The Expected One (51 page)

They walked through the winding corridors and into a wing of the château where Maureen had never been.

“I must ask that you be a little bit patient, Mademoiselle Paschal,” Roland said over his shoulder. “I must explain a few things first before I can answer your most important questions.”

“Okay,” Maureen said, feeling a little inadequate as she followed Roland and Tammy, not really knowing what else to say. She thought of the day back in southern California when she had met with Tammy at the marina. She had been so naïve then; it seemed like two lifetimes ago. Tammy had compared her to Alice in Wonderland. How apropos that comparison seemed now, as Maureen felt as though she had walked through the looking glass. Everything she thought she understood about her life had been turned completely around.

Roland unlocked the enormous double doors ahead of them with a key he wore around his neck. A piercing beep sounded as they stepped into the room and Roland punched in a code to shut off the alarm. The activated light switch revealed a huge and ornate hall, a beautiful meeting room fit for the kings and queens of France. In its elegance it resembled the throne rooms of Versailles and Fountain-bleu. Two matching carved and gilded armchairs stood on a dais in the center, each sculpted elaborately with blue apples.

“This is the heart of the our organization,” Roland explained. “The Society of Blue Apples. Everyone who is a member is of the royal bloodline, traceable through the Sarah-Tamar line specifically. We are the descendants of the Cathars, and we do our best to keep their traditions alive and in the purest form possible.”

He led them to where a portrait of Mary Magdalene hung behind the thronelike chairs. It was similar to the painting of the Magdalene by Georges de la Tour that Maureen had seen in Los Angeles, with one important difference. “Do you remember the night that Bérenger told you that one of de la Tour’s most important paintings was missing and not on view to the public? That’s because it is here,” he said. “De la Tour was a member of our society, and he left this painting to us. It is called
Penitent Magdalene with the Crucifix.
”

Maureen looked at the portrait with awe and admiration. Like all of the French artist’s work, it was a masterpiece of light and shadow. But in this painting, Mary Magdalene was posed differently than in any other Maureen had seen. This version depicted Mary resting her left hand on the skull, which she now understood to be the skull of John the Baptist, and in her right hand she held a crucifix and gazed at the face of Christ.

“The painting was too dangerous to leave in public. The reference is clear for those with eyes to see — this is Mary doing penance for John, her first husband, and looking with love upon Jesus, her second husband.”

He guided both women to a huge painting on another wall. This depicted two elder saints sitting in a rocky landscape having what appeared to be a spirited discussion or debate.

“Tamara can tell you the history of this painting,” Roland said, smiling at Tammy as she stood beside him. Maureen looked to her for the explanation.

“This is by the Flemish artist David Teniers the Younger,” Tammy said. It’s called
Saint Anthony the Hermit and Saint Paul in the Desert.
That’s not the same Saint Paul who wrote in the New Testament, but another regional saint who was also a hermit. Bérenger Saunière, the infamous priest at Rennes-le-Château, acquired this painting for the Society. Yes, he was one of us.”

Maureen looked closely at the painting and began to see elements that were now becoming very familiar. She pointed to them. “I see a crucifix and a skull.”

“Right,” Tammy replied. “This is Anthony here. He’s wearing that symbol that looks like a letter ‘T’ on his sleeve, but it’s actually the Greek version of the cross, called the Tau. Saint Francis of Assisi popularized it among our people. Anthony is looking up from his book, which is a representation of the Book of Love, and gazing at the crucifix. And look at Paul over here, he is making the ‘Remember John’ gesture with his hand and debating his friend about who the first messiah was, John or Jesus. There are books and scrolls scattered around their feet to indicate that there is much material to consider in this discussion. It’s a very important painting — in fact, these two are arguably the most significant paintings in our tradition. That village represents Rennes-le-Château up on the hill, and over in the landscape — look who’s here?”

Maureen smiled. “It’s a shepherdess and her sheep.”

“Of course. Anthony and Paul are debating, but the shepherdess looms behind them to remind that The Expected One will one day find the hidden gospels of Mary Magdalene and end all the controversy by delivering the truth.”

Bérenger Sinclair entered the room quietly as Roland said, “I wanted to show you these things, Mademoiselle Paschal, so that you would know that my people do not bear any ill will to the followers of John, and they never have. We are all brothers and sisters, children of Mary Magdalene, and we wish we could all live in peace.”

Sinclair joined in the discussion. “Unfortunately, some of John’s followers are fanatics and have always been so. They are a minority but a dangerous one. It is the same anywhere in the world where any group of fanatics overshadows the peaceful people who believe the same thing. But the threat of these men remains very real, as Roland can tell you.”

Roland’s expressive face darkened at this. “It is true. I have always tried to live the beliefs of my people. To love, to forgive, to have compassion for all living things. My father had the same belief, and they killed him.”

Maureen felt the Occitan’s deep sadness at the loss of his father, but also at the intense challenge to his belief system that came from the murder. “But why?” Maureen asked. “Why would they kill your father?”

“My family goes back a long way in this area, Mademoiselle Paschal,” Roland said. “Here, you have only heard me called by the name Roland. But my family name is Gélis.”

“Gélis?” Maureen knew the name was familiar. She looked at Sinclair. “My father’s letter was written to a Monsieur Gélis,” she said, remembering.

Roland nodded. “Yes, it was written to my grandfather when he was Grand Master of the Society.”

It was starting to come together. Maureen looked at Roland and then back at Sinclair. The Scotsman answered her unasked question. “Yes, my dear, Roland Gélis here is our Grand Master, although he is too humble to tell you this himself. He is the official leader of our people, as were his father and his grandfather before him. He does not serve me, nor do I serve him — we serve together as brothers, as that is the law of The Way.

“The Sinclair and Gélis families have been pledged to serve the Magdalene for as long as any of us can trace the lineage.”

Tammy jumped in. “Maureen, remember when we were up in the Tour Magdala at Rennes-le-Château and I told you about the old priest who had been murdered back in the late eighteen hundreds? His name was Antoine Gélis — and he was Roland’s great-great uncle.”

Maureen looked to Roland for an answer. “Why all of this violence against your family?”

“Because we knew too much. My great-great uncle was the keeper of a document, called ‘the Book of The Expected One,’ in which the revelations of every shepherdess for over a thousand years had been recorded by the Society. It was our most valuable tool for attempting to find the treasure of our Magdalene. The Guild of the Righteous killed him for it. They killed my father for similar reasons. I did not know it then, but Jean-Claude was their informant. They sent my father’s head and his right finger to me in a basket.”

Maureen shuddered at the gruesome revelation. “Will it end now, this bloodshed? The scrolls have been found. What do you think they will do?”

“It is hard to say,” Roland replied. “They have a new leader who is very extreme. He is the man who killed my father.”

Sinclair added, “I spoke to local authorities earlier today, the ones who are, shall we say, sympathetic to our beliefs. Maureen, we haven’t told you all of this yet, but do you remember meeting Derek Wainwright, the American?”

“The one dressed like Thomas Jefferson,” Tammy explained. “My old friend.” She shook her head sadly at the memory of Derek’s years of deception — and at his fate.

Maureen nodded and waited for Sinclair to continue.

“Derek has disappeared under somewhat grisly circumstances. His hotel room was…” He looked at Maureen’s increasing pallor and decided to spare her the details. “Let’s just say that foul play was clearly indicated.”

Sinclair continued. “The authorities feel that with the unpleasantness surrounding the American’s disappearance — and almost certainly his murder — the Guild of the Righteous will have to lay low for a while. Jean-Claude is in hiding somewhere in Paris, and their leader is an Englishman who we suspect has returned to the U.K., at least temporarily. I do not suspect that they will bother us in the immediate future. At least, I hope not.”

Maureen looked up at Tammy suddenly. “Your turn,” she said. “You haven’t told me everything, either. It took me long enough to figure that out, but now I’d like to know the rest. And I’d also like to know what’s going on with you two,” she said, pointing at Tammy and Roland, who were standing within an inch of each other.

Tammy laughed in her throaty way. “Well, you know how we love to hide things in plain sight down here,” she said. “What’s my name?”

Maureen frowned. What was she missing? “Tammy.” And then it hit her. “Tamara. Tamar-a. My God, I am an imbecile.”

“No, you’re not,” Tammy said, still laughing. “But I was named for the Magdalene’s daughter. And I have a sister named Sarah.”

“But you told me you were born in Hollywood! Or was that a lie, too?”

“No, not a lie. And ‘lie’ is such a harsh word. Let’s call them necessary untruths. And yes, I was born and raised in California. My maternal grandparents were Occitan and deeply involved in the Society. But my mother, who was born here in the Languedoc, went to Los Angeles to work in costume design after breaking into film through her friendship with the French artist and director Jean Cocteau — another Society member. She met my American father and stayed there. Her mother came to live with us when I was a child. Needless to say, I have been very influenced by my grandmother.”

Roland turned to point at the two chairs, side by side. “In our tradition, men and women are complete equals, just as Jesus taught through his example with Mary Magdalene. The Society is run by a Grand Master, but also by a Great Mary. I have chosen Tamara to be my Mary and sit beside me here. Now I must try to get her to move to France so I can ask her to become an even greater part of my life.”

Roland put his arm around Tammy, who snuggled in close to him. “I’m thinking about it,” she said coyly.

They were interrupted by two servants who brought silver trays of coffee into the room. There was a meeting table at the far side, and Roland signaled for them to follow. The four of them sat as Tammy poured strong, dark coffee for each of them. Roland looked at Sinclair across the table and nodded his head for him to begin.

“Maureen, we’re going to tell you what we know about Father Healy and the Magdalene’s gospels, but we felt you needed all of the background to understand the situation here.”

Maureen sipped her coffee, grateful for the warmth and strength of it. She listened closely as Sinclair explained.

“The fact is, we allowed your cousin to take the scrolls.”

Maureen nearly dropped her coffee cup. “Allowed it?”

“Yes. Roland left the study unlocked intentionally. We had suspicions that Father Healy might try to take the scrolls to whomever he is working for.”

“Wait a minute. Working for? What are you saying? That my Peter is some kind of spy for the Church?”

“Not exactly,” Sinclair answered. Maureen noticed that Tammy was listening intently as well — she didn’t have all of this information, either.

“We don’t know for sure whom he is a spy for, which is why we allowed him to take the scrolls — and why we’re not terribly concerned about them. Yet. There is a tracking device on your hired car. We know exactly where he is and where he is going.”

“Which is where?” Tammy asked. “Rome?”

“We think Paris.” The answer came from Roland.

“Maureen.” Sinclair put his hand lightly on her arm, “I’m sorry to tell you this, but your cousin has been reporting your actions to Church officials since the day you arrived in France, and probably for much longer.”

Maureen reeled visibly; she felt as though she had been slugged in the face. “It’s impossible. Peter wouldn’t do that to me.”

“Over this past week, as we have watched him work and had the chance to get to know him, it became increasingly hard for us to reconcile this idea of a spy with your charming and scholarly cousin. Initially, we believed that he was just trying to protect you from us. But I think he was too firmly entrenched with the people who employ him to break free, even after reading the truth in the scrolls.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Is it the Vatican that you believe he’s working for? The Jesuits? Who?”

Sinclair sat back in his chair. “I still don’t know, but I can tell you this. We have people in Rome who are looking into it. You may be surprised by just how high our own influence reaches. I am certain we will have all of our answers by tomorrow night, the following day at the latest. Now, we just have to be patient.”

Maureen took another sip of her coffee, staring straight ahead of her at the portrait of the penitent Mary Magdalene. It would be almost twenty-four hours before she had all of her answers.

Paris
July 3, 2005

F
ATHER
P
ETER
H
EALY
was beyond exhaustion by the time he arrived in Paris. The drive from the Languedoc had been a tough one. Even without the late-morning traffic in the city, the trip required a full eight hours. He had also stopped to prepare his package for Maureen, which had taken longer than anticipated. But the emotional energy required to make this choice had been enormous, and he felt as though the life had been sucked out of him.