CS 01 The Grail Conspiracy (38 page)

"Picture IDs would be useless at a masquerade ball," John said,
motioning to a woman walking past them whose face was painted
like a rainbow.

"Keep your eyes open to anything odd," John said. "Out of the
ordinary."

"Are you kidding? This whole shebang is nuts," Cotten said. "For
starters, you can't tell who's who." They passed a boy-on-a-dolphin
fountain. "This reminds me a little of the place I told you about in
Miami," she said.

"Vizcaya, where you first met Wingate?" John asked.

Cotten nodded and looped her arm through his.

Soon, they stood on a wooden dock on the bank of the Mississippi. A beam from a tugboat's searchlight swept across them like a
blind man's cane as the vessel pushed a long line of barges through
the darkness. The string quartet stopped playing, and a voice came
over the PA. "I'd like to welcome everyone to my annual Mardi Gras
celebration."

"That must be Sinclair," Cotten said.

"Please gather beneath the veranda so I can see all of the spectacular costumes," the voice said.

Cotten and John walked up a stone path, joining those gathering
beneath the balcony.

A man stood on the balcony dressed as a crusader with sword at
his side. On his chest was the red Cross Patee. "Welcome to Rosslyn
Manor."

Enthusiastic applause broke out.

"That's him, I'm sure," Cotten said. "I've seen his face on our science segments."

Their host continued. "We've planned a wonderful evening of
food and entertainment. Until dinner is served, feel free to wander
the grounds and enjoy the beautiful starlit sky. I think you will all
agree Louisiana is God's country."

Another roar of applause washed across the lawn as Sinclair
waved, then disappeared inside.

"He doesn't look all that menacing;' Cotten said.

"Remember the story of the wolf in sheep's clothing."

The two watched until the knot of people dispersed.

"Now what?" Cotten asked.

"Time to scope out the mansion."

"Are you crazy? How?"

"By doing exactly what they won't expect. We'll walk right in the
front door."

"And I will give power to my two witnesses." (Revelation 11:3)

JOHN RAPPED THE BRASS doorknocker, and Cotten pushed the
doorbell.

"Ready?" John asked.

She nodded.

As the door opened, Cotten started. "I told you we need a cell
phone now that we have the baby. A beeper isn't-"

Cotten turned and faced the man standing in the doorway. He
was tall, balding and formal, dressed in a white tie and tails.

"Good evening," he said.

The butler, she assumed, and mentally named him Jeeves since he
could have posed for the cartoon character on the popular Internet
search website.

"Dinner will be served at nine," Jeeves said. "Doctor Sinclair will
not be receiving guests until then."

"No, no," Cotten said. "We need to use the phone. The sitter just
beeped us."

"The baby's been sick," John said. "My wife's a little nervous. First
child and our first time away from him."

Cotten flipped her hair back and said to John, "I told you we
shouldn't have come." She turned to the butler. "Could we use the
phone? Please?"

Jeeves hesitated, then stepped back, clearing the doorway. He gave
a slight motion of his arm allowing them entrance.

"Thank you;' Cotten said.

They followed the butler through the marble-tiled foyer and past
the double spiral staircase.

"This way," Jeeves said. He showed them into a study-dark wood
paneling, a large desk with hand-carved legs, a high-back leather
chair, several occasional chairs and tables, and floor-to-ceiling bookcases swelling with hundreds of volumes. Thick draperies shadowed
the windows that stretched the height of the room.

Cotten watched the butler turn on the banker's light beside the
telephone on the desk.

"We appreciate it," John said.

Jeeves strode back across the room but parked himself in the
doorway.

Cotten picked up the cordless phone and dialed, never pressing
the talk button. She held the receiver to her ear and waited, then
rolled her eyes and put it down. "Busy."

"The sitter must be on the Internet," John said, looking at the butler. "We're the last of the dial-up diehards."

She glared at John. "You'd have us living without electricity ..."
Her voice was cold. Cotten leaned against the desk. "Do you mind if
we wait a few minutes and try again?"

John sat in a leather wingback. "Don't let us keep you," he said to
the butler. "As soon as we get in touch with the sitter, we'll show ourselves out."

Jeeves cocked his head as if calculating his responsibility. "Very
well," he said with a bit of hesitation. "You can find your way out?"

"No problem. And thanks so much." Cotten gave her most grateful smile. As the door closed, she said, "Damn. I didn't think he'd ever
leave us alone."

John cracked the door. "Let's start on the second floor. There's
going to be too much activity down here."

They slipped out of the study and crept up the staircase-Cotten
cringing at every sound.

The first three doors they tried led to bedrooms, and the fourth to
an office suite equipped with an entertainment center-plasma TV,
DVD player, the works-covering one entire wall. "Impressive;' Cotten said. There was also a desk with a computer which she assumed
was for the convenience of any visitors staying at the plantation.
Guests could get on the Net and surf or check their email.

Cotten went to a window, pulled back the sheer curtain and peered
out. "So these are the riches you get when you sell your soul." She
turned to John. "Any idea what we're looking for?"

John shook his head. "Hopefully we'll know when we see it."

They explored several other rooms that turned out to be additional bedrooms-all extravagant, but of no help. Cotten wondered if
the cardinal had sat on the edge of one of those beds in the middle of
the night contemplating his deed.

At the end of the hall was a door smaller than the others.

"Storage closet?" Cotten said.

"Probably."

The door opened to a cramped media room outfitted with a
video projector sitting on a tall stand. Its lens was aimed through a
glassed rectangular window looking out onto an expansive, highceiling conference room below. Tall racks of audio gear and other electronic equipment stood beside the projector. Muffled voices came
from beyond the window.

John and Cotten squeezed between the projector and equipment
rack, and peered through the window. Cotten saw that the room
below had a richly polished ebony conference table in the center and
ten high-backed chairs ringing it. Only two men were seated. One
was Sinclair; the other she didn't recognize. On a far wall, seven video
monitors glowed-each filled with a different face.

"My God," Cotten said quietly. "I recognize those men. They're
the ones from Thornton's list!"

"The Guardians-the seven heads;" John whispered. He motioned
at Sinclair and the other man seated at the table. "And two more of the
ten horns. The gang's almost all here."

"Who's missing?" Cotten asked.

"Don't know."

Sinclair spoke to Gearheart, but the soundproofing of the media
room reduced the transmission of the conversation between the two
rooms.

"Here," John said, rotating a wall-mounted knob labeled monitor
speaker. As he slowly turned it, the voices from below could be heard.

Sinclair said, "Gentlemen, welcome. All of you know my associate,
Ben Gearhart."

Cotten recoiled. Gearhart ... Gearhart. She nudged John. "Ben
Gearhart, that's the name on the card-the business card given to
Robert Wingate that night at Vizcaya. Shit, he's Sinclair's right-hand
man." The words spooled from her lips, but not as fast as her thoughts
came together. "Wingate's tied into this, too." She closed her eyes. John's
theories about God and the devil were scary enough, but in a removed
surreal way. She couldn't comprehend Lucifer and God engaged in battle other than in some distant ethereal place or on the movie screen with Linda Blair's heading spinning. But this ... The presidential candidate's involvement brought what had floated in the foggy realm of
fantasy smack into the bright light of reality. All of this was becoming
too real.

"You okay?" John whispered.

Before she could answer, she heard Sinclair's voice and turned
back to the window.

"I wish to take a moment to celebrate all of our hard work. We are
on the crest of the wave that will surge over mankind. We will finally
achieve the rewards that our bloodline deserves. Our plan has been
effective and efficient down to the smallest detail. Even the good cardinal played his part and behaved as predicted. He has served his purpose and is now stricken from the flock."

A low mumble circulated through the men on the screens.

Sinclair said, "Only the purest of us gather tonight as we start the
most important journey in history-the journey toward bringing
about the Second Coming of Jesus Christ, the Lamb of God. Just a
few steps from this room the miracle is taking place right now."

"Miracle?" Cotten whispered. "Do you think he's creating the
clone here at Rosslyn Manor?"

John turned the speaker volume knob down. "What would be
more appropriate? It has to be;" John said. "He must have a lab somewhere in the house-that's why lanucci wanted us to come here-to
stop the cloning, to destroy it."

"But why would Sinclair have all these guests here, if that were the
case?"

"Maybe he's arrogant and doesn't think he can be stopped. And if
you think about it, there was elaborate security before we could even
get on the grounds. He could use the events of nine-eleven to justify
it. Sinclair is probably a major player in this community, and if he has this party every year he wouldn't want to cancel and arouse any kind
of curiosity as to why. Finding the lab might be easier than we
thought. You know, sometimes the best place to hide something is to
put it in plain sight."

Cotten's mind raced, weaving everything together. "There's something wrong."

"What do you mean?" John asked.

"You said finding it will be easy. Getting in here was easy-too
easy." She put her fingers to her temples. "We weren't so clever getting
into Sinclair's party. We were lured here. We did exactly what they
wanted. We're the moths, and this place is the flame."

John's expression darkened.

"Did you hear Sinclair?" Cotten said. "Ianucci served his purpose.
It wasn't only to switch the real relic with a fake. They knew he would
lead us to them. He was the bait. He gave us the invitation."

John slipped his hand into his pocket and removed the box given
to them by the cardinal. "Do you think they know about this."

A soft click caused John to drop it back into his pocket. The door
to the media room opened-a large man was silhouetted in the light
from the hall.

"Solpeth, Cotten."

For an instant, just a flash that passed through her, she wanted to
jump up and run to him, throw her arms around his neck, and give
him a big hug. But then Cotten Stone's heart tumbled, and her mind
made its best effort to comprehend. He had said hello ... like Motness, in Enochian. "Uncle Gus?"

What was he doing here ... in a monk's robe with a gun pointed
at her? Cotten shook her head in disbelief. She looked hard at him. "I
thought you were-"

"In intensive care from a terrible car accident? No, I'm fine. We
had to tell you something to keep you frightened and on the runkeep you distracted until we could get things underway here."

Cotten could see his familiar smile-his words sounded soft and
gentle.

"We tried to hold you in New York. That would have been simpler. But Father Tyler screwed that up, coming to your rescue." He
looked at John. "You weren't in the original plan. So we had to slow
you down a little, like we did Cotten. Cut off the money. But at the
same time, keep you running. When one is desperate he lacks clarity."

"Thornton ... Vanessa?" Cotten said, awash in betrayal.

"Your boyfriend was a hell of a reporter. He got way too close. We
were sure he had told you everything. But the fashion model ... that
was unfortunate. Wingate panicked. He was way out of line. He could
have injured you."

Cotten swallowed-her throat was so dry it pained her. "And the
cabin fire? You did that?"

Gus said, "We kept our fingers crossed on that one. For a time
there, we were afraid you wouldn't get out. I almost came and banged
on the door to wake you."

"Why? What's going on, Uncle Gus?" Her voice broke.

"Sorry, sweetheart, but I need to make sure you and the priest go
no further. It stops here."

Cotten glared. "I trusted you. Always have, since I was a little girl."
She paused before speaking again. "Did you kill the cardinal?"