“Did Marek say anything about the stone?”
“Just that it was clearly authentic, and he was decrypting it. Sophie thought it might have one of the ingredients or something else related to the ritual. In any case, the stone is in enemy hands.”
“Enemy hands?”
“They are everywhere.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“They killed Sophie and Marek. It’s a very structured organization that has been persecuting us for a long time. They want to get their hands on the secret that belongs to us.”
“Who exactly are they?”
“You’ll find out soon enough. Before and during the war, they were called the Thule. They may go by another name now. But they have the same signature and kill in the same way.”
Marcas hesitated a moment and then said, “Do you know of similar murders?”
“My father was killed in Dachau in the same way.”
Yet another Hiram murder, Marcas thought. He was losing count.
Jouhanneau cleared his throat. “Yes, the Beast is still here, hidden, and has struck again. It’s us against them. Evil is lurking near the temple doors, brother. You must stop them. The message is clear. Go to Plaincourault, and you’ll understand.”
Marcas ended the call. First to Chevreuse, he said to himself, then to Plaincourault.
51
An aristocrat in the late eighteenth century had to be the one responsible for the still-intact décor of this room. During the final years of the reign of Louis XV, libertine nobles had filled their mansions with highly elaborate and ornamental furnishings in a style called Rococo. It lent itself to sensual pleasures of all sorts. Estates in pastoral valleys had quickly mimicked the châteaux in Paris and Versailles. Far from the court and the fashionable salons of the capital, the owners of these rural mansions could feel that they weren’t isolated, but instead part of a sumptuous culture where any enjoyment could be had.
But the pleasures of the luxurious lifestyle were short-lived. The blood of the French Revolution swept them away. Many of the homes disappeared, victims of history and an expanding real-estate market. Only a few remained, bearing silent witness to a period when freedom of the body accompanied an independent spirit.
This mansion was one that had survived. The French windows overlooked sumptuous grounds, and the louvered shutters let in thin strips of sunlight that sparkled on the polished wood floor. Lovers had most likely enjoyed the delicate play of light on their alabaster skin. A Venetian mirror hung above the veined marble chimney and took in the entire room. Women’s clothing was strewn on sensually rounded armchairs. A stiletto pump had ended up under the mahogany desk. Its mate lay on the bed. A white linen scarf was draped over a plaster bust.
In the back of the room, curtains opened to a dark alcove. A canopy topped a bed that held the sleeping prisoner.
Joana was on the sofa, contemplating the woman she was going to kill. She got up and walked to a window. The grounds were calm. The estate’s employees had finished for the day. There was nobody on the expansive lawn. No one would bother them.
She looked back at the bed. Jade had moved her head. What dark world had she been in? Slivers of sweat had formed under her armpits. Joana had never seen anything so erotic. When she had brought Jade into the room, she’d given in and undressed her before attaching her with wire to the bedposts. Now she was waiting for her victim to wake up.
Although Joana hated weakness, she was ambivalent about her own occasional lack of discipline. She looked over at the desk. Inside a plastic box were two mushrooms. She’d only used a little when Sol ordered her to brew them for the Palestinian to help him pass to the next realm. She had enough left for her own fantasies.
52
Jade moaned softly. She was cold. Her hands were asleep, and pain was shooting up her legs. She wanted to move, but nothing happened.
“No sense trying,” a woman said.
She had to open her eyes.
“A real Sleeping Beauty, except the wait for your Prince Charming will be long. Eternal, in fact.”
The woman assassin was sitting in front of her, staring. Her eyes were cloudy.
“He’s not coming at all. So…”
The woman stood up. “Don’t make me torture you. Think of your body.” She leaned over Jade. “Such a fine body, delicious without anything covering it. You must have known a lot of pleasure in your short life.”
Now the woman was on the bed.
“Your friend was beautiful. I kissed her before killing her.”
Jade wanted to scream. “Tell me what you want.”
Joana inched closer. Her blonde hair brushed Jade’s skin.
“Me? Oh, many things, but first…”
Jade stiffened.
“Is my doll afraid? Do you prefer your cop friend?”
“What about my cop friend?”
“Seriously. You disappoint me. With a cop? I would have thought more of you if it had been with — what was her name again — Sophie?”
“Bitch.”
“If you want, my dear. In any case, you are going to die. Don’t hold back.”
Jade took a deep breath. “No, there’s nothing between the cop and me. He’s not my type.”
The woman’s voice seemed to lose its lilt. “He’s not?”
“No.”
“So you did prefer your girlfriend, then.”
“What do you think?”
The woman leaned in closer yet.
“What if I don’t like guessing games?”
“My hands. Sophie loved when I used my hands.”
Joana stood up and swayed.
“Your hands! Your hands. Do you think I’m an idiot?” She snickered.
“I can prove it to you.”
“So prove it,” the assassin said, shuffling through the papers on the desk and pulling out a letter opener. “One hand. Only one. Make the slightest — I said the slightest — wrong move…”
She shoved the letter opener under Jade’s throat.
“…and I’ll slit your throat.”
An image of Marcas flashed in Jade’s mind. Why him? Why not her father? Or one of the men who had loved her? Why him? He was nothing to her. Here she was on her deathbed — literally — a woman with more than one lover but no one she had loved, and oddly, she was thinking about that dude with a ridiculous first name: Antoine.
Her jailer finished releasing her right wrist and grabbed Jade’s hand.
“Now pleasure me.”
53
“Wait. First, tell me where you’re from.”
“Croatia. A lovely country. You should see it someday. Oh, sorry, you won’t be able to.”
Jade was coming out of her drug-induced haze and calculating her chances of escape. With one hand and her feet still tied up, the killer had a big advantage. She didn’t want to give into the lunatic’s whims, but she didn’t have much choice, given the letter opener at her throat.
“I’m waiting.”
The woman’s voice was becoming throaty, and Jade felt more pressure on her neck. Desperate to get out of the bad-movie scenario, she remembered the words of the unfortunate dead man.
“I know about bvitti,” she said.
Joana let up on her throat a little. “Bvi… What?”
“Bvitti. I need to see your boss. I know about the stone.”
“That damned stone with some crap about a mind-altering substance that could ‘seed the mind with prophesies.’ We got the archeologist’s papers, and we’re on top of it. Actually, that stone’s just one item on our shopping list.”
“Tell your master I know more about the Freemasons. They’re one step ahead of you.”