"But it's there?" Roux asked.

"It feels like it is."

Lesauvage returned, closing and pocketing his cell phone. At his command, one of the men placed Roux on the back of his motorcycle.

Annja was seated on another. Avery Moreau, looking feverish and exhausted, was placed on the back of a third.

Only a moment later, they were tearing across the night-darkened terrain, heading steadily up into the Cévennes Mountains.

The motorcycle caravan reached the ruins over an hour later. The long ride left Annja's legs in agony. She hadn't been on a motorcycle in a while and being handcuffed while riding kept her in an uncomfortable position.

Near the top of the mountain, they found the remains of an old Roman garrison. Judging from its position, the stronghold had once existed as a checkpoint along a trail that led over the mountain.

In its time, the garrison had probably looked formidable. Now it looked like the scattered blocks of a giant child. Forest growth had shot roots into the mortar, gained hold and was inexorably pulling the structure into its destructive grip. One day, if no move was made to preserve the garrison, it would crumble, devoured by vegetation.

Lesauvage and his men carried powerful flashlights. The driver in front of Annja helped her off the motorcycle but wasn't gentle about it. She stood on wobbly legs, but her strength quickly returned.

Roux and Avery appeared to have the same problem for a while longer.

"There is a cave inside the mountain," Lesauvage said.

Annja had already known there would be. The Romans had used every advantage the land they built upon would give them, then manufactured others. Having a cave meant having a place to store provisions, as well as retreat to.

"Hasn't the cave been explored?" Roux asked.

"Hundreds of times," Lesauvage answered, gazing at Annja in open speculation.

"Then you're on a fool's errand," Roux snapped.

"For your sake," Lesauvage said, "I hope not."

Like you're going to set us free, Annja thought derisively. But the idea of the cave captivated her thoughts. Even places that had been investigated for hundreds of years sometimes turned up surprises. Often secrets weren't revealed until the searcher knew what to look for.

She pictured the charm in her mind again. The hanged wolf stood out against the background of the mountain.

Why a wolf? she wondered. Why was it hanged?

"Miss Creed?" Lesauvage prompted.

"I'll need my hands," she said.

Lesauvage hesitated, then nodded at one of his men. Two others kept their weapons leveled at her. The cuff around one wrist was removed only long enough to bring her arms in front of her, then was once more secured.

But during that moment, Annja had reached out and touched the sword. It was there. She just couldn't take it from that otherwhere with her hands bound.

"I need a flashlight," Annja said.

Lesauvage handed her a flashlight. Lightning stabbed across the sky. The wind changed directions and rose in intensity. The temperature seemed to be dropping a few degrees.

Good thing you don't believe in omens, Annja told herself. She switched on the light and walked through the remnants of the checkpoint and into the cave beyond.

Brother Gaspar woke in the stone niche that served as his bed. He heard his name repeated, then looked over at the doorway where one of the young monks stood holding a single candle.

"What is it?" Gaspar asked, pushing himself into a sitting position.

"Lesauvage and the American woman have returned to the mountains." The yellow glow of the candle flame played over the young monk's tense features. "They're at the Roman checkpoint where Benoit was believed to have hidden the ransom he extorted from our order."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

For a moment, Gaspar sat wreathed in his blankets. The caves were always damp and chill. He had never questioned where God had chosen to assign him, but he sometimes longed for the day when he would know a warm bed at night.

"Get everyone ready," Gaspar said. "Let's go see what they found."

After the young monk left to wake the others, Gaspar wondered if all the secrets they had protected were on the verge of finally coming out. Over the years of its existence, the church had covered up many things. Men served God, and men were always made of flesh and blood. And flesh and blood were doomed to be forever weaker than faith.

Chapter 28

ANNJA FOLLOWED THE narrow passage, having to duck twice. Not wide enough for two men to walk abreast, the passageway formed a bottleneck that would have been suicidal for an opposing force to attempt to breach.

Almost twenty feet in, the passageway opened into the first cave chamber.

Playing her flashlight beam around, Annja discovered the cave was a near rectangle thirty feet wide and about fifty feet long. The ceiling averaged about fifteen feet up, but dipped as low as five feet.

Her foot slipped over the edge of a hole and she barely caught herself.

"Careful, Miss Creed," Lesauvage admonished.

Pointing the flashlight down, Annja discovered she'd almost stepped into a hole nearly five feet in diameter and at least six feet deep.

"It's a trap," Lesauvage explained.

"I know." Annja shone her beam around and discovered that the pits made a checkerboard mosaic across the front of the cave entrance. Some of them were filled in with dirt, debris and rocks.

"Back in the days of the Roman soldiers," Lesauvage said, "I'm told stakes were placed in the traps to impale the unsuspecting. The stakes are long gone now, of course."

Annja stepped around the pits; stakes or not, they'd make a nasty fall.

At the back of the cave, she found three passageways. All of them led to smaller caves. She guessed they'd been used as storage areas and barracks.

Puzzled, she played the flashlight beam over the cave walls and ceiling again. Bats clung to stalactites that had been chipped and broken off at uniform height.

"What are you looking for?" Lesauvage asked.

"A way out," Annja answered. "It doesn't make sense that Roman soldiers would plan on falling back into a cave they couldn't escape from. There has to be a way out." She started testing the walls.

"People have looked for that treasure in the caves for years," Lesauvage said angrily. "If there had been a secret door in one of the walls or the ceiling, it would have been found."

Annja ignored the comment. Discoveries had been made in what were believed to be "explored" areas before. She just had to put her mind into finding the solution.

"Perhaps," Roux suggested, "the monks already reclaimed the treasure all those years ago. It could be they didn't tell anyone so the search would continue as an exercise in frustration. And to remind everyone that no one could steal from the church. The Vatican liked the idea of divine justice and curses overtaking thieves who robbed them." He stepped into the last cave with a flashlight and helped her look.

Annja wondered why Roux was helping, then decided maybe his own curiosity had prompted him to action.

"They could have," Annja agreed. "This wasn't the best hiding place for Benoit to attempt to stash the ransom."

"There was no other place for him to hide it in the time that he had," Lesauvage said. "It was this place – or no place."

"Perhaps he never got a treasure at all," Roux suggested. "The tale about the treasure could have been merely a way for him to get his vengeance."