Chapter Twenty-One

Vault Raider

Night time fell on Montreal.

Desmond looked down upon the city from his perch, the bell-tower of City Hall. From there, just southwest of his position, lied the twin towers of the Notre-Dame Basilica.

And whatever lied beneath.

"How's the weather up there?" Rebecca asked brightly.

"I'm freezing my balls off," Desmond muttered, trying to keep his teeth from chattering. "These extra layers are doing nothing."

"Toldya to go with the thermal underwear, bro," Elliott tsked.

"Shut it, hackerman,"

"Let's stay on task here, kids," came the aggrieved sigh of William Miles. Desmond could just see him running a hand down that old face. Least to say, having a group voice chat was not William's idea of a good time. "Hastings, you have anything helpful to add before we begin?"

"Oh, nothing," Came Shaun's voice, in a sing-song manner. "Just that I'm really enjoying my terminal by this warm fireside, with this cup of hot chocolate milk, and a nice fleece blanket around my shoulders. Unlike Desmond!"

"Oh, fuck you."

"Alright, now that we got all of that out of our systems, let's begin." William clipped on, as if nothing had been said.

As if Desmond needed the go-ahead — he was already on the move. As soon as Shaun started talking about warm firesides, he couldn't take the damn cold anymore. Exercise was the only way he was going to stay alive. In the most literal sense. In a series of three quick moves, Desmond had dropped down from his perch, flipped onto the roof below, and rolled back up into a light jog, slowly building speed. "Three steps ahead of you, pops."

Another deep sigh, which imbued three years on Desmond's lifespan. It was only a mild dig for calling them "kids".

The Basilica was only a few blocks away, and Desmond kept the flickering warm, golden lights in focus as he made it to the end of the roof. Began his way across a thin wire, iced over by the weather. "Elliott, give me a layout of the area. What do the drones see?"

"Only light security around the perimeter," Elliott replied. Somewhere in the distance, his little drone was hovering above the church, giving the team a full view of the area. The only one who couldn't see it was Desmond. "I'm counting six, maybe eight guards patrolling the area. Armed with what looks like stun batons and small firearms. No workmen or crew around. I count a few more guards inside, pacing in front of the windows. You should be able to avoid them if you stick above the second floor."

"Got it." Stealth was critical. Well, it always was, unless it was an emergency. Desmond decided that tonight would not be. Yet.

He slipped only once on the icy wire before recovering and hopping the last three feet to safety. From there, it was a series of racing across rooftops, scaling brick facades, and jumping from air duct to chimneys. Untouched snow crunched beneath his feet, the soft floury kind that didn't stick very well.

Nine at night, Desmond was hoping that "construction" at the Basilica would be closed by now. Not to mention it was below twenty degrees, which had to be a cause for unsafe working conditions. Was Abstergo really that evil?

Who was he kidding? Of course they were.

Up, down, and over. Desmond slid down a slanted roof covered in snow, which slowed his fall as he came to a stop at the took in the sight before him, the Basilica just across the street. Up close, it felt huge, stony and impenetrable. Elliott was right, there were surprisingly few guards on the ground. There were shifting shadows in the windows, but nothing that made Desmond uncertain. He already had an idea on how to get in without anyone spotting him.

"Notre Dame Basilica is what some consider to be the pinnacle of Gothic Revival architecture. Its interior design is considered to be some of the best, most dramatic examples of the style around the world."

As annoying as Shaun could be sometimes, Desmond had to admit (not aloud) that hearing him gush over historical stuff was kind of adorable, in a nerdy way. It was the only time Desmond could rely on his friend to be at his most genuine. And it had its own nostalgia, climbing the towers of Florence and Venice… that felt like ages ago.

As Shaun continued going over the basic history of the church, Desmond figured out a way to get in.

First problem: crossing the street without getting noticed. That was easily remedied. Desmond traveled along the buildings on his side of the street until he found the narrowest interval between rooftop and church. Below on the street, was a crane for window-washing. It's crane was conveniently turned towards Notre Dame, narrowing the stretch even further. Leaping off a gutter, Desmond landed on the thin metal bar, only about as wide as his hand — one foot in front of the other, he tight-roped his way across, taking care not to slip on the narrow, icy surface.

He dropped into the basket on the end, judging the last stretch. It was about ten feet across, but where could he catch hold. There was no light on the Notre Dame in this corner, which was excellent for cover and not so excellent for not wanting to die leaping into thin air.

Eagle vision provided a little help. Squinting into the darkness, he caught the glint of a ledge. Just big enough to grab onto.

Crouching on the railing, Desmond shifted from side to side, wriggling his haunches like a cat about to pounce — and jumped.

Stone met his fingertips.

One hand slipped.

"Shit!" Desmond gasped as all his weight fell onto his remaining hand, body slamming into the wall of the basilica. It knocked the breath out of him — the fall had to have been at least fifteen feet, and now his chest had taken the worst of it.

At least he was still alive.

Wincing slightly, he lifted his hand and grabbed a new hold, and began his climb.

"Hey, Dad," Desmond grunted as he leveled himself up past a window. "Does the name Lynch mean anything to you? Joseph Lynch?"

"Joseph — I — yes, it does," William sounded surprised, taken off guard. "Lynch was one of our agents in Ireland. I've spoken with him a few times but that was before I was Mentor. I think he eventually transferred to America — had a family here. Texas, I think. A wife and a son, a bit older than you. It took awhile to find out anything after the Purge."

"What happened to them?"

"From what I hear, Lynch killed his wife before he was captured by the Templars. I'm not sure of the reason, but I hope it was a good one. I don't know what happened to his son. Just disappeared. I think his name was Caleb or Collin, something like that… why do you ask?"

"Hm," Was all Desmond said, mentally chewing on that information. He wondered why Aiden Pearce would be interested in that. "Just curious. It's what our new friend was looking for."

"For a man not involved in the Assassins, he sure seems interested in us," William said.

"We might be hearing from him again, soon," Rebecca added. "I sent those files over like you asked, Des. The encrypted packet will keep it safe from Templar hands. And hopefully Juno's. Anyone who tries to force it open will trigger the self-destruct sequence, deleting all the information."

She sounded very proud of this clever trick, and Desmond couldn't help but smile. They were a small team, but he had some of the best on his side. "Thanks, Bex. You're the best."

"You know it!"

Scaling the tower was no easy feat but it felt… familiar. Desmond was familiar with the gothic architecture that Shaun had nutted over.

Continuing up along the east tower, Desmond kept an eye out for an open window, some place he could slip into. He could feel the warmth radiating from the glass; it was so tempting, but when he caught the glimmer of a red silhouette behind it, Desmond decided better of it and kept going up.

God, it was freezing. Wearing fingerless gloves may give him better motor control, but the fingers on his left hand were starting to go numb. The right hand, the burned one, seemed completely unaffected. Not that Desmond could really know, of course.

Noise on the comms was kept to a minimum as he concentrated. He occasionally heard a bit of background chatter as the team spoke to each other out of range; was Desmond envious of how all of them were nice, cozy, and safe in the firehouse? Maybe a little.

Okay, a lot.

But he was the only one for this job. No one else had three-and-counting ancestors in their brain.

Finally, finally he reached the rooftop of the tower. Just as he suspected, there was a hatch that led inside. A security guard, standing directly below it, keeping watch.

Slipping the hidden blade through the lock and breaking it with a tiny snap, Desmond carefully pulled the hatch open. The guard below didn't hear a thing, kept looking out the window. Turned on his heel. Faced the other direction.

Desmond almost felt bad for this guy. This was quite possibly the most boring post in the entire church.

Well, it'd be a short one.

Like a shadow, Desmond descended upon the guard, silencing him before he ever got a chance to speak. Two bodies hit the ground, one stood up again. "I'm in."

"Excellent," William replied. "We have eyes inside."

Desmond looked up in time to see Elliott's little drone come flying in. It tipped one wing at him in greeting before flying ahead down the steps. Startled at the speed, Desmond chased after it. "Hey, wait up!"

"Ha-ha, last one there is a rotten egg." Elliott laughed.

If there was one thing the drone provided, it was the element of surprise. There was another guard on the way down, who'd been so startled by the sudden arrival of the drone that he didn't see Desmond coming up behind him. The man had just been reaching for his radio when Desmond slammed his blade into the back of his neck.

There were two more security assets until Desmond reached the gallery. He initially cast a casual glance about the grand cathedral, before doing a double-take, and coming to a stop. For a moment, Desmond caught himself in a moment of awe.

"Whoa."

The interior of the cathedral was dimly lit, only with candles and wall lamps; the great cavernous ceiling was a deep blue, covered in a pattern of stars. Everything was painting in rich colors; royal purple, deep gold, robin's blue… there was a great rose window in the center of the ceiling that seemed to glow in the night-time, and the grand organ at the nave seemed to be a living structure entirely on its own. With its own mini gothic towers, fitted with alcoves for statues of saints and martyrs, and none other than ya boi Jesus in the center.

Sound echoed in here like a choir. The whispers of the security team on the ground floor carried all the way up to Desmond, on the third level. Every little sound seemed to be amplified, the sheer volume of room creating a deep, strange resonance, as though some greater being were residing here, watching them all.

Had Desmond been a different man, a place like this would have easily convinced him of the power of God.

"Desmond?" Elliott asked in his ear. "Is something wrong?"

"Oh, uh, nothing," Desmond, catching himself in a moment of reverie, shook his head in embarrassment. "Sorry, just got distracted. Let's go."

In admiring the scenery, Desmond figured out pretty easy where he was supposed to go. The beauty of the church was marred only by the construction work on the bottom floor. Sawhorses, industrial lamps, a variety of tools and machines set about on the tile, the pews stacked and pushed aside as if they were an inconvenience.

Renovations, my ass. Desmond thought glumly. Abstergo had torn up the floor with little regard for the beauty there. Broken tile was strewn about, collected in random piles of debris. A ladder had been erected, leading down into the ten-foot hole they'd dug into the ground.

Shaun, too, was deeply offended. "That tile is over three hundred years old! Do they have any idea the intricacy of the handiwork they've destroyed!"

"I think whatever's underneath here is more valuable to them." Desmond muttered.

"I hate Abstergo." Shaun grumbled. "We can't let this go unpunished."

"I'm sure the church is glad you're here to advocate for it," Desmond couldn't help a little sarcasm slip into his voice. "Fighting the good fight."

He got only a scoff in return, and Desmond vaguely regretted the biting remark. Sure, a church wasn't the same thing as innocent lives, but he understood that Abstergo was reckless in its search for First Civ artifacts. There was a history here, a value that Desmond may not fully understand or appreciate, but the people who lived here did. The people who'd build this place did. This was a place that brought people together. It was a haven, a home. He couldn't imagine how unhappy the citizens of Montreal would be if and when they found out what Abstergo was doing to their beloved church.

Taking care of the ground crew took a hot minute to complete. Knowing he couldn't keep track of their movements underground, Desmond decided to take out as much of the security forces inside, so there was no one left alive to discover there was an intruder. Again, stealth was key. He couldn't allow a gun to be fired, or a radio call to be made. Elliott's drone proved to be useful, scanning the area quickly and allowing Desmond a good understanding of where everyone is. Sure, Eagle Vision could accomplish the same thing, but the one thing Desmond couldn't do was see behind him.

It was nice to have someone at his back, watching out for him.

Finally, once the interior was clear, Desmond made his way to the hole. He walked casually now, down the center aisle and coming to stop at the edge of the construction work. Peering down, he saw that Abstergo had dug right through a basement level, and seemed to have begun tunnel work underneath.

"Welp," he looked up at the drone, whose little camera lens winked back at him. "Time to go spelunking."

"That's not what spelunking is," Rebecca said, but it was too late. Desmond had already jumped in. "...You know, there was a ladder."

"Just let me have this," Desmond landed with a grunt, taking a quick look around before making sure he was alone. It seemed that work had paused for the night; either that, or there just wasn't anyone down this particular level. The tunnel he was not make of dirt and rock as he'd suspected — but rather of stonework, laid together and forming a kind of ancient sewer or pathway.

Guess Abstergo wasn't just randomly digging here after all.

Wall lamps had been hung up along the walls in order to light the way. Desmond, keeping his guard up, began to walk forward. "You guys seeing this?"

The drone went on ahead, but remained in his line of sight. Shaun replied, "Sure do. I'd say it was some kind of sewer system, but there's carvings along the walls here. Some kind of old French…"

"Wait, there's someone up ahead," Elliott warned, interrupted Shaun before he could translate.

Desmond saw the carved writing that Shaun had noticed, but paid it no heed. He had heard light, casual chatter of people up ahead. Dropping to a crouch, he slowly worked his way down the tunnel, around a corner. There were crates and boxes stacked here, mostly for carrying equipment, and Desmond ducked behind one as he spotted a guard just beyond it.

The guard was speaking to his compatriot standing just across from him. The second was looking the direction Desmond had come from, and it was a wonder Desmond hadn't been spotted. Desmond remained absolutely still, signing to the drone behind him to remain out of sight. He had to take care of these hooligans first.

They were speaking jovially, although Desmond didn't understand what they were saying. He waited a full two minutes before one of them finally moved away. The second one, who'd been looking in his direction, finally shifted from his spot and began walking further down the tunnel.

Peeking up over the boxes, Desmond reached out and grabbed the guard from behind. The man let out a yelp as he was flipped over backwards, before a blade sunk into his throat. The second guard, alerted by the noise, turned around — only to be met by Desmond, who charged up and tackled him. The man hit the ground, chest bleeding, dead.

"That looks to be it," Elliott said as the drone continued ahead, safe. "Oh, hey, a crypt!"

Desmond ran along after it until he came across the room in which the drone ended up in; low ceilings, it felt cramped, and more than a little creepy considering there was a big ol' tomb in the center of it. The walls were plain and lit with an eerie blue light from the lamps. They flickered ever so often, which did not instill any amount of confidence in Desmond.

Shaun gasped with glee. "That must be the architect of the Basilica, James O'Donnell. An Irish-American, he was actually Protestant, and only converted to Catholicism on his deathbed — he remains the only one interred in the Basilica's crypt. He's the reason why the Basilica was built in such a grand style. I wouldn't be surprised if he had something to do with whatever Abstergo found beneath the site. Hmm..."

Desmond, sensing a disturbance in the Force, asked, "What's wrong?"

"It's just… it's weird, this isn't where the crypt is marked on the official basilica map…" Shaun muttered, apparently to himself. Desmond could hear the crackle of pages being flipped as Shaun scanned a reference book. "According to the GPS tracker on the drone, this crypt is about a hundred feet off from where the crypt is located in the basilica. Why would they bury him someplace different…?"

"Maybe to protect his remains?" Desmond took a guess, pacing around the sarcophagus. He wasn't entirely sure that's what you'd call this, but it seemed appropriate, and he wasn't going to expose himself to being called a dumbass by Shaun for asking. "Or to hide something…"

"Ah, of course!" Shaun exclaimed, followed by a bang, like he'd just smacked the table. "How did I not see it before! You must be beneath the vaults of the Notre Dame Church!"

"Uh, explain, please, for the stupid people listening in?"

"Okay, SO," Shaun took a deep breath; Desmond could just hear him shaking with excitement. "For the uninformed, the Basilica was not the first Notre-Dame built. Back in 1682, the French built the Notre-Dame Church, a smaller parish that lasted until 1830. That building served as the first cathedral for the Diocese of Montreal. As the colony grew and became a city in its own right, the people quickly found out that the congregation had outgrown the church. So they began the construction of the Basilica, only a short ways away. It appears O'Donnel built this room underneath the old one, in which he was interred; the one in the Basilica must be some kind of decoy."

"Which Abstergo figured out."

"Yes, but the buck seems to stop here," Shaun replied, now returning to his usual frustration. "This room must have stumped them. There's only one way in here. Maybe there's something we're not seeing. Maybe you should open the tomb, see what's inside — delicately, of course! Please do not disturb the remains."

Desmond made a face. "Let's just hold on a second. At least let me take him to dinner first."

To be honest, looking at dead, desiccated bodies was not Desmond's idea of a good time and he didn't want to look inside the crypt until he was sure that's what he was supposed to do. But there wasn't anything else in this room to look at. And, to him, looking inside the tomb would've been the first thing Abstergo would do, and if they hadn't figured it out, then that clearly wasn't the answer.

Also, that stone slab looked really heavy.

His eyes picked up on a faint golden glimmer. The tomb was carved with a life-size replica of the architect in his sleep. On his chest, under folded hands, was a sword. The medieval kind. But this man was from the 1800s, why would he be depicted with that kind of weapon?

It was the sword that glowed faintly under Desmond's Eagle vision. So it was that he'd reached out, and touched with his right hand.

The pain was immediate.

He let out a hiss, snapping his hand back, the glowing veins seeping into his skin burning like lava was running through them. The reaction it had on the sword, however, instantly made him forget about his arm.

For the sword had begun to glow.

"Whoa." Four voices echoed the thought in Desmond's head, watching together as a series of circuit-like lightwork began tracing its way down the sword, over the tomb, and onto the floor, spreading like a nervous system until it was onto the walls — filling the entire room with pale white light, and casting a series of strange images and symbols into high relief.

Immediately, Shaun started to speak, rapid-fire as he was taking all this in. Clearly, the symbols on the wall meant something, but that wasn't what had caught Desmond's notice. Because the tomb had started to move.

It began sliding to the right, and Desmond had to duck aside to give it room. Coming around, he was surprised to find another hole beneath it, a set of stairs leading down into darkness.

And then, a voice: "Welcome, Prophet."

"What?" Desmond whirled around, startled. "Who was that?"

It wasn't Juno's voice, but it was definitely female and definitely First Civ. But that wasn't the worst part of it.

"What was what?" Elliott asked through the comms.

"You didn't hear that?" Desmond asked, dread filling his gut.

"No," came the collective reply.

He sighed, shoulders drooping. Great. "Never mind, then."

Well, whoever lived here definitely knew who Desmond was, which was… fantastic. He just hoped they weren't friends with Juno. As he began down those black steps — a completely different material from what the rest of the crypt was made of it, shiny black and glowing every so faintly — Desmond couldn't help but feel creeped out. He had this strange feeling that the First Civ had been expecting him.

That did not bode well.

The walls lit up with strange patterns as he passed, and faded again behind him. The glow only seemed to last in his direct vicinity. It allowed Desmond to see a few feet ahead, but gave him the distinct impression he was under a spotlight. That he was being watched.

He glanced at the walls as he went; the patterns looked like hieroglyphs, depicting people and scenes, but nothing he could really understand. First Civ language was beyond his comprehension, yet he could just barely make out a story — he recognized the Trinity: Juno, Minerva, and Jupiter, depicted within a giant circle. Perhaps the shield in which they promised to protect their people with.

Further scenes depicted people suffering, dying. Juno and another male, not Jupiter — this male had one gold eye and one blue — apparently in love. Her consort? Then she was weeping over a sarcophagus. Death. Later still, Juno interacting with another male, different in appearance but with those same eyes, one blue and one gold…

Aita. The name echoed in his head like a ghost. It sounded familiar. He was pretty sure Juno had mentioned it in the New York Temple. Desmond wondered why the story was being depicted here.

"Hey dad," Desmond spoke out loud, realizing his father had been silent this entire time. "Any thoughts on this?"

"Its… intriguing," William responded at length. He sounded distracted. "I hope whatever's down here, we'll be able to destroy it before Abstergo finds o — we're — low —"

"Dad?" Desmond frowned, coming to a stop. The tunnel seemed to continue forever, and he heard a faint buzzing behind him. He turned to see the drone faltering in the air, its rotors struggling. "Hello? Anyone copy?"

"Sor — bad connect — too deep —" Elliott's fractured voice broke through.

More garbled sounds. The drone darted back and forth, as static continued to buzz in his ear, before the drone finally dropped, crashing to the floor.

"Aww," Desmond pouted a little, then went over to pick up the fallen drone. It's engine was still going, but it was clear he'd ventured too deep for the radio signals to reach. "Don't worry, little buddy, we'll be out of here soon."

He wasn't sure why he was talking to the drone like it was a lost puppy. Desmond hoped no one heard that.

Tucking the drone under his arm, Desmond continued onwards. Now he felt truly alone. Utterly, completely alone.

At last, he came upon the vault.

That was the first word that came to him when he stepped inside. A small, compact room, with shelves on all sides. There was more hieroglyphs on the floor, but Desmond was far more fascinated with the items displayed all around him.

Hundreds upon hundreds of little glass cubes. In each one, a red center. A drop of blood.

Just like the one Edward found on the body of the Assassin he killed. Desmond couldn't help but gape in surprise. Had this been what the Caribbean Rite been looking for back then?

But no, this wasn't the Observatory. Desmond could tell that much, there wasn't a lot here to explore. It just seemed to be a kind of storage for these cubes… whatever they were.

Well, that, and the plinth in the center of the room. On top laid a metal hand.

The silver had tarnished with age, but that didn't hide the fine craftsmanship, or the jewels inlaid into its surface. A reliquary, Desmond realized, as he stepped closer to study it. There was a little window that revealed the bones of a hand inside. Yellowed with age, the bones appeared quite ancient, with leathery pieces of skin still attached. The metal had just the faintest smell of decay about it.

"Ew," Desmond said, and immediately picked it up.

This had once belonged to some kind of saint, or holy person. Someone had discovered this vault before, and perhaps sensing its great power, left the relic here to protect it. Maybe Abstergo was looking for this, too.

Well, he certainly wasn't going to leave it here for them to find. Wrinkling his nose slightly, Desmond tucked the metal hand into his backpack. Shaun would know more about it.

He almost expected a giant ball of rock to come descending down on him, ready to crush him beneath it, but no such thing happened. The room was eerily quiet, pulsing gently under faint light. The aesthetic was deceptively futuristic with its sharp, modern geometry and minimalism — this place was probably older than the colony itself. The very reason why the churches were built upon this location.

Returning to the cubes, Desmond plucked one off a shelf, examining it closer. He'd only seen one of these in Edward's memories, and still had no idea what they did. All he knew was that it had something to do with the Observatory. All Edward knew, at least. It would take more explorations into the old pirate's memories for him to find out for sure.

But they were valuable. And he couldn't let them into the hands of the Templars.

Something rustled at the edge of Desmond's hearing.

Speak of the Devil.

Desmond whirled around. There, standing in the doorway, silhouette illuminated by the light of the Vault, was none other than Juhani Otso Berg.

And he looked pissed.

A/N: the relic Desmond finds here is the same one that Layla finds in the backstory of Odyssey.