“Let me,” Michael stopped him in a weary tone of voice. “I think I can handle this a little more diplomatically.”

He left for the domestics quarters and returned within couple of minutes, looking distinctly puzzled. “She doesn’t remember.”

“Oh, great, someone called no more than five minutes ago and she can’t remember what he looked like?”

“No. She doesn’t remember anyone calling. She doesn’t remember giving me the card. She says she’s been stocking the linen cupboards.”

“Did you get the right maid?”

“Give me a break,” Michael complained, “I can tell the difference between a maid in her twenties, five foot one or so, slim and dark, and one who looks like a retired member of the Bulgarian Olympic shot-putting squad.”

“Can you deal with it?” Streak asked Serrin. He drew the obvious implication that the maid must have had some memory-affecting suggestion implanted magically in her mind.

“Possibly, but why? He’s going to be back at five o’clock, right?”

“I suppose so,” Streak said, fidgeting. “I’ll be waiting for the bugger when he gets here.”

“We might actually want to talk to him,” Serrin pointed out.

“I had lasers in mind,” Streak said defensively. “I think we might opt for something a little less aggressive,” Serrin replied sharply. “Whatever, we’ll wait for Geraint. He should be back soon, and we’ve got three hours before the little token turns up.”

“Can we go sightseeing?” Kristen asked plaintively. “I’d really like to get out of here and look around.”

Serrin was on the point of refusing, when he stopped to think about it. “I don’t see why not if we stick to a car,” he said. “After this morning it would be best not to go about on foot. If they were prepared to take a crack at us outside a church, they’d take a crack anywhere.”

“Okay.” She was a little disappointed, and not able hide it very well.

“Look, when this is all over we’ll come back and see the place properly. And it’ll all be over one way or another very soon,” Serrin said soothingly.

“Yeah, and whether the Jesuits still want to kill you may still be up for grabs,” Streak pointed out. “Sorry be a party-pooper, but-”

“I think Geraint just got back,” Michael said, looking out the window. “Keep any wisecracks down. I was winding him up before, but I think this won’t have been much fun for him.” He decided, on impulse, not to trust Streak’s discretion in particular, so he got up and raced downstairs to the hallway.

It didn’t look good, “You okay?”

“Don’t ask. It’s no use. Nothing has changed. If anything, she drinks even more than before.” Geraint’s voice was filled with sadness, weariness, but above all resignation. “I want to be out of here tonight. I’ll fix something with the consulate. Get packed.”

“Someone is delivering something for us at five o’clock. I guess,” Michael extrapolated wildly, “that it may be some kind of message from our target. From the blond man, probably.”

“All right,” Geraint said, too drained of emotional energy to argue. “Get packed so we can be out of here right afterward. I have some calls to make. See you later.”

He didn’t even ask about their continuing researches, just made his way to his room and locked the door behind him.

That’s the difference between us, Michael thought after his friend had disappeared from view. We can both do the British gentleman act to a tee. Everyone looks for the deeper stuff behind that facade. I’m the lucky one. I don’t have any depth. I am facade. It’s a lot less stressful like that. I don’t end up locking myself in my room.

With a shrug, he turned and followed his friend up the stairs.

Across the city, three men stood ashamed before a seated figure, their heads held rigid but their eyes downcast. Their interrogator wore clothes akin to those of a Vatican cardinal, but simpler and more austere. Eyes the gray of graite stared out at them over the bridge of his hooked nose.

“So you failed,” was all he said speaking in harsh Spanish.

The men stayed silent.

“And now they may be one step nearer. Fortunately, we ahead of them. We know where the heretic is now. And against my better judgment, I shall grant you a second chance. Not that I will trust you alone, needless to say. Nadal will command the unit.”

The men did not look at each other, did not move at all, but their hearts sank. Juan Nadal was as fanatical as any commander they could have hoped to avoid. Formally titled an Assistant, nothing could have been further from the truth. Nadal was as powerful as the General himself and when he spoke at the Gesu, everyone listened. Those who had worked with Nadal in the New Inquisition didn’t speak of it. His name itself was only whispered, and then in fear.

“I hardly need add that if you fail this time, you will have an eternity to pray that you might receive the blessed mercy of purgatory. Remember that the faithful who disappoint God are more damned than those who have never heeded his words. Do not fail Him again.”

The men turned away and said nothing as they trooped quietly toward the unvarnished wooden door. The one to the left of the group twitched just slightly, a muscle in his left hand overtensed and dysfunctional. He bailed his hand into a fist and said nothing.

22

Michael had shooed the others out of the room and was busy skipping through the electronic static, He knew the LTG number of the Priory system at Rennes-le-Chateau, and now that he’d recovered he was finally doing what he should have done much earlier.

Somewhere there has to be a directory, he thought; somewhere, I can find who was connected to that system; who entered it, the records will be somewhere. Oh, I just love these blind hunts, and I don’t expect the icons will be the obvious ones.

It took him a frustratingly long time to hunt down the numbers. When he did, what he found annoyed and frustrated him further. Nothing remained in either of the first two systems he cracked but a single icon in the stripped databanks: an icon of a plain stone throne. When he found it a third time, he jacked out and scratched his scalp in irritation. To his surprise, the clock opposite him read four forty-eight. He went to join the others, but Geraint was not among them.

“I’d better get him,” he said. “Leave this to me.”

Slightly apprehensive, he hurried to Geraint’s room and knocked gently.

“Yes, come in.” The voice was still tired and weary.

Almost reluctantly, Michael opened the door. Geraint was sweeping away four cards from the table before him, back into the silk wrap in which he kept them. Michael knew enough of the designs to know what they were.

The Empress, The High Priestess, Queen of Cups, and lastly Art, the angel usually named Temperance. Not difficult to see what’s on his mind, he thought. As Michael sometimes did with anything outside his own expertise, he made the mistake of taking the surface appearance for the underlying one. The explanation was too facile, but he wasn’t going to ask about it in any event.

“It’s nearly five. We’re expecting a visitor, remember?”

“Yes, thanks.” Geraint didn’t look at him. He was lost in thought.

I may have to do my world-famous impression of an alarm clock with a snooze function in five minutes, Michael thought glumly. He retraced his steps.

Streak was polishing a gun barrel. Michael would have been disappointed if he’d been doing anything else. The elf hadn’t been hired for his analytical intellect, after all.

“I’ll take the front, you take the back,” he grinned. “Serrin can sit up here and do the ju-ju all over the shop. We’ll net the plonker, bet your life on it.”

“Elegantly put.” Michael said wryly. “I think I’ll have to some explaining to the servants, though. Excuse me one moment.”