Chapter 14
Sharyn took the phone and noted the number on the screen. It matched the one written on Wright’s business card. She feared answering it, but she knew she had no choice.
Someone must have finally noted the missed calls.
“Put it on speaker,” Duncan urged.
She nodded as she answered, holding the phone toward the group. “Hello?” she said hoarsely, then tried again more firmly. “Who is this?”
A stern male voice replied, the accent French. “I have the same question, mademoiselle. How did you get this number?”
Sharyn glanced to the others and got a smattering of shrugs and nods. She decided to stick with the truth.
“From a professor at the University of Exeter,” she said. “Julian Wright. He told me to call this number.”
The speaker remained silent before snapping harshly. “Merde . . .” Then he could be heard faintly speaking to someone else in French.
Sharyn turned to Archie, remembering what Duncan had told her about his friend’s fluency in many languages. She mouthed quietly to him, “Can you make out what they’re saying?”
Archie shook his head. “Too muffled. But the guy is pissed.”
The speaker returned, his voice low and urgent. “Do you have the book? Saint-Germain’s journal?”
She glanced to the dining table, where the text still sat. She recalled Professor Wright mentioning how the strange volume was an account by some alchemist.
Could it be this Saint-Germain?
“I have a book,” she admitted. “Bound in copper with an embedded crystal. But I don’t know what it is. Only that it was given to me by Professor Wright yesterday. He asked me to hide it. He thought it wasn’t safe at the library.”
Another long pause, followed by a statement that almost made her drop the phone. “Then you must be Ms. Karr?”
She gasped at hearing her name from this stranger. “How did you—”
“Our group has been monitoring events in Exeter all night. Through resources across multiple authorities and agencies. While it’s not been made public, we’ve already learned the police have named you as a primary suspect in his murder.
If you have the book, it’s no wonder you’ve been targeted by the Confrérie. ”
She didn’t understand the last word, but Archie whispered a translation. “The Brotherhood . . .”
Sharyn gripped the phone. “Who are you talking about? Who is after the book?”
“That requires a very long answer, the knowledge of which is as dangerous as the text given to you. But know this. You must leave. Now. Make for London. I will give you an address.”
“If I run, I’ll look even more culpable.”
“If you stay, you’ll be killed. Even if arrested, they will get to you. The Confrérie is older than our group, going back centuries. They are powerful, with unlimited resources and deeply rooted connections. You are not safe.”
Or anyone around me.
Sharyn pictured the burning library, the bodies left in her wake.
The speaker continued, “Your only hope is to keep moving. To get to the safehouse in London.”
Duncan interjected, “What’s so damned important about this book?”
The Frenchman scoffed, then swore, plainly irritated, likely only now realizing he was being eavesdropped upon. “How many are with you, Ms. Karr?”
Sharyn cast a look around the group. No one voiced an objection. “Five of us.”
“Five? Merde. And they all know about the book?”
“They do.”
“Do you trust them?”
After everything, despite her normally guarded nature, she had to admit the truth. “I do.”
“Then you must all make for London.”
Sharyn clutched the phone, but Duncan took her hand, again challenging the Frenchman with the same query. “First, the book? Why’s it so bloody important?”
“There’s no time—”
“Tell us . . . or we’ll take our chances with the police.”
A chuff of exasperation burst from the cell. “D'accord! Fine. Then first know this. What you are protecting is not a book. It’s a map.”
Sharyn glanced again to the copper-bound tome. “A map? To what?”
“To a treasure beyond all imagining. One that could change the fate of humankind. For centuries, we have been its Keepers, its guardians, carrying this torch against the darkness to come.”
Tag shifted closer. “If so, then why haven’t you secured this treasure already? Why bother with this book, or map, or whatever?”
Silence stretched to a strained edge. “Because we’ve not yet learned to fully read this map. But we are close. Until then, it must not fall into the wrong hands.”
Naomi rolled her eyes. “Then it could be total bullshit. Just a bunch of fanatics fighting over nothing.”
“Non! Back in 1939, we deciphered the book’s First Adage.
This revelation led to the discovery of a huge cache of ancient gold coins found in North Africa.
They were said to come from the mines of King Solomon.
Many of us believe, encrypted in that glittering horde, was the location to the mine itself, possibly even other Solomonic treasures. But it came to naught.”
“Why is that?”
“During the height of World War II, with the help of the Confrérie, the Nazis stole this golden treasure, after which it vanished into history—along with all its potential. Such is the irreparable harm done by our enemy. And why they must never secure the book.”
“Then there are more of these Adages in the text?” Sharyn asked.
“Oui. Three in total. The Seconde has been partially decrypted and seems to point to a location in the Alps. Where exactly and what it holds remain a mystery. But according to Saint-Germain, the Troisième—the third and final Adage—holds his greatest secrète. Again, we can’t know with precision what that might be, but some suspect it may be the key to immortality itself. ”
“Why do you think that?” Sharyn asked.
“For a very simple reason. From the words that open Saint-Germain’s journal: ‘C’est là que réside le secret de mon immortalité. Viens me trouver si tu l'oses.’”
“Which means what?”
“‘Herein lies the secret to my immortality. Come find me, if you dare.’”
A stunned silence spread across the room.
“Now, please, you must go. Toss this phone. Buy a burner and call me again from it. I’ll give you an address in London where I’ll meet you and explain more, but—”
The Frenchman cut off, speaking again to someone else.
“I have a car,” Duncan whispered to Sharyn, while they waited. “In the building’s garage.”
The speaker returned to the line, his voice sharp and abrupt. “Ms. Karr, are you currently in the St. Leonards neighborhood of Exeter?”
Sharyn glanced out the row of windows that overlooked the River Exe. “We . . . we are.”
“Then run. You’ve been found. A police task force is already enroute to your area. Go!”
The line disconnected.
Before anyone could move, a fierce pounding shook the front door.