Paris, France
The crisp air had a bite from the easterly wind that swept the first fallen leaves from the ground and whirled them in the air as Martin and Sebastian hurried along the Rue de Richelieu toward the Bibliothèque Nationale, the national library of France. They had taken the earliest Eurostar, just two-and-a-half hours from London, arriving in time for coffee and pain au chocolat before heading out into the bustling city.
Sebastian’s silver-topped cane clicked rhythmically on the flagstones as they passed the thriving local shops. He didn’t need it for leaning on; the man was fit as a fiddle, but Martin suspected the cane held some hidden weapon or other unusual feature that made it indispensable on such a journey.
Although he usually preferred to stay away from so many people, Martin loved Paris. There was something about the language that made his mind turn in a different way, and he loved to sound out the words in his head as they passed shop signs: numismatique, laverie, laboratoire d’analyses medicales. The syllables were pleasing in their difference to English and, even though his French was passable, Martin found that he didn’t tune in so much to the rest of the world when people spoke an unfamiliar language around him. He could relax and walk and experience the morning. Bells ringing on bikes and scooters rushing by with a muted roar. The smell of freshly baked baguettes and sugar-topped pastries wafting from a boulangerie underneath apartments with filigree balconies. It was good to walk in a city that was so close to London and yet so distant in terms of culture. Martin regretted the choice of the British people to exit Europe in a practical sense, but he would never leave it in his heart.
Sebastian was quieter than his usual ebullient self, and his fingers clutched the top of his cane with white knuckles. He hadn’t said much about who they were visiting, just that she was a preeminent biblical scholar, someone he had known many years ago and whose career he had followed from afar. As they approached the entrance to the Bibliothèque Nationale, his usually pale skin flushed a little in expectation. Martin grew increasingly curious, but he would not ask about it. The ways of people were endlessly varied, and he had learned over many years of puzzlement to wait and watch and observe.
The sound of laughter and lively chatter came from a leafy park opposite the entrance to the library. Groups of students sat on the grass around an ornate fountain, making the most of the autumn sun as they relaxed next to an immense oak tree that could have been planted back when the library was established at this site in the seventeenth century.
Martin had done his research on the place, preferring to know exactly what he was walking into. He had studied the history of the library and the physical layout of the Richelieu site, as well as hacking into its security to check for any issues. He found their system to be adequate for a place of learning, but while he was in there, he added various things that would help the French if someone other than a white hat hacker came their way.
The National Library of France traced its beginnings to the books collected by King Charles V in 1368 and originally held at the Louvre Palace. Known as the Bibliothèque du Roi, the library of the King, the collection grew over generations as it moved to various locations. It opened to the public in 1692 and expanded under the French Revolution when private collections of aristocrats were seized, and it became known as the Bibliothèque Nationale, the property of the French people rather than the crown. Napoleon increased its holdings and by 1896, it was the world’s largest repository of books. The ravages of the Second World War laid waste to its collection, but the library expanded after liberation, and in the 1980s it became one of the largest and most modern libraries in the world.
Despite its modernity and France’s rejection of its regal beginnings, Martin couldn’t help but be glad of the library’s aristocratic heritage, for without the empire of the rich, it would not be housed in the gorgeous Richelieu building which had only recently reopened in full after several years of restoration.
The tricolor flag of the French Republic flew above the oversized doorway next to the blue standard of the European Union with its twelve gold stars representing unity, solidarity and harmony. Sebastian led the way into a large courtyard beyond, with Martin following close behind.
Guram stood under the oak tree, watching as the two men entered the library. One was old and thin, the other bespectacled, both built for desk work. Neither would be a problem.
He leaned back against the trunk and used the wood to press his clothes against his skin. Under his modern t-shirt and jeans, he wore a thin forest green vest woven through with thorns to remind him of his purpose. As the tiny hooks cut into his flesh, he relished the task ahead. He had never witnessed a woman given to the Garden before, but he heard from one Brother that it would be worth the wait. The screams from a daughter of Eve refreshed the soul in a way that no other sacrifice could. Nature devouring what She had created in a perfect circle. Guram sighed in anticipation as he texted Brother Hadiq who waited around the block with a van ready for transport.
A group of students laughed nearby, their faces transformed by the sun into the epitome of carefree humanity. They sat on manicured grass surrounded by ornate flower beds. They walked in constricted and controlled Nature, and they could not fathom the danger they faced if She was let loose upon the world. Guram hoped they would never know, and his job today was making sure that Eden could not be discovered in this generation.
He pushed away from the tree and slowly followed the two men into the library, retracing the steps he had already taken in the early hours of the morning to lay his trap.
Martin and Sebastian passed through the main entrance beneath a chandelier that hung low from the high ceiling and walked on through the corridors until they reached the Labrouste Reading Room. Martin stopped to gaze up at its vaulted roof, supported by slender iron pillars with decorative filigree flanked by six stories of book stacks. Nine domes painted in muted shades of terracotta and ivory arched above, each topped with glass so that light flooded the space, making the room a true architectural splendor.
Students sat at desks, heads bent over their books, and Martin thought that he could never concentrate in such a place. He would look up at the sky through the high windows and marvel at the way the light played over so many volumes of learning. He spent his days in the buried rooms of ARKANE under Trafalgar Square and for a moment, he dreamed that perhaps he could have a sky office, one with a view of the heavens.
“There she is.” Sebastian’s words were soft, almost a sigh. They captured a sense of unspoken history, as if he had been waiting for her all his life.
Martin followed his gaze across the library. A woman stood under one of the arches wearing a tailored grey suit and towering stiletto heels that only served to emphasize her trim figure in a way that French women mastered from a young age. Her profile was regal, like an African matriarch used to commanding armies, her makeup perfectly applied to highlight her petite features. Martin recalled her face from the research he had done on the library. Professor Camara Mbaye, a French-Senegalese biblical scholar who also specialized in paleo-botany, the evolutionary history of plants and the biological reconstruction of past environments.
Camara looked across the room and her gaze alighted on Sebastian. She stood a little taller, her dark eyes fixed on his face and as she smiled, a ray of sun illuminated the library with its warmth.
Sebastian walked toward her and she toward him. When they met in the center of the Reading Room, it was as if no one else existed. Their eyes locked onto one another, oblivious to the surrounding students. Camara walked into Sebastian’s arms and hugged him, kissing him on both cheeks. He held her for a moment longer than strictly friends would and just before she pulled away, she whispered something. Martin couldn’t hear the words, but when Sebastian turned to beckon him over, his cheeks were aflame with a blush.
Once they were all outside the quiet of the Reading Room, Sebastian introduced them both, emphasizing Martin’s expertise in research and his position at ARKANE and Camara’s extensive knowledge.
“What brings you to Paris, Sebastian?” she asked. “It’s been a long time since we saw each other.”
“Too long,” Sebastian said. “I didn’t know if you would forgive—”
Camara cut him off with a wave of her hand and a shake of her head. “The past is past. I do not live with regret.” She looked at Martin. “Tell me what you need. I know a little of what you do at ARKANE and I have to admit, it intrigues me.”
“We need help to locate the Garden of Eden.” As Martin spoke the words aloud, he realized how crazy it sounded.
Camara laughed with delight. “Ah, this is a true quest and one that all have failed at so far.” Her dark eyes twinkled. “But you’ve come to the right place. I uncovered some fascinating clues at a dig in northern Iran last summer. Then my funding ran out, our local fixer disappeared, and they revoked my permits. I had to leave quickly, but the run of bad luck makes me even more curious. Come, I’ll show you.”
Camara led them away from the grand historical section of the library to a more functional wing where doors opened off a long corridor. Martin itched to see inside these rooms, aware of the treasures held within that he longed to add to his vast collection. Not all the knowledge of the world had been scanned and so much was inaccessible to his powerful algorithms — at least for now. Camara stopped at one particular door and swiped a key card. It clicked to open and lights flickered on inside.
She waved them inside. “Welcome to my domain.”
The unprepossessing exterior hid a cornucopia of academic delights and Martin’s eyes widened as they walked in. The long room stretched back into the shadows with most of it separated off into temperature-controlled glass areas with ancient manuscripts, maps and illustrated documents pinned down for study.
An oversized teak desk covered with folders, loose papers and books, some open with pages marked, nestled in a cozy alcove near the door. An Iranian samovar stood on a side table, a copper vessel used to boil water and prepare tea. This one was a mix of ancient and modern as it was plugged into an electric socket, constantly providing the sustenance that every academic needed. Martin smiled at how the office was laid out as it echoed his own world. Camara was perfectly put together in her lab and her physical appearance, but her desk betrayed a riotous intelligence behind closed doors, one that could not be tamed so easily by the expectations of others.
Flowering plants in rich vibrant colors surrounded the desk and above them, a wall of maps from different eras — all depicting the Middle East.
Camara led them over to the wall and pointed to one map that showed several pins dotted around a specific area. “These are some dig sites I’ve been researching, and this is the one where things were disrupted. I think Eden might be near here.”