The Sixth Key (35 page)

‘The gold bug, dear fellow – the man
draws the shape of a gold bug that he finds on an old parchment and later, when
the parchment is placed near a fire, it reveals an invisible writing. You see,
mademoiselle, the writing only appeared when the parchment was heated—’

‘What did you say?’ Rahn paused to look at La Dame,
utterly taken aback. ‘The gold bug!’

‘The invisible ink – remember?’ La Dame
said.

Rahn blinked this in. ‘It couldn’t be that
simple, surely? Give me your matches, La Dame!’

‘What for?’

‘I’m going to try it,’ Rahn said, taking the
packet from his hands.

‘You’re not serious!’ La Dame laughed. ‘That
was just a tale.’

‘It’s worth a shot.’

‘If you burn the parchment, that will be the
end of it,’ Eva warned.

Rahn lit the match, held
it a long way from the parchment and passed it back and forth, allowing the
flame to warm it only slightly. Something miraculously appeared before their
eyes – an alchemical transformation.

XOTDQTKWZIGSDGZPQUCAESJ

X
S
JWOFVLPSGGGGJA
Z

MQTGYDCAXSXSD
R
ZWZRLVQAFFPSDAPW

MITMZSKWZHRLUCEHAIIMZPVJSSI

P
O
EKXSXDUGVVQXLKFSVLXSSWLI

PSIJUSIWXS
M
GUZVVQZRVQSJKQQYWDQYWL

Four letters turned red.
‘SROM–’ Rahn said. ‘I give up! What does that mean?’

La Dame shrugged, still puffing on his cigar,
making the inside of the car feel like a chimney.

‘You can’t see the tree for the leaves, Rahn!’
Eva said. ‘Look at it!’

Rahn sat up. ‘You have to read it backwards
– like the rebus, like in Journey to the Centre of the Earth . . . it’s
MORS – in Latin, that means death! The master word is death and fire
reveals it!’

La Dame nodded and slapped both hands together.
‘You see, I told you! It may be, dear Rahn, that you are not luminous, as
Sherlock Holmes once said to Watson, but a conductor of light. Some people,
without possessing genius, have a remarkable power of stimulating it.’

Rahn noted Eva’s smile and it did not amuse
him. ‘Let’s not have a party, La Dame, until we know it works.’

He set about writing the master word over and
over in a table.

He then
marked the horizontal lines on the Vigenère Square corresponding to the master
word.
Taking the first letter
of the ciphertext, E, he picked out the letter E along the horizontal ‘M’ line
in the Vigenère Square. From this point he read the corresponding letter at the
top line of the square and found the letter S.

He
worked through the ciphertext until he had deciphered the whole line.

‘Six churches hold the key . . .’

He continued with the second line:

XSJWOFVLPSGGGGJAZ

‘The secret of Poussin . . .’

And the third line:

MQTGYDCAXSXSDRZWZRLVQAFFPSDAPW

‘Completes the demon guardian of midday . . .’

He soon had the entire six
lines deciphered in French:

La clef tenu pars six eglises

Le secret de Poussin

Accompli le gardien du démon de midi

Aucune tentation pour un berger

Dans l’église de juste et le bezu –

Derrière le voile de la
Déesse cherchez

Six churches hold the key

The secret of Poussin

Completes the demon
guardian of midday

No temptation for one
shepherd

In the church of Just et
le Bézu

Search beneath the veil of the Goddess

Rahn’s face broke out in a wide smile of
disbelief. ‘We’ve done it!’ he said. ‘Look, the secret is hidden in six
churches, so that no one priest would be tempted. Now I know why Cros and
Saunière both had reproductions of Poussin’s painting Les Bergers d’Arcardie.
From memory there’s a tomb and some shepherds and the goddess Venus. And
there’s a famous inscription, but I can’t remember what it is.’

‘Do you think Poussin belonged to one of the
brotherhoods?’ La Dame asked, blowing smoke rings in the already choked air of
the Peugeot.

Rahn considered it. ‘I don’t know. Let’s see
what we know now: it looks like there are six churches and each one must have
one part of the secret, whatever it is, and when one brings all the parts
together one can complete the demon of midday, that is, one can find the
treasure of the Cathars that completes Le Serpent Rouge. At least, this is my
guess! So, the first church is Just-et-le-Bézu, where’s that?’

‘Saint-Just-et-le-Bézu . . . I know where that
is,’ said Eva.

‘Well let us go then, we’re losing light!’
Rahn was single-minded and absorbed.

But La Dame must have seen something, because
he said, ‘Hold on!’

What happened next was so sudden that Rahn
didn’t so much think as act by instinct. He slipped the parchment and the note
with his calculations into his left shoe a moment before La Dame’s door was
flung open and he was pulled savagely out of the car. In a blink Rahn himself
was being dragged out and thrown onto the icy ground next to his friend.

Rahn was sitting beside La Dame, who was
nursing a broken lip. He looked up and saw a man standing over them, pointing a
gun in their direction. Meanwhile, a second man was holding Eva, a gun to her
temple.

She struggled. ‘Let go of me, you brute!’

But the man’s oily face was a mask. Obviously
he wasn’t the principal of the two because the other man was the first to
speak. He was impeccably dressed in a double-breasted suit, and from this angle
Rahn could see the sky reflected in his shoes.

‘You’re a difficult man to catch, Monsieur
Rahn,’ he said, a wry smile wrinkling his smooth face.

‘You’re Russians,’ Rahn said, recognising the
accent.

The grin widened. ‘Serbians, actually.’

‘Who are you?’ Rahn was indignant.

The man leaning over Rahn drew his face into a
concerned frown and shook his head. ‘We are friends . . . and we are concerned
for Deodat, just as you are.’

Trust no one!

‘What do you know about Deodat?’ Rahn said.

The man raised a hand to stop him. ‘We were
there at the house, but we didn’t see you. Perhaps you were hiding?’

‘Hiding! I don’t like what you’re suggesting!
I was bashed unconscious and left in the trunk of the Tourster – I’m
lucky to be alive.’

There was a momentary illumination and the man
whistled. ‘So, that’s what that man was doing in the barn? He was going to set
fire to it with you in it! You would have suffered the fate of your heroes, a
purifying death in the flames . . .’ He smiled a crooked smile. ‘Had it not been
for your friend Dragomir.’

Dragomir nodded his head in appreciation of
his superior’s acknowledgement.

Rahn said, ‘Do you know who took Deodat?’

‘I believe he is being held by some very
ruthless people.’ The man squatted, light on his toes, and pushed the hat back
from his sizeable forehead with his gun, in a poor imitation of Humphrey Bogart
in Bullets or Ballots.

Rahn felt a welling up of anger and impatience
and disdain and he made to get up but the man aimed the gun at a place between
his eyes and calmly said, ‘I would like you to remain seated, if you please.
Think of it this way, if you die . . . what will become of your friend? This
will only take a moment.’ He considered his next words as if he were choosing
from a menu in which every item sounded as good as the next. Finally he settled
on: ‘The people who have your friend may be encouraging you to find—’ he
smiled again, ‘—let us call it, a dangerous and very powerful article.
Perhaps Deodat is their insurance that you will do so with haste, am I right?’

Rahn was shaking from anger and from cold and
exasperation because the following words were indeed the truth, ‘I don’t know!’

The man’s smile turned sympathetic, an old
friend commiserating with another. Rahn didn’t know if a compassionate villain
made things better or worse. ‘Now as far as who has your friend,’ the man
continued, ‘if it is the penitents, those Satan-worshipping Jesuits, then his
soul is already lost; if it is Association Angelica . . . well, one cannot even
imagine what those war-mongering royalists are doing to him.’ He sighed, and
scratched his cheek with the barrel of the gun pensively. It was the natural
gesture of an artisan’s familiarity with his tool of trade and it made Rahn
nervous. ‘If either of those brotherhoods have him – trust me, if he is
not already dead, he will be praying for it. People like that can make death
seem like a holiday.’ He laughed, and turned around to his fellow, who made a
smirk and a huff.

‘Perhaps,’ he said, ‘if the penitents have
him, they are saving him for midnight tonight, the beginning of
The
Day
of the Dead
. They’ll use him in their ritual, that is, the one they hope
they can enact when you find them the article. They will gut him while still
alive, on a black onyx table with a knife shaped like an angled snake. That’s
the usual fare, isn’t it, Dragomir?’

The man grunted, acknowledging the fair
estimation.

‘Dragomir should know – they cut out his
tongue! That is what they usually do for minor infringements.’

Rahn’s eyes widened.

The other man nodded sadly.

‘On the other hand, if it is Association
Angelica that has him, then there is no problem.’

Rahn raised a brow. Was there a hope?

‘No problem,’ the man continued, ‘because he
would be dead by now. So you see, handing over your findings to either of these
groups, in the hopes of saving your friend’s life, would not be profitable.’

Rahn felt a grey cloud overtake him and he was
terrified he was going to faint. He bit his lip. ‘Who are you from –
AGLA?’

The man looked surprised and there was more
than a little admiration on his face. ‘You’ve worked out something about AGLA?
That is good! That priest at Rennes-le-Château was trying to steer you away
from himself because he belonged to the penitents. He is the one who desecrated
that church with the ancient symbol.’

‘I knew it!’ Rahn said, and then a thought
occurred to him, ‘Belonged?’

The man looked down a moment, as if trying to
broach what must be delicate matters. ‘Poor Abbé Lucien is at this moment
hanging by one leg upside down from a tree near Couiza. His hands dangle
downwards and he has one leg bent backwards and tied behind him. After all, he
is a betrayer of secrets.’

‘You killed him?’ Rahn screeched.

The other raised his brows, and the look was
of mild incredulity. ‘Me . . . personally?’ He shook his head. No.’

Rahn remembered how Abbé Gélis’s carcass had
also been left in the shape of the hanged man tarot card – along with a
calling card from Association Angelica. ‘Was it AA?’

The man nodded, expelling his breath in a
whistle again and in a conspiratorial tone whispered, ‘But they are the least
of your problems. You should be worried about AGLA. They are not far behind
you.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because we are watching them, watching you.
It is only a matter of time before they catch you and then . . . well . . .’ He
smiled, as if this itself said all there was to say.

Rahn could hear the sound of a bird cawing,
otherwise all was still. The fog was moving over the ground with stealth. He
wondered if he was about to die here in this godforsaken place.

‘Now . . . all you need do to rid yourself of
this problem is to hand me the parchment.’

‘What parchment?’

‘The one in your shoe, the one Madame
Dénarnaud gave you.’

La Dame said, ‘Why should he trust you?’

The man’s face was full of surprise, as if he
had forgotten La Dame and would now put this terrible rudeness to rights.
‘Professor! I’m so glad you have brought up the matter of trust because
I—’

A shot rang out. It sounded more like a cannon
in the stillness. Dragomir fell and began to cough, gasping to find any small
puff of air as if he were choking. Blood was oozing from his mouth and from a
hole in his neck. The sympathetic man with the gun had turned around and was
crouching, looking in the direction from which the shot had been fired.
Meanwhile Rahn took hold of a sizeable rock and was about to hit him over the
head when another shot rang out, hitting the crouching Serbian in the belly.
The man fell and pointed to La Dame but could say nothing. Rahn had no idea who
had shot them and he didn’t care.

There was a mad scramble to get into the
Peugeot.

Rahn took the wheel and such was his agitation
that he put his foot down on the accelerator with a force that sent the car
skidding over the road.

Eva said calmly, ‘I hear a siren!’

Rahn didn’t know what to do, so he just kept
driving. ‘Does anyone know how to get to Saint-Just-et-le-Bézu?’ he cried, at
the end of his tether.

‘Just continue on this road north and turn
right at the turn-off to Granes!’ Eva pointed.

He looked in the rear-view mirror: La Dame was
touching at his lip to see if it was still bleeding. He was paler than his
beard
– not even while potholing had he looked more
worse-for-wear.

‘What happened back there, Rahn?’ La Dame
said, with a touch of melodrama.

‘I don’t know! Someone was either helping us
or trying to kill
us, take your pick.’

‘Do you think the Serbian was right about
Deodat?’ Eva said.

‘I can’t think about that right now. We have
the clue, let’s use it and see where it leads us.’

‘Didn’t you hear what that man said?’ La Dame
pointed out, testily. ‘They’re probably watching us right now!’

‘So what do you want to do, La Dame, sit here
and wait till they kill us? So far no one else has any idea about what’s on the
parchment. That’s our only insurance.’

‘I don’t agree,’ La Dame protested. ‘Once we
find what we’re, or rather, they’re after, what’s to stop them from killing us
anyway?’

‘Nothing,’ Rahn said laconically.

‘My God, I need a brandy!’ La Dame mourned,
and all conversation ended for a time.

They arrived at the dismal little village of
Saint-Just-etle-Bézu in the dark. It was deathly cold and the medieval township
at the foot of the mountain was turning in on itself. The fog obscured the way
to the cheerless church; its entrance was in the street. A painted cross over
the arched doorway told them they were in the right place. Luckily, they found
the oak door ajar and stepped inside, where it was no warmer. Rahn felt the old
familiar panic rise to his throat. His mouth was a dry, barren wasteland, his
knees were broken hinges and his breathing was an engine running out of steam.
He sneezed then, occasioning a cry from the sacristan who was sweeping the
church. The old man’s emaciated form, standing beneath the blue-vaulted
ceiling, was lit by the dancing luminance of the altar candles.

‘Who are you?’ he cried. ‘The church is
closed!’

‘We’re terribly sorry, old friend,’ La Dame
stepped forward with a casual manner. ‘We didn’t mean to frighten you. We were
just passing and stopped for a moment to take a look in your beautiful church.
We’re looking for . . . a veil – the veil of a goddess to be exact. Do
you happen to know where we might find it? There was something about it in a
magazine and we just had to see it.’

‘A veil? A goddess, you say?’ The squinting
man considered this and said, with a modicum of suspicion in his voice, ‘At
this ungodly hour? City people! Why not come back tomorrow? It will be
All Soul’s Day
, and the priest is coming
again.’ He made a sweep of the hand. ‘I’m busy getting the church ready, as you
can see.’

‘Please, just a few moments. What harm can it
do?’ Eva cajoled, smiling.

The man sighed. ‘Very well, the only veil we
have is over there, behind glass. But it’s only a copy.’ He went to the altar,
took a candle and gave it to Eva. ‘I must see to some preparations in the
sacristy, so you may look until I’m done.’

La Dame and Eva soon found the framed veil and
Rahn, following behind, put a hand to his brow where a cold sweat had gathered
and was snaking its way over his face.

‘Come see this!’ La Dame called out to him.

When Rahn joined them he gave another sneeze
and it was a moment before he realised they were looking at an engraving hung
precariously from a long nail protruding from the stonework. It was too dark in
this corner to see it clearly.

‘Take it down, La Dame, so we can have a
closer look,’ Rahn asked.

It was an image of a
bearded face drawn over a stretched cloth. Below it was written:

VERA EFFIGIES SACRI
VULTUS DOMINI

NOSTRI JESU CHRISTI QUAE
ROMAE

IN SACROSANCTA BASILICA
S.PETRI IN

VATICANO RELIGIOSISSIME
ASSERVATUR

ET
COLITUR

‘
Veronica’s
print of the face of our Lord Jesus Christ, guarded in the Basilica of Saint
Peter in the Vatican
,’ Rahn translated it under his breath.

‘That’s it!’ Eva said. ‘On the way to the
crucifixion a woman called Veronica took an impression of the face of Christ on
her veil – Veronica’s veil!’

‘Veronica must be the goddess the clue is
referring to.’ Rahn turned the print around and looked at the back of it. He
lifted the backing up a little and gave another sneeze, which bounced off the
walls at them. ‘There’s nothing behind it.’ He gave it back to La Dame, who
replaced it on its hook.

‘Wait!’ Eva said. ‘Beneath is not behind.
Maybe it means underneath the print. Maybe on the floor . . . A print can be
moved but a mark on the stone is there to stay and can go unnoticed.’

Rahn took the candle and squatted to look at
the flagstone at his feet. He put his hand to it to see if he could feel any
marks that may have been covered up by grime or wear. Nothing. But as he was
rising something caught his eye on the wall directly below the painting. He
found what looked like a plugged-up hole the size of a small walnut in the
wall. He gave the candle to La Dame, took out his penknife and carefully
inserted the end of it into the hole. It took a moment but he soon teased out
the plug and what lay behind it: a narrow glass vial.