‘This really has to be the end of the trail,’ he said. ‘I can’t believe we’ll get inside the church and find some other clue intended to send us scampering off to yet another ruin in yet another country. And I’ve had an idea about where we’ll find the relic.’
‘Oh, yes?’
Bronson picked up the camera that he’d used in the tunnel under Shobak Castle. He flicked through the pictures he had taken, and selected the one that seemed to him to be the clearest and held the camera in front of Angela.
‘Some of the information we’ve been using has relied upon placement,’ he began. ‘Things like the positioning of the code words on either side of the alphabet to allow us to decipher the Atbash. I think that the positioning of the symbols on this last clue is just as important. The name is the simple bit, really, because that’s brought us to where we are now, or where we will be at dawn tomorrow morning, this tiny village in France. The Christian cross above the name of the village seems to me to be telling us that the place we have to look is the chapel, because that’s how you would normally indicate a chapel or a church on a map, and I’m sure the same sort of symbology has probably been used for centuries.
‘But note that the Templar cross, the croix pattée, is placed under the name. To me, that suggests that the treasure or the relic, whatever it may turn out to be, is somewhere underneath the chapel, in a crypt or cellar or somewhere of that sort.’
‘I suppose we’ll find out tomorrow,’ Angela said, ‘but if there’s an iron-bound box sitting in a crypt underneath the chapel, why has nobody thought to open it before?’
Bronson shook his head. ‘I don’t think it’ll be anything like as simple as that. The amount of secrecy involved in this and the number of layers of codes and ciphers that we’ve had to peel away and decrypt suggest that the relic will be extremely well hidden. It won’t be a matter of just pushing open the door to a crypt and saying, “Oh yes, there it is.” I think there’s a good chance that the entrance to the crypt itself will be concealed, and possibly even the existence of the crypt will be unknown to the priest or whoever is in charge of the building. Finding it is not going to be easy, but I suppose the difference is that because of the trail we’ve been following, at least we know that there is something there to be found. Or at least that something was hidden, and hopefully it’s still there.’
‘So what do we do? Just march into the building tomorrow morning and tell the priest that we want to explore his crypt and would he kindly show us the way? Then find the relic and push off with it before the bad guys turn up, guns blazing?’
‘Not exactly,’ Bronson replied. ‘I had to leave the pistol in Jordan, obviously, because there was no way I could get on to the aircraft with it, so we’re completely unarmed. The opposition would also have had to fly from Iraq or wherever they’re based to Israel, and they would have had the same problem. But within a very short time of them getting there, they were touting pistols, so clearly they have good international connections that allow them access to weapons quickly and easily. It wouldn’t surprise me if they’d made arrangements to collect weapons soon after they’d arrived in France. In fact,’ he added, ‘that’s more or less what I’m hoping they’ve done.’
Angela looked at him quizzically.
‘You hope they armed themselves? Why?’
‘Because we can’t handle them by ourselves, and that means we need professional assistance. And the kind of professional assistance I have in mind will only be available if there’s a credible opposition force. And,’ he added, taking a last swig from his soft drink, ‘that means it’s time for me to start making a few phone calls.’
Thirty minutes later, Bronson ended his final call, put the mobile on the bedside cabinet and connected the charger.
Angela looked at him and nodded.
‘I think I followed most of your French,’ she said, ‘and I can see exactly what you’ve got planned. But it all sounds pretty risky to me. Are you sure this is the only way we can do it?’
‘I think so, yes. But if you’re not happy to go ahead, you can stay here and I can go it alone.’
Angela shook her head. ‘No. I told you before. Where you go, I go,’ she said, ‘and obviously it’ll be more believable if I’m there as well, because they must know who I am. If you’re right, I’ve been their main target ever since the attack in Iraq.’
‘Good. Right, now we really do need to get to sleep. I’ll set the alarm for five thirty, and we need to be on the road by six at the latest.’
But despite all that had happened, sleep didn’t come easily to Bronson. At two o’clock, with Angela’s head resting on the crook of his left arm, he was still awake, eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling, wondering if there was anything else he could or should do, or anything he’d forgotten.
And above all, he was supremely conscious of the number of things that could go spectacularly and terminally wrong.
60
In the grey light of early dawn, the Église Saint-Christophe des Templiers looked pretty much the same as it had done the previous night. A solid oblong building that almost radiated a sense of impressive age and perhaps even hinted at something of the bloody history of the Order that had created it nearly a millennium earlier.
They’d had to make a brief stop en route to their destination on the outskirts of Saint-Martory, where a dark blue van was parked in a lay-by, a solitary figure, clad entirely in black, standing beside the rear doors. Bronson had pulled in behind the other vehicle and stopped the car, exchanged a few words with the man waiting there, and been given two bulky objects. Immediately afterwards, the van had driven off at speed.
After their short diversion, they’d driven slowly into Montsaunès down the main road, the Route de Saint-Girons, through the village, and then stopped the car in the same open parking area they’d occupied the previous night, a position from which they both had a clear view of the front of the chapel.
The engine of the hire car made faint ticking noises as it cooled, and in the front seats Bronson and Angela settled down to wait.
At precisely seven o’clock, a tall figure, wearing a long dark coat and a flattish cap and leaning on a cane, walked slowly down the main road. At the chapel, he made his way across to the main doors, pulling an object from the pocket of his coat as he did so.
‘So that’s the first act of the drama completed,’ Angela said, watching as the man turned the key in the heavy lock and then opened both halves of the door. ‘Or rather the second act, I suppose,’ she added, as he vanished inside the building and the windows of the chapel fronting the road were suddenly illuminated by the flare of electric lights.
‘I hope he doesn’t hang around,’ Bronson remarked. ‘This is going to be difficult enough without innocent bystanders getting in the way.’
But it looked as if the old man was following his instructions, because a few seconds later the lights were extinguished and the caretaker re-emerged, closing, but not locking, the door behind him and retracing his steps somewhat hastily along the street.
‘That looks like our cue,’ Bronson said. ‘And even if we’ve got the timing wrong, I’d still like to get inside the building and have a look at it. Are you okay to do that?’
Angela nodded in a somewhat resigned manner, but immediately opened the door of the car.
‘Yes,’ she said, adjusting the fit of her light jacket. ‘I wish there was another way, but there isn’t. And we’ve come this far, haven’t we? Let’s get on with it.’
Bronson locked the car and they walked away, crossed the main road and strode over to the looming bulk of the ancient chapel. He turned the handle on the door, opened it and they stepped inside, flicking on the lights as they did so.