The Cathari Treasure (Cameron Kincaid) Page 13

  Though they said nothing, Cameron knew that somebody had answered because of the click. Cameron said the two words Marie had given him to make contact, “White swan.”

  Cameron was curious to see if he would even get a response or if the phone would go dead.

  “Hello,” came a voice on the other end of the line. Cameron knew the voice on the line, though he was unsure of the meaning of Christophe answering the phone.

  “Hello,” said Cameron.

  “There is nowhere to go. Nowhere safe at least and you’re a fool if you think so.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Really, you have to ask. I would have thought that by now you would have abandoned those witches.”

  Christophe had said witches, plural, that told Cameron that the Rex Mundi was unaware that Marie had been wounded, that Marie had died. “I can honestly say that the thought has crossed my mind,” said Cameron.

  “You know you can still walk away. We only want the young woman.”

  “And why is that?”

  “She is dangerous. Mostly to you right now,” said Christophe.

  “Thank you for your deep concern for my well being.”

  “Listen, we could care less what you do after you hand over the young woman. We will not follow you. We will even make it worth your while, and then, you will be done, your hands free.”

  “How much do you figure the young woman is worth?” asked Cameron.

  “Bring us the young woman and we will give you five hundred thousand dollars.”

  “Woo, that might make it worth my while. I bet you fellas have deeper pockets than that. Let’s make it an even million. Whadda you say?” asked Cameron. He expected Christophe to argue. Christophe did not, rather he answered without hesitation.

  “A million it is,” said Christophe.

  “And all I have to do is hand over the young woman.”

  “That’s right, all you have to do is hand over the young woman. We don’t even care about the other one. We only want the young one.”

  “Fine,” said Cameron. “Where can we make the switch?”

  Cameron could hear Christophe talking to someone else, another man, as clear as if that person were on the phone as well. Though Christophe had not hesitated at the price, he was caught off guard at Cameron’s acceptance.

  “You are in Quebec?” asked Christophe. That was another good sign. The operatives did not know where Cameron was.

  “Where do you want to do the exchange? It will need to be someplace public.”

  “Public, of course,” said Christophe. “You know the Notre Dame de Cathedral?”

  “Yes I know where that is.”

  “Good. Be there tomorrow at noon.”

  “Noon tomorrow, got it.”

  “And Mister Kincaid.”

  “Yes,” said Cameron. He thought Christophe might have heard Marie or Nicole call him by that name at the restaurant, so much for anonymity.

  “If you have a change of heart, may I remind you once again, there is nowhere to run.”

  “Oh, my mind is decided,” said Cameron. “Don’t worry yourself about that.” Cameron pulled the cell phone from his ear and hit the end call button.

  “What are you doing?” asked Nicole. “I cannot believe you plan to betray us, I mean, Marie would be so upset.” Nicole turned her head to look out her window.

  “You are right not to believe that I would betray you. I won’t. I will do what I need to do to draw them out though. They’re so predictable. We’ll use that to our advantage.”

  “What do you mean predictable?” asked Nicole.

  Cameron turned toward her and arched his brow. “Really?” said Cameron. Since Nicole became a Perfect in Toronto she had been praying constantly and only drinking water for nourishment. Cameron thought that Nicole might be in shock.

  “Yes, really. What is predictable that we can use?”

  Cameron was looking back to the road. “What I mean by predictable is that these Rex Mundi have been around every corner we have turned.” His hand, still squeezing the cell phone, tapped some invisible object above the dashboard. “Predictable is that when I called that number Marie gave me, a number by the way that was supposed to be to a safe house in Quebec, it was not one of the good guys that answered the phone.” Cameron flashed his eyes away from the road to Nicole, “Christophe answered the phone. Christophe, who only two days ago, mind you, was outside the Lotus Flower in Toronto, is now already in Quebec.”

  “So?”

  “In Quebec, Nicole. He could have been in any city in North America, or any of the other safe houses. He wasn’t, he was in Quebec. The Rex Mundi did not only know about the safe house.” Cameron let the next word out slow and heavily enunciated, “Again.” He flashed another look to Nicole this time with his brows arched high, “they knew that was our next destination.”

  “You’re right. That is strange.”

  “Strange, yes that is a word for it, strange. Odd might be another word, a better word might be intel, as in ‘good intel on their part’. You said yourself they have had years to track your movements, waiting for an opportunity to strike, never giving up their hand. That makes them predictable. They will be where they expect us to be. So we will not disappoint, we will go right to Quebec as planned. They will be waiting for us and when we get there we will simply deal with them, and then be on our way.” Cameron turned his head one last time and winked.

  “You can not deal with the operatives of Rex Mundi,” said Nicole.

  “I suspect we can.”

  “When they see me, they will kill me.”

  “When I say we, I do not mean the two of us.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 36

  Quebec

  Drops of rain blotted out the windshield as fast as the wipers cleared the glass. Cameron’s eyes had become sore over the last hour. The pounding patter of the rain abruptly stopped as the Chevy drove under the roof of the gas station. Rather than stop first at the gas pumps, Cameron pulled the Chevy into a parking space near the doors of the mini-mart. Cameron rolled the window down flooding the car with the cool damp of rain and gas fumes. Nicole could not make out the figure that walked over to Cameron’s window. He moved to quickly. Still Nicole knew the man before he spoke.

  Pepe leaned into the window, his portly face filling the frame, “Bonne journée, mes amis, demoiselle, Kincaid.” He looked over Cameron’s shoulder to the back seat, “Dame Marie?” Cameron subtly shook his head without turning toward Nicole. Pepe frowned and then let his smile return. He held his hands up to the window, each held a coffee. “One for each of you,” said Pepe. He looked passed them to the rain falling hard beyond, “It’s a good day for hot coffee.” Cameron took the coffees and offered one to Nicole. “Non merci,” said Nicole. Cameron handed the cup back to Pepe, “She’s fasting.” Pepe took the cup, “I’m not,” said Pepe. He shrugged and then stepped to the back door of the Chevy and got into the dry backseat.

  “Excusez-moi pour un moment,” said Nicole as she opened her door.

  “You ok?” asked Cameron.

  “Yes, I need to…” her eyes widened round.

  “-- Certainly, yeah, go ahead.”

  Nicole closed the door and went into the mini-mart. Pepe leaned up to the front seat, “So demoiselle is ok?”

  “Yeah, she’s ok. As far as she is concerned Marie is in a better place.”

  “Maybe,” Pepe sighed. “When you called you sounded optimistic for the other one. I thought you said the wound was clean.”

  “She lost too much blood,” Cameron sipped his coffee, then moved the cup in front of his mouth, and lightly blew into the opening. “Plus she would not eat.”

  “Would not eat?”

  “Yeah, the endura she called it. She had Nicole give her, well, sort of a last rite, a bit much to describe really, and then refused to eat or drink anything. The endura is the express to heaven.”

  “So it worked.”

  “I guess
it did.”

  “So this one is religious? Perfect.”

  “In so many words. That’s what this whole thing is about. Marie and Nicole are Cathari, were, are, anyway, Nicole is now a Cathar holy woman.”

  “Cathari? Like those new agers in Languedoc?” asked Pepe.

  “How is it everyone knows about Cathari but me?”

  “What’s to know? My cousin lives near Beziers. There is a huge festival there every July. Every one is Cathar for a day, wearing T-shirts that say ‘Kill them all’ and ‘Tuez-les tous’.”

  “I am out of the loop. Well, yeah, they are Cathari, but I am led to believe they are the real deal. Old school if you will,” said Cameron.

  “Here I thought all of the Cathari were wiped out in the Albigensian crusade. Did you know that during the crusades thousands of people were killed in an attack on Beziers alone? Indiscriminately, a tragedy.”

  Cameron turned toward the back seat, “How do you know all this?”

  “What? You don’t read history?” Pepe tapped the side of his forehead, “That is your problem Cameron, you need to read more.”

  “I guess I do.”

  “So it’s about religion,” Pepe sipped his coffee and lowered his head to look out the side window. “Are we talking terrorists? You know after that time in Bali I am not so happy with these religious types.”

  “Not exactly terrorist. Have you ever heard of the Rex Mundi?”

  “Kings of the world? You have me there. Are they Cathari too?”

  “They are not. The Rex Mundi are the bad guys, and we are going after them.”

  “Say no more. Did you find everything we need?”

  “Right where you said, its all in the trunk.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 37

  Quebec

  “So are you two going to tell me your plan?” asked Nicole.

  “Sure,” said Cameron.

  “I for one would love to hear it,” said Pepe.

  “Well, we’ll go into Quebec tonight, stay with Pepe’s people, and at noon tomorrow Pepe and I will go to the Notre Dame de Quebec. I will go inside and offer you in exchange for our freedom and a million, whatever it is they have.” Cameron pursed his lips to the side of his mouth, “I should have specified US dollars. No wonder Christophe was so quick to answer, I bet he has Canadian currency.”

  “Why would you betray Marie?” asked Nicole, “The operatives of Rex Mundi cannot be trusted.”

  “Don’t worry, you will be safely hidden away. Surrender is the best way to lure out the Rex Mundi.” Cameron looked into the rearview mirror at Pepe, “And if there is one thing the French have taught me, it’s to become a master at the art of surrender.”

  Pepe grunted at Cameron’s comment and then added softly, “You can relax, Cameron knows what he is doing.”

  Nicole shook her head, “The Rex Mundi are very dangerous.”

  “Surrendering is a tactic,” said Pepe. He held up his hands on either side like a scale, “You see it transforms weakness into power.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Nicole.

  “You know of Voltaire?”

  “Yes, he was a French philosopher. Marie tutored me about all of the writers of the enlightenment. Voltaire wrote of religious freedom.”

  “Oui, but you see being a critique of the church got Voltaire into trouble and he was exiled from France. So, he fled to London. Not a popular place to be for a Frenchman at the time.”

  “Or ever,” said Cameron.

  Pepe grunted again, “Well, very unpopular at this time. So much so, that one day while walking he found himself surrounded by people screaming ‘hang the Frenchman, hang the Frenchman’.”

  “If I had a dime for every time I heard that,” said Cameron.

  “True,” said Pepe. He gave Cameron a quick leer and then let his face rest pleasant again to continue his story. “So Voltaire, seeing he was surrounded and outnumbered, thought quickly, and instead of trying to fight the Englishmen, he used his wit. He said ‘Men of England! You wish to kill me because I am a Frenchman. Am I not punished enough in not being born an Englishman?’ to which the crowd laughed and safely escorted him home.” Pepe arched his brow, “So you see, Voltaire both took advantage of their weakness and made power of his weakness by surrendering, not fighting.”

  “The Cathar know this well,” said Nicole. “I am glad to hear that you do not intend to fight them.”

  “I did not say that,” said Pepe. “I said Voltaire chose not to fight. We will fight.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 38

  Quebec

  After two days of rain, billowy clouds now floated across the Quebec’s azure sky. Cameron had spent the morning walking through the Parc de l’Esplanade thinking about Marie and the last few days. Now he sat on a bench in the small park across Rue Ste Felixine from the Notre Dame de Quebec. Cameron gazed up at the facade. Pepe told him that the Quebec basilica was modeled after the one in Paris and that Cameron would recognize the building when he saw it. Pepe was right, the church did look a lot like the Sainte-Geneviève in Paris. Sainte-Geneviève was a church near the hotel Pepe and Cameron used to stay in years before while on a leave from the Legion. Those early days Cameron and Pepe caroused through Paris with Pepe’s sister Christine and her friends. Of course there had been Christine. The European architecture of that part of Quebec reminded Cameron of his time spent abroad.

  High above the church steeple the sun hit the zenith of the celestial arc, high noon and time to turn over Nicole. The Rex Mundi were expecting him. Cameron stood up from the bench and ran his fingers down his lapels, pulling the collar tight when his hands neared the bottom.

  Cameron flexed his neck, rolling his head back and to the side.

  From his inside pocket Cameron removed his cell phone and tapped the power on. Scanning the street, he tried to identify anyone waiting for a call. No one looked particularly out of place. Two women deep in conversation were pushing strollers side by side. A young man, maybe a student Cameron thought, chained his bicycle to the winged street sign near the wrought iron gate. At the bottom of the basilica steps a group of middle-aged tourists in baggy shorts stood with cameras and guidebooks in hand. When the phone powered up Cameron scrolled through his outgoing messages to the number he called yesterday on the drive up to Quebec. He held the phone to his ear and waited for someone to pickup. Cameron was not disappointed.

  “Bonjour,” said a voice on the phone, not Christophe this time. Cameron recognized the voice just the same. The voice was that of the man Christophe was talking with yesterday when he thought that Cameron could not hear him.

  “Its midday,” said Cameron.

  “So it is,” said the man in a matter of fact tone, “the last confessional booth.”

  The line was dead.

  Cameron sighed. He slipped the cell phone back into his inside pocket, dropped his arms to his sides, and then stretched his fingers wide. No one around him had picked up a phone, took any notice of him, or made any casual steps toward the door of the basilica. Cameron spoke under his breath, his lips barely trembling, “Here goes nothing. I’m going in.”

  “Have fun at mass,” said Pepe. Cameron heard him in the tiny earpiece resting inside of his earlobe.

  Cameron stepped to the curb and lightly touched down onto the small lane separating the church from the park, “It will only be confession today, my friend.”

  “That could fill the day,” said Pepe.

  “No, not at all,” said Cameron.

  “When is the last time you confessed?”

  “Never.”

  “That is a lot of hail Marys I believe.”

  “One evil at a time. That’s the best I can do.”

  “Maybe the money is in the confessional,” said Pepe.

  “Maybe it’s a trap,” said Cameron.

  “That would be dishonest. Which confessional will you be in?”

  “He said the last one,” Cameron briskly climbed
the half a dozen steps up to the promenade.

  “The end of the line. I’ll be watching. Viva Legionne,” said Pepe.

  “The Legion is our strength. I’ll see you soon.”

  Cameron walked into the open door beyond the steps, entering a large anteroom that buffered the outside door from the cathedral. The church was tranquil and cool, a departure from the heat and humidity across the promenade. Cameron walked toward the amber light in the center of the anteroom beaming from the cathedral. He took a breath and stepped into the doorway prepared to lock in the details of the room without looking too obvious. Cameron had expected the cathedral to be impressive and was rewarded. A wash of light came down from the portico windows bordering the ceiling to reflect on the golden baldaquin and the throne dais behind the altar was adorned with royal ornamentation. A few people, more likely pilgrims than parishioners, sat in the first few pews near the door. Others sat sporadically throughout the church.

  Cameron strolled up the aisle along the rows of long wooden pews. The deeper Cameron walked into the cathedral the further he was immersed in the smell of antiquities, incense, and varnish that hung in the air. The cabinet like confessional booths lined the sidewall. The voice on the phone had said to go to the last confessional. When Cameron reached the pew even with the prayer closet, he turned from the center aisle, nonchalantly scanned the room and balconies for anything out of sorts, and then went to the confessional. Everything in the cathedral appeared appropriate.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 39

  Quebec

  The door to the confessional was open. Cameron thought to let Pepe know he was going into the confessional and decided not to, fearing that, due to the silence of the cathedral, even the faintest voice would carry. He questioned his sanity for entering the confessional booth to begin with, away from the safety of the open cathedral. Pepe had his back though and that was reassuring. Cameron stepped into the small wooden booth and fastened the door behind him with the inside latch. Immediately a slatted panel behind the wooden screen separating Cameron from the priest slid open. Cameron waited for someone to speak and when no one did, he said, “Forgive me father for --.” Cameron was interrupted by the voice from the phone. “There is no need for that Mister Kincaid,” said the voice.