The Cathari Treasure (Cameron Kincaid) (18 page)

“You can not deal with the
operatives of Rex Mundi,” said Nicole.

“I suspect we can.”

“When they see me, they will
kill me.”

“When I say we, I do not mean
the two of us.”

* * *
* *

Quebec

Drops of rain blotted out the
windshield as fast as the wipers cleared the glass.  Cameron’s eyes had
become sore over the last hour.  The pounding patter of the rain abruptly
stopped as the Chevy drove under the roof of the gas station.  Rather than
stop first at the gas pumps, Cameron pulled the Chevy into a parking space near
the doors of the mini-mart.  Cameron rolled the window down flooding the
car with the cool damp of rain and gas fumes.  Nicole could not make out
the figure that walked over to Cameron’s window.  He moved to
quickly.  Still Nicole knew the man before he spoke.

Pepe leaned into the window, his
portly face filling the frame, “Bonne
journée
,
mes
amis
,
demoiselle, Kincaid.”  He looked over Cameron’s shoulder to the back seat,
“Dame Marie?”  Cameron subtly shook his head without turning toward
Nicole.  Pepe frowned and then let his smile return.  He held his
hands up to the window, each held a coffee.  “One for each of you,” said
Pepe.  He looked passed them to the rain falling hard beyond, “It’s a good
day for hot coffee.”  Cameron took the coffees and offered one to
Nicole.  “Non merci,” said Nicole.  Cameron handed the cup back to
Pepe, “She’s fasting.”  Pepe took the cup, “I’m not,” said Pepe.  He
shrugged and then stepped to the back door of the Chevy and got into the dry
backseat.

“Excusez-moi pour un moment,”
said Nicole as she opened her door.

“You ok?” asked Cameron.

“Yes, I need to…” her eyes
widened round.

“-- Certainly, yeah, go ahead.”

Nicole closed the door and went
into the mini-mart.  Pepe leaned up to the front seat, “So demoiselle is
ok?”

“Yeah, she’s ok.  As far as
she is concerned Marie is in a better place.”

“Maybe,” Pepe sighed. 
“When you called you sounded optimistic for the other one.  I thought you
said the wound was clean.”

“She lost too much blood,”
Cameron sipped his coffee, then moved the cup in front of his mouth, and
lightly blew into the opening.  “Plus she would not eat.”

“Would not eat?”

“Yeah, the endura she called
it.  She had Nicole give her, well, sort of a last rite, a bit much to
describe really, and then refused to eat or drink anything.  The endura is
the express to heaven.”

“So it worked.”

“I guess it did.”

 “So this one is
religious?  Perfect.”

“In so many words.  That’s
what this whole thing is about.  Marie and Nicole are Cathari, were, are,
anyway, Nicole is now a Cathar holy woman.”

“Cathari?  Like those new
agers in Languedoc?” asked Pepe.

“How is it everyone knows about
Cathari but me?”

“What’s to know?  My cousin
lives near Beziers.  There is a huge festival there every July. 
Every one is Cathar for a day, wearing T-shirts that say ‘Kill them all’ and
‘Tuez-les tous’.”

“I am out of the loop. 
Well, yeah, they are Cathari, but I am led to believe they are the real
deal.  Old school if you will,” said Cameron.

“Here I thought all of the
Cathari were wiped out in the Albigensian crusade.  Did you know that
during the crusades thousands of people were killed in an attack on Beziers
alone?  Indiscriminately, a tragedy.”

Cameron turned toward the back
seat, “How do you know all this?”

“What?  You don’t read
history?”  Pepe tapped the side of his forehead,  “That is your
problem Cameron, you need to read more.”

“I guess I do.”

“So it’s about religion,” Pepe sipped
his coffee and lowered his head to look out the side window.  “Are we
talking terrorists?  You know after that time in Bali I am not so happy
with these religious types.”

“Not exactly terrorist. 
Have you ever heard of the Rex Mundi?”

“Kings of the world?  You
have me there.  Are they Cathari too?”

“They are not.  The Rex
Mundi are the bad guys, and we are going after them.”

“Say no more.  Did you find
everything we need?”

“Right where you said, its all
in the trunk.”

* * *
* *

Quebec

 “So are you two going to
tell me your plan?” asked Nicole.

“Sure,” said Cameron.

“I for one would love to hear
it,” said Pepe.

“Well, we’ll go into Quebec
tonight, stay with Pepe’s people, and at noon tomorrow Pepe and I will go to
the Notre Dame de Quebec.  I will go inside and offer you in exchange for
our freedom and a million, whatever it is they have.”  Cameron pursed his
lips to the side of his mouth,  “I should have specified US dollars. 
No wonder Christophe was so quick to answer, I bet he has Canadian currency.”

“Why would you betray Marie?”
asked Nicole, “The operatives of Rex Mundi cannot be trusted.”

“Don’t worry, you will be safely
hidden away.  Surrender is the best way to lure out the Rex Mundi.” 
Cameron looked into the rearview mirror at Pepe, “And if there is one thing the
French have taught me, it’s to become a master at the art of surrender.”

Pepe grunted at Cameron’s
comment and then added softly, “You can relax, Cameron knows what he is doing.”

Nicole shook her head, “The Rex
Mundi are very dangerous.”

“Surrendering is a tactic,” said
Pepe.  He held up his hands on either side like a scale, “You see it
transforms weakness into power.”

“What do you mean?” asked
Nicole.

“You know of Voltaire?”

“Yes, he was a French
philosopher.  Marie tutored me about all of the writers of the
enlightenment.  Voltaire wrote of religious freedom.”

“Oui, but you see being a
critique of the church got Voltaire into trouble and he was exiled from
France.  So, he fled to London.  Not a popular place to be for a
Frenchman at the time.”

“Or ever,” said Cameron.

Pepe grunted again, “Well, very
unpopular at this time.  So much so, that one day while walking he found
himself surrounded by people screaming ‘hang the Frenchman, hang the
Frenchman’.”

“If I had a dime for every time
I heard that,” said Cameron.

“True,” said Pepe.  He gave
Cameron a quick leer and then let his face rest pleasant again to continue his
story.  “So Voltaire, seeing he was surrounded and outnumbered, thought
quickly, and instead of trying to fight the Englishmen, he used his wit. 
He said ‘Men of England!  You wish to kill me because I am a
Frenchman.  Am I not punished enough in not being born an Englishman?’ to
which the crowd laughed and safely escorted him home.”  Pepe arched his brow,
“So you see, Voltaire both took advantage of their weakness and made power of
his weakness by surrendering, not fighting.”

“The Cathar know this well,”
said Nicole.  “I am glad to hear that you do not intend to fight them.”

“I did not say that,” said
Pepe.  “I said Voltaire chose not to fight.  We will fight.”

* * *
* *

Quebec

After two days of rain, billowy
clouds now floated across the Quebec’s azure sky.  Cameron had spent the
morning walking through the Parc de l’Esplanade thinking about Marie and the
last few days.  Now he sat on a bench in the small park across Rue Ste
Felixine from the Notre Dame de Quebec.  Cameron gazed up at the
facade.  Pepe told him that the Quebec basilica was modeled after the one
in Paris and that Cameron would recognize the building when he saw it. 
Pepe was right, the church did look a lot like the Sainte-Geneviève in
Paris.  Sainte-Geneviève was a church near the hotel Pepe and Cameron used
to stay in years before while on a leave from the Legion.  Those early
days Cameron and Pepe caroused through Paris with Pepe’s sister Christine and
her friends.  Of course there had been Christine.  The European
architecture of that part of Quebec reminded Cameron of his time spent abroad.

 High above the church
steeple the sun hit the zenith of the celestial arc, high noon and time to turn
over Nicole.  The Rex Mundi
were
expecting
him.  Cameron stood up from the bench and ran his fingers down his lapels,
pulling the collar tight when his hands neared the bottom.

Cameron flexed his neck, rolling
his head back and to the side.

From his inside pocket Cameron
removed his cell phone and tapped the power on.  Scanning the street, he
tried to identify anyone waiting for a call.  No one looked particularly
out of place.  Two women deep in conversation were pushing strollers side
by side.  A young man, maybe a student Cameron thought, chained his
bicycle to the winged street sign near the wrought iron gate.  At the
bottom of the basilica steps a group of middle-aged tourists in baggy shorts
stood with cameras and guidebooks in hand.  When the phone powered up
Cameron scrolled through his outgoing messages to the number he called
yesterday on the drive up to Quebec.  He held the phone to his ear and
waited for someone to pickup.  Cameron was not disappointed.

“Bonjour,” said a voice on the
phone, not Christophe this time.  Cameron recognized the voice just the
same.  The voice was that of the man Christophe was talking with yesterday
when he thought that Cameron could not hear him.

“Its midday,” said Cameron.

“So it is,” said the man in a
matter of fact tone, “the last confessional booth.”

The line was dead.

Cameron sighed.  He slipped
the cell phone back into his inside pocket, dropped his arms to his sides, and then
stretched his fingers wide.  No one around him had picked up a phone, took
any notice of him, or made any casual steps toward the door of the
basilica.  Cameron spoke under his breath, his lips barely trembling,
“Here goes nothing.  I’m going in.”

“Have fun at mass,” said
Pepe.  Cameron heard him in the tiny earpiece resting inside of his
earlobe.

Cameron stepped to the curb and
lightly touched down onto the small lane separating the church from the park,
“It will only be confession today, my friend.”

“That could fill the day,” said
Pepe.

“No, not at all,” said Cameron.

“When is the last time you
confessed?”

“Never.”

“That is a lot of hail Marys I
believe.”

“One evil at a time. 
That’s the best I can do.”

“Maybe the money is in the
confessional,” said Pepe.

“Maybe it’s a trap,” said
Cameron.

“That would be dishonest. 
Which confessional will you be in?”

“He said the last one,” Cameron
briskly climbed the half a dozen steps up to the promenade.

“The end of the line.  I’ll
be watching.  Viva Legionne,” said Pepe.

 “The Legion is our
strength.  I’ll see you soon.”

Cameron walked into the open
door beyond the steps, entering a large anteroom that buffered the outside door
from the cathedral.  The church was tranquil and cool, a departure from
the heat and humidity across the promenade.  Cameron walked toward the
amber light in the center of the anteroom beaming from the cathedral.  He
took a breath and stepped into the doorway prepared to lock in the details of
the room without looking too obvious.  Cameron had expected the cathedral
to be impressive and was rewarded.  A wash of light came down from the
portico windows bordering the ceiling to reflect on the golden baldaquin and
the throne dais behind the altar was adorned with royal ornamentation.  A
few people, more likely pilgrims than parishioners, sat in the first few pews
near the door.  Others sat sporadically throughout the church.

Cameron strolled up the aisle
along the rows of long wooden pews. The deeper Cameron walked into the
cathedral the further he was immersed in the smell of antiquities, incense, and
varnish that hung in the air.  The cabinet like confessional booths lined
the sidewall.  The voice on the phone had said to go to the last
confessional.  When Cameron reached the pew even with the prayer closet,
he turned from the center aisle, nonchalantly scanned the room and balconies
for anything out of sorts, and then went to the confessional.  Everything
in the cathedral appeared appropriate.

* * *
* *

Quebec