The Cathari Treasure (Cameron Kincaid) (20 page)

The priest pulled a stool from
Cameron’s side to the front of him and sat, “You see this is the primate church
of Canada, the seat of the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Quebec, the oldest See
in the New World north of Mexico.”

“Thank you for the history
lesson,” said Cameron.

“That’s not the best of it
all.  Four governors of New France and the bishops of Québec are buried in
the crypt, beyond that wall in front of you.  That chancel lamp in the
cathedral, did you see it?”

“I saw it.”

“It was a gift from Louis XIV.”

“How special,” Cameron was
regaining his strength.

“You should have taken the
tour.  These places, these things, are all very important.”

“I recently met someone who
would say very different.”

“Yes I know the rhetoric. 
There are no primates or bishops in the Bible, the physical church and the
physical itself should be disregarded.”  The priest lost his smile and
turned his furrowed brow to Cameron adding in a serious tone, “That God himself
should be disregarded.”

“That’s about what I’ve heard.”

“Those are dangerous thoughts,
they always have been.  You were smart to agree to meet, that woman is a
threat that must be dealt with.”

“Dealt with, what does that
mean, and what happened to the believers that were supposed to be at the number
where I called you?”

The priest put his hand on
Cameron’s shoulder, patted, pulled back and shrugged, “These people you call
believers, that call themselves pure ones, good Christians, these bonnes gens,
these Cathari, whatever name they go by, they are like rats.  We
exterminate as many as we can but some always get away.”  The priest shook
his head slightly.  “We have been watching the local group for a long
time, waiting for this opportunity, this precious opportunity, and now it has
finally come,” the priest clasped his hands together.  “Now Mister
Kincaid, where can we find the her?”

Cameron’s earpiece came to life,
“Kincaid, I am in range.  If you can hear me give the signal.”

The earpiece was small and flesh
colored, still Cameron was surprised the device had been missed by his
captures.  “About that,” said Cameron, “you will need an angel to help you
now.”

“Got you, I am on my way,” said
Pepe.

The priest was less than
amused.  “I am sorry you feel that it will need to come to that,” said the
priest.

Cameron realized now that the
reason for the single bind was that his captures had bound him in a rush. 
They had not even removed his sport coat and with the layers of clothing had
missed the P226 tucked in his behind his back and only taken the .357 from his
side.

Though the drug in the gas had
been incredibly strong the effects only subdued Cameron briefly, and that made
the Rex Mundi sloppy.

“Peter, could you help our
friend to understand?”

Cameron was more than excited to
know that Pepe was close.  Under the circumstance he wanted Pepe to be
closer, to be there.

Cameron was not sure what hit
him first, the burn of the thin metal wire beside his face or the smell of his
own burning flesh.

Cameron clenched his jaw. 
If he had to, he could do this all day.  Where the hell was Pepe?

“So you see Mister Kincaid,” the
priest nodded to Cameron’s assailant, “we invented the art of interrogation.”

Another stiff wire, glowing red,
was thrust into Cameron’s thigh.

Cameron felt the rod deeply and
mistakenly let the priest know by gasping.

“You do see,” the priest flicked
his brow, signaling Peter to step back.  The priest lifted himself from
his stool and leaned into Cameron, placing a hand to either side of his face.

“The Holy See charged our
predecessors, the Dominicans, with establishing the Episcopal
inquisition.”  The priest nodded and Cameron felt the puncture of another
skewer, this time he pushed the brilliant flash of pain into a leer toward the
priest.  The priest continued nonchalantly, holding Cameron’s face firmly,
studying him.  “Before that, heretics were dealt with on a local level,
sometimes merely imprisoned.  But in the name of the Pope all things
changed.”

“So you’re Dominican.  The
Rex Mundi is the church?”

“Oh, I didn’t say that. 
Our people are there though.”

Peter lanced Cameron in the
thigh once more.  The priest, still holding Cameron’s face, let loose one
hand to caress his burnt cheek.

“Our people have always been
everywhere Mister Kincaid.”  The priest moved his caressing hand to
Cameron’s forehead and then pulled both hands back to his lap.  “That’s
enough for now Peter,” said the priest.

“Ironically this system of, well
let’s call it what it is, torture, was created for the predecessors of your
friends.  For the same reason that we use it today.”  The priest
reached behind Cameron and brought back the metal cup and a matching
pitcher.  As the Priest spoke, he filled the cup full of water.  “The
problem is the same.  Do you know what that problem is Mister Kincaid?”

“I can’t say,” Cameron winced
midsentence and then quickly pulled himself together.  “I can’t say that I
do.”

“But of course you don’t. 
Here drink this.”  The priest put the cup of water to Cameron’s
lips.  Cameron sipped all that was in the metal cup.  “There you
go.  The problem is nothing.”  The priest arched his brows.

“Nothing,” said Cameron. 
“Then I guess we’re done here.”

The priest chuckled. 
“That’s very good.  Let me elaborate.  The problem is what your new
friends preach.  That nothing matters.  No church, no wealth, no property,
all you need to do is be a good person and then,” the priest raised his hands
above his head, “you accept him as you’re savior and all is ok.”

“Doesn’t sound too bad to me.”

“No not too bad at all, for you,
but what about civilization?  What about the economies?  The idea of
being one with his Holy apart from all else,” the priest wagged his finger,
“it’s very dangerous.  Who would work?  Who would farm?”

“You mean who would serve.”

“Now that’s not nice.”  The
priest nodded again to Peter.  A swift slap came across Cameron’s
face.  The priest kept speaking regardless of Cameron being struck, “If
the truth of the pure ones got out, if the masses knew that truth.  Where
would order be?  Tell me.”

Cameron spit blood to his side,
“I don’t need to tell you anything.”

“Hmm,” the priest nodded again
and another blow landed to the side of Cameron’s head.  “You do need to
tell me.”  The priest was no longer conversational.  “You need to
tell me where she is.”

“I guess we’re going to be here
a long time,” said Cameron.

Another blow.  Cameron spit
more blood.

* * *
* *

Quebec

Cameron heard two quick clicks
behind him followed by two clinks of metal on the stone floor.  Cameron
did not need to see behind him to know from where those subtle sounds
came.  Pepe’s handgun was a SIG Mosquito, based on the design of Cameron’s
P226 the Mosquito was ten percent smaller, the beauty of which was that with
the silencer on the only sound that could be heard when taking a shot was of
the empty shell cartridges expelling.

Next to him, Cameron saw Peter
for the first time, laid out on the floor chest down with two tight red holes
through his head.  Peter dropped so quickly that his blood had not had a
chance to exit.  The blood now pulsed out of him from a heart that was too
late to catch up with the death of the brain.

“I wouldn’t use that,” said
Pepe.  Cameron could still not see his friend standing a few steps behind.

The priest said nothing and to
Cameron’s other side another man stepped backward into view.  The big man
was pointing the .357 he took off Cameron, not at Pepe, rather at Cameron’s
head.  The big man was without emotion and Cameron could tell, that though
the big man’s eyes were fixed on Pepe, the trigger of the gun was ready to be
squeezed without hesitation.

“We’ll do this the easy way,”
Cameron heard Pepe say.  “You don’t have to put down the gun.”

“You’re damn right I don’t,”
said the big man.  “You get any closer and your friend is done.”

“I believe you,” said
Pepe.  “I also believe you don’t care if I leave with my friend or
not.  What you need to believe is that if I don’t leave with my friend, no
one will be leaving.”

The big man slightly lowered the
.357.

“It’s ok, one thing at a
time.  Slowly put your thumb between the hammer,” said Pepe.

The man slipped his thumb into
the hammer of the .357 as Pepe requested.

“Now set it down,” said Pepe.

The man set the .357 on the
floor. 

“Good.  Now the coat.”

The big man began to swiftly
slip off his jacket.

“Slowly,” said Pepe.  The
big man slowed, removed his jacket, and then let the coat drop to the floor.

Pepe stepped forward holding the
mosquito to the man’s stomach, his SIG 552 commando rifle hung clipped to his
waist.  With his free hand, Pepe frisked the big man to ensure he was clean.

“Nice, now untie my friend.”

The man past Pepe back out of
Cameron’s view.  Pepe’s mosquito followed the big man as Pepe turned
toward Cameron and the priest.  Cameron felt the big man tug at his
bindings, tightening them at first, and then finally loosening them away from
Cameron’s wrists.

Cameron brought his wrists
forward and began to rub them.  He heard another clink on the stone floor
and the thud of the big man collapsing behind him.  The priest’s eyes
widened.

“Don’t worry,” said Pepe. 
“You’re going to escort us out of here.”

The priest nodded
compliantly.  Cameron stood and turned toward the door.  He had not
been sitting in the furnace room.  The heat behind him permeated from a
portable gas grill, flames licking through the grate, with at least a dozen
more skewers of varying widths glowing red.  Cameron looked back at the
priest.  The priest smiled and shrugged.

“Are you ok?” asked Pepe.

“A little sore, but I’ve been
worse,” said Cameron.  He reached behind his back and pulled out his P226.

“Alright Monseigneur, get up
from the stool.  It’s time to go,” said Pepe.

The priest started to speak, “I
am actually not a Monseigneur --,” Pepe kicked the stool from under the priest
and then said “-- I don’t really care if you are an altar boy.  Now move
it.”

The priest had caught himself
from falling onto the floor, stood up, and then smoothed out his black jacket.

The three walked out of the room
into an arched hallway.  Outside the door two men were crumpled on the
floor in pools of blood. Pepe gestured to the right, “What’s down that way?”

“More crypts, a chapel, some
storage,” said the priest.

“Is there another way up to the
cathedral?  I don’t want to go back the way I came,” said Pepe.

“What is the way you came?”
asked the priest.

“Through the back panel of the
confessional booth like my friend.”

Cameron now understood how he
was taken below the church, a secret door in the confessional booth.

“Ah,” said the priest, “that way
you will find a stairwell that leads to a door near the dais and then continues
up to the balcony.”

Pepe kicked the shoulder of one
of the dead men on the floor.  The body shifted and then rested back to
its original position.  “Will any of your friends be waiting for us?”

“I don’t know what you mean,”
said the priest.

“Uh huh.  Cameron, take the
Monseigneur back to the confessional booth.  Then wait for my signal.”

Pepe slipped the mosquito into
his waist, lifted the 552
rifle
and left Cameron and
the priest where they stood.

“You lead the way,” said
Cameron.  He waved the end of the P226 from the priest toward the length
of the hall and then to the priest again.  The priest smiled and began to
walk down the hall, leading Cameron to a bookcase.  The priest lifted his
arms to the side of the case.  “Hold it,” said Cameron.  “What are
you doing?”

The priest stopped reaching for
the bookcase and left his arms suspended.  “The passage is behind here.”

“All right then, slowly.” 
The priest rested his hands against the end of the bookcase and easily slid the
case passed an arched door.  A light flickered on revealing a set of
stairs beginning at the archway.  Cameron waved the priest up the stairs
with his P226.  “You fellas are unbelievable,” said Cameron.  Though
Cameron had traveled this way shortly before, this was the first time he had
actually had seen the hidden passage.

At the top of the steps was a
series of wooden panels, the backs of the confessional booths.  Cameron
was sure that exiting from the wrong booth would be bad news for him. 
When Cameron scanned the room earlier he had thought the room looked clear,
Pepe had obviously picked up on something since then.