doors, man-handling a large object – a metal crate.
Click.

The crate was lowered down by steel cables and nine men in uniform manoeuvred it to the edge of the lawn.
Click.

A seal on the outside of the crate was plainly visible under the floodlights. The crest of Mont St Michel.
Click.

Nick stared, stupefied, as another crate was lowered. Then the craft’s doors closed and the dome-like ship ascended back into the sky and vanished. He gazed after it, bewildered.

Immediately, the power returned to the entire East Wing.

Nick looked up at the surveillance camera positioned directly above him and moved out of its line of sight.

Time was running out.

* * *

Guber walked towards the first crate.

‘Prepare to unload the merchandise,’ he ordered the soldiers.

The special forces levered it open and the metal sides fell to the ground.

* * *

Nick stared in disbelief as the ornate chest became fully visible. It couldn’t be. He rubbed his eyes, bewildered. Instantly, every instinct sharpened by his years of training as an archaeologist kicked into gear.

Checklist.

Length – four feet long.
Check.
Height – two and a half feet.
Check
. Carved of wood overlaid with gold.
Check.
Decorated gold rim running around the top.
Check
. Rings at four corners through which poles could be passed.
Check
.

Nick trembled. He ran his fingers through his hair, almost afraid to check the final clinching feature. He took a deep breath, exhaled, then looked through the camera lens.

There they were. On the lid, facing each other, their wings outstretched, were the two figurines of angels – cherubim – in beaten gold.
Double-check
.

‘The Ark of the Covenant,’ he breathed.

Then he steadied the camera.

* * *

Adrian walked back into the lift just as one of Guber’s soldiers reached out his hand to the Ark.

Guber raised his hand to stop him, but it was too late.

The man fell to the floor like a stone. Electrocuted.

Adrian smiled faintly.

Guber nodded to a group of soldiers standing at attention.

‘Use the winch,’ he said.

The men turned their attention to the second crate. It bore a seal which Nick recognised – a menorah with a Hebrew inscription. The insignia of Mossad.

* * *

Nick, his hands shaking, sat cross-legged on the carpet. He tried for the fifth time to email the camera memory file through to Dylan Weaver.

‘Busy,’ he muttered in frustration and tried again.

* * *

As the electrocuted officer’s body was being stuffed into a body bag, Guber’s walk-talkie buzzed.

‘What is it, Von Slagel?’ Guber said curtly.

‘It seems there is a visitor in the East Wing.’

‘Impossible.’

‘He’s sending unauthorized information out of the grounds. It appears the low-lying parasite is more astute than you gave him credit for.’

Guber turned to Travis.

‘Cut the circuitry,’ he said, unholstering his Sig Sauer P225 semi-automatic pistol. ‘I’ll take care of him myself.’

‘You’d better. His Excellency is most displeased.’

There was a hesitation on the end of the line.

‘De Vere wears the Nazarene’s Seal.’

* * *

Nick froze. The sound of thudding footsteps was drawing nearer through the corridors of the East Wing.

Frantically, he uploaded the digital film into his laptop and punched in Weaver’s encrypted email address for the ninth time. There was a loud knocking on the secured East Wing entrance.

He pressed the send button.

‘De Vere – I know you’re in there,’ Guber shouted.

The banging became more violent.

‘Use the charges,’ Guber’s voice filtered through to Nick.

The email started to upload as Nick heard Guber shouting instructions in German.

He watched as this time the file uploaded successfully into cyberspace.

Then he pressed delete.

Delete. Delete. Delete.

He was painstakingly deleting single photographs from the hard drive as the door was blasted open.

* * *

Guber flung open the back entrance of the Abbey church and shoved Nick up the nave towards Adrian, who stared at his struggling younger brother.

He looked back down at the restraints on Nick’s wrists.

‘Release my brother,,’ Adrian said softly.

Guber scowled. Grudgingly he unlocked the steel handcuffs.

Nick dusted himself off, glaring at Guber.

‘Nicky,’ Adrian said, ‘I thought you’d already left. Your car went through the gates this afternoon. It was verified.’

‘You mean you
checked
?’ Nick glared at him.

‘He was hidden in the East Wing.’ Guber scowled. ‘Watching, or rather
filming
the proceedings.’ He held up Nick’s camera.

Nick raised his face to Adrian’s.

‘You’re a thief, Adrian!’ he muttered through clenched teeth, all fear suddenly lost in his outrage. ‘A common thief. The Ark of the Covenant, for God’s sake!’

Tears of rage pricked his eyes and he struck out blindly, hitting Adrian in the chest.

Adrian stared at Nick in disbelief, as a violent electrical shock wave surged through his body. Lorcan De Molay was right. His little brother wore the Seal.

He loosened his tie, sweat breaking out on his forehead. It was undeniable. He had felt the power of the Nazarene in Nick’s hand.

Nick was unaware of the force he possessed, of that Adrian was certain. It needed to stay that way.

Adrian stared straight back at Nick, not a muscle of his face moving.

‘The Ark’s a sacred relic, Adrian,’ Nick cried. ‘It belongs to the world’s heritage, for God’s sake – you can’t
own
it . . . ’

Adrian grasped Nick’s arm in a vice-like grip. ‘Calm
down
, Nick, you’re making a fool of yourself.’

Nick jerked his arm free. ‘All this power has gone to your head. You’ve just stolen the most coveted archaeological antiquity in the world, and you want
me
to calm down. It’s not yours to take – or buy – or steal. It belongs in a museum!’ Nick yelled, totally out of control and not caring.

Adrian stared fiercely into his eyes.

‘It belongs . . . ’ Adrian took a deep breath ‘ . . . to the
Jews
.’

He gestured to his right and slowly Nick turned.

The lights triggered on. Nick could make out around fifty elegantly attired men and women sitting at sumptuously decorated tables across the length of the transept, all staring at him in silence.