The Lafayette Sword (19 page)

70

Present day

Aurora Source to Au
rora Paris

Alert.
The target is being tailed. Our agent will send repo
rts daily.

Aurora Source to
all Aurora

Emergency meeting.
The Aurora board will meet tomorrow in Berne re authorized surveillance. Time and location are in the attached encrypted
document.

71

New York

Present day

I
t was ten in the morning, and the humidity was already oppressive. An acrid smell hung in the air. Marcas had chosen to walk up Fifth Avenue, as traffic was at a standstill. He recognized the photographs in an art gallery he passed. He'd met the Mexican artist a month earlier at a party. Clearly he was up-and-coming, considering the prices his shots were selling for. Marcas took another look at the large portrait of a superb brunette with pulpy lips and magnetic eyes and continued o
n his way.

He reached a tall building tucked between even taller skyscrapers. A doorman opened a heavy door. Marcas entered a lobby with a soaring glass ceiling. A security officer smiled and waved him through the metal detector. Another security officer checked his police ID and noted the name of the company he was
visiting.

He entered a large marble rotunda. Men and women in business suits were racing here and there. He headed to the information counter, where five receptionists were seated under a huge panel bearing the logos of a multitude of companies, along with the floor numbers where they wer
e located.

He smiled at a female receptionist and asked for Joan Archambeau. She jotted down a number on a small piece of paper and pointed him to the sixth elevator in
the back.

It took about ten seconds to reach the fifty-sixth-floor offices of Walter, Omahony, Alimi, and A
ssociates.

As soon as the doors slid open, a courier rushed into the elevator, nearly knocking Marcas over. A man with a receding hairline, tie undone and face red, was shouting at him. “Get out of here, you bastard.” The man turned around and st
ormed off.

Marcas got out of the elevator, spotted a secretary with an earpiece, and headed toward her. Before he could say anything, a woman's voice rang out b
ehind him.

“I didn't think you would make such a long trip just t
o see me.”

He turned around and found himself face-to-face with a splendid woman with light brown hair. She was infinitely more seductive than her online photo had led him to imagine. She held out a hand, which he was quick
to shake.

“I won't take too much of your time, Miss Arc
hambeau.”

“Perfect. Follow me. We'll be more comfortable in my office. I hope you weren't intimidated by the man who was shouting out there. He's my boss. He's got a temper, but he's
harmless.”

They weaved their way around some stacked boxes in the hallway and entered a modestly sized office filled with books and file folders. She gestured to a chrome and leat
her chair.

“Have a seat,” she said. “Those boxes are for a class-action suit I'll be working on for the next thre
e months.”

Marcas and his host sat down. He took a small envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket and slid it across the desk. “I'm working on a puzzle passed down in the Lafayette family. As the Archambeau family heir, you have another piece of it. If we put the two together, I might be able to figure out who killed m
y friend.”

She opened the envelope and unfolded the paper. Her face
darkened.

“I'm sorry, but I don't understand anything. Your friend had already called me, and I told him everything I know. When we inventoried my father's papers, there was an envelope with my name on it, an
d inside…”

“Yes?”

She took a piece of purple paper out of a desk drawer and handed it to Marcas. “The Blazing Scot. 33.1886. Cenevières” was writ
ten on it.

Marcas stared at the paper as he struggled to discern the meaning of the message. Maybe the first words referred to the Scottish Rite. Thirty-three could be the Freemason degree. And 1886 was the date on the Lafayette sword. Perhaps it was the year the degree was reached. That, or something entirely different. Cenevières was undoubtedly one of the four
families.

“Did your father ever talk to you about these words and their sign
ificance?”

“He mentioned them once, on the day he prepared
his will.”

“And what di
d he say?”

“To be wary of anyone who sp
oke them.”

Marcas looked up. “Listen, I don't have time to play games. Someone has already died—two people, in fact—because of this damned story. So tell me what
you know.”

She looked away. “I'm sorry. I have nothing more to share with you. I warned you that your trip would be
in vain.”

She stood up. Marcas remained seated. He pulled a notebook from his pocket and jotted down the words. She walked over to the door and held it ope
n for him.

“Bon voyage, Mr
. Marcas.”

When he reached the elevator, he looked back down the hallway. Her door
was shut.

Joan Archambeau opened the door to the office next to hers. A man in a black leather chair was looking out t
he window.

“You were perfect, Joan,” he said, his eyes on the high-rise landscape. “Colder than ice, from what I heard. Too bad I didn't have a video feed, too. I would have loved seeing
his face.”

“And now?” she asked, walking
up to him.

“And now,
we wait.”

“He is on the trail. But tell me. Why didn't you want me to give him the other clu
e? Yours.”

“He would have been suspicious. And I'm fairly sure he didn't tell me everything at the cinema. He'll put the final pieces of the puzzle together with y
our help.”

She didn't answer. He turned to lo
ok at her.

“The plan continues as foreseen,” he said. “Haven't our families been associated for c
enturies?”

72

Rue Saint Jacques de la Boucherie

March 21, 1355

F
lamel heard heavy footsteps. The doctor stopped smiling and shot a glance at the head guard. The door opened, and an older man in court clothes came in. He was tall and bearded, and he had sharp eyes. Flamel recognized Bernard de Rhenac, the king's minister of justice, one of the most powerful men in France. He was the king's henchman. Rhenac sat down o
n a bench.

Guy de Pareilles bowed with calculated stiffness. The doctor nodded. Flamel supposed they had crossed paths at court, and maybe the doctor had even treat
ed Rhenac.

Rhenac eyed the three men. “I'll be brief. Where is
the book?”

“What book?” the doctor asked. “All we have here i
s a body.”

Rhenac glanced at the doctor and then out the window. “How are things in th
e street?”

“We've blocked access on both sides and are guarding the house,” Parei
lles said.

“Good. Go tell your guards to leave. We don't need them or you any longer. My men will t
ake over.”

“But I represent the king's justice,” Parei
lles said.

“Enough. One more word, and I'll order you to tend to some matter in a province nobody ever hea
rs about.”

Pareilles clenched his jaw
and left.

“You opened the body. What did you find?” Rhenac asked t
he doctor.

The doctor cleared his throat. “I only examined his face, which is where I found the cause of death. Someone removed his
eyes and—”

“Replaced them with mercury and sulfur. I know. I knew that before
you did.”

The doctor looked like he was about
to choke.

The king's henchman continued. “There's no point in talking or asking questions, my dear doctor. Be content to just sit down. The same goes for you Master Flamel, ou
r scribe.”

Flamel's hand starte
d shaking.

“Why such emotion, Master Flamel? What difference does it make that I know y
our name?”

Flamel willed his hands to stop shaking. “Please excuse me. I was surprised. For a moment I thou
ght that—”

“That we knew? But of course
we know.”

Flamel felt his le
gs weaken.

“We know everything, because we instigated ev
erything.”

73

Berne, Switzerland

Present day

T
he Swiss sky was a luminous blue against the stone, wood, and glass structure cantilevered over a cliff. The home was an homage to Frank Lloyd Wright. Its owner had wanted to replicate the Vandamm house atop Mount Rushmore in Alfred Hitchcock's thriller
North by Northwest.
Most people who had seen the film didn't know that the exterior was actually a painting created by Hitchcock's artists, and the interior was put together on the director's sound stage. Hitchcock had wanted a Frank Lloyd Wright house, but he didn't want to pay the famed archit
ect's fee.

Sunlight streaming through the expanse of glass in the living room bathed the space without making it too hot. During the day, the glass was almost reflective when seen from the outside. At night, the glass seemed to nearly
disappear.

Edmond Canseliet had finished his
sole meunière
and was meticulously pushing the bones to the side of his rectangular plate. He was in the home of Aurora's founder only rarely, and he thoroughly enjoyed the dishes prepared by the owner's chef each time h
e visited.

Seven men and two women in business attire were gathered around the enormous midcentury-modern maple table. All of them, like Canseliet, were members of Aurora and had answered the founder's i
nvitation.

Their host was drinking a tall glass of milk. Canseliet had never seen André Surgens consume alcohol or smoke. The man had to be well beyond sixty, and his attempt to hang onto his youth by dying his hair amused Canseliet. Surgens had arched eyebrows that gave him a mischievous expression, but what struck Canseliet the most—aside from the dyed hair—was his deep-set eyes the color of poli
shed jade.

André Surgens had undeniable charisma that fascinated Canseliet, as well as the others gathered at this table. Years earlier, Surgens had founded Aurora, and never once had Canseliet regretted joining the group. Since then, he had multiplied his gold holdings five times over, thanks to the information the club shared. Surgens centralized that information. As far as Canseliet knew, the network had no more than twenty members throughout the world, all of whom were fascinated with the preci
ous metal.

Canseliet had passed a seven-year probationary period, after which he learned that Aurora not only observed the market, but also intervened to keep prices up and thwart disruptions. The members' actions were barely legal and could be considered those of a cartel. Members, therefore, were careful to keep the lowest of low profiles. As far as Canseliet knew, only the members of Aurora were aware of the group's existence. Not even the very powerful World Gold Council knew about it. To intervene, Aurora used the considerable personal funds of its members, and to keep its cover and members safe, Aurora had its own security detail. If any member wanted to use it, a majority had to give the okay. Surgens himself had established the procedure to avoid any abuse of the group's armed c
ontingent.

The wait staff poured coffee for each member, and the conversation died down. The members turned t
o Surgens.

“By now you've seen the report provided by our friend from Paris. Personally, I do not support the theory that there is alchemy at work… Alas, I would be the happiest of men if I could transform myself into an a
lchemist.”

Everyone laughed, except
Canseliet.

“But we always need to be careful. I took the initiative of sending a security agent, who is currently in New York. Considering the potential consequences of such information, I suggest that we launch a full surveillance operation. As with all decisions of this nature, we need your vote. Our friends who couldn't make it have sent theirs. I have seven votes for and five
against.”

A short balding member cleared h
is throat.

“Ah, would Zurich like to say something? Your point of view is always
welcome.”

“In theory, the basis of alchemy, that is, of transforming an ordinary metal into gold, is scientifically valid. Remove a few protons and neutrons, and it's done. However, to carry out such an operation would require several months and huge amounts of energy. The most up-to-date particle accelerator would also b
e needed.”

Canseliet nodded. He had read the
research.

Someone on the other side of the table spoke up. “Clearly, this is some kind of joke. There's no need to launch an operation. In fact, I'm surprised that such nonsense is enough to call an emergency meeting. There's nothing scientific about alche
my. If I—”

“I haven't finished,” the balding man said. “The alchemist could have found some other way that science will one day explain. The tests come from a lab used by the French police, whose credibility is recognized worldwide. We don't have enough information to confirm or deny their
veracity.”

The members looked at each other and started murmuring. André Surgens tapped his glass with a small gol
den spoon.

“I'll admit that this case intrigues me. Besides, we don't have much on the schedule for the near future, and we have competent personnel. Let's use them. I propose that we take a vote. Who is against sending t
he agent?”

After a few moments of hesitation, five hands rose. With the votes already sent in, that made ten for and ten against. Everything depended on Surgens, the twenty-f
irst vote.

Their host rose, placed his hands on the table, and looked at his guests. “I vote for, making a majority in favor of the operation. I'll supply more information in the com
ing days.”

“My dear André, I believe you already have a name for it,” Edmond Canse
liet said.

“Chimera. Alchemy has always been considered a superb illusion. Operation Chimera seems a very appropri
ate name.”