Infernal Games (Templar Chronicles Urban Fantasy Series) (10 page)

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R
iley
spent most of the day following Cade disappearance running down information
about the men in the warehouse, trying to find something that might link them
to the Necromancer.

Fingerprint
analysis provided him with the victims’ identities pretty quickly thanks to the
fact that most of them had been arrested for minor issues in the past;
vagrancy, public drunkenness and disturbing the peace, to name a few.

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m
orning
had barely begun when he received a call from Preceptor Johannson. It seemed
that a monastery in France had been burglarized the previous evening.

“The
thief made off with a holy relic, the Hand of St. Bernard of Clairvaux,” the Preceptor said.

Riley
had never heard of it and said as much.

“I’ll
spare you the history lesson then,” the Preceptor replied, with more than a
hint of condescension in his tone, “and simply say that the Hand was rumored to
be able to heal the sick and to raise the dead. It’s the latter that we’re
concerned with.”

Riley
would have bet the Preceptor had never heard of the relic before that morning,
but he ignored the veiled insult and asked, “What makes you think it was the
Necromancer?”

“The
Hand has been in the monastery for hundreds of years undisturbed. Then the
Necromancer escapes and suddenly one of the few holy relics that have been
linked to resurrecting the dead suddenly goes missing? That’s too much of a
coincidence for me, Knight Captain.”

It
was thin, but it was the best lead he had at the moment so why not?

“How
many injured and dead?” Riley asked.

“None.”

He
frowned. “None?”

“An
elderly monk was injured when he surprised the intruder, but he wasn’t alone
and several other monks came to his aide. In the process, the thief escaped.”

Riley’s doubts returned. The Necromancer had
left a pile of bodies in his wake during both his escape and the subsequent
ritual he’d performed at the warehouse. Doing so was practically his signature
at this point. Hell, if given the chance he’d probably kill just to be able to
flex his powers and bring the dead back again under his control.

So
why hadn’t he done the same at the monastery? Why had he allowed the monks to
live?

Riley
was still trying to make sense of that when the Preceptor said, “There’s a jet
standing by at La Guardia to take you and your team to Paris. I want you over
there while the trail is still hot. Find this guy and find him quickly!”

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C
ade
burst back into this world with the sound of breaking glass and a body-slam
hard enough to knock the wind out of him as he crashed to the floor. He lay
there, staring at the wood floor mere inches from his face, and wondered just
where in Creation he was.

Travel
through the Beyond was always...interesting. Time and distance worked
differently there so Cade not only didn’t know
where
he was but he also
didn’t know
when
. Mere moments could have passed since he’d launched
himself through the mirror at the back of the chapel; but hours, even days were
just as likely as well. The only thing he knew for sure was that he’d returned
to the world in the same way he’d gone out of it.

Through
a mirror.

The
one he’d come through was in the bathroom of a small home somewhere. Moonlight
seeped through the window at his back, casting the room in its silvery glow.
The pedestal sink, over which the remains of the mirror still hung, and the
claw-foot tub beside it looked to be originals rather than pricey upgrades and
the paint on the wooden floor was peeling but had been lovingly touched up in
the past.

His
sword and his messenger bag had made it back with him and he took a moment just
to double check that the hand of glory was still inside. Satisfied that he
hadn’t lost the very thing he’d come all the way to France to collect, Cade
headed for the door.

It
opened into a narrow hallway, lit by a nightlight plugged in to a socket across
from the bathroom door. By its light Cade could see that there were doors to
his left, all closed, and a staircase to his right. He quickly descended the
stairs, made his way through the small living room, and let himself out the
front door just as lights flashed on through the rest of the house.

He
hurried down the drive and only glanced back when he reached the road. He’d
been right; it was a small farmhouse, empty fields stretching out behind it in
the moonlight for as far as he could see.

No
help that way.

Cade
turned and began trudging up the road away from the farmhouse. It was a cold
night and he knew he wasn’t adequately dressed for it; he’d intended to be back
in his warm car long before this. The cold was eventually going to play a
factor and he knew he either needed to find a ride or shelter before too long.
For now, he tucked his head down into his collar as best he could, stamping his
feet and rubbing his hands together as he marched methodically up the road.

Fifteen
minutes later the road he was walking on ended in a T-intersection with
another, larger road. He glanced both ways, saw lights reflecting off the
undersides of the clouds in the distance and headed in that direction. A few
minutes later he came upon a roadside sign.

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T
oulouse 5 Km

Paris 426 Km

Well,
that answers one question,
he thought
. At least I’m still in France.

Cade hadn’t gone another hundred yards before
the sound of an engine reached his ears. He looked back and saw two headlights
coming his way, lights that morphed into a full pickup truck as it drew
closer. Cade stopped and stuck out his thumb. He was now shivering in the
cold.

The
Frenchman behind the wheel took pity on him and pulled over.

“
Ou
allez-vous?”
the grizzled old man behind the wheel asked.

Cade
didn’t understand a word. “Do you speak English?” he asked.

The
driver shook his head and said something more in French.

Cade
didn’t understand that any better than the first thing, but that didn’t stop
him from pointing at the lights ahead in the distance and asking, “Toulouse?”

The
old man nodded and gestured for Cade to get in.

The
battered old pickup rumbled and groaned like it was on its last legs, but the
heat was on and Cade quickly shook off the chill that had started to envelop
him. The clock on the dash said 4:35, which told Cade the time, though he
still didn’t know whhich day. He knew he’d find out sooner or later and tried
not to let it bother him. A glance into the back of the truck showed the
purpose for the farmer’s drive into the city; the bodies of several large hogs
lay in back, trussed and ready for delivery to the butcher.

The
driver’s breakfast lay on the seat between them; a hunk of hard cheese and a
roll of hard salami. The driver must have caught Cade looking, for he gestured
at the food, mimed Cade having some, and said “
Mangez
!”

That
was easy enough to figure out. “Thanks,” Cade said, and helped himself to a
small piece of each. He cut the same for the driver and the two of them rode
along in companionable silence, munching on their breakfast.

Toulouse
was the sixth largest metropolitan center in France, home to just over a
million people. It sat on the bank of the River Garonne, some 150 kilometers
east of the Mediterranean Sea, and served as home to some of the biggest
companies in the French aerospace industry, such as Galileo, Airbus, and SPOT.
As such it not only had an excellent local airport, but a well-trafficked train
station as well.

The
farmer let Cade off just inside the city limits near a local metro station.
Cade shook his hand, gave him a hearty “Merci!” and waved as the old man pulled
back into traffic, then headed for the station at a brisk walk.

Once
inside the terminal, he walked by the newsstand. The masthead of the local newspaper
told him it was Friday morning, so he’d lost an entire day and a half while
inside the Beyond. He cursed, furious with himself for having to resort to
such tactics in order to get out of the monastery. Hopefully the Necromancer
had not grown impatient and nothing had happened to Gabrielle in the meantime.
He spent a few minutes weighing his options. Flights out of Toulouse were all
local, so he had to get to Paris in order to catch a plane back to the States.
He could fly, but that would mean using his false passport again and he would
prefer to limit doing so as much as possible. Every use was a potential flag
for the Order’s tech geeks to trace him with. The train, on the other hand,
would take considerably longer, but he didn’t have to show ID in order to ride
it and wouldn’t show up on any passenger manifest as a result.

A
quick check of the schedule showed a train leaving for Paris at 6:30 that
morning, which put him into Paris in time to catch an afternoon flight back to
New York. He bought a ticket and then wasted the hour or so prior to the
train’s departure sitting in a nearby café drinking black coffee and thinking
about how he was going to deal with things when he returned to the States.

When
the time came, Cade boarded the train, found himself a window seat near the
back of a car, and settled in for the five hour trip to Paris.

I
t
was close to midnight, local time, when the helicopter carrying Echo’s command
team settled into the courtyard of the monastery in question. Riley could see
a small group of monks gathered near the entrance to the cathedral watching,
and by the time the rotors wound down enough for Riley to disembark he saw that
they had been joined by a tall, thin fellow who fit the description of Abbot
Martin, the man with whom he’d been ordered to make contact.

They’d
flown from La Guardia aboard the Order’s Gulfstream to Paris and had taken the
helicopter south from there, in the mountains and to the monastery itself. It
was faster than driving and saved them from having to navigate the treacherous
mountain roads on little sleep.

The
abbot was the only person at the monastery who was aware of the continued
existence of the Templar Order – all senior Church officials were – and so to
protect their anonymity of Riley and his team the rest of the monks had been
told that they were a group of security specialists who’d been hired to keep
this from happening again. Quite a few men in that profession were ex-military
these days and the cover story kept his men from having to be concerned about the
way they looked and moved; combat-readiness was hard to disguise. This way,
they didn’t have to.

Just
another example of the Order’s penchant for hiding in plain sight.

Riley
approached the abbot and introduced himself. “Matt Riley, sir. I understand
you’re expecting us?”

“That
I am. Thank you for coming so quickly.”

For
the benefit of those listening more than anything else, Riley said, “I only
wish you’d called us sooner, sir. Let’s see what we can do about keeping this
from happening again, shall we?”

The
abbot nodded his agreement and led Riley and the others over to the entrance to
the sanctuary. When several of the spectators moved to follow, he gave them a
hard stare that had them suddenly remembering other places they needed to be.

“They
don’t mean any harm,” the abbot said to Riley, who was watching the monks as
they wandered off. “They’re just curious.”

“Of
course.” Riley said. However, he was thinking of the last time he’d been
called to investigate the theft of a relic and the inside man who’d helped
carry it off. He would speak to the other monks when he was done in the
chapel; especially those who had found the injured man.

Speaking
of which...

“I
understand one of your people was injured. How’s he doing?”

The
abbot sighed and Riley could all but see the weight of responsibility settle on
the man’s shoulders like a suit of iron. “Not well. The doctors tell me he is
suffering from a cerebral edema as a result of the blow. The swelling of his
brain is starting to interfere with bodily functions. We have him on a
respirator and are doing everything we can to reduce the pressure, but the
longer the blood flow is reduced the more damage that’s being caused.”

It
was not what Riley had hoped to hear. “I’m sorry to hear that, Abbot. My men
will pray for you both.”

Two
men stood guard in front of the entrance to the chapel.

Kind
of like locking the barn down after the horses have fled,
Riley thought,
then pushed the uncharitable thought away. These men were just simple
Benedictine monks; this high in the mountains they had probably never even
thought about being a target for theft, never mind having any idea of the true
horrors that walked the pathways of the world and might want what they were
guarding. He needed to keep that in mind as he dealt with them.

But
all thoughts of proper courtesy fled when Riley stepped into the chapel and his
gaze fell on the smashed mirror on the wall behind the reliquary.

A
few shards of glass still hung around the edge of the frame. But where he
expected the floor to be littered with them, it was suspiciously clean.

The
hair on the back of his neck went up.

He’d
seen this kind of thing before.

Don’t
jump to conclusions
.

The
abbot had been speaking. “...with us for hundreds of years and no one seemed
to care. Then today, or rather yesterday, we get not just one, but two
individuals who were interested in it.”

Riley
started, pulled from his reverie by the abbot’s words.

“I’m
sorry; what did you just say?” he asked.

The
abbot looked embarrassed, though whether that was for his own comments or
Riley’s inattention, Riley didn’t know. The older man shrugged and said, “I
was just remarking on the sudden recent interest in the Hand. Highly unusual.”

“You
said you had two individuals who took an interest in the Hand. Assuming the
first is whoever made off with it last night, who was the second?”

“The
Monsignor from the Vatican. The one doing the inventory.”

At
Riley’s blank stare the abbot added, “I told your Preceptor about him and
assumed he’d passed on the information. My apologies. We had a visit from a
Monsignor Evans, from the Sacred Office of the Propagation of the Faith
yesterday afternoon. His Eminence, Cardinal Bollinger, has apparently ordered
an inventory of some kind.”

“Can
you describe this man to me?”

“Dark
hair. Average height and build. Dressed as you would expect a Catholic priest
to be dressed but with an eye patch over one eye.”

A
chill went up Riley’s spine.

“Do
you remember which eye?”

The
abbot thought about it for a moment. “The right. No, the left...sorry, I’m not
certain.”

The
right side of the Necromancer’s face, especially the area around his eye
socket, was hideously scarred and it made sense that he might wear an eye patch
to hide it.

But
the mirror...

“Anything
else you can remember?”

The
other man frowned, hesitated, and then said, “You might think me crazy but
there was a strange energy about him, like the feeling in the air when a raging
summer storm is just about to break. He was unfailingly polite, friendly even,
but at times I was...afraid of him, I guess.”

Not
liking what he was hearing, Riley gestured to the floor beneath the reliquary.
“Did your people clean up in here?”

The
abbot appeared shocked. “Good heavens, no! As soon as we discovered the
theft, we moved Brother Samuel to the infirmary and then left the chapel
exactly as we found it.”

In
an absurd way, Riley had been hoping... but there seemed no way around it now.

It
hadn’t been the Necromancer who’d stolen the Hand, it had been Cade!