The Secret Of The Cathars (2011) (5 page)

After a couple of minutes the door was opened by a great, violent-looking beast of a man with a clean-shaven scalp. He stood slightly aside to give them a narrow corridor of entry. The umbrella was collapsed and the two entered. The door was immediately closed and bolted behind them and they were led down a passage into a rear room which was warm and well lit.

In this room two men sat opposite each other at a table on the far wall from the fire. The one facing them was shortish and stout with a generous head of ginger hair and similar clusters for eyebrows and moustache. What one could see of his arms was carpeted with a thick mat of sandy down which extended along the backs of his hands into sprouts at his knuckles. He scowled at the new arrivals.

Weasel-face spoke up. “This is the bloke I told you about, Henri.”

“
Go upstairs, Mickey.”

The little man departed with alacrity.

There was a long pause while the ginger-headed man inspected his guest closely. At last he stood up and extended a hairy hand. “I am Henri Montlucon. I hear you’ve been asking around for me.”

“
You are a member of La Force Marseillaise?”

“
Yes.”

“
Then that is correct.” The accent was cultured - almost grand.

Montlucon shrugged. “So - who are you?”

“
You may call me Alain Hebert.”

“
And what’s your real name?”

“
At present I wish to keep that to myself.”

There was silence while this was digested. Montlucon glanced uncertainly at the other man at the table. At last he said, “All right. You can sit down.” He indicated the third chair with its back to the fire and resumed his own seat.

Hebert carefully leaned his folded umbrella in the corner near the door and took the offered seat between the two gangsters. Now he could look at the face of the other man, the back of whose nearly-bald head had been the only feature which was previously visible to him. What he saw made his blood go cold, although he suppressed any reaction from showing on his face.

A dreadful wound down the whole of the right side of the man’s face had removed the eye and the skin now sank into the hollow socket. The cheek-bone had been cloven in two and an attempt to repair it had been botched. The corner of the mouth had been drawn down to the broken jaw-bone which had been untidily wired together to allow the man to eat and which now gave a permanently mournful twist on that side to the otherwise savage face. The long, irregular scar glared bright pink in the pale face. It was at least a half a centimetre wide. Glancing quickly at it, careful not to stare, Hebert calculated that the wound was less than six months old.

It was Montlucon who spoke. “What did you want to say to me?”

The tall man paused for a few moments to gather his thoughts. He decided there was no point in fencing with these people.

“
Have you heard of the treasure of the Templars?”

“
Maybe.”

“
The Templars were an order of warrior monks in the Middle Ages. They had become extremely rich. The French king of the day wanted their treasure. So he outlawed the order, captured and tortured their leaders, and took hold of their property.” He paused for dramatic effect. “The Templars in France were liquidated.”

“
What does that mean to us?”

“
Despite his efforts the king failed to find the extensive Treasure of the Templars.”

Montlucon wriggled on his seat, waiting for the silence to end. At last he enquired, “So?”

“
So - I know the location of the treasure which King Phillipe le Bel failed to find.”

The scarred man took a dribbling breath - the first sound he had made. But once again it was ginger who spoke. “Why do you come to see us about it? Why don’t you collect it yourself and make a killing?”

Hebert permitted himself a slight smile. “The size of the treasure is too huge for me to handle on my own. I need assistance.”

“
But why us?”

“
I believe that you have an organisation which could solve a problem of this size.” He shrugged at the man’s enquiring look. “It is not only a question of removing the treasure from its hiding place. There are also many valuable artefacts which will have to be disposed of to rich collectors around the world. I can advise on the likely value and the possible purchasers but in my position I cannot be the man who makes the contacts. Then there is the probability of government - er - let us call it ‘intervention’ to be avoided. It requires your sort of organisation to handle that problem.”

“
So?” The ginger features twisted. “Just how big is this treasure?”

“
Nobody knows with any accuracy. I have not yet actually seen the treasure myself and I cannot put a value on it or any part of it. However the latest estimates of scholars who have been researching the subject calculate the market value is likely to be somewhere between one billion and five billion euros.”

There was another drooling intake of breath from Hebert’s right but he didn’t look at the man.

“
Five billion?” Montlucon sat back in his chair and the expression on his face was almost laughable as his brain slowly worked out what that sum would actually mean to their organisation. “Did I hear you say five billion?”

“
That’s right. But it is only a guess. It may be much more.”

“
And how much of the five billion would you expect to give us?”

“
You can have it all except for one quarter of the proceeds which I would want my family trust to receive anonymously for my leading you to the treasure and advising you of the way for you to get the most money for disposing of it.”

“
Three quarters of five billion?”

“
Of course it may not be worth that much.”

Montlucon nodded. “It may be only one billion. In that case our share would be at least seven hundred and fifty million.”

“
I believe so.”

There was a long pause while the two members of La Force worked out just what that amount of money would mean to their organisation and to them personally.

At last the ginger-haired man said. “But how do we know what you are telling us is right? How do we know the whole thing isn’t just a great big con?”

Hebert reached inside his jacket pocket and brought out a folded A4 sheet of paper. He opened it and glanced at it briefly. Then he handed it across the table. “Here is a list of eight people and organisations who can verify each point of what I have told you - except of course the location of the treasure. I expect you to be completely satisfied by their replies to your enquiries within two weeks. However, please withhold my name when your representatives approach them - even though they would not recognise it.”

“
You say these guys don’t know where the treasure is hidden?”

“
No. Only I know that.”

“
How do you know it?”

There was a long pause while Hebert prepared his story. At last he said, “My great uncle died five years ago. He was a Roman Catholic priest. He was confessor to another priest who had himself had heard the last confession of a woman called Marie Denarnaud. She was the former housekeeper - some say the mistress - of a famous priest called Berenger Sauniere who apparently gave her the secret. She was the one who knew the location of the treasure. My great uncle passed on to me the information which she gave him on her death-bed when he knew he was about to die himself. He believed that such information should not be allowed to die with him.”

“
He died five years ago?”

“
It has taken me that long to check out all the details.”

“
So - where is this treasure?”

Hebert permitted himself a smile. “I am keeping that information to myself until we have an agreement.”

There was a long silence while this was digested. After a short while Alain Hebert added, “In case there is any misunderstanding between us I should perhaps mention that my lawyer has a letter informing him that I am meeting you tonight. It is attached to a sealed envelope. I apologise for the fact that the letter instructs him that I shall telephone him before ten o’clock tomorrow morning. If I do not do so he is to open the envelope and release the information it contains to the authorities.” He smiled without embarrassment. “You will therefore be able to understand that I have thought this whole business through very carefully. I believe in preparing for all eventualities.”

Montlucon pulled a face. “Not very trusting, are you?”

“
We don’t know each other well enough for trust - yet.” Hebert reached inside his pocket and brought out another sheet of paper which he handed over without inspection. “This is how to contact me. When you have checked out my information, and if you decide you want to deal with me, you can get in touch, giving me a point of contact. If I do not hear from you within two weeks, I will assume you are not interested and I will approach another party.”

“
Who?”

“
That is my personal information.” Hebert leaned forward. “Look, Monsieur Montlucon, I want you to realise that I have been planning this business for five years. I do not intend to risk failure at this late stage by saying too much to anybody. If you decide to go with me, the care I have taken in keeping each stage of my planning secret will be an added protection for you and for your organisation. Do you understand me?”

Ginger glanced at scar-face and Alain Hebert detected the briefest of nods from him. Montlucon took a breath. “OK. I understand. I expect the same secrecy from you about our organisation.”

“
Of course. Do you accept my proposed time-scale of two weeks?”

Although he was careful not to watch the exchange between the other two, Hebert detected that Montlucon was being authorised by scar-face to agree.

“
Yes - accepted.”

“
Thank you, gentlemen.” Hebert rose to his feet and walked to the door to retrieve his umbrella. “I look forward to hearing from you before the twelfth of April. No doubt your goon will see me out.”

He opened the door and left.

- 6 -

Jacqueline shook her head. “We will have been on site a month next week, Jo, and our progress is painfully slow. I’m going to have to put in a report to the sponsors in a few days. I don’t think they’re going to be very happy.”

She and Andre Jolyon were standing just outside the eastern gateway to the chateau. They were looking down into the large trench which had been opened up between the remains of the entrance piers. It was about two metres wide by four metres long and a metre and a half deep. The evening was drawing in and the site was deserted.

Supervision of the excavation works was being carried out in Andre’s usual professional style. Everything about what they were doing was correct. The sides of the trench were held back by stout planking and strutting. In the bottom of the trench was a broad strip of irregular rough stonework. This was the base of the old castle retaining wall. Jackie had been able to date it as originally Roman with later Visigoth strengthening. And in the last two days they had reached bedrock. It was clear that they weren’t going to get any more out of this trench.

“
Our progress
is
disappointing,” Jolyon admitted. “I’m still furious with those two climbers who packed up and left us without a decent excuse.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Gaston seemed to think they were just bored with the work we were asking them to do.”

“
Well, I don’t agree. I think they’d been got at. They seemed perfectly happy until we gave them the day off and they went into Limoux for a drink. When they came back they suddenly decided they didn’t want to continue.” He scowled at her. “Jackie - I think somebody’s got it in for us.”

“
Who, for goodness sake?”

“
I don’t know. I’ve just got this nasty feeling that somebody is peering over our shoulder, waiting for us to trip up.”

She laughed. “You’ve been like this ever since we started here, Jo. I’ve never known you react like this before. Is it because you’re worried that I’m opening a can of worms by going back over the work that my uncle did?”

“
Perhaps it is partly that. But, be warned. I think something nasty is going on out there.” He shook his head and changed the subject. “I tell you what - I’m going to be a lot more careful about who I allow on the site in future.”

“
At least Gaston seems reliable. All we need are some decent lads to back him up and then we’ll start to make progress.” He shook his head. “It’s been slow, hard work with just the three of us. And there have been precious few useful finds to keep up our enthusiasm. It seems as though nothing’s happened here for the last seven hundred years.”

“
You’re right,” she agreed. “Most of the masonry has been robbed for later buildings. The remainder has just gently collapsed and been filled with soil around the rubble.”

“
And it’ll take us several days to backfill this trench, during which time we won’t be able to work anywhere else.”

She took his arm. “Don’t worry about that. Now we must hire some local labourers to do the backfilling, while we move on. We’ve already decided on the next location. I hope this new area will prove to be part of the main residential section of the castle. But it’s going to be a much larger job than this trench in the gateway. We’re still going to need more diggers. It’s a pity that it’s too early to recruit some students.”

“
What about that young couple staying at the hotel?”

“
Do you mean Armand and Jeanette?”

“
That’s right. They seem to be quite keen on finding out about the history of the place and they say they’re staying here for a month.” He grinned. “I must say
she’s
got a fantastic figure.”