The captain nodded crisply and set off with his man. Keir followed, keeping Tissot behind him—but not for the cardinal’s safety. Keir wanted to be the first to enter, to make sure he secured Saint-Germain’s volume for himself.
As they reached the tunnel, soldiers shouted ahead, barking orders, demanding a surrender of weapons. Bright lights shone around the curve of the passageway. Ferhat kept them moving cautiously. Keir had to refrain from pushing the captain to go faster.
Still, their small group finally rounded the curve. Ahead, a cavernous chamber opened, swirling with beams from flashlights mounted on the soldiers’ rifles.
Someone inside called an all-clear.
Ferhat nodded back to Keir, then led their group the rest of the way.
As Keir stepped inside, the view inside strangled his breath. Gold shone everywhere, reflecting the lights into a fiery gleam. On the far side, flames danced atop a massive golden candelabra.
“Mein Gott im Himmel,” Tissot intoned, dropping to his native Swiss German before collecting himself. He gawked at the treasure, clearly with some recognition. “These relics... the menorahs... they must be from Jerusalem’s Second Temple. All stolen by the Romans.”
Keir pushed through his own shock—and not a small measure of avarice—to focus on the cluster of figures across the chamber. The group had retreated to the flaming candelabra. He watched the last of them, a young man, crawl on his hands and knees, wobbling from the effects of the flashbang. Blood flowed from his nostrils, coated his face.
The fleeing group had left behind a trail of weapons.
As a precaution, Ferhat’s men swept in a wide arc and kept their rifles pointed at the captives. A few of the soldiers took furtive glances at the wealth amassed here. But the captain ran a tight crew. They all knew they would be well rewarded in the end.
Truthfully, Keir didn’t care if they tookallthe gold, as long as the key hidden here by Saint-Germain was secured first. TheConfrériehad lost the first one, when the African gold got divided, destroying its secret, which confounded both the Brotherhood and theGardiens.
With no threat in sight, Keir pushed next to Ferhat and surveyed the situation. His gaze swept the room. He ignored the treasure around him and focused on the greater prize. He glared at the five clustered on the far side, all still dazed. Still, the captured group had accepted the inevitable. A few palms were raised in surrender. A large black man squatted next to an older woman with a broken shin, her pant leg soaked in blood. They all knew they were defeated.
Then he spotted it.
A young woman—Sharyn Karr, from all the reports—knelt before the hulking menorah and clutched a leathery book to her chest. From the little that Keir could see, copper straps bound the volume. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of it.
Just like it was described over the centuries.
Saint-Germain’s text.
He stepped past Ferhat, ready to claim it for himself, for the Brotherhood, for the hope of humanity. As he continued across the chamber, he lifted an arm, drawn by the promise of immortality. It was almost within his grasp.
Then a loud blast deafened the space.
Keir got kicked in the spine, knocking him forward. Agony flared as he lost his footing and crashed to his knees, then down to one arm. He glanced back to see one of Ferhat’s men, the soldier who had stayed behind with the captain, holding a smoking pistol.
Bastard shot me. In the back.
Keir only lived because of the Kevlar vest under his parka. Still, he had felt a rib shatter. Pain kept him immobilized, down on the ground. Bloody spittle dripped from his lips. He stared ahead at the treasure clutched to the young woman’s chest.
So close . . .
He glanced back for some explanation.
It came in the form of Cardinal Tissot. The man stepped forward and settled his palm on the shooter’s shoulder. It wasn’t an act of friendship, but ownership.
This became even clearer when Ferhat stepped to the shooter’s other side.
Tissot smiled sadly down at Kier. “Vielen Dank, mein Freund. But we’ll take it from here.”
65
1:09 p.m.
Sharyn struggled to understand the abrupt change in circumstance. It didn’t help matters that her vision remained pinched, rimmed by an angry crimson. To her ears, the world had turned hollow, with audibility wavering in and out.
The explosive blast had left them all addled and damaged.
