The Last Templar - Страница 23

Still, there was something intriguing about the suggestion.

Catharism had originated in the middle of the tenth century, taking its name from the Greek katharos, meaning "the pure ones." It was based on the notion that the world was evil and that souls would be continually reborn—and could even pass through animals, which was why the Cathars were vegetarians—until they escaped the material world and reached a spiritual heaven.

Everything the Cathars believed in was anathema to the Church. They were dualists who believed that, in addition to a merciful and good God, there had to be an equally powerful but evil God to explain the horrors that plagued the world. The benevolent God created the heavens and the human soul; the evil God entrapped that soul in the human body. In the Vatican's eyes, the Cathars had sacrilegiously elevated Satan to God's equal. Following this belief, the Cathars considered all material goods evil, which led them to reject the trappings of wealth and of power that had undeniably corrupted the medieval Roman Catholic Church.

More worryingly for the Church, they were also Gnostics. Gnosticism— which, like Cathar, is derived from a Greek word, gnosis, meaning higher knowledge or insight—is the belief that man can come into direct and intimate contact with God without the need for a priest or a church.

Believing in direct personal contact with God freed the Cathars of all moral prohibition or religious obligations. Besides having no use for lavish churches and oppressive ceremonies, they had no use for priests either. Religious ceremonies were simply performed in homes or in fields.

And if that wasn't enough, women were treated as equals and were allowed to become "parfaits," the closest thing the Cathari faith had to a priest; since physical form was irrelevant to them, the soul residing within a human body could just as easily be male or female, regardless of outward appearance.

As the belief caught on and spread across the south of France and northern Italy, the Vatican got increasingly worried and ultimately decided that this heresy could no longer be tolerated. It didn't only threaten the Catholic Church, it also threatened the basis of the feudal system in Europe, as the Cathars believed oaths were a sin, given that they attached one to the material—hence, evil—world.

This gravely undermined the concept of pledges of allegiance between serfs and their lords. The pope had no trouble enlisting the support of the French nobility to put down this threat. In 1209, an army of Crusaders descended on the Languedoc, and, over the next thirty-five years, proceeded to massacre over thirty thousand men, women, and children. It was said that blood flowed ankle deep in the churches where some of the fleeing villagers had taken refuge, and that when one of the pope's soldiers complained about not knowing whether he was killing heretics or Christian believers, he was simply told to "Kill them all; God will know his own."

It simply doesn't make sense. The Templars went to the Holy Land to escort the pilgrims—the Christian pilgrims. They were the Vatican's storm troopers, its staunchest supporters. The Cathars, on the other hand, were the Church's enemies.

Tess was surprised that someone as learned as Vance would advance such a wild proposition, especially when it was based on the flimsy premise of one man's provenance. She wondered if she was barking up the wrong tree, but what she really needed, Tess knew, was to talk to him in person.

Regardless of such an academic faux pas, if there were a connection between the Templars and the robbery, he would probably nail it in a flash.

She dialed Columbia University again and soon got through to the History Department. After reminding the secretary of their previous conversation, she asked her if she'd had any luck in finding anyone at the department who knew how to reach William Vance. The woman said she'd asked a couple of professors who taught there at the same time as Vance, but they'd lost touch with him after he'd left.

"I see," Tess said wistfully. She didn't know where else to turn.

The woman picked up on her dismay. "I know you need to reach him, but maybe he doesn't want to be reached. Sometimes, people prefer not to be reminded of, you know . . . painful times."

Tess snapped to attention. " 'Painful times'?"

"Of course. And after what he went through ... it was all so sad. He loved her very much, you know."

Tess's mind was racing, trying to think of whether or not she had missed something. "I'm sorry, I'm not sure I know what you're referring to. Did Professor Vance lose someone?"

"Oh, I thought you knew. It was his wife. She fell ill and passed away."

This was all news to her. None of the sites she'd looked at mentioned it, but then, they were purely academic and didn't delve into personal matters. "When did this happen?"

"It's been a few years now, five or six years ago? Let's see ... I remember it was in the spring. The professor took a sabbatical that summer and never came back."

Tess thanked the woman and hung up. She wondered if she should forget about Vance and concentrate on getting in touch with Simmons. Still, she was intrigued. She went online again and clicked onto the New York Times's Web site. She selected the advanced search function and was relieved to find that the archive went back to 1996. She entered "William Vance," ticked the obituary section, and got a hit.

The brief article announced the death of his wife, Martha. It only mentioned complications after a brief illness, but gave no more details. Casually, Tess noticed where interment had been scheduled to take place: the Green-Wood Cemetery in Brooklyn. She wondered if Vance was paying for the upkeep of the grave. If he was, it was likely that the cemetery would have a record of his current address.

She thought about calling the cemetery herself, then decided against it. They probably wouldn't release such information to her anyway. Reluctantly, she found the card Reilly had given her and called his office. Told that Reilly was in a meeting, Tess hesitated about telling the agent on the line anything and decided she'd wait to speak to Reilly in person.

Glancing back at her screen, her eyes fell on the obituary, and suddenly a flash of excitement struck her.

The secretary was right about Martha Vance's death having occurred in the spring.

It had happened exactly five years ago tomorrow.

Chapter 29

"The autopsy confirms Waldron was also murdered," Reilly stated as he looked around at the others seated at the table in the Bureau's viewing room. The only outsider present was Monsignor De Angelis. "We found traces of Lidocaine in his blood. It's an anesthetic, and it wasn't administered by anyone looking after him at the hospital. The high dose triggered his heart failure.

The interesting part is that there are also needle marks on his neck. The drug was used to numb his vocal chords, so he couldn't call for help."

The monsignor stiffened a little at Reilly's report, seeming equally appalled. Also there were the main players in the METRAID investigation: Jansson, Buchinski, Amelia Gaines, Aparo, Blackburn, and two of his ASACs, as well as a young techie who was manning the A/V commands.

The report wasn't particularly reassuring.

"We also found freeze-branding equipment at the stables," Reilly continued, "which Petrovic could have used to disguise the markings on the horses they used in the raid. All of which means one of two things. Either whoever's behind this is having his foot soldiers wiped out, or one of the gang's decided to keep it all for himself. Either way, we've got one, and potentially two, more

horsemen looking like possible targets. And whoever's doing this isn't exactly a slacker."

De Angelis turned to Reilly. "You didn't recover any of our missing pieces from the stables?"

"I'm afraid not, Father. They're being murdered because of them."

De Angelis took off his glasses and cleaned the lenses with his sleeve. "And what about those extremist groups you were interested in? Have you had any luck with your inquiries there?"

"Not as yet. We're looking at a couple of them in particular, groups that have recently voiced anger at the Church for the way it's been critical of them. They're both in the Midwest, so our field offices there are pursuing it. They don't have a conclusive link yet, just a lot of threats."

De Angelis put on his glasses again, frowning. His disquiet was obvious, but he tried not to show it.

"I suppose we just have to wait and see."

Reilly looked around the table. He knew they weren't making any great progress in getting to the bottom of the case. So far, they were reacting to events, rather than initiating them.

"You want to mention that Templar thing?" Aparo asked.

De Angelis turned to Aparo, whose gaze led him to Reilly. "Templars?"

Reilly hadn't expected his partner to bring it up. He tried to downplay it as best he could. "It's just a thread we're following."

De Angelis's quizzical look prodded him on.

"One of the witnesses at the Met, an archaeologist . . . she felt there may be a link between the Templars and the raid."

"Because of the red crosses on the knights' mantles?"

At least it's not that far off the chart, Reilly thought. "Yes, that and other details. The knight who took the encoder said something in Latin which is apparently a marking on a Templar castle in France."

De Angelis studied Reilly with the hint of a bemused smile. "And this archaeologist, she thinks the raid on the museum was the work of a religious order that ceased to exist almost seven hundred years ago?"