Hurriedly wending his way between the limestone formations, he approached the simple altar comprised of a granite slab supported by two st.u.r.dy boulders. However, it wasn't the altar that ensnared his attention; it was the stone ossuary prominently displayed in the middle of the slab. In ancient times, ossuaries were used to store the bones of the dead.

Excitement mounting, he s.h.i.+ned the torch on the limestone box. As he did, he lightly grazed his fingers over the elaborately incised sides that depicted the sun, moon and a star. The same symbols that were on the Montsegur Medallion. He tucked the torch under his arm. His mind racing wildly at the thought of whose bones might be nestled inside the box, he slowly raised the lid.

'How utterly extraordinary!' he marvelled, astonished to find not a set of desiccated bones, but a golden statuette.

Even more astounding, it was a figurine of the Egyptian G.o.ddess Isis. Nearly a foot in length, the idol clutched a small ankh, had a star on her headdress with cow horns and wore a sun orb menat necklace. Isis, who ruled the heavens and governed the depths of the earth. Isis, who could create and destroy with equal aplomb. Isis, who lovingly gathered the dismembered pieces of her mutilated husband Osiris so that she could conceive her divine son Horus.

Isis. Whom the ancient Egyptians revered as 'the Mother'.

Caedmon adjusted the torch beam to better examine the figurine. Although the outer layer of gold leaf was remarkably well preserved, enough of it had flaked away for him to see that the idol was actually cast from bronze. Since Egypt was the only civilization in the ancient world to gild bronze, the idol's provenance was indisputable. If he had to make an educated guess, he'd date the figurine to the Ramses Dynasty. Which meant that it was at least three thousand years old.

Un-b.l.o.o.d.y-believable.

'This shouldn't be here. You shouldn't be here,' he whispered to the figurine. Granted, in ancient Egypt the devotees of the Isis mystery cult wors.h.i.+pped in underground sanctuaries; a tribute to the G.o.ddess in her guise as the wife of Osiris, Lord of the Dead. But to find an Egyptian divinity in the Languedoc defied conventional history. While a seafaring people, the Egyptians had never ventured into this part of the world. Yet Isis, somehow, made the journey.

Which begged the question ... Was Isis the beating heart of the Cathar heresy?

In the third century BC, in the wake of Alexander's conquest of Egypt, the wors.h.i.+p of Isis spread like wildfire throughout the Greco-Roman world. The last of the great Mother G.o.ddesses, a few centuries later, Isis wors.h.i.+p competed with the burgeoning new religion of Christianity. When the Church Fathers embarked on a violent campaign to eradicate their compet.i.tors, the Isis cults simply re-branded themselves as Marian cults. A fluid transition given that Isis, often depicted suckling the infant Horus, was the original Madonna, sharing many traits with her Christian counterpart.

With that history in mind, it was conceivable that the underground network of G.o.ddess wors.h.i.+p made its way to the Languedoc. As for the three symbols incised on the Montsegur Medallion the sun, moon and a star Caedmon now realized that they represented Isis, her husband Osiris and their son Horus. The Egyptian Trinity.

No wonder the Church Fathers were so determined to wipe the peaceful Cathars off the face of the planet. According to the official history, always written by the victors, the Cathars believed in two separate G.o.ds. But perhaps there was more to their heretical dualism than the simplistic belief that the forces of good and evil, in the guise of the Light and Rex Mundi, were locked in eternal battle, mortal man caught in the crossfire. Perhaps the Cathars' real crime was that they wors.h.i.+pped a female Egyptian deity.

Reaching into the ossuary, Caedmon removed the golden statuette.

Spellbound, he stared at the small, perfectly formed G.o.ddess. The Mother. Suddenly light-headed, he spread his feet wide to steady himself. The limestone sanctuary all but spun around him, stalagmites morphing into an unearthly coterie of female adherents.

'The maiden phoenix, her ashes new create ...'

To his surprise, tears rolled down his face. In that instant, he couldn't distinguish between the sacred and the profane. Reason and desire. The inane and the arcane. What he knew about the Cathars and what he knew about the Egyptians was now jumbled together, separate strands of history that should not be tied together.

Yet here was the knotted proof cradled in his hands. A collision of two different cultures bound by the common wors.h.i.+p of Isis. Woman primeval. Indeed, the Church Fathers in Rome had been horrified by the role that women played in Cathar society. In the Languedoc, women were not seen as the devil's handmaidens, but as vibrant members of the community who partic.i.p.ated equally with men in religious rites and political affairs.

His gaze fell on the miniature ankh that the figurine grasped in her right hand, so blatantly similar to the Cathar cross that had been carved at the cave entrance.

b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l. The clues have been there all along. Staring me right in the face.

The Latin phrase incised on the back of the Montsegur Medallion Reddis lapis exillis cellis. The last two letters of each word spelled the phrase 'Isis Isis'!

His curiosity running at full throttle, Caedmon wondered what other elements of the ancient Egyptian religion the Cathars might have incorporated into their religious practice. And what of the Lapis Exillis, the Holy Grail? Supposedly it had been 'returned to the niche'. He knew that in the Middle Ages, the 'aumbry' was a niche, typically located to one side of the altar, specially designed to hold sacred vessels.

Replacing the figurine in the stone box, he anxiously shone the torch at the limestone wall behind the altar, which had been sanded smooth. In the angled beam of light, he saw a delicately carved image of a dove in flight. A Christian symbol for the Holy Spirit, the dove was also sacred to Isis. A bird of gentle disposition, it symbolized the ancient maternal instinct. Beneath the incised dove, a large rock had been wedged into a square recess.

Caedmon stepped towards the aumbry. Trembling with antic.i.p.ation, he pulled the rock out of the recess.

As he caught his first glimpse of the Lapis Exillis, his breath hitched in his throat.

'Un-b.l.o.o.d.y-believable.'

58.

Hotel des Saints-Peres, Paris 2250 hours Slipping on her robe, Kate tiptoed away from the bed.

Finn, sprawled on top of the tangled sheets, still dozed.

Achy all over, and discomfited about the reason for the sore muscles, she s.n.a.t.c.hed an apple from a plastic shopping bag and limped over to the antique bureau. Seating herself in the upholstered Regency-style chair, she stared at the drawn curtains. Thoughts racing, she silently counted the pink peonies that patterned the heavy fabric.

In the last three hours, her relations.h.i.+p with Finn had undergone a major upheaval and she didn't have a clue what would happen next. It was like driving down a winding mountain road, at night, with no headlights. While a collision might not ensue, there would be an aftermath. A repercussion. A consequence that neither had considered during the exuberant free-for-all. They'd shared something profoundly intimate; she couldn't shrug it off and pretend that hadn't happened.

Although, being a man, that might be exactly what Finn would try to do. So be it. She wasn't going to make any demands. Didn't even know what she would demand if she was so inclined, still grappling with her newfound feelings.

Given all that had transpired in the last four days, she wondered if her life would ever again be the same. At some point in time, would she be able to return to Was.h.i.+ngton and pick up where she'd left off? For the last two years, her few remaining friends had been urging her to make a change. Somehow she didn't think this was what any of them had had in mind: being on the run in Paris.

Hearing a drawn breath, Kate turned her head. Finn, attired in a pair of low-slung cargo pants, stood next to the bureau.

'I'm not sorry,' he said without preamble. 'And in the spirit of full disclosure, I'm thinking that was a couple of days overdue.'

Kate forced herself to meet his gaze, to get past the embarra.s.sment of having writhed naked on the bed with him. 'I'm not sorry either.'

'Man, that's a relief.' Grabbing the twin to her chair, Finn pulled it over to the bureau and sat down.

'Although ... I owe you an apology,' she said haltingly. 'I didn't mean to throw it in your face about Caedmon.'

To her surprise, Finn grinned good-naturedly. 'Glad that you did, actually, seeing as how it got things kick-started between us. And I know you're not the type to purposefully play the jealousy card. I just um overreacted. Talk about going ga-ga.'

Kate blushed, well aware that she was guilty of the same crime. On paper, they were an 'odd couple', hailing from different backgrounds, with little in common. But the paper trail wouldn't show the deep-down, inexplicable sense of 'rightness' that she felt with him. Or the intense physical attraction.

Without asking, Finn took the apple out of her hand. Removing his penknife, he pulled out a blade and began to peel it for her.

The next few moments pa.s.sed in companionable silence.

Extending a hand towards Finn's chest, Kate lightly fingered the silver Celtic cross that he wore around his neck. 'I've always thought that a Celtic cross on a treeless hillside was a hauntingly beautiful sight.'

'The cheilteach belonged to my da.' Finn stopped what he was doing, a red apple ribbon dangling from his knife blade. 'Only keepsake I have. He died when I was fifteen years old. The Guinness finally got the better of him.'

'I'm sorry.'

Finn sliced a wedge of peeled apple and offered it to her. 'When we were at the houseboat in Was.h.i.+ngton, you mentioned that you were divorced.'

She dug her toes into the thick carpet pile, the conversation having just skidded off the runway.

Perturbed, Kate stared at the piece of fruit. She didn't like to think, let alone talk, about her marriage to the soft-spoken, brilliant, boyishly handsome Jeffrey Zeller. A fellow cultural anthropologist, they'd met at a symposium at Johns Hopkins University. On the surface, they were the perfect couple. Behind closed doors, it was a different story entirely.

'My marriage didn't work out. I won't bore you with the details,' she intoned woodenly, head downcast, gaze still focused on the apple wedge.

'Kate, don't take this the wrong way, but ...' Finn's brow furrowed slightly. 'I noticed that you have a couple of stretch marks on your '

'That usually happens to a woman who's given birth,' she interjected, beating him to the punchline.

'I know. That's why I brought it up.'

A heaviness, like late-afternoon thunder, hung between them.

Finn gently nudged her forearm. 'Hey, Katie, y'okay?'

Defensively crossing her arms under her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, Kate hitched her hips, twisting her upper body away from him. 'No, I am not okay. My infant son died two years ago because his negligent father was busy s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g a twenty-four-year-old graduate student and he couldn't be bothered with checking the baby monitor.' The confession, unplanned and uncensored, slipped from her lips before she could slam on the brakes.

'Christ, Kate. I had no idea.'

'He died from SIDS ... sudden infant death syndrome. Which means that no one could ever tell me the reason why he '

Kate closed her eyes, the horrible night replaying in her mind's eye. White crib. Blue-eyed baby boy. Heart pounding. Limbs shaking. She opened her mouth to scream. Oh, G.o.d! There is no G.o.d. If there is, I hate him.

Suddenly dizzy, she grabbed the edge of the bureau. In that same instant, a muscular arm slid around her waist, Finn lifting her out of her chair and on to his lap, protectively tucking her under his wing. His pity more than she could handle, Kate struggled. Finn simply wrapped his arms around her that much tighter.

'Don't let your thoughts go there,' he whispered.

Flattening her hands against his chest, Kate rigidly permitted the embrace.

Surrender, a voice in her head chided. Just for a few moments. He can't take your pain away. And, not having any children of his own, chances are Finn can't comprehend the depth of your despair. It doesn't matter. He's offering you some much-needed comfort. Take it.

With a shuddering sigh, she sagged towards him, leaning her head on Finn's shoulder.

In the days and months following her son's death, she'd been like an airborne bird in a slow-motion death spiral. No one knew how to console her. Her parents tried, but Kate refused to accept that her suffering was due to her attachment to the ego, the tenets of Buddhism cold solace to a mother who had just lost her only child. Her husband, Jeffrey, was too busy excusing his complicity in the tragedy. Her friends, many of whom were new parents, began to shy away once they realized that she couldn't bear to be around their children. Although wary, she attended a SIDS support group meeting. She lasted ten minutes. While they meant well, their heartbreaking stories only compounded her own grief.

Propping a curled hand under her chin, Finn coaxed her into looking at him. 'I'm curious. What was your son's name?'

Kate blinked, surprised; very few people ever thought to ask. 'His name was Samuel,' she replied in a strained voice, a husky whisper the best she could manage. 'But from the day he was born, everyone called him Sammy. Had he lived, he'd now be two and a half years old.'

'Samuel ... that's a nice name.'

'The first year after he died, I'd sometimes wake up in the middle of the night and, for a brief infinitesimal second, I could smell baby powder. I thought I was losing my mind.' Glancing at Finn, she grimaced self-consciously. 'The jury's still out on that one. What I did lose was my interest in just about everything, including my career at Johns Hopkins. Suddenly, I no longer cared about getting tenure. "Publish or perish" ' she shrugged her shoulders 'it no longer mattered to me.'

'Death has a way of rearranging our priorities.'

'It's true. Jeffrey's adultery became inconsequential. Although it contributed to my leaving academia. Cultural anthropology is a close-knit clan.' She snorted at the pun. 'I certainly didn't want to run into her. And I never again wanted to see him. That's how I ended up as a subject-matter expert working at the Pentagon.'

'Want me to pay the b.a.s.t.a.r.d a visit?'

'Yes. No,' she amended a split-second later. She'd long ago closed the book on Jeffrey Zeller.

'I can't imagine the heartache of losing a child. That said, over the years I've lost some really close friends and ... it takes a long time before you can think about them and maintain any semblance of composure.' As he spoke, Finn absently combed his fingers through her hair. 'When I do remember them, I never think about that last day.'

'The fact that Sammy only exists in the past tense is what hurts so much.' She paused, letting the pain wash over her. 'It's why I have such a hard time envisioning the future.'

'You just have to concentrate on the present. If you start living in the now, the future will eventually come into focus.'

She glanced at the Celtic cross. 'I thought you were a Catholic, not a Buddhist.'

'Honestly? I don't know what the h.e.l.l I am.' Warm lips nuzzled the side of her neck, his left hand sliding from her waist to her hip. 'Happy to be with you, Katie. That's what I am.'

'I'm happy, too, Finn.'

They'd spent the last four days together. Hardly the makings of a lifetime commitment.

But could it be the beginning of one?

To tell the truth, she didn't know. But she was willing to find out, Finn having proved himself a far better man than her ex-husband.

A far better man that most, I'll warrant.

Just then, Finn's palm pilot began to vibrate loudly against the bureau.

'I programmed it to alert me when the Benz left the garage.' Finn picked up the device and scrolled through the menus. A few seconds later, he turned the display screen so that she could see the tracking map. 'Uhlemann's headed this way. Time to do the Hustle.'

59.

Mont de la Lune, The Languedoc 2315 hours I've just found the Lapis Exillis! The Stone in Exile.

The Grail!

Astounded, Caedmon stared at the gold pyramid-shaped object cached inside the limestone aumbry.

'First an Isis idol and now this,' he marvelled, flabbergasted that the Grail of legend was actually the Benben stone, one of ancient Egypt's most sacred relics. To have unearthed the artefact in Egypt would have been noteworthy. To find it in the south of France was mind-boggling.

Bending at the waist, he peered more closely, able to see that there were hieroglyphs carved around the base of the stone.

' "I come from the Earth to meet the star," ' he translated, the 'star' in question undoubtedly Sirius, the celestial abode of Isis.

Bracing both hands around the pyramidal stone, Caedmon carefully removed it from the niche and placed it on the altar. Roughly the size of a kettle, it was surprisingly heavy, weighing at least seven pounds.

'Yellow, glittering, precious gold.'

But unlike the gilded Isis figurine, the Grail wasn't fas.h.i.+oned from thinly hammered gold applied to bronze. Instead, the pyramidal stone had actually been electroplated ! A technology that supposedly didn't exist prior to the year 1800 when Alessandro Volta engineered the first electric cell battery.

And because it was gold-plated, he had no idea what comprised the core substance. Was it a stone? A crystal? A fallen meteorite? Whatever it was, the very fact that it had been electroplated proved that the Egyptians knew how to produce electricity.