The Sixth Key (39 page)

Perhaps Rahn had never expected to see the
Cathar treasure in his lifetime, and this is what made him hesitate. After all,
one could argue that to have one’s dream come true might be a curse in itself.
However, his hesitation was more to do with that part of him, a significant
part, that didn’t want to know the key – the part that wanted to leave
the Devil in his place.

Deodat must have guessed his thoughts because
he took the book in his hands and looked at Rahn gravely. ‘To know the secret
or the formula of God is to be God, and to know the secret or the formula of
the Devil is to be the Devil. But to wish to be at the same time God and Devil
is to absorb into one’s self the two most strained contrary forces. I believe
that in this book we shall find the sign of Sorat, which can make one both a
god and a devil.’

Deodat had just begun to open the book when La
Dame called out.

‘Rahn!’

‘Not now, La Dame!’ he said, annoyed.

‘Rahn, turn around!’

‘What in the devil’s the matter, La Dame?’
Deodat said, and then: ‘Put that down!’

When Rahn turned he saw his friend standing in
the near darkness pointing a gun at them. The hangdog grin on his face made him
look rather ridiculous but he held the gun as if he knew how to use it. This
was a side of La Dame that Rahn had never seen before.

La Dame shrugged. ‘Sorry, old boy, but you’re
going to have to hand it over to me.’

‘What are you doing? Have you lost your mind?’
Rahn said, pushing his fedora up over his forehead a little so he could see
better in the dim light. He was still holding the candle in his hand and the
wax was dripping onto the stone floor at his feet.

La Dame nodded as if to confirm the
incredulous thought that was passing through Rahn’s mind.

Rahn said, ‘Don’t tell me you’re involved in
all this?’

A frown crossed the landscape of his bearded
face. ‘I’m sorry, Rahn, really, I am.’

‘But why?’ Rahn moved forward. ‘Who are you
working for?’

‘Don’t try anything funny or I’ll shoot you,
and Deodat, too, for that matter,’ he said, not sounding very convincing. ‘Pass
it over.’

Rahn couldn’t believe it. ‘What are you doing
with that gun? You couldn’t use it if your life depended on it!’

‘Give me that book, Deodat. I’m warning you!’

With La Dame’s attention turned to Deodat,
Rahn realised he was in striking distance. He had to do something, but what?
All he had was the candle in his hand. He needed to make La Dame drop his gun,
so he did the most unexpected thing he could think of – he thrust the
candle he was holding straight into La Dame’s face.

La Dame flailed, trying to deflect it, but the
flame caught on his beard and there was the smell of burning hair. The
diversion created, Rahn went in for the kill. He struck a punch that grazed La
Dame’s left eye and hit the bridge of his nose.

‘Oh!’ His friend staggered back, one hand
holding his nose, the other still holding the gun. Shock gave way to anger and
he lunged at Rahn.

There was a struggle. Rahn left behind him any
memory of their friendship, their hours of drinking, laughing, commiserating,
Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, their potholing days and many adventures. He made
himself blind to everything except the other man’s struggle to point the gun
closer and closer to his brow.

‘Stop it, La Dame, for God’s sake!’ Rahn
yelled at him.

‘No! You burnt my beard!’

La Dame’s cut eye was red and in it Rahn saw
frenzy. His swollen nose was growing black, there was blood on his scorched
beard and on his suit and he was breathing hard, gritting his teeth. Rahn
managed to push the hand holding the gun away and caught a glimpse of Deodat
coming from behind. He manoeuvred La Dame into position and then pulled at what
was left of his beard with such fierceness that La Dame cried out in pain and
turned his head slightly, enough for him not to notice Deodat approaching with
a crucifix that he had taken from the altar and which he now brought down
squarely over the hand holding the gun.

The gun fell to the floor with a clatter and
Rahn took it up and gave it to Deodat. It was over. La Dame was now sitting on
the floor panting and assessing his various injuries. Rahn’s knees gave way
then and he found himself sitting opposite La Dame.

‘You’ve burnt my beard! You don’t understand!’

‘It serves you right for saying “burn my
beard” all the time – it’s what gave me the idea!’

‘And I think I’ve lost a tooth,’ he said,
horrified, spitting out more blood.

‘You were always a stupid bastard,’ Rahn said,
his anger waning. ‘I should have listened to Deodat.’

‘And I think you’ve broken my nose too! You
didn’t have to hit me so hard! There is an explanation!’

‘I should have hit you harder! I don’t want
your explanations!’

‘Oh God, it hurts!’

‘You’re not cut out for this, La Dame,’ Deodat
said, with no pity in his voice. ‘You didn’t even load the gun.’

‘I know,’ La Dame said miserably. He looked
like he was about to weep but instead he found a handkerchief in one of his
pockets and proceeded to wipe the blood away.

‘What in the devil?’ Deodat cried.

‘I’ll be taking that book now, if you don’t
mind.’

All three men looked into the darkness from
which emerged the shape of someone else holding a gun! Rahn recognised him
– it was that ordinary-looking man: ordinary height, ordinary weight and
ordinary face. It was the man he thought was following him in Paris; the man in
the café and the man who had been standing outside his hotel. Behind him now,
unfortunately, there also stood two men who looked like prize-fighters.

‘I promise you, my gun is loaded, and I am a
very good shot, unlike our brother,’ he said, indicating La Dame.

‘Brother?’ Rahn said to him.

‘No time for pleasant chatter. I want you to
stand up slowly and throw the gun over there.’

Rahn did as he was told.

‘What are you going to do
with us?’ Deodat said.

‘We’re going somewhere a little warmer!’

‘I demand to know where we’re going!’ Rahn
said, knowing full well that he was in no position to demand anything.

‘Why, Monsieur Rahn, you are going to Hell . .
.’

Rahn and the others were bundled uncomfortably
into the back seat of the black Citroën, a gun pointing in their faces. When
they reached their destination, the Maison de Cros, the three of them were
marched at gunpoint into the house. It was deserted, every room was littered
from the ransacking two nights before and moreover, there was the all-pervading
stench of death. The stench only grew in intensity the closer they came to the
wine cellar where Deodat had been detained, and where the body of the real
Inspecteur Beliere remained, hanging from the rafters.

‘What are you doing?’ La Dame said anxious,
surprised. ‘This isn’t what we planned. I was supposed to bring it to you.
You’d better speak to your superiors! Is this the way to treat a brother?’

The man looked on, impassively, aiming the gun
at La Dame.

‘You’re more stupid than we anticipated. This
was always going to be the end. Didn’t you realise that, Professor La Dame?
Besides, you were never really a brother. You were, let us say, nothing more
than a provisional guest. And now you’ve worn out your welcome!’

Still incredulous, La Dame was tied with his
hands behind him, back to back with Rahn and Deodat. They were made to sit down
with their legs in front of them and then their feet were tied.

The man with the gun perused the leather-bound
book in his hands. ‘We are grateful to you for your wonderful work, Monsieur
Rahn. We could not have done it better ourselves.’

‘What are you going to do with that
manuscript?’ Deodat spat.

‘It will be safe with us,’ he said, his
perfect, urbane English sounding strange in the present circumstances. He took
a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, puffing on it until the end glowed.

‘Who are you and what do you want with it,
anyway?’ Deodat said.

‘I suppose it will not hurt to explain a few
things, since you have been of great assistance. Consider it your last
sacrament.’ He exhaled a plume of smoke. ‘I suppose you’ve already guessed that
there is going to be a war, it is inevitable – even desirable.’ He took a
long drag on his cigarette, as if he could see the war in his mind’s eye and it
was a pleasant image. ‘We English, I’m sure you know, Monsieur Roche, were always
intended to be the leaders of this epoch. We have used the French before
– your Masonic Lodge the Grand Orient, for instance, has always been in
our pockets and we have used, and continue to use, the Germans. What was begun
in the last war will continue with this new war, until we have achieved our
aims. Try to view it, magistrate –’ he ashed his cigarette, ‘– as
the triumph of Sherlock Holmes over Monsieur Lecoq!’ There was a curt smile.
‘The superior English have outdone the arrogant French and the German
peasants!’

‘So,’ Deodat said, ‘the English Lodges were
responsible for the last war?’

The British were known to have a particular
fondness for talking about their conquests and Rahn guessed that Deodat was
playing for time, but time for what?

He smiled. ‘Plans for the Great War were made
in London,’ the man continued, ‘and filtered into western Europe, where they
were relayed to the Balkans and through them to Russia. Your history books
won’t tell you, magistrate, that Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his wife Sophia
were assassinated by men paid by Russians, working for Englishmen.’

‘The Serbians who shot Franz Ferdinand were
working for you?’ Deodat said.

‘Yes, but they didn’t know it, of course; the
Black Hand always thought themselves quite independent – if only they
knew who was behind them! Do you know that their catchcry is “Viva Angelina”?
Angelina is, of course, a Serbian saint.’ The man smiled, looking like a
schoolteacher instructing his favourite students.

‘Viva Angelina!’ Rahn said. ‘Gélis was killed
by Serbians?’

The man shrugged. ‘It was necessary. You see,
Saunière was making friends with the Habsburgs . . . we couldn’t allow that, it
was a warning to him.’

‘But I thought Viva Angelina was the call of
AA?’

‘Yes, but AA and the Black Hand are associated,
as are other Serbian secretive organisations like Omladina and Narodna Odbrana.
Many of their members are staunchly Catholic and happily belong to AA. Their
common desire, in those days, was to rid themselves of the Austro-Hungarian
Empire.’

‘But the two Serbians who tried to kill us
today acted as though they despised AA.’

‘Of course! Those underlings know nothing of
the intricate nature of these associations.’

‘But I thought England was at odds with
Russia?’ Deodat kept him talking while Rahn tried to reach for his penknife but
realised he didn’t have it!

‘Of course we are at odds with them, but if a
British commercial empire is to be founded, there has to be an opposite pole of
consumers – and the Russians do so hate commerce. We leveraged off the
animosity that has always existed between Austrians and Serbs and that’s how
the assassination came about – it had to look like a Serbian assault on
the Austrian Empire. Austria then demanded that the assassins were handed over,
Serbia refused and Austria-Hungary invaded Serbia. This now meant that Serbia
had to ask Russia for help since they were allies, and in turn, France, having
a treaty with Russia, was pulled in; on the other side of things Austria had to
call on Germany, and Germany declared war on France and Russia and invaded
Belgium, which brought us into the war, of course. We had a moral obligation to
help Belgium, and also France. As Sherlock Holmes would say, elementary! You
see, in the end, the fall of the Hapsburgs and Germany, as a central power, the
curbing of Russia in her desire to expand towards India, and the
reconfiguration of the Balkan states to give Russia her winter ports as
consolation, was essential for the splitting up of Europe into two distinct
regions – east and west. The commercial and industrial monarchy that we
are wishing to establish meant we needed to get rid of the middle.

However, things did not go so smoothly, there
were complications. Groups began sprouting up all over Europe: there was the
revolution in Russia and the rise of the Bolsheviks; the Fascist movement in
our own country; as well as an intrusion from the annoying American Freemasons
who wanted to get what they could from the spoils. In the end the true aim was
not reached, you see? Too many cooks stirring the pot! So a decision was made
to make the best of a bad situation and that is how the Treaty of Versailles
came into existence – as the seedbed of another war. The stab in the back
was a good slogan, it stuck, and when it was combined with the Communist
threat, inflation and unemployment . . . well, it was simple, really. The
ordinary people are always led by the nose, all they need is a charismatic
leader,’ he said. ‘The Germans, for instance, will follow Hitler into a
bloodbath, while they sing a chorus of: “Deutschland erwache!”’

Rahn was fuming. ‘You bastards!’ he said.

‘Your people, old chap, will welcome the
destruction of their precious Germany rather than see it conquered. And when it
is fully destroyed, we’ll step in, of course, and with the help of the
Americans, the Russians and the French, we’ll change all the borders of Europe,
once and for all!’

There was the strong smell of gasoline now,
and Rahn assumed the men upstairs were preparing their cremation.

‘So, you are saying Hitler is your man?’
Deodat said, completely oblivious to everything around him.

‘Hitler is an experiment, that’s all.’

‘And you think you can control him? He might
turn on you, what then?’ Deodat said.

‘We have Himmler – and Hess – up
our sleeves . . .’

‘What?’ Rahn exclaimed.

‘Oh yes, Monsieur Rahn, the man you are
working for wants the top job for himself, but of course we will doublecross
him and Hess before the end.’

‘But you haven’t answered my question. How can
you be certain you can control Hitler?’ Deodat said.

‘That is why we need the key found in this
book, and why it is so important that it fall into our hands. We wouldn’t want
it to end up in the hands of the Nazis, or the different French Nationalist
groups, or the Russians, or even the Jesuits! You see, Hitler and the Vatican
are well connected. Why else do you think the present pope never speaks out
against Hitler’s crimes against the Jews and the disabled and mentally ill?
They do not count in their mutual plans. Look at Goebbels – he was brought
up in a Jesuit college, not to mention the fact that Himmler’s father was a
director of a Catholic school in Munich and his brother was a Benedictine
monk!’ he said, pleased with himself. ‘All the popes since Honorius have known
about Le Serpent Rouge and all of them have been after the key that completes
it . . . And they still are, as you know. You see, when Pope Honorius made his
pact with the Devil, he soiled the papal chair with excrement forever!’ He
laughed.

One of the burly men came down now and told
the Englishman that ‘it was ready’ and to make sure that he extinguished his
cigarette before he came upstairs. The Englishman paused. ‘This, I’m afraid, is
the end of our occult history lesson – something to take to Hell with
you. You really should not have jumped out of the frying pan and into the
fire!’ He laughed, threw his cigarette on the floor and climbed the steps out
of the wine cellar without looking back.

‘What about my position at Oxford?’ La Dame
shouted after him.

‘What job at Oxford?’ Rahn said.

‘Never mind, Rahn!’ Deodat shouted. ‘Use your
penknife to cut the ropes!’

‘Eva left with it,’ Rahn answered.

‘What?’ La Dame said.

‘Afraid so.’

‘That beautiful Irene Adler will be the cause
of our demise,’ La Dame said.

‘Well, perhaps if we bring our feet underneath
us,’ Deodat said to Rahn and La Dame, ‘we can push on each other to get to our
knees.’

They tried but this was impossible and they
toppled, righting themselves again with great effort.

Rahn thought of something. ‘Look, we can inch
along on our backsides but we have to do it together, at the same time.’

Rahn pulled while Deodat and La Dame pushed.
Rahn imagined they must look like a large octopus scurrying over dry land.

They could smell smoke.

‘They’re going to burn us!’ La Dame cried.
‘This is all your fault, Rahn – if you hadn’t written that damned book we
wouldn’t be here!’

‘What? Me? You’re going to blame this on me?’

‘You’re at the centre of everything!’

‘Don’t you point the finger! We wouldn’t be in
this mess if it weren’t for you, you traitor! How long have you been setting me
up? Was it from before the manuscript of Don Quixote? Before the Pabst film
set? Before our potholing . . . ?’

‘Good heavens no, Rahn!’ La Dame said, out of
breath, behind him. They had almost reached the steps. ‘It was while you were
in Germany.’

‘What was?’

‘I was invited to a party put on by George
Darmois, from the faculty of science.’

‘Quite an honour,’ Rahn said, sarcastically.

‘Oh yes! Turns out he is a Freemason and he
said he liked my paper on the demise of the Templars and the theory of
probability,’ La Dame said, coughing. ‘One thing led to another and I was being
made an offer I couldn’t resist. And you know what that’s like, Rahn.’

Rahn strained to breathe – the acrid
smoke coming from the fire above them made his lungs shrink to half their size.
‘What was that?’

‘They told me if I helped them get whatever it
was you found, they would give me a job at Oxford University.’

‘Now I know why I never liked you, La Dame,’
Deodat said, between gasps.

‘Leave off, Deodat, it’s not so simple as you
think,’ La Dame gave back. ‘If I didn’t agree to their conditions they were
going to kill both of you as soon as you found what they wanted. And, as they
had now exposed their plans to me, if I refused, they were going to kill me
first – leaving no one to warn you! I was doomed no matter what, you
see?’

A small part of Rahn had to admit he knew what
it was like to be in such a position, but he was too angry to acknowledge it
and, besides, there were other things to think about now because the fire had
taken a hold of the house. They could hear it crackling and embers were
floating down into the wine cellar. It was getting louder and hotter.

‘The trouble is, you were always so damned
interesting!’ La Dame shouted. ‘The adventurous Otto Rahn – the great Don
Quixote!’ He coughed. ‘Author! Archaeologist! Historian!’ He took in a
strangled breath. ‘I was boring old Sancho Panza, professor of Scientific
Methodology, for God’s sake! A man with only a little imagination and a small
talent to match. And though I’ve always been dashingly good-looking, I’m also
boringly dependable, and terribly uninteresting. Here I was finally given a
chance to be a leading character and I took it.’

‘And the picture’s a flop – everybody
dies!’ Rahn said. ‘You could have confided in me at least.’