"You’re both awake now," the caller said in English.
"Good. Time is already running short." She recognized the voice. It was Dr. Claude Beaupre, the historian from the Pantheon-Sorbonne University in Paris. She pictured the prim, silverhaired Frenchman seated in the Hemingway Bar. He had worn a threadbare tweed jacket, but the true measure of the man was found not in the cut of his cloth, but within the haughty cloak of his aristocratic air and manners. She guessed that somewhere in the past his family had noble titles attached to their names: baron, marquis, vicomte. But no longer.
Maybe that’s why he’d become a historian, an attempt to cling to that once-illustrious past.
When she had met him this morning, she’d hoped to buy documents pertaining to the Guild’s true leaders, but circumstances had clearly changed.
Had the man figured out who I am? If so, then why am I still alive?
"I have need of your unique skills," the historian explained, as if reading her thoughts. "I expended much effort to lure you here to Paris, to entice you with the promise of answers. You almost came too late." "So this is all a ruse." "Non. Not at all, mademoiselle. I have the documents you seek. Like you, I took full advantage of the tumult among our employers-your former, my current-to free the papers you came hunting. You have my solemn word on that. You came to buy them. I am now merely negotiating the price." "And what is that price?" "I wish you to find my son, to free him before he is killed." Seichan struggled to keep pace with these negotiations. "Your son?" "Gabriel Beaupre. He has fallen under the spell of another compatriot of our organization, one I find most distasteful. The man is the leader of an apocalyptic cult, l’Ordre du Temple Solaire." "The Order of the Solar Temple," she translated aloud.
Renny MacLeod’s face hardened at the mention of the name.
"Oui," Claude said from the phone. "A decade ago, the cult had been behind a series of mass suicides in two villages in Switzerland and another in Quebec.
Members were found poisoned by their own hand or drugged into submitting. One site was firebombed in a final act of purification. Most believed the OTS had dissolved after that-but in fact, they’d only gone underground, serving a new master." The Guild.
Her former employers often harnessed such madness and honed its violence to serve their own ends.
"But the new leader of OTS-Luc Vennard-has greater ambitions. Like us, he plans to use the momentary loosening of the Guild’s reins to exert his own independence, to wreak great havoc on my fair city. For that reason alone, I’d want him stopped, but he has wooed my son with myths of the continuing existence of the Knights Templar, of the cult’s holy duty to usher in the reign of a new god-king-likely Vennard himself-a bloody transformation that would require fire and sacrifice. Specifically human sacrifice. To use my son’s words before he vanished, a great purging would herald the new sun-king’s birth." "When is this all supposed to take place?" Seichan asked.