Citadel (54 page)

Lying on his belly, Arinius reached down into the chasm until his searching fingers found the cleft. Slowly, taking care not to make any mistakes, he pushed the box into the fissure as far back as he could manage, checking several times that it was secure, that it could not dislodge or fall.

When he’d finished, he sat up. Rather than feeling pride or satisfaction in the fact that he had achieved what he had set out to do, Arinius felt bereft. As if he was leaving the truest part of himself behind in the cave. A limb, a piece of his soul never to be regained on this earth. He felt utterly and completely alone. The same absolute solitude he had felt as a boy when his mother was taken from him and he had been handed into the care of the community.

He sat back on his heels and bowed his head. He pressed his empty hands together in prayer. This time, not the words of the Lord’s Prayer that had sustained him for so long, but instead words from the Revelation of St John the Divine. The only Gnostic text that had not provoked Athanasius’ disfavour.

‘A new heaven and a new earth,’ he said.

Here, in the heart of the mountain, Arinius believed such prophecies might be so. After the fear engendered in him by his terrifying vision, now a sense of peace went through him. The calm after the storm.

Unlearned as he believed himself to be, he understood now what the scripture meant. He understood the basis of faith. The promise of the covenant and judgement.

‘I am He that liveth,’ he murmured, ‘and was dead. Behold, I am alive for evermore. Amen.’

‡

Chapter 94

COL DE PYRÈNE

AUGUST 1942

L
eo Authié and Sylvère Laval drove past the Grand Café Oliverot, along the Route de Foix.

‘We cannot afford to waste time, Laval,’ Authié said angrily.

‘I’m sorry, sir. I hadn’t allowed for the detour to Tarascon.’

‘Where is the nearest garage?’

‘About an hour’s drive north, sir. This side of Foix.’

Authié slammed his hand down on the dashboard in frustration, though he accepted there was no choice. They had to have petrol. There were few official suppliers in Ariège and none between Limoux and Carcassonne. But to have the Codex in his sights, and be forced to wait, was intolerable. His hand went to the crucifix on his lapel. His desire to see the heretical text with his own eyes was overwhelming. To hold it in his hands, to see if the rumours about its power were true.

Then, to be the man to destroy it.

For a moment, they drove on in silence.

‘How do you know where the Col de Pyrène is, Laval, if it’s not in any guides?’

‘It’s well known locally,’ Laval replied in the same neutral voice.

‘If that’s the case, why the hell haven’t we investigated the site before?’

‘It was excavated before the war, sir. Nothing was found there.’

‘By whom?’ he said sharply.

‘By Herr Bauer’s predecessor, I believe. And by a French team.’

Authié turned in his seat to face Laval. ‘Is Bauer aware of this?’

‘I don’t know, sir.’

‘It makes no sense.’

‘Could it be Déjean found the Codex elsewhere, then chose to hide it in the Col de Pyrène for safe keeping, rather than keep it with him, precisely because he knew the site had been excavated before and dismissed?’

Authié didn’t reply, though he could see Laval’s theory made sense. ‘Drive faster,’ he ordered.

TARASCON

‘There’s no one here,’ Sandrine said, gazing up at Pujol’s house.

Lucie looked quite desperate. ‘I must sit down before I fall down,’ she said.

‘There’s a terrace along the back,’ Eloise said. ‘You can rest there.’

Sandrine and Lucie followed Eloise around the side of the building, then up a flight of narrow stone steps on to a small stone terrace. An old metal table and two chairs, at right angles to one another, were orientated towards the evening sun.

‘You take the weight off your feet,’ Sandrine said. ‘I’ll see if I can find you something to drink, at least.’

In normal circumstances Sandrine would have cavilled at the thought of breaking in to someone’s house – especially a policeman’s – but Lucie was tired and needed a glass of water. She was slumped on the seat. All the life seemed to have gone out of her. The adrenalin of having succeeded in getting into the camp, then seeing Max, had gone. The reality of the horror of his situation had hit her.

‘This window’s open,’ Eloise called.

‘I’ll see if I can get in that way,’ Sandrine said.

Eloise grasped the thin arms of the chair, holding it steady. Sandrine put her hand through the tiny gap at the top of the window. Careful not to push too hard, she eased it open with her shoulder, then stretched down as far as she could until she reached the clasp. Pressing her face against the glass, she worked at the fastening until, finally, it opened. After that, it was easy enough to climb up on to the ledge, jump down to the kitchen floor and unlock the door.

‘I hope Inspector Pujol doesn’t mind too much,’ Sandrine said, handing a glass of water to Lucie.

Lucie drank it all, then said in a defeated voice, ‘What are we going to do now?’

‘You’re going to do nothing. Just sit quietly,’ Sandrine said.

‘I’ll go and see if I can find Guillaume,’ Eloise said. ‘He might know where Monsieur Baillard and Inspector Pujol are. I must warn them about Authié and Laval.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ Sandrine said. ‘We’ll cover more ground if we both look.’ She put her hand on Lucie’s arm. ‘Will you be all right on your own?’

Lucie nodded. ‘I’ll manage.’

‘You sit tight. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

She and Eloise walked back towards the town, Sandrine still wondering if it would be more sensible to stay put. On the other hand, they could be waiting for hours.

‘I’m going this way,’ Eloise said, pointing at a narrow flight of steps winding up into the oldest quartier of the town. ‘If I were you, I’d start with the Grand Café Oliverot, on the Foix road. Inspector Pujol’s often there.’

Sandrine remembered seeing it on the corner as they drove in to Tarascon.

‘If not,’ Eloise continued, ‘there’s another café he likes, close to the railway station.’ She sighed. ‘And, if that fails, there’s a bar below the Tour Castella, on the opposite riverbank. A real old-timers’ place.’

‘All right.’ Sandrine nodded.

‘Let’s meet back at Pujol’s in an hour? See if we’ve had any luck.’

Sandrine walked quickly towards the Oliverot, all the time hoping to see a glimpse of Monsieur Baillard’s distinctive pale suit and panama hat. On the far side of the Pont Vieux, she noticed a heavy-set man with an old fashioned hat. Was it Inspector Pujol?

‘May we have a word?’

Her heart skipped a beat. She’d been concentrating so much on the road ahead, she hadn’t noticed the man standing in the shadow of the doorway of the épicerie. She glanced at him, trying to place his accent. She was certain she didn’t know him.

‘I’m sorry, I’m in an awful rush. If you’ll excuse me.’

Sandrine tried to walk on, but he stepped in front of her and blocked her way.

‘Excuse me,’ she said again, trying not to sound scared.

‘It won’t take long, Fräulein.’

This time the voice came from behind her. Sandrine spun round to see a second man standing behind her, also blocking her way. Fear jabbed her in the chest.

‘Just a question we need to ask,’ he said.

His accent was far stronger. German, but was he a civilian or something more? And why did they want to talk to her?

‘All right,’ she said, attempting to sound calm.

‘We were overhearing your conversation earlier. You are mentioning a friend of ours.’

‘Was I?’ she said, furiously trying to remember what she’d told Eloise and, at the same time, work out what the men wanted.

‘Sylvère Laval,’ he said. ‘You know him?’

Her relief that it wasn’t Raoul they were after was short-lived. Sandrine felt a battering of nerves in her stomach. Monsieur Baillard had said he thought there might be more than one group looking for the Codex, German as well as French.

‘We are anxious to speak to him, fräulein,’ the second man said.

‘I’m afraid I don’t really know him awfully well,’ she said, wondering if they had seen her with Laval and Authié or just heard her talking to Eloise.

‘Do you know where he is?’

Sandrine’s heart was thumping, but she forced herself to pass on the same information as she had given to Authié earlier. Setting the same trap, or so she hoped.

‘It was just something I’d heard. Apparently, he – Sylvère – was going to somewhere called the Col de Pyrène. I don’t know any more than that, messieurs.’

The Germans exchanged a glance, then the man standing in front of Sandrine stepped to the side and waved her through.

‘
Danke schön
,’ he said.

Sandrine waited until they had gone then, on shaking legs, ran the rest of the way across the bridge. The man with the hat had gone, so she turned and ran back to the Café Oliverot. It was now even more urgent she found Monsieur Baillard.

And what about Raoul? She had to warn him too.

COL DE PYRÈNE

‘Hurry,’ said Authié.

Laval put his foot on the pedal, pushing the car as fast as he could towards the mountains. Authié was going over his conversation with Sandrine Vidal in his head once again. In the past couple of hours he had become more suspicious. There was something about the guileless way she had told him what Déjean had said at the river that didn’t sit right with her self-possession. He couldn’t decide if she had let the information about the cave slip out by accident. If she genuinely didn’t realise the significance of it or was not interested in it. Given her sister’s record, was it possible she was such an innocent?

‘As soon as we have secured the site, Laval, we’ll return to Tarascon,’ he said. ‘I want to talk to Sandrine Vidal again.’

‘Very good, sir. And there was another thing I was going to mention. The girl who came to meet Vidal gave a false name. Or, strictly speaking, Saint-Loup is her maiden name. She’s Eloise Breillac now.’

Authié glanced at him. ‘Why would she lie?’

‘She’s married to Guillaume Breillac, another established local family, like the Saint-Loups. He’s a partisan sympathiser, though we haven’t got anything against him yet. Not enough to bring him in.’

‘Then I shall talk to Madame Breillac too,’ Authié said.

Laval pulled off the road, then drove as fast as he could along the increasingly rutted track until they reached the site. Ahead of them was a field-brown Opel Blitz truck, just visible beneath the trees. It was clear that the branches had been pulled back to allow the vehicle in, then pulled over it again as camouflage.

‘What the hell’s going on?’ Authié demanded.

Laval immediately went to investigate. Authié got out and waited, watching as his lieutenant looked in the window of the cab, then examined the open cargo bed and licence plates before coming back.

‘Civilian plates, sir,’ he said. ‘This was on the front seat.’

It was a copy of
Der Stürmer
, the most notoriously anti-Semitic, anti-Catholic of the tabloid Nazi newspapers. Many top-level party officials condemned it as pornographic propaganda, but others – such as Himmler – endorsed it and appeared often on its pages. Authié frowned. He’d always known Bauer was an enemy of the Church.

Authié thrust it back at Laval. ‘When you talked to Bauer’s men in Le Vernet, did they say anything?’

‘No.’

‘Would they have been able to keep the information to themselves? In the circumstances.’

Laval held his gaze. ‘I was thorough, sir. I believe that if they had known anything, they would have chosen to tell me.’

Authié nodded. He had seen the results of Laval’s ‘thorough’ interrogations in the past. ‘In which case, how the hell is Bauer here before us?’

‘Given how freely the Vidal girl talked to you, she’s probably gossiped to other people. Tarascon’s small. Things get around.’

‘You believe she was telling the truth?’

‘I don’t think she realised what she was saying.’

Authié pulled his revolver from his pocket. ‘Bring what we need.’

Laval took a cumbersome canvas holdall from the boot. ‘Shall I conceal the car?’

‘We have every right to be here,’ Authié said drily, ‘whereas Bauer does not.’ He paused. ‘Let them do the hard work.’

‘You are not going to approach Bauer?’

Something in Laval’s tone of voice caught Authié’s attention.

‘No,’ he said slowly, watching his lieutenant’s face. ‘Bauer chose not to communicate the information about the Col de Pyrène to me. So I don’t intend to give him the chance to explain. At least, not yet.’

Authié followed Laval up the path, his weapon drawn and alert to any sounds of life. Once they’d climbed through the woods, the land was open and with little shade or cover, but there was no one around. Presently, he saw a cluster of juniper bushes and what appeared to be an unbroken rock face.

‘The entrance isn’t obvious from here, but that’s it,’ said Laval.

‘Is is the only entrance?’

‘To my knowledge, yes.’ Laval paused. ‘Are we going in, sir?’

Authié thought for a moment. ‘No, I don’t want to lose our advantage. We’ll wait and see what they do.’

They took cover behind a small outcrop of rock, shielded from the entrance. Laval took two Mauser K98 rifles from the bag, standard Wehrmacht issue. Authié had decided against using weapons that could be traced back to French operations. He wanted everything to look like a German undertaking. He waited while Laval loaded five rounds into each magazine and secured the bolt.

Authié had not yet decided whether he was going to kill Bauer or not, but he was ready. A holy warrior. His hand went once more to his lapel, then he flexed his fingers, feeling the weight of his gun in his hand.

Raoul lay flat on his stomach, watching Sylvère Laval and Leo Coursan as they took cover behind the outcrop. He steadied his breathing, his anger. His finger itched to pull the trigger. The temptation to shoot was overwhelming, but he couldn’t give away his position. Yet to have Coursan in his sights and be unable to shoot him was almost too much to bear.