Shadow Ritual (20 page)

The Arab’s death had served as a preview, preparing her psychologically for what lay ahead. But there was no way she would let this bastard with a mustache see any fear. If he planned to cut her up, he wasn’t going to take any pleasure in it. She knew the pain would be horrendous, but she conjured up an image of Sophie and focused all her hate on the henchman.

“Before you start your gardening, I want to ask you a question.”

The man stopped what he was doing and looked thrown off.

“Um… Okay.”

“I’ve heard that torturers like you are impotent. I read a study. They enjoy inflicting pain because they can’t get it up. Is that true in your case?”

The blood drained from moustache man’s face.

“Hans, leave us,” he said, waving the assistant away. “I need to have a little talk with this young lady. She has some wayward ideas that could use a trim. I think her cries might be too much for even you.”

He looked her up and down, biting his lip.

“A woman who doesn’t like flowers and doubts my virility. For once, I’m going to innovate and start with the ears.”

He slowly aimed the pruners at her head, but Jade didn’t struggle. She knew her torturer was waiting for the first sign of fear. She plastered a smile on her face, trying to upset the balance of power.

He opened the metal blades and slipped them gently around her right ear, almost like a caress. Jade closed her eyes and tightened her fists to concentrate her energy.

The man leaned in. She could smell his sour breath tinged with the acrid odor of pipe tobacco.

“In five minutes, you will beg me to stop, and I won’t.”

Just as he was about to apply pressure to the shears, a woman’s voice rang out. “That’s enough, gardener. Leave her alone.”

The man straightened and looked at the bars. The sadist was now clearly angry. “How dare you interrupt me? I have explicit orders.”

The woman on the other side of the bars raised her voice. “Mine are more important. Sol wants me to bring her upstairs so I can take care of her personally. Get out of here now. And take your gorilla Hans with you.”

“Nobody talks to me that way, young lady. Do you know who I am in this organization?”

“Yes, and I don’t give a crap. Do you want me to tell Sol that you disobeyed?”

Fuming, the gardener put his pruners away. “I only have your word for it. Just this time. She’ll eventually get what she deserves. I’ve never tried a woman’s blood on my little protégés.”

He turned and smiled at Jade. “I’ll be back soon.”

He opened the cell door and left with his man. Joana walked in and sat down on the mattress.

“Just in the nick of time. You owe me one.”

Jade looked at her with disdain. “You won’t get any gratitude from me. I know who you are. You killed my friend in Rome.”

“Yes. She was a little too easy for my taste. You, however, are a much more interesting target. We have things to talk about, the two of us, but I must take some precautions.”

Joana took out a small leather bag and removed a silver ring with a pointed mount. She put it on her index finger. Before Jade could react, the killer pressed the ring against her bare foot. A drop of blood rose at the puncture wound.

“You’re lucky, Jade. Gallons of blood have been spilled in this cellar. But today, not a drop of your blood will go on the floor. You’re going to sleep for fifteen minutes while I take you upstairs.”

Jade felt her head spinning again, as it had when she was kidnapped. She wanted to say something, but she was already elsewhere.

50

They’d localized Zewinski in the Chevreuse area about an hour southwest of Paris. More, actually, because Marcas was stuck in a traffic jam leaving the beltway—commuters heading home. It was the wrong time of day to get kidnapped. Dammit, Zewinski!

He called Marc Jouhanneau as he drove.

“Did Marek say anything about the stone?”

“Just that it was clearly authentic, and he was decrypting it. Sophie thought it might have one of the ingredients or something else related to the ritual. In any case, the stone is in enemy hands.”

“Enemy hands?”

“They are everywhere.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“They killed Sophie and Marek. It’s a very structured organization that has been persecuting us for a long time. They want to get their hands on the secret that belongs to us.”

“Who exactly are they?”

“You’ll find out soon enough. Before and during the war, they were called the Thule. They may go by another name now. But they have the same signature and kill in the same way.”

Marcas hesitated a moment and then said, “Do you know of similar murders?”

“My father was killed in Dachau in the same way.”

Yet another Hiram murder, Marcas thought. He was losing count.

Jouhanneau cleared his throat. “Yes, the Beast is still here, hidden, and has struck again. It’s us against them. Evil is lurking near the temple doors, brother. You must stop them. The message is clear. Go to Plaincourault, and you’ll understand.”

Marcas ended the call. First to Chevreuse, he said to himself, then to Plaincourault.

51

An aristocrat in the late eighteenth century had to be the one responsible for the still-intact décor of this room. During the final years of the reign of Louis XV, libertine nobles had filled their mansions with highly elaborate and ornamental furnishings in a style called Rococo. It lent itself to sensual pleasures of all sorts. Estates in pastoral valleys had quickly mimicked the châteaux in Paris and Versailles. Far from the court and the fashionable salons of the capital, the owners of these rural mansions could feel that they weren’t isolated, but instead part of a sumptuous culture where any enjoyment could be had.

But the pleasures of the luxurious lifestyle were short-lived. The blood of the French Revolution swept them away. Many of the homes disappeared, victims of history and an expanding real-estate market. Only a few remained, bearing silent witness to a period when freedom of the body accompanied an independent spirit.

This mansion was one that had survived. The French windows overlooked sumptuous grounds, and the louvered shutters let in thin strips of sunlight that sparkled on the polished wood floor. Lovers had most likely enjoyed the delicate play of light on their alabaster skin. A Venetian mirror hung above the veined marble chimney and took in the entire room. Women’s clothing was strewn on sensually rounded armchairs. A stiletto pump had ended up under the mahogany desk. Its mate lay on the bed. A white linen scarf was draped over a plaster bust.

In the back of the room, curtains opened to a dark alcove. A canopy topped a bed that held the sleeping prisoner.

Joana was on the sofa, contemplating the woman she was going to kill. She got up and walked to a window. The grounds were calm. The estate’s employees had finished for the day. There was nobody on the expansive lawn. No one would bother them.

She looked back at the bed. Jade had moved her head. What dark world had she been in? Slivers of sweat had formed under her armpits. Joana had never seen anything so erotic. When she had brought Jade into the room, she’d given in and undressed her before attaching her with wire to the bedposts. Now she was waiting for her victim to wake up.

Although Joana hated weakness, she was ambivalent about her own occasional lack of discipline. She looked over at the desk. Inside a plastic box were two mushrooms. She’d only used a little when Sol ordered her to brew them for the Palestinian to help him pass to the next realm. She had enough left for her own fantasies.

52

Jade moaned softly. She was cold. Her hands were asleep, and pain was shooting up her legs. She wanted to move, but nothing happened.

“No sense trying,” a woman said.

She had to open her eyes.

“A real Sleeping Beauty, except the wait for your Prince Charming will be long. Eternal, in fact.”

The woman assassin was sitting in front of her, staring. Her eyes were cloudy.

“He’s not coming at all. So…”

The woman stood up. “Don’t make me torture you. Think of your body.” She leaned over Jade. “Such a fine body, delicious without anything covering it. You must have known a lot of pleasure in your short life.”

Now the woman was on the bed.

“Your friend was beautiful. I kissed her before killing her.”

Jade wanted to scream. “Tell me what you want.”

Joana inched closer. Her blonde hair brushed Jade’s skin.

“Me? Oh, many things, but first…”

Jade stiffened.

“Is my doll afraid? Do you prefer your cop friend?”

“What about my cop friend?”

“Seriously. You disappoint me. With a cop? I would have thought more of you if it had been with—what was her name again—Sophie?”

“Bitch.”

“If you want, my dear. In any case, you are going to die. Don’t hold back.”

Jade took a deep breath. “No, there’s nothing between the cop and me. He’s not my type.”

The woman’s voice seemed to lose its lilt. “He’s not?”

“No.”

“So you did prefer your girlfriend, then.”

“What do you think?”

The woman leaned in closer yet.

“What if I don’t like guessing games?”

“My hands. Sophie loved when I used my hands.”

Joana stood up and swayed.

“Your hands! Your hands. Do you think I’m an idiot?” She snickered.

“I can prove it to you.”

“So prove it,” the assassin said, shuffling through the papers on the desk and pulling out a letter opener. “One hand. Only one. Make the slightest—I said the slightest—wrong move…”

She shoved the letter opener under Jade’s throat.

“…and I’ll slit your throat.”

An image of Marcas flashed in Jade’s mind. Why him? Why not her father? Or one of the men who had loved her? Why him? He was nothing to her. Here she was on her deathbed—literally—a woman with more than one lover but no one she had loved, and oddly, she was thinking about that dude with a ridiculous first name: Antoine.

Her jailer finished releasing her right wrist and grabbed Jade’s hand.

“Now pleasure me.”

53

“Wait. First, tell me where you’re from.”

“Croatia. A lovely country. You should see it someday. Oh, sorry, you won’t be able to.”

Jade was coming out of her drug-induced haze and calculating her chances of escape. With one hand and her feet still tied up, the killer had a big advantage. She didn’t want to give into the lunatic’s whims, but she didn’t have much choice, given the letter opener at her throat.

“I’m waiting.”

The woman’s voice was becoming throaty, and Jade felt more pressure on her neck. Desperate to get out of the bad-movie scenario, she remembered the words of the unfortunate dead man.

“I know about
bvitti
,” she said.

Joana let up on her throat a little. “Bvi… What?”

“
Bvitti
. I need to see your boss. I know about the stone.”

“That damned stone with some crap about a mind-altering substance that could ‘seed the mind with prophesies.’ We got the archeologist’s papers, and we’re on top of it. Actually, that stone’s just one item on our shopping list.”

“Tell your master I know more about the Freemasons. They’re one step ahead of you.”

While trying to keep Joana distracted, Jade was feeling around with her free hand. She found the shoe on the bed and slowly brought it closer as Joana leaned in.

“I want your hand now,” she said.

The stiletto, with its metallic tip, made a perfect arc before striking the Croatian’s temple, knocking her to the side of the bed. The killer cried out and collapsed on the floor. The letter opener had only grazed Jade in the process.

Jade grabbed the blade and cut herself free. She wasn’t out of trouble yet. The house was probably full of the gardener’s friends. The woman was curled in a fetal position on the rug. Jade pressed down on her carotid artery to slow the flow of blood to her brain and prolong her state of unconsciousness but stopped short of killing her. She tied her up and gagged her.

Adrenaline was pumping through her now, and her mind was crystal clear. She walked across the room and looked out the window at the deserted grounds. She was on the second floor.

Jade headed toward the door and gently cracked it open. Music was coming from the end of the hallway. Too risky. She didn’t have much time. She’d try the window.

She dug through Joana’s handbag and took out her identity papers, undoubtedly fakes, and her cell phone, which would have key information about her contacts. She got dressed quickly, then went in the bathroom to splash some water on her face. The reflection in the mirror was frightening. She looked like an escapee from an asylum.

She didn’t have time to make herself more presentable. On her way back across the room, she picked up the letter opener. Everyone would understand. How could a moral compass hold up in the face of people who tortured and killed without remorse? She pointed the blade at Joana’s belly. A few inches, and the bitch’s life would be over. Sophie’s laughing eyes flashed in her mind. The hate was brewing. It wouldn’t take much more to get her revenge. Jade had killed before in the line of duty, but never anyone who was powerless.

She pulled herself together. No, she wouldn’t become a killing machine. She was better than that. But frustration lingered in her mind.

Jade looked around and saw a stone sculpture on a side table. It was some sort of stylized column. She weighed it in her hand—at least ten pounds. She raised it above her head and slammed it down on the woman’s right wrist.

Joana came to with the searing jolt of pain. She screamed into her gag. Her eyes filled with tears. She twisted her body in an attempt to get free, but Jade sat on her legs.

“I have a dark side, too. I’m not a nice little girl. You’ll be a cripple the rest of your life. I’m not quite done, though.”

She immobilized the broken wrist with one hand, and brought the sculpture down on Joana’s fingers. She was methodical and precise. The woman’s eyes filled with hate.