Father Davon motioned for them to follow him. “Indeed, this is the place that will stay with you long after you return to your homes. No one knows who the architect was — the person who actually drew the plans for Chartres. In the days when Chartres was built, it wasn’t about making a name, a personal statement, as is often the case with builders. It was about making an earthly home for the spirit — the mother of Jesus, Mary. That was reason enough for the sweat equity and ingenuity that went into this magnificent cathedral. Many believe the Knights Templar was the driving force behind the construction.” The priest pointed to the western portal where hundreds of stone carvings above the entrance told stories. “Up there is the story of The Last Judgment. You can see Christ’s ascension into heaven. There is no indication of the wound on his side, the gash he received from the spear of the Roman soldier, Longinus. Perhaps this indicates a second coming and ascension.”
Marcus touched his chest, feeling for the scar beneath his shirt. “What is that?” he asked, pointing to a carved image of an old man hunched over a portable desk on his lap, his hands writing across a stone ledger.
Father Davon chuckled. “That statue is a depiction of the Philosopher’s Stone, a man seeking pure enlightenment. Such was the School of Chartres, which existed in this cathedral for almost two centuries.”
Marcus scanned the wall of statues, faces, figurines, gargoyles, full-length depictions of saints, kings and queens. The sheer number of images in stone was blurring. His eyes stopped on one group of four statues, each standing on elongated pedestals. One statue was of a longhaired man with a spear in his hands.
“Who is that?” Marcus pointed toward the statue.
“It’s believed to be Saint Theodore. No one knows for sure.”
“What are you thinking, Paul?” asked Alicia.
“I’m not sure what to think.”
Father Davon smiled. “You asked about sacred artifacts here. Let’s walk to the north portal, and I’ll show you something that may keep you up at nights.”
As they walked around the cathedral, Marcus snapped pictures with his phone and punched in equations. “I’m betting this cathedral is about as close to any building on earth to matching the size of Solomon’s Temple.”
Father Davon stopped for a moment. He seemed to search for the right words. “Both were built using the sacred geometry, the cubits measured by the dimension of the human body and the spirit of God. Sort of like Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man, a blend of art, architecture, science, nature and spirit all in a proportion that can be replicated and manifested into stone.”
“How does that translate to this cathedral?” Alicia asked.
“Here at Chartres, the builders used measurements and design codes derived from the circle, square and the triangle. I believe the same system was used in the building of Solomon’s Temple, a mix of the sacred cubit and the golden ratio. Not unlike some Greek or Egyptian architecture.” The priest pointed to engravings on the north portal. “Speaking of Solomon’s Temple, that image depicts the Ark of the Covenant being transported from Jerusalem to right here at Chartres.”
Marcus looked closely at the carving into the pillars of the north portal of the church. The images portrayed the Ark of the Covenant pulled by an ox cart.
Father Davon said, “The story links the cathedral as a commemoration of the transportation of the Ark. Many believe the Ark was stored here in the crypt for two centuries until it was taken away.”
“Taken where?” Marcus asked. “Who took it?”
“No one alive knows. Perhaps removed from Jerusalem by the Knights Templar, and maybe returned there by the same group. Or taken someplace else.”
Marcus touched the inscription at the base of the pillars. “Hic Amititur Archa Cederis,” he said. “It’s Latin and means…through the Ark thou shall work.”
“Impressive,” mused Father Davon.
“What does it really mean?” Alicia asked. “Through the Ark thou shall work.”
Father Davon shrugged. “I suppose it’s up to one’s personal interpretation. Perhaps not unlike much of what John left behind in the Book of Revelation. The words often are more than words — they are symbols and metaphors that can keep our inner compass pointed in the right direction. Gravity grips the human body. Chartes grips the soul.”
Marcus said, “When you pointed to the ascension of Christ on the other side of the cathedral, you mentioned the spear that Longinus had used to prove Christ had died. Is that spear here…is it here at Chartres?”
Alicia held her breath for a moment, looking from Marcus to the priest. Father Davon stared at the Ark carved in stone, his thoughts as mysterious as the inscription on the pillar. “Perhaps you and Alicia can return to Chartres at night. This is a remarkable structure anytime, but at night it transforms itself. If the Spear of Destiny is here…I’ve never seen it. However, a thousand years ago, in their curriculum, the teachers at the School of Chartres spoke of the spear. Rather than tell you about it…come back tomorrow night, the night of a full moon, and I will show you something.”
EIGHTY
Using assumed names, Marcus and Alicia checked into the Mercure Hotel at 3 Rue du General Koenig. Marcus asked for a third floor room.
“I have one with a very nice view of the cathedral,” said the balding front desk manager. “How many nights will you be with us?”
“Just one,” Marcus said, paying in cash. They got directions to the room and took the elevator to the third floor. Once in the room, Marcus said, “Don’t turn the lights on yet.”
“Okay,” Alicia stepped inside and stood just beyond the threshold.
Marcus closed the curtains to the three windows overlooking the lighted cathedral. He noticed that the moon was almost full rising above the spires. “The moon’s rising between the steeples on the cathedral. Tomorrow night at this time I guess we will see whatever it is that Father Davon wants to show us.”
“What happens if it’s cloudy?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can I turn on the lights?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think they, whoever they are, do you think they’re out there searching for us?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Why, Paul? Was it something they overheard in the room they bugged?”
“Well, whoever it was, heard a lot more than we wanted them to — we just don’t know who or why.”
“Was it the damn Iranians…the French DGSE, Israelis, the CIA or maybe someone within the Circle of 13? Jonathon Carlson?” Alicia’s anxious laugh got caught in her throat. “Maybe they’re all looking for us.”
“We didn’t ask for the posse.”
“No, we didn’t. Paul, let’s turn the tables even more and look for them.”
“Who do you have in mind?”
“We start with William Chaloner, blood relative to Jonathon Carlson, and we work our way down.” Alicia smiled, opened her laptop, logged on, and began hacking though layers of coding.
“I’ll pick up dinners-to-go and gallons of French roast coffee.” Marcus stepped out of the room and walked to the end of the hallway. He stood in an alcove and used Taheera’s phone to call the Iranians. Rahim answered on the second ring. Marcus said, “Your tech people now know that what I did has effectively stopped the Myrtus threat.”
“Why are you calling, Mr. Marcus?”
“I want to see Brandi Hirsch on a damn airplane like we agreed. I have a flash drive that is the key, the lock and key, which must be inserted in your system to extend the Myrtus shutdown indefinitely.”
“No! I don’t like what I am hearing from you.”