“How large a building is the Pantheon?”
“Oh, I don’t know. It is very big.”
“Is there a cathedral beyond the Pantheon, still following the direction the angel is looking?”
Gisele stood on her toes for a moment. Then she closed her eyes. “Yes, but it is not Notre Dame. That is more toward the northwest. In the same direction, as you Americans say, the way the crow flies…the crow would fly into the Cathedral of Chartres.” The chilly breeze tossed her hair. She looked toward the southwest, her eyes slowly meeting Marcus.
“Where is that?” he asked.
“It is in the village of Chartres, about fifty kilometers from Paris. The cathedral is unlike any in Paris, maybe the world.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s mystical, really…and it is difficult to explain. Chartres Cathedral is said to have the finest and oldest stained glass in the world. There is an ancient labyrinth in the sanctuary. I remember going there as a little girl and counting the steps to the center of the labyrinth. I recall it was two hundred and seventy steps to the center. Most cathedrals in France have tombs, either in their crypts or somewhere on the grounds. But this is not the case at Chartres. The cathedral, which is very large, is a testament to the living. It was built as a holy shrine to the Virgin Mary. In Chartres is the tunic Mary wore when she gave birth to Jesus.”
“Gisele, listen to me. This may sound strange, but I need to ask a big favor of you.”
“What favor?”
“My French is fair, but not good enough. Use a pay phone to call the Paris police department. Demand to speak with whoever’s in charge of security at the Rabin Memorial dedication. They need a large police presence tomorrow.”
“Why do I call from a pay phone? What do I tell the police?”
“You don’t have to identify yourself. When you make the call, pull a scarf over your head, wear dark glasses, and then go home. Forget we ever spoke. Tell the police that tomorrow someone will try to kill the Israeli prime minister.”
SIXTY-TWO
The Parisian sky swirled with slate colored clouds chasing each other, the hint of sun squeezing through the grey and resembling a dying white ember on charcoal. It was late in the afternoon when Marcus walked inside the Cafe Le Flore, a small restaurant facing the Seine. The river reflected the grey mood of the clouds, the city soaking in a bath of pewter twilight.
Marcus’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He answered and Gisele Fournier said, “Paul, I’m home. I wanted to let you know that I called the police and spoke with Inspector Victor Roux. He asked me where I got my information, and I wasn’t sure what to tell him.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him that an extremely reliable source told me, and I felt a duty to call the police. When he asked to meet with me…I just disconnected the phone.”
“Thank you for making the call.”
“It is no problem. Do you really think the prime minister is in danger?”
“Yes.”
“This must come from my grandfather’s papers, the Isaac Newton papers and the Bible. Maybe this is some of what my grandfather saw. What brought real terror to his eyes was the divination of nuclear war. What do you do next?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never done anything like this in my life. Gisele, the Chartres Cathedral…can you remember anything more about it?”
“Yes, years ago. It was summer, the longest day of the summer. I remember it well because of something my grandfather showed me.”
“What was that?”
“He took my brother and me to the old cathedral during the Summer Solstice. I remember that the sun was in a unique position in the sky to shine though the dark of the stained glass window called Saint Apollonaire. The sun made the window really stand out, and it was so beautiful. There is one tiny portion through the dark glass where the sunray came in at a perfect angle to strike a stone in the floor. The light hit a nail in the center of the only rectangle stone on the floor. Grandfather said he heard the nail was one that entered the hand of Jesus. Paul, I have to go now. I’m joining my aunt and brother at our small cottage between Boulogne and Calais. Please let me know if you need anything more.”
Marcus ordered French espresso coffee and a croissant. He looked across the Seine at Notre Dame. His thoughts bounced from the Rabin Memorial ceremonies to be held near the Garden of Peace to the information Gisele told him about the Chartres Cathedral. I remember going there as a little girl and counting the steps to the center of the labyrinth. I recall it was two hundred and seventy steps to the center.
He opened his laptop, scanning information about the Chartres Cathedral. Marcus quickly learned that many people considered the cathedral itself as a holy shrine, a tribute to the Virgin Mary. What could a reference to two hundred seventy steps mean, if anything? It’s the number of days the average baby is in the womb. Is the cathedral a stone and glass womb on earth? What’s inside it? What’s to be released…to be born? Maybe nothing. He looked at the pictures of the ancient church, the twin spires, one was 365 feet high, and the second was shorter at 349 feet. He found the elevation and dimensions of the church. Then he emailed the information to Jacob Kogen and added: see how close in size Chartres Cathedral is to what we think Solomon’s Temple was….
Marcus thought about the lone olive tree centered in the steel sculpture near the Garden of Peace. He quickly found a front-page story in the Parisian newspaper, Le Figero, about the Israeli prime minister’s visit to Paris. There was a picture of the prime minister and the French president. Marcus converted the story to English and read the details of the visit and ceremonies at the Rabin Memorial. The event, expected to last thirty minutes, would open with remarks by the mayor of Paris before his introduction of the prime minister. The story indicated that American Secretary of State, Merriam Hanover, would be attending the ceremonies, too. She was staying at the Hotel de Crillon and flying to Egypt after her stop in Paris.
Marcus made a call to her mobile phone. The Secretary’s assistant answered. Marcus said, “Secretary Hanover asked me to stay in touch with her. I know she’s here in Paris. Something has come up that she should know about. I need to meet with her today.”
“Mr. Marcus, we just got in from de Gaulle. Secretary Hanover’s afternoon is fully booked with meetings through dinner. She can’t meet with you—”
“Please, put her on the line.”
“I’m sorry. But that’s not possible.” The woman ended the call.
Marcus set his phone on the table. He looked through his computer bag and found Taheera’s phone. He held it for a moment, his eyes focused on the last number dialed. His cell rang. He set the dead woman’s phone down and picked up his mobile. “Paul Marcus, this is Nathan Levy. Jacob Kogen said that you were concerned there will be an attempt on the prime minister’s life in Paris.”
“I think it’s going to happen during the tenth anniversary ceremonies at the Yitzhak Rabin Memorial adjacent to the Garden of Peace at the UNESCO headquarters.”
“Is this information drawn from the same source that indicated the prime minister’s life was in danger when he made an appearance with your president at the Lincoln Memorial in Washington?”
“Yes.”
“That wasn’t a credible source. What makes you think anything has changed?”
“The information better fits. The time and location of the Lincoln Memorial best matched the given parameters at that instance. Now, with the tenth anniversary of the Rabin Memorial to be commemorated in Paris, the other clues, such as the weeping angel, are more obvious. The Nagasaki Angel, the only piece of a church that wasn’t vaporized during the bombing of Nagasaki, is in the park.”