25

JACK TRIED THE DOOR HANDLE once and found it locked. He didn’t bother trying to get anyone’s attention on the outside. At some point, both he and Espy fell asleep. Later, a sound at the door woke him. His wife was already alert.

Alain Rousseau’s entrance didn’t surprise Jack. The man offered both of them a smile and then turned his attention to Espy.

“Good evening, Dr. Habilla-Hawthorne,” he said. He took her hand in both of his. Jack looked past him. There was at least one other man in the hall. “My apologies for making you wait so long. I had some things to attend to.”

Despite the circumstances that had brought them there, it was difficult to avoid being charmed by this man. Something about him drew a person in.

Espy smiled. “I understand. You must be a busy man.” She paused and, without a break in her smile, added, “I mean, all the killing alone has to take up most of the workday.”

Jack couldn’t help but chuckle. Rousseau didn’t react but instead released Espy’s hand and turned to Jack.

“You’re an incredibly resourceful man, Dr. Hawthorne. Very impressive.” He spun around and headed for the door. “Now, if you’ll follow me, please.”

After exchanging a look, Jack and Espy did as they were told, walking behind Rousseau while his associate took the rear. Jack didn’t see a gun, but he didn’t doubt its presence. They walked to the end of the hallway, where Rousseau gestured them through another door, which opened into an office more luxurious than the one at his workplace. Jack had watched their approach to the mansion through the window of the sedan that had carried him and Espy from Versailles and knew they were in Rousseau’s private home.

A large desk sat to the left, but Rousseau did not move to it. Instead he invited his guests to sit on a leather couch along the far wall. He took a seat on a matching chair.

“So what do you propose we do now, Dr. Hawthorne?” he asked.

“I vote for letting us go,” Jack said.

Rousseau smiled at that, albeit with a hint of sadness in the expression. He didn’t have to say anything for Jack to understand that their previous arrangement was no longer valid.

“I believe we’ve tried that already,” Rousseau said. “You said you would stop pursuing the relics and work something out with the CIA.”

“In exchange for you calling off your dogs,” Jack responded. “And we both know how that worked out.”

Rousseau leaned back in his chair. “All I said was that my people would not harm you. I never said they wouldn’t follow you.”

“Well, they did more than ‘follow’ us.”

“Perhaps,” Rousseau said. “However, you seem to forget that without my help, Olivia’s people would have killed you in your hotel room.” He fell silent, staring at his guests. When he spoke next, he addressed Espy. “What about your son? Jim, is it? Aren’t you the least bit interested in seeing what the relics can do for him?”

Jack saw Rousseau’s words find their mark. Of course Espy was curious. Over the years, as they’d watched Jim’s condition deteriorate, they’d often wondered about the powerful relics they’d once held in their hands, how they might be used to heal Jim. Yet they’d always drawn a line in the sand in that regard.

“They’re not our bones to use,” Espy said.

“Then whose?” Rousseau asked. “If not you, who have shown your worth, who have succeeded where few have, then who has the right to use them?”

“As hard as it is to say this, especially as a mother who loves her son, who wants him to be healthy and happy, what it comes down to is that it isn’t our call to make.”

Rousseau looked unconvinced. “Since you seem disinclined to answer the question, what about this one? If the bones of the prophet Elisha still contain the healing power of God after such a long time, why would that be so? Would you not think the bones must have some ultimate purpose, something as yet unfulfilled?”

It was another question Jack had asked himself over the years—another for which he didn’t have a satisfactory answer except to recall something Gordon Reese—the man who’d hired him to find the bones, which had forever altered the course of Jack’s life—once said.

“The power of God doesn’t fade over time,” Jack said. “Haven’t you considered that maybe the bones don’t have an ultimate purpose? That they just contain the residual power of an all-powerful God?”

The man’s smile told Jack that he wasn’t framing the debate in any new way.

“Would it surprise you to learn that we have theologians in our association?” Rousseau said. “That we have an exegetical history as robust as your own?”

Jack mulled that over, then offered a headshake. “The Priests of Osiris is older than Christianity, has either influenced or been influenced by countless religions, and has survived on an oral and written history that has to have left many of your beliefs, your tenets, open to interpretation. So it doesn’t surprise me that you have people performing in that role.”

The answer seemed to amuse Rousseau. He smirked as if enjoying some private joke. “Oh, the priestly tradition is mostly vanished now, yet those old questions still evoke some passion.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Jack asked.

“So that you’ll understand,” Rousseau said.

“And what is it that I’m supposed to understand?”

Rousseau allowed the question to hang there. He rose and went to his desk, removing a bottle from a drawer. It was a Macallan scotch, a single shot worth half of Jack’s yearly salary. He placed three glasses on the desk and then looked to his guests. Both of them declined. Rousseau poured himself two fingers without ice. Only after he sampled the drink did he speak again.

“What I want you to understand, Dr. Hawthorne, is that there are no more temples. The boardroom is our temple now. The country club our sacred cloister. The CEO our high priest.”

At Jack’s silence, Rousseau laughed again.

“The bones do serve a purpose,” he said. “A two-fold one, in fact. The first should be obvious. By holding the power of eternal life in our hands, what heads of state can we not control? What captains of industry? The second . . .” He trailed off, finished the last of the scotch. “I’m sure you’ve heard that trite phrase about keeping your enemies close.”

“You mean control of those within your own organization,” Espy said.

“Unify men in a great task, a quest if you will, and you stand a better chance of controlling those men.”

Jack couldn’t help but find the conversation fascinating. What he was hearing from Alain Rousseau was an account of how one of the world’s oldest religions—and he had no doubt that’s what it once was—inherited the secular mantle. The idea enthralled him.

“And which of those two purposes has resulted in all the many deaths your organization has been involved in?” Espy asked.

“Asks someone whose own church fathers sanctioned the Crusades, the Inquisition, the burning of heretics and witches, and an untold number of other atrocities,” Rousseau countered. “And yet I don’t accuse you for the ancient misdeeds of your faith.”

“Except it’s not a faith to you,” Espy said. “Your god is money.”

Rousseau shrugged. “Then I suppose I’m little different from most of your televangelists.” He set his glass on the desk and refilled it. “You already know that I was the one who saved you,” he went on. “I’m the one who made everything that happened in Australia disappear. Who has allowed you to live in peace ever since.”

“I’m well aware of that,” Jack said. “And I suppose I owe you thanks for it.”

“It was self-serving,” Rousseau said.

“Your house has been at war with the Chambers family for a long time,” Jack said.

“Generations, except I wouldn’t call it a war. It’s more accurate to call it corporate politics, but on a grand scale.”

“You had him killed,” Jack said.

“Of course I did,” Rousseau said. “There comes a time when even long-lived skirmishes have to end. When the risks of allowing it to continue are too great. So it was time to end the Chambers influence within the organization for good.”

“But Olivia Chambers wasn’t about to let that kind of power just slip away,” Jack said.

“Another thing for which I owe you thanks. It was your presence that brought Olivia Chambers to Paris. Your presence that forced her to risk leaving the protection of London and travel with limited security.”

Jack saw that Espy was troubled, although she kept herself in check. She was smart enough to know that Alain Rousseau would have killed Olivia Chambers regardless of their involvement.

“If I understand correctly what you’ve said,” Espy began, “the original purpose of the Priests of Osiris was to preserve and judiciously use the bones of Elisha.”

Rousseau nodded agreement.

“But then over time, as the organization grew, it became more about amassing wealth and power.”

Rousseau nodded again.

“So what’s the purpose of the Priests of Osiris today? What’s the twenty-first-century vision of a band of Israelite priests who only wanted to protect the bones of one of their greatest prophets?”

The question was a weighty one, and Rousseau pondered it before answering. “At its peak, the Priests of Osiris was comprised of twenty-two families, all of whom took the responsibility of protecting the bones quite seriously. Of course, each of them also knew what the power of the bones could do for them personally and often acted accordingly. Today it’s a coalition of six families, five now with the withdrawal of the Chambers family. And the purpose at this point is simple economics. The bones are a tool, a means toward continued prosperity for the people who have proven strong enough to protect the claims inherited from ancestors long dead.”

“Yet you mentioned priests and theologians,” Jack said.

Rousseau smiled. “As you said, the Priests of Osiris is the world’s oldest religion. Our influence extends into churches and governments; we own both priests and prime ministers. But make no mistake, our religion is now run by five families. And our catechism is economic theory.”

While the reality of it didn’t surprise Jack, the hearing of it left him feeling hollow—to learn that whatever mystery, whatever good, had once existed had been supplanted by gold. He found that he didn’t have anything left to say, no more questions to ask. Rousseau, however, seemed ready to fill the gap.

“I lied earlier, Dr. Hawthorne. When I told you that I only kept you alive to vex Quinn Chambers? That wasn’t entirely accurate.”

Jack didn’t answer, but just sat quietly beneath Rousseau’s appraisal.

“One of the axioms of any successful business is that one should make use of all available resources,” Rousseau said. “And you’ve certainly proven yourself on that score.”

He lapsed into silence again, took a sip of the scotch. Jack shook his head as he pondered what the man had said. He had an idea about where the conversation was headed.

Rousseau set his glass down and pulled the desk chair back. He opened another drawer and reached for something. When he pulled his hand back, he held the Cavalcanti dagger. He lifted it, studied the jewels. He looked at Jack, an appreciative smile on his lips.

“You have me in a quandary.” Rousseau shifted his gaze to take in Espy too. “Both of you do. On one hand, you both know too much for me to consider you anything but a grave risk to our organization. On the other hand, failing to make use of your talents, your respective skill sets, almost seems a crime.”

“What are you saying?” Jack asked.

“I’m saying I’m prepared to welcome you into my employ. That I’d rather have you using the tenacity you’ve so clearly demonstrated to protect the bones of Elisha rather than forcing me to have to kill you.”

Of all the things Jack had expected to hear, the extension of a job offer wasn’t on the list. His eyes widened and he looked at his wife, her expression the same as his. Years ago, perhaps even as far back as his first hunt for the relics, Jack wouldn’t have considered the offer, wouldn’t have considered sacrificing his principles to work for an organization with such a dark history. Now, though, he found that his decision had to view the boys as a framework. If Jack and Espy declined, the boys would likely be orphaned. If Jack and Espy sacrificed principle and signed on with the very same entity that had haunted their dreams for more than a decade, they stood a decent chance of reclaiming their children from the man who held them.

Jack read these same thoughts in Espy’s eyes, and he saw her come to the same conclusion. Principle couldn’t stand against parenthood. He turned his attention to Rousseau.

“What would you have us do?” he asked.

Rousseau’s eyes twinkled, whether from pleasure or too much scotch, Jack didn’t know.

“We can discuss the terms of your employment later,” Rousseau said. “But I can assure you that none of your duties will include anything you’d find morally objectionable.”

Except for the prospect of working for an organization that was by its nature morally objectionable, Jack thought. He already had a sick feeling in his stomach at the thought of selling his soul to these people, but he tried to content himself with the belief that the job was temporary—that he and Espy would somehow find a way to extricate themselves once the boys were safe.

But even as he thought that, he couldn’t ignore the feeling of pride that welled up in him. A long time ago he’d set off in search of biblical relics and had along the way uncovered clues to the existence of an ancient and powerful society. Now he was positioned to become a member of that society. He couldn’t deny a certain sense of accomplishment.

And he found that that accomplishment, that invitation into the family, gave him the opportunity to ask one more question after all.

“Can I see them?”

Rousseau had the look of a man who’d been waiting for a gifted student to ask the right question. He gave his answer with a smug smile.

“Of course.”