Angel City (32 page)

Resurrection, reincarnation, thirteenth-century heretics burned at the stake, not to mention a strange light in the sky as the bearer of some prophecy come true . . . all in one night. Was making for a swell evening in paradise. Harper drew on his smoke again. Realized there was only one question.

“Just out of curiosity, gov, did anyone happen to jot down what this prophecy was, exactly?”

A voice called across the roof. “Actually, Mr. Harper, we were hoping you could tell us.”

Harper turned around, saw the cop in the cashmere coat coming back.

“All's well with our eminent astrophysicist?” Harper said.

“Indeed. My men are serving him tea and showing him a short film we prepared earlier today. Something to better assist him in understanding this evening's events. More to the point, you say you have no idea what the prophecy is?”

Harper took a hit of radiance, scanned the men around him. One Swiss copper, one investigating magistrate from Brigade Criminelle, three bums with guns. They were staring him down again. Harper exhaled, shook his head.

“Sorry, gentleman. Haven't the foggiest. Seems more than my timeline's been scrambled on this one.”

Inspector Gobet rocked on his heels.

“Then it would appear the only ones who know the meaning of the prophecy are one renegade priest with a penchant for murder and a misshapen young man suffering from paedomorphia. As of now, we have no idea where they are.”

“Is there anything we do know?”

“We know the enemy is tracking Astruc and the boy with everything they've got. Which suggests something rather ominous.”

Harper took a drag on his smoke. Sounded like marching orders about to drop.

“I'm listening.”

“If the enemy doesn't know about the prophecy, they will very soon.”

“You're telling me not one of our kind, not one of us knows what the hell this is about?”

The inspector didn't answer. Maybe he didn't have an answer, maybe he wasn't ready to let Harper know what he knew. Maybe the inspector's silence was saying,
When I want shit from you, Mr. Harper, I'll squeeze your head.

“Right. So what do you want me to do in the meantime?”

The inspector looked at his watch.

“You'll be billeted here for the night, get cleaned up. The judge has kindly arranged for a doctor to tend to your hands and arm. I want you on the first TGV to Lausanne, it leaves in three and a half hours. I'll remain in Paris, see what I can find shifting through Father Astruc's library.”

“Lausanne? What the hell am I supposed to do in Lausanne?”

“Oh, I'm sure you'll figure it out along the way. Good night, Mr. Harper.”

AND THE WATCHMAN SAID: THE MORNING COMETH, AND ALSO THE NIGHT

I

A
FTER
G
OOSE UPLOADED THE FINAL TRIANGULATION INTO
B
LUE
Brain, he shut down the satlink. He opened the intrusion detection program on his laptop. Nearly three hundred thousand attacks, not one intrusion. He looked out the north gate. The priest was standing at the edge of the cliff with the sextant in his hands, still staring at the sky. Goose hit the remote trigger for the laser gun, shut down the thread of light beneath the south gate of the fortress. It awakened the priest from his reverie, and he turned back to Goose. He saw the boy's face aglow in the light of the laptop's screen.

“All is well?”

Goose signed,
We're clear, Father. They tried to find us, but I think we got off the satellite in time.

“Good,” Astruc said.

He walked through the gate, stepped around the transmission gear. He lowered himself to one knee, carefully laid the sextant in the reliquary box, and closed the lid. He looked to the southern sky, saw Sirius floating between Orion and the dark shadows of the Pyrenees.

“We have an hour to the morning twilight.”

Goose smiled, picked up the night vision goggles, handed a pair to the priest.
The way down will be easier than the way up.

Astruc looked at the boy. It was good to see him smile. It was such a rare thing.

“I'm very proud of you, Goose.”

Thank you, Father. Thank you for trusting me.

Goose shut off the laptop and it was very dark. They fixed their goggles over their eyes, switched them on, and were returned to a bright green world of near infrared light. Goose disconnected the laptop from the base station, walked across the courtyard to where a sharp rock poked from the ground. He smashed the laptop against the stone and broke it open. He pulled out the memory cards and CPU, dropped them in the pocket of his leather jacket. He left the broken laptop where it lay. He walked back to the base station, disconnected the external hard drive. He slipped it in the pouch of his sweatshirt.

Astruc was busy redistributing the weight of their backpacks. Ammunition, weapons, high-protein biscuits, cold weather and rain gear, sleeping bags. He wrapped the reliquary box in one of the sleeping bags, packed the roll into his backpack.

“Our burden is lighter now, Goose. If the weather holds, we'll reach the high country by nightfall and Heaven's Gate the next day.”

God willing, Father.

They lifted their backpacks and adjusted the shoulder straps. Goose took up the walking staffs, handed one to Astruc. They walked toward the south gate. Astruc stopped, turned back to look through the open arch of the north gate. He didn't move.

Father?

Goose watched the priest step slowly toward the gate as if in a trance, dropping his staff and raising his eyes to the sky, opening his hands and lifting them to the heavens; and he cried out:

“Notre Père!”

Goose felt the powerful voice echo off the fortress stones. And for a moment, Goose sensed the earth quake.
Surely,
he thought,
his
is
the voice of the prophet.
Goose waited, watched the priest, hands still lifted to the heavens as if waiting for an answer to his cry. The priest slowly lowered his hands, then he lowered himself to his knees. Perhaps he was praying, Goose thought. After many minutes, and seeing Astruc was not moving, Goose moved closer to him. He heard the priest whispering again and again to himself.

“How is it that you did not burn?”

Goose had heard the words many times in the night, as the priest lay half awake, half asleep, bound in the place of a terrible dream that haunted him like a ghost. Goose bent down, signed before the priest's eyes,
We must go now, Father. The morning twilight is coming.

Astruc raised his head. “What happened?”

You were dreaming of the man who did not burn. But it is finished, Father. You have defeated the Dark Ones. Soon, all the world will know of the prophecy, and you will be able to sleep.

Astruc looked around the fortress.

“Yes, yes. We're finished here. We must leave.”

Goose helped Astruc to his feet, and they left the fortress and made their way down Montségur. The black stones on the trail were wet with dew now, and they used their walking staffs to keep from slipping from the cliffs. By the time they reached the Field of the Burned, the sky above the mountains had begun to brighten. They removed their night vision goggles and stowed them in their backpacks. They rested their staffs against the wooden fence surrounding the field and drank water from their goatskins. A haze lay over the field, and there was the chatter of swallows from the surrounding forest.

“Goose.”

Yes, Father?

“Reach in my backpack, bring out the box.”

Father?

“It should be buried here, in the Field of the Burned, to honor the souls who died here. We have no use of it now.”

Do we have time?

“If you hurry, there will be time.”

Goose rested his walking staff against the fence, stepped behind Astruc, and opened the priest's backpack. He dug through the sleeping bag and found the reliquary box. He picked up his walking staff, stepped into the field, stopped. He looked back at Astruc.

Is it all right to walk on this ground? Where they died?

“Only their ashes were left, Goose, and their ashes became part of the corruption of Earth. Their souls were lifted to the stars to be with the Pure God.”

Goose looked back to the field as if searching for something, then said to the priest,
Where was it? Where did it happen?

Astruc studied the field. There was a rise in the ground, hidden by newly harvested stalks of hay. He pointed to it.

“Over there. Where the ground rises.”

Should I bury it there?

“No, it might be found when the farmers work the ground. Take it across the field and into the trees.”

Goose nodded.

He pulled his hoodie over his head and walked ahead. Astruc watched the boy's feet move silently over the ground. The watching brought the dream to the priest's eyes. Two hundred fifteen men and women, ankles and wrists bound, walking into the field. They'd been dragged down Montségur by French Crusaders, condemned to death by the Inquisition. The palisade ahead of them looked large enough from the heights of the fortress, but as the frightened men and women approached it now, they saw it was half the size of the fortress itself, with timber walls almost four meters high. The Crusaders had formed a gauntlet from the edge of the field to the wooden gate of the palisade, and as the men and women passed through it the Crusaders slapped them, kicked them, spat upon them. The Crusaders saved their bitterest blows for the twenty-seven fighters who refused to surrender and instead became heretics themselves. Astruc could see some of their faces . . . especially the traitor, the Dark One in their midst. Dominican priests stood closest to the gate. Rosaries in hands, praying and weeping false tears; entreating the martyrs to turn to Holy Mother Church for forgiveness. Through the gate, the men and women climbed atop a great mound of wood, pitch, and hay. There were no stakes to be bound to, and they huddled together as the Crusaders closed the gate and dropped a cross brace to trap the last of the Cathars inside. Then came the fire . . . screams and forever pain . . .

“No!”

Father?

Astruc saw Goose standing before him.

Are you all right, Father?

Astruc straightened up.

“Yes, I'm fine. I was meditating on the martyrs.”

The dream?

“Yes. Have you finished with the box?”

Yes, it is buried.

“How are your eyes, Goose? You must be tired from the night's work. Do you need a shot?”

No, Father. I will wait till the evening.

Astruc reached in his overcoat, found the leather-strung scallop, hung it around his neck. Goose found his own scallop, put it on.

And once again, we are pilgrims on the Way of Saint James,
he signed.

“And may the Pure God keep us alive long enough to serve the prophecy.”

He has led us this far, Father, he will not abandon us now.

They followed the road to the northwest. The road wound through a narrow valley bordered by steep cliffs, and they walked in morning shadows. Now and again they saw lights burning in the kitchens of farmhouses where women laid out coffee and bread for their husbands. The Great Pyrenees mountain dogs guarding the farms from wolves and bears picked up the scent of passing strangers and let out throaty howls:
I hear you! I smell you!
One farmer emerged from his kitchen, shotgun in his hand. But it was still too dark to see into the shadows, and the man scolded his dog to be quiet. The beast bowed its head, circled once, and slunk to the ground:
I heard them, I smelled them.
Soon after, a tractor hauling a load of hay approached from behind a bend. Astruc and Goose stepped from the road and into the trees so they would not be seen in the tractor's headlamps. It was not from fear of detection they avoided the farmer; it was to protect him. Dressed as they were, as pilgrims traveling the Way of Saint James, Astruc knew the farmer would offer them a lift, invite them to take breakfast in his home. It was the custom among the common people of the Pyrenees. But such an act of kindness would put the farmer and his family in the gravest danger. The Dark Ones would be searching, hunting.

When the farmer passed, they continued along the road till they were west of the peak of Saint-Barthélemy. They left the road and took a hiking trail through the forest. The trail rose at a gentle grade at first, then began to climb above the tree line, where they crossed over a rocky ridge then descended again into forest. It was crossing the first ridge that they stepped through the sharp rays of the rising sun, and crossing the second ridge they stopped to watch the light of the sun race over the land like an awakening thing.

By ten o'clock, they reached a small shelter next to an alpine lake above the tree line. The shallows at the bank had iced over during the night, but the ice was thin, like a hint of winter's approach. They dropped their backpacks, broke through the ice, and drank deeply. The water was pure and cold. They washed their faces and hands. Goose opened his backpack and found a pack of high-protein biscuits. They sat on the wooden bench and rested their backs against the already warm stone of the shelter. The sun beat down on their faces. As they ate, a small brown shuffle wing landed at their feet to collect any crumbs that might fall.

“And what are you doing here, with winter coming soon? You should be nesting farther down, near the trees. We have no food for you here.”

The little brown bird hopped on its legs, back and forth before them.

“I believe he has us trapped, Goose. We must surrender.”

Goose laughed. And this time he let an audible sound escape his mouth. He broke off a piece of the biscuit and tossed it to the ground. The shuffle wing quickly picked it up and flew away and down below the ridge. Goose looked to the west and north to check the sky. He signed,
The weather is good, and looks like it will hold.

“So far we're lucky. If we reach Heaven's Gate before it turns, then we'll reveal the prophecy to the world.”

II

K
ATHERINE CLOSED HER CLOAK OVER HER FLANNEL PAJAMAS AND
put on her fuzzy slippers. She opened the sliding glass doors of the sitting room, stepped quietly onto the patio. Officer Jannsen was still standing in the shadows of the back garden. Katherine spotted her from the bedroom window, drying herself after a long hot bath, and she thought it odd. The back garden lights were always burning at the perimeter, lighting up the trees from sundown to sunup. But just now, the lights were off. Maybe that's why Anne was out there, Katherine thought, seeing what's wrong. She was on the phone, talking to Control most likely and getting it fixed according to her usual “I want it done now!” Katherine laughed to herself thinking how
“Ich will es jetzt getan!”
sounded so much more kick-ass in German. Then again, everything in German sounded that way. Cripes sake, sometimes even a hearty
“Guten morgen,
Fräulein!”
from one of the Swiss Guard boys sounded more like, “Attention, the sun has risen and you are ordered to have a nice day!”

She watched Officer Jannsen close her cell phone, snap it to her belt, stand there. The lights stayed off. That's when Katherine noticed Officer Jannsen wasn't looking at the trees, counting the seconds till the lights would kick on; she was looking at the stars. Stepping onto the lawn and moving quietly toward Officer Jannsen, Katherine caught the bodyguard's Chanel perfume six meters away. She reached out her hand to touch Officer Jannsen's shoulder . . . There was a blur, then the barrel of a Glock pointing at Katherine's right eye.