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 th
e 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
FATHER PETER HEALY 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.
Peter transported his precious cargo carefully in his black leather carry-on bag. He crossed the river on his way to Notre-Dame, where he was met at a side entrance by Father Marcel. The Frenchman ushered Peter in and crossed with him through the rear of the cathedral, where they entered a chamber door camouflaged by an ornate choir screen.
Peter entered the room, expecting to see his handler, Bishop Magnus O’Connor. Instead he was met by another official of the Church, an imposing Italian wearing the red robes of a cardinal. “Your Grace,” he gasped, “forgive me. I did not expect this.”
“Yes, I understand that you were expecting Bishop Magnus. He will not be coming. I believe he has done quite enough already.” The Italian official kept his face expressionless as he held out his hands for the bag. “You have the scrolls in there, I assume?”
Peter nodded.
“Good. Now, my son,” the Cardinal said as he took the bag from Peter. “Let us talk about the events of these past weeks. Or perhaps we should talk of the events of these past years? I will let you decide where to begin.”
Château des Pommes Bleues
July 3, 2005
THERE HAD BEEN FRENETIC ACTIVITY at the château all day. Sinclair and Roland were buzzing around, chattering in French and Occitan with each other, with the servants, and with various people by telephone. On two occasions Maureen thought she heard Roland speaking Italian, but she wasn’t certain and didn’t want to ask.
She joined Tammy for a while in the media room, looking through some footage for her documentary on the bloodline. They talked about how Mary Magdalene’s scrolls would change Tammy’s perspective as a filmmaker. Maureen gained added respect for her friend as she saw how capable and creative she was, and how Tammy was able to throw herself into her work when she was stressed, as they all were at the moment.
Maureen, on the other hand, felt absolutely useless. She couldn’t concentrate on anything, had absolutely no focus. She felt she should be scribbling notes furiously, trying to capture from memory as much as she could about the Magdalene material. But she was simply unable to do it. She was too disheartened by the personal betrayal of Peter. Whatever his motives, he had left without saying a word, and he had taken something that was not his to take. Maureen thought it would be a very long time before she recovered from this.
Dinner that night was a quiet affair with just three of them — Maureen, Tammy, and Sinclair. Roland was out but would be returning shortly, according to Sinclair and Tammy. He was picking up a guest from the private airport in Carcassonne, Tammy explained. Once this mystery guest arrived, they would have more information. Maureen nodded her understanding. She had long since learned that pushing an issue here didn’t get her anywhere. They would reveal their secrets in their own time; it was part of the culture here in Arques. But she did notice that Sinclair appeared more tense than usual.
Shortly after they adjourned for coffee in the study, a servant came in and spoke to Sinclair in French.
“Good. Our guest has arrived,” he translated for Tammy and Maureen.
Roland came through the door with an equally imposing man. He was dressed in dark clothing, casual but elegant and of the finest Italian fabrics. This man had the air of an aristocrat and was clearly comfortable with his power and influence. He commanded the energy in the room from the moment he entered.
Roland stepped forward. “Mademoiselle Paschal, Mademoiselle Wisdom, it is my pleasure to introduce you to our esteemed friend, Cardinal DeCaro.”
DeCaro held out his hand to Maureen first and then to Tammy. He smiled warmly at both women. “It is a pleasure.” He gestured to Maureen and asked Roland, “This is our Expected One?”
Roland nodded.
“I’m sorry, did you say ‘Cardinal’?” Maureen asked.
“Do not let the simple clothes fool you,” Sinclair said from behind her. “Cardinal DeCaro is an official of immense influence in the Vatican. And perhaps his complete name will be helpful to you. This is Tomas Francesco Borgia DeCaro.”
“Borgia?” Tammy exclaimed.
The Cardinal nodded, a simple answer to Tammy’s unspoken question. Roland winked at her from across the room.
“His Excellency would like to spend some time with Mademoiselle Paschal alone, so we will leave the two of them for now,” Roland said. “Please ring if you require anything.”
Roland held the door for Sinclair and Tammy as Cardinal DeCaro gestured to Maureen to sit at the mahogany table. He took a seat opposite her. “Signorina Paschale, I want to tell you first that I have met with your cousin.”
Maureen was taken aback by this. She didn’t know what she had expected, but this wasn’t it. “Where is Peter?”
“On his way to Rome. I was with him in Paris earlier today. He is well, and the documents that you discovered are safe.”
“Safe where? And with who? What…”
“Patience, I will tell you everything. But there is something I would like to show you first.”
The Cardinal reached into an attaché case he had carried into the room and removed a series of red folders. They were labeled EDOUARD PAUL PASCHAL.
Maureen gasped as she saw the labels. “That’s my father’s name.”
“Yes. And in these folders you will see photographs of your father. But I need to prepare you. What you are about to see is disturbing, yet very important for you to understand.”
Maureen opened the top folder, dropping it onto the table the first time as her hands started to shake. Cardinal DeCaro narrated as she looked slowly through the graphic photos of her father’s wounds.
“He was a stigmatic. Do you know what that is? He manifested the wounds of Christ on his body. There are his wrists, his feet, and the fifth point here, below his ribs, the wound where Longinus the centurion pierced Our Lord with a spear.”
Maureen stared at the photos, dumbfounded. Twenty-five years of speculation about her father’s alleged “illness” had corroded her opinion of him. Now it was falling into place — her mother’s fear and hostility, her anger toward the Church. And this explained the letter from her father to the Gélis family that was in the archives here at the château. He was writing to the Gélises because of his stigmata — and because he wanted to protect his child from the same tortured fate. Maureen looked at the Cardinal through her tears.
“I — I was always told that he took his own life due to mental illness. My mother said he was insane when he died. I had no idea, no one ever told me anything like this…”
The churchman nodded solemnly. “Your father was misunderstood by a great many people, I’m afraid,” he said. “Even those who should have been able to help him, his own Church. This is where your cousin comes in.”
Maureen looked up, listening with her full attention. She could feel the chills running down her back and all the way to her
toes as the Cardinal continued.
“Your cousin is a good man, Signorina. I think you will not judge him for what has happened when I tell you this. But, you see, we must begin back when you were a child. When your father developed the stigmata, the local priest he went to for help was part of a rogue organization within the Church. We are like all people — we are human. And while most of us within the Church are dedicated to the path of goodness, there are some who would protect certain beliefs at any cost.
“Your father’s case should have been brought directly to Rome, but it was not. We would have helped him, worked with him to find the source or understand the holy significance of his wounds. But the men who intercepted him made their own determination that he was dangerous. As I said, they were rogues within the Church, operating on their own agenda, but they had influence that stretched into the upper ranks, which is something I have only recently discovered.”
The Cardinal continued to explain the vast network that emanates from the Vatican, the tens of thousands of men who work throughout the world to preserve the faith. With such enormous numbers spread over the face of the earth, it was impossible to track the personal motives of individuals or even groups of men. An extremist shadow organization had developed following Vatican II, a cadre of priests who vehemently opposed the reforms of the Church. A young Irish priest called Magnus O’Connor was recruited to join this organization, as were a number of young Irish men. O’Connor was working in the parish outside New Orleans when Edouard Paschal contacted the Church for help.
O’Connor had been spooked by Paschal’s stigmata, but even more disturbed by his visions of Jesus with a woman by his side, and Jesus as a father with children. The Irish cleric had evaluated the case within his own secret organization rather than through official Church channels. After Edouard Paschal took his own life out of despair and confusion over his stigmata, this shadow organization within the Church continued to watch his wife and daughter. Little Maureen Paschal had visions like those of her father from the time she was a toddler. O’Connor convinced her mother, Bernadette, to distance the child from the Paschal family. It was then that Maureen’s mother moved them back to Ireland and reverted to her maiden name of Healy. She attempted to change her daughter’s name, but at almost eight years old Maureen was already extremely strong-willed. The child refused, insisting that Paschal was her name and she would not change that for any reason.