Shadow Ritual (23 page)

The flashlight beam revealed a rich palette of colors—yellows and reds, nuanced grays, bluish touches, and alabaster green.

“Marcas, look at this.”

Higher up on the wall, a beaming fox was playing a medieval musical instrument, perhaps a viola, for a hen and her chicks. Next to it, like a scene in a graphic novel, the fox was slitting the hen’s throat.

“I get it,” Zewinski said. “The fox is playing the woman. He’s out to get himself some fresh meat. Those knights had a dark sense of humor, didn’t they.”

“Some sense of humor,” Marcas said. “But the fresco we want is over there, near the altar.”

They walked past a small black railing that marked the entrance to the apse. Marcas angled the flashlight to illuminate the ceiling and the frescos. It created a play of shadows, making the pictures on the ceiling dance.

Jade grabbed the light. “Let me find out what doesn’t fit,” she said.

At first, nothing jumped out at them. A Byzantine-inspired Christ Pantocrator presided over the apse. His right fingers pointed to the sky, and he was surrounded by a traditional tetramorph, four allegorical representations of the evangelists: a lion for Mark, an eagle for John, an ox for Luke, and a man for Matthew.

On either side were frescos about six feet high, separated by narrow windows.

“What’s that?” Marcas said. “Let’s see what I can remember from catechism. Here is a crucifixion, there the Virgin Mary with child, a whole bunch of souls, and over there, to the far right, Adam and Eve surrounded by… Well, well, what is it that I see? It’s a—”

Marcas let Zewinski say the magic word.

61

The wind had been picking up since nightfall. The forecast was storms over the Adriatic. Boats were returning to port. Lightning flashed in the distance, followed by thunder.

Fascinated by the show of unbridled elements, Loki was sitting on the bench at the edge of the overlook. He was holding a cell phone to his ear and talking to his master, Sol.

“A good omen. Thor is wielding his hammer. The board isn’t happy with your explanation regarding the Hiram operation, except perhaps Freya. They respect you and would never dare to question your word, but—”

“But what?”

“They belong to another generation. They share our political ideas and love the organization’s power, but remain deeply skeptical. They don’t think Operation Hiram will yield anything. And the loss of one of the order’s houses galls them.”

Loki looked out at the rumbling sea. Sol’s voice grew stronger.

“But they were initiated. They know that the spiritual side is most important. If Operation Hiram succeeds, we’ll be at the dawn of a new era. The Thule will be back. Don’t they understand?”

“In theory, yes, but discussing anything related to the divine is too abstract for them. Heimdall even wondered if you were getting senile.”

Sol was shouting now. “They’ll see if I’m a crazy old man! When I think about what their forefathers sacrificed. They’re gutless wonders, every one of them. Their entitlements are all that they care about. None of them would have made it into the Waffen SS, like I did. They’ve lost the taste for blood. I made a mistake giving them power. We need to replace the board. You’ll do that for me. I need to finish Operation Hiram. When it’s all over, we’ll be witness to a new night.”

“A night?” Loki asked, watching dark clouds roll over the coastline. Sol’s voice sounded like a metallic echo.

“A night of long knives. Like the Führer’s. More pleasures await your Iron Maiden. I have to go now. I’m meeting some very interesting people. And by the way, your daughter says hello.”

He ended the call.

62

“A giant toadstool.”

Marcas nodded. “A superb
Amanita muscaria
, or fly amanita,” he said.

Jade and Marcas stepped closer to the mural to get a better view.

Adam and Eve stood naked, their hands covering their genitals. Between them, five long-stemmed mushrooms rose from a single spot. A snake was wrapped around the central stem, its head toward Eve.

Jade leaned in. “Amazing. A shroom instead of an apple tree. That’s an intriguing depiction of the original sin. It must have been a shock for the worshippers.”

“Maybe not. The worshippers weren’t ordinary people, you know. This chapel was forbidden to commoners. It was used exclusively by the Knights of Hospitaller for two full centuries.”

Marcas pulled out his phone and started taking pictures of the mural while Zewinski examined the details.

“What’s this got to do with the Breuil Manuscript?” she asked.

Marcas put his cell phone back in his pocket. “Remember, Breuil bought this chapel and the land around it, so he must have seen the mural. He came back from Egypt and wanted to create a completely new ritual, change the bitter initiation wine, and dig a pit in the middle of the temple for a bush. Take a good look at the mushroom. Doesn’t it look like a fruit tree?”

“It looks like a mushroom to me.”

“Yes, but Breuil, like many other Freemasons, was skilled at using parables and symbols. I think he wanted to use this mushroom in his ritual. It’s the missing ingredient.”

Zewinski shrugged. “Why this mushroom?”

“It’s not just any mushroom. It’s a magic mushroom. It’s known for its hallucinogenic properties. Many religions and other belief systems have used mushrooms since ancient times to commune with the divine. So according to this painting, Adam and Eve were chased out of paradise for eating a mushroom, not an apple.”

“I’ve heard of South and Central American cultures that have cults based on sacred mushrooms.”

“Shamans in many cultures rely on psychedelic mushrooms. The psilocybin mushroom was an integral part of Aztec religious ceremonies in Mexico because of its hallucinogenic properties. They called it
teonanacatl
, which means ‘God’s flesh.’ And as far back as 1,000 BC, there was a Mesoamerican mushroom cult in what is now the Guatemalan highlands.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I listened to one of our brothers, a botanist, give a brilliant presentation on the role hallucinogenic mushrooms played in Central American religious ceremonies. He suggested that the visions recounted by Christian mystics were identical to hallucinations experienced by Mayan and Aztec priests.”

Zewinski smiled. Finally, a rational explanation from a Freemason. Maybe she could even like him someday.

“Did he have anything to back up his theory?” she asked.

“He talked about experiments conducted in the nineteen sixties in the United States. A Dr. Walter Pahnke gave psilocybin to Christian theology-student volunteers. After absorbing a purified form of the mushroom, three of the ten said they had experienced intense mystical visions. They had the feeling of being one with Christ and the Virgin Mother. They really saw Jesus and Mary.”

“How’d that work?”

“The molecules in the plants have a chemical structure similar to neurotransmitters. They basically replace the brain’s neurotransmitters, causing what you might call a big bang in the head.”

Zewinski looked at the mural again. “Is there anything else to discover?”

“Sophie came here and found something else. But what? It must be in the details. There must be some coded formula or a partial one, probably in numbers.”

Zewinski stared at the wall. “For the code to the safe at the embassy, Sophie insisted on using the Templar spelling of the word Plaincourault. She added two letters to get fifteen.”

Marcas bit his lip. “What if we focus on the number fifteen in this mural. There are five mushroom caps atop five stems.”

Zewinski shook her head. “No, look. Two other thinner stems branch off from the central trunk and support the main cap. That’s five caps and seven stems.”

Marcas scratched his head. “Five and seven. We don’t have fifteen.”

Jade grinned. “I know. Five plus seven plus three equal fifteen. So three would be the number. Look, the snake is wrapped around the stem three times.”

“Congratulations. A-plus in symbolism.”

“So why three numbers?”

“My turn now. In Freemasonry, every grade or degree is symbolized by a number: three for the entered apprentice, five for fellowcraft, and seven for master.”

“I gather that each ingredient gets a number: three for one, five for the other, and seven for the third. But which ingredient gets which number?”

“Good question, but what I want to know is this: where’s the pit? Breuil underscores the importance of the pit, where the roots take hold. It was only in the birth of life underground that the seven heavens could be attained. The key enlightenment lay in the earth, or the womb, or something of that nature.”

“Could three, five, and seven help us find it?”

Marcas and Zewinski began counting steps from the base of the mushroom in various directions, testing different combinations of the numbers.

“Maybe the numbers have nothing to do with it,” Zewinski finally said. “You and your Freemason symbolism bull are getting us nowhere.”

Marcas moved back to the mushroom and started feeling the wall.

“Hold your horses,” Zewinski said. “You may be a cop, but this is historical property that belongs to the people of France, and you’re getting your greasy fingers all over it.”

Marcas smiled but continued working on the flagstones at the base of the fresco. “Look, one is crooked. Give me a hand.”

Zewinski looked around the chapel for a tool and found a candle snuffer. She gave it to Marcas, and he pried the stone up, using the snuffer’s long handle. Something in a dirty canvas-like cloth was under the stone.

“Well, look at that.”

Marcas unwrapped two wax-sealed vials containing a murky liquid.

“Do you suppose that’s the God brew?” Zewinski asked.

“Anything is possible.”

Marcas sat down on the step beneath the altar. The heat collected in the building’s thick stone walls during the day was dissipating. Zewinski sat down next to him, and he became very aware of her presence.

Jade was looking at the night sky through one of the narrow windows. It was dark inside, except for the glow of the flashlight on the floor.

“What a perfect place for this mysterious crap,” Jade said. “I can just see the knights in their long capes kneeling before this heretical painting.” She shivered. “And we’re still no closer to finding Sophie’s murderer.”

Silence filled the chapel. Marcas put his arm around her. Jade took his hand and moved closer.

No sooner had she done this than a voice rang out in the darkness. “Look at that. Adam and Eve back together in front of the Tree of Knowledge. What a scene.”

63

Marcas and Jade shielded their eyes from the harsh light the man was aiming at them.

“Fly amanita grows in round formations called witches circles,” the man said. “This region has always been known for its witches. Leave the vials where they are, and put your hands up. Now slowly move away from the painting.”

Four threatening figures moved toward them, one limping. Marcas regretted leaving his gun in the glove compartment of his car.

The group stopped in front of them, where Marcas and Jade could make out their faces. In the middle was an older man with white hair and an expressionless face. Jade recognized the person to his left: Joana, who was waving her bandaged hand. On the other side of the leader was a younger man with short hair and a detached look in his eyes. He was pointing a MP5 submachine gun with a sound suppressor in their direction. The fourth man stood in the shadows. The leader lowered his flashlight.

“I happened to overhear your fascinating conversation about the amanita. Its nefarious reputation as a poisonous mushroom dates to the beginnings of Christianity. But before Christianity took root, it was considered the plant of immortality. It was used as early as the latter part of the Paleolithic Period. You mentioned God’s flesh. Shamans and pagan priests venerated each mushroom as a little piece of divinity on earth. But when the Church took power, these mushrooms became witches ware. Did you know that Saint Augustine wrote a text denouncing the use of these very special plants? But I’m digressing. Klaus, can you hold my flashlight?”

Rubbing his hands together, the old man stepped in front of the fresco.

“Absolute blasphemy. A hallucinogenic mushroom replacing the apple. The knights were taking a great risk during the Inquisition.”

“Who are you?” Marcas asked.

The white-haired man continued to contemplate the painting. “My name is Sol. That name means nothing to you, but the name of my order should.”

“The Thule, right?”

The old man turned around. “Good. Very good. So there really are a few Freemasons who know something about world history. For that matter, I want to thank you, Inspector. We started following you after your tête-à-tête at the Interior Ministry. What interesting meetings you’ve had, especially at the Grand Orient Lodge. You were such an easy target. We stayed on your tail, even when you were picking up your charming friend not so far from our compound. If it hadn’t been for you, we wouldn’t be here having this nice little chat. And I wouldn’t have found what I was looking for.”

Sol picked up the vials, his eyes glistening.

Marcas spoke in a matter-of-fact tone. “So you weren’t surprised by the presence of this mushroom.”

“No, I figured it would be one of the ingredients in the brew. Fly amanita contains ibotenic acid and muscimol, long-range missiles that directly target neurons. I was hoping to know how much of each ingredient to use, but now, because you’re so clever, we have something even better: the actual mixture. Hans, take it to the team and have them make up a fresh brew.”

Sol turned back to Marcas and Jade. “All we need is to do now is lay the groundwork for the ritual.”

Joana interrupted, “Leave the girl to me. I’ll take care of her.”

The old man raised a hand. “Later. We’ll keep our Adam and Eve together for a moment. I still need the Mason for the ritual. We’ll be having a very special ceremony.”

Marcas interrupted. “Then what? Will you kill us? Like Hiram?”