119

Ninth arrondissement, Paris

Present day

He was okay. He’d be home in a few minutes. Still, who had followed him? He quickened his pace, as if it would help him understand. All of his adversaries were dead. And of all the families, only one remained. He was nearly running now. He didn’t like the little voice in his head. It brought bad luck every time. And the last time… His heart started pounding at the thought. No, not today. He was a new man. An initiate. And a brother never gave in to superstition. He slowed down. Now he was stronger. He could listen to the voice and not be afraid.

The voice was saying there was a fourth. How absurd. Never. There had only been the three brothers—three alone who held the secret, who had invented the story to throw people off. It wasn’t possible. The fourth didn’t exist. It was a legend.

He broke out laughing. He alone was the heir.

He slowed in front of his building and looked over his shoulder. No, he hadn’t been followed. He was sure of it now. His imagination had played with him. It happened sometimes.

He typed in the access code. The entrance was deserted. The concierge’s lodge was lit, and he saw the man’s face. He waved and smiled and hurried up the stairs. At this time of day, his son would be at school, and his wife would be out.

He had to prepare for a long night. He went down his list: flashlight, knife, cap, work clothes, and the drawing of the three symbols that would allow him to identify the mechanism that opened the sanctuary door. When he studied the pillar video, he recognized the spot immediately. He had to check one detail, though.

He dug through a drawer in the dresser and pulled out a map of Paris. He unfolded it, found the Eiffel Tower, and set his finger down next to it, on the exact spot he would have to go to.