‘Sir,’ murmured Laval.
Authié nodded. Four men had appeared in the mouth of the cave. They stretched their arms and squinted into the early evening sun after the gloom inside. Their shirts, open at the neck, bore signs of hard work, streaks of machine oil and subterranean grime. Their faces and lower arms were tanned by the weeks of Midi sun, but the skin beneath their collars was pale.
The largest of them pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and offered them around. The group had the satisfied air of men who’d achieved what they’d set out to do.
‘Morgen?’ Tomorrow?
The big man shook his head, and looked over his shoulder towards the cave.
‘He says tonight. We head for Pau and cross into the zone occupée there. Then up the Atlantic coast.’
‘Wieder zu Hause?’
‘Home, yes.’
‘Out of this heat.’
‘Proper beer.’
‘And the rest of it,’ a third leered, his mime leaving no doubt what he had in mind.
‘What about your wife, Hans?’
‘She can wait a day or two longer,’ he said.
The men all laughed.
Authié calculated. If Bauer was preparing to leave tonight, it was confirmation that he had found something worth taking to his masters in Berlin. So he could approach Bauer and attempt to negotiate with him. Or he could take it by force. Not leave any loose ends. He had briefed Laval for both eventualities. He had prepared himself for both eventualities.
For a moment, the decision hung in the balance. Authié closed his eyes, praying for guidance. His fingers touched the metal on his lapel. The cold physicality of the crucifix gave him the determination he needed. There were four of them against two. If the negotiations turned sour, the odds were not in his favour. The only advantage they had was surprise. To strike first.
He turned to Laval, and nodded. Laval got into position. Authié lifted the Mauser K98. He wedged the stock tight against his right collarbone, braced his left elbow hard against the stone, adjusting his grip several times until it was secure.
His focus narrowed. The noise of the men talking, the sound of their feet on the gravel and rock of the path, the whisper of the cicadas in the long grass below, everything faded away. He lowered his head to the sight, feeling the muscles strain in his neck. He lined up his target through the notch sight then, slowly and gently, he pressed down on the trigger, keeping his aim true, giving life to the bullet in the chamber. The propellant gases expanded, exerting pressure on the bolt, then there was a deafening crack and a starburst flash as the bullet left the rifle.
On the path below, an explosion of red as the shot hit, taking away half of the man’s head. Blood, brains, bone.
For an instant, the other three froze. Then their training kicked in. Soldiers, not civilians.
‘Get down!’ the leader shouted. ‘In Deckung!’
One threw himself behind a boulder, another rolled into the juniper bushes at the edge of the path to take cover. The third, hesitating a moment too long, resting his hand on his dead friend’s shoulder, gave Laval a perfect shot. Laval struck the target straight in the chest, a clean hit. His body slammed back against the trunk of a beech tree.
Authié lowered his rifle, pulled back the bolt, reloaded and locked into position, then fired again. This time his shot went wide. The survivors returned fire, but their pistols – Authié guessed standard German army-issue Lugers or Walther P38s – were no match for the range and power of his weapon.
The man behind the boulder loosed off several rounds, splintering wood and branches some five metres below Laval’s position, but posing no real threat. The German paused to reload, breaking cover momentarily. It was just long enough to give Authié a clear shot. He pushed down on the trigger again. Another blast, another flash of burnt propellant. More blood. Three of the four men were down.
The final target ran for the woods. He kept low, zigzagging to left, to right. Laval couldn’t get a clear shot. The man disappeared into the trees.
Gesturing to Laval to cover him, Authié withdrew from his hiding place and made his way up towards the cave itself. Suddenly, he was terrified Bauer wasn’t there. That he had already gone.
He had to go in and see.
Behind him another shot rang out and struck the ground, shattering the wood of the trees. Authié ran through the undergrowth to the entrance of the cave. He glanced at the bodies. Their weapons were 9mm Lugers, new models. He picked one up and, seeing the chamber was full, took it.
He pressed himself against the cave wall. ‘Bauer?’ he shouted.
Only the echo of his own voice came back at him. Laval fired another shot. Authié put down the rifle, too heavy for close combat, and stepped into the darkness of the cave.
The silence was deafening. Adrenalin surged through him. It had been years since he’d been involved in active operations. For too long he’d been directing matters from behind his desk, rather than leading men out in the field. It felt good to be a soldier again, a Christian knight.
‘Bauer, are you in here? Come out and we’ll talk.’
Nothing. He listened, but could hear nothing. No sound of digging or breathing or footsteps, nothing. His heart sped up. If Bauer was here, why hadn’t he shown himself? Was he hiding? Or was he so far underground he hadn’t heard the shooting?
Authié hesitated, in the end the silence persuading him that Bauer didn’t have other men inside. Laval had reported that the German’s team was comprised of six men. Two were in Le Vernet. The other four were neutralised outside.
Laval joined him. He, too, had abandoned the rifle in favour of a Luger.
‘All down?’
‘Yes,’ Laval replied. ‘Any sign of Bauer?’
Authié shook his head, motioning for Laval to go in front as they made their way into the tunnel. The ground sloped down and the temperature was dropping, but hurricane lamps had been set at regular intervals along the passage so they could see where they were going.
He reached out his hand to get Laval to stop. In the stillness, Authié heard the sound of metal banging against rock. He tightened his fingers around the Luger, then ordered Laval forward once more, until he saw a glow ahead. The tunnel opened out into a chamber, floodlit by lamps on high metal tripods. And there was Erik Bauer. He was standing beside a wooden structure that had been erected over a hole in the ground. A rough frame with a crankshaft handle, a metal pail hanging from a rope.
Authié watched Bauer for a moment, realising he had sent his men away so they didn’t witness what he’d found. He cast his eyes around, double-checking there was no one else with him. He could see no sign that Bauer was armed. There were only digging tools within reach.
‘Bauer,’ he said, coming out from behind the rock.
The German spun round. Authié saw the look of shock on his face immediately turn to horror. Bauer’s hand went to his pocket.
‘What have you found?’
But before the German had the chance to answer, the sound of a shot rang out, a sharp crack echoing off the stone walls of the chamber, hitting Bauer in the chest.
‘Hold fire!’ Authié shouted.
The order was lost in the sound of a second shot, this one striking Bauer in the shoulder. He swayed on his feet, then crumpled sideways to the ground.
Authié covered the distance with a few long strides. Bauer was lying in a pool of blood, a splinter of white shoulder bone showing through his skin and cotton shirt. He pushed the body with his foot. A gush of blood spurted from the wound in Bauer’s chest, though his pale eyes were still open. Authié reached down and took a small wooden box from the German’s hand.
‘Were you going to tell me about this? Were you?’
‘Go to hell,’ the German managed to say.
Authié crouched down and pressed the muzzle of the gun to Bauer’s temple.
‘Who told you to look here?’
A bubble of blood foamed in the corner of Bauer’s mouth. ‘Meine Ehre heißt Treue.’
Honour and loyalty, the motto of the SS. Even if Laval hadn’t fired, Authié was certain Bauer wouldn’t have told him anything. He pulled the trigger. Bauer’s body jerked violently once, then slumped motionless on the rough earth.
‘I thought he was pulling a gun,’ Laval said.
Authié held out the box. ‘No, he was going for this.’
‘Is it the Codex?’ Laval asked.
Authié ignored him. He hesitated, then lifted the lid of the box. A wave of triumph went through him at the sight of the papyrus inside. He lifted it out and unrolled it. Yellow, brittle to the touch, the surface covered in jagged brown symbols, letters. Seven short verses – a work of heresy, despite the sign of the cross. He was caught between awe at the power the proscribed text was said to possess and revulsion at the heresy it represented.
‘Hostem repellas longius, pacemque dones protinus . . . so shall we not, with Thee for guide, turn from the path of life aside.’
The battle cry of the Catholic crusaders as they defeated the Cathar heresy – in Béziers, in Carcassonne, at Montségur. They were not the right words for the occasion, but Authié felt in need of protection. He returned the scroll to the box and closed the lid.
‘Sir?’
‘Bring the rest of the bodies inside, then secure the cave,’ he ordered.
Authié bent down and searched Bauer’s pockets, but found nothing of significance. For a moment, he looked down at the indistinguishable pulp of matted hair, blood and brain, then he slipped the Totenkopfring from Bauer’s finger and put it in his own pocket. Finally, picking up the precious box, he made his way back to the surface.
Laval was dragging the last of the bodies into the mouth of the cave.
‘Are the charges ready?’ asked Authié.
‘In a couple of minutes they will be, sir.’
Removing himself out of range of the blast, Authié watched Laval take two small mines from his rucksack. He placed one at each end of the entrance, then took cover and pressed the handle. The two explosions, seconds apart, were muffled. Clouds of grey smoke and dust billowed out into the green countryside, the sound of rock and stone collapsing on itself. It was the way the Germans secured each of the sites they’d excavated. By sealing the cave, Authié hoped to avoid any problems. Despite his contacts, five murdered men would be difficult to cover up and he did not want to be caught up in lengthy enquiries.
Laval picked up the spent cartridges and the two rifles.
‘What do you want to do about the truck, sir?’
Authié thought for a moment. ‘We’ll have to leave it. It’s well camouflaged. Let’s hope no one finds it in the next day or so. Or if they do, that they steer well clear.’
Laval held the door open for Authié, then got into the front seat and started the car.
‘Back to Tarascon, sir? You wanted to talk to Sandrine Vidal again.’
Authié sat back in the seat, holding the box on his lap. A long sigh escaped from between his lips.
‘She can wait,’ he said. ‘Head for Toulouse.’