The Templar's Code (4 page)

“Rumors have swirled ever since as to how the missing knights managed to elude the royal seneschals,” Caedmon added, the centuries-old rumors still hotly debated among Templar cognoscenti.

“Someone tipped them off, maybe even the pope himself.” Jason Lovett shrugged, the how of it clearly unimportant to him. “It doesn’t matter. When the royal seneschals stormed the Templar stronghold in Paris, the fabled Templar treasure trove had vanished into thin air.” The archaeologist peered over his shoulder. Verifying that no one outside their small circle would be privy to his remarks, he said, “I’m pretty certain that the Templars transported their treasure trove by wagons to their naval base at La Rochelle. From there, eighteen galleys, all flying the skull and crossbones, set sail.
Never to be heard from again
.” The last utterance had about it the clichéd foreboding usually reserved for a low-budget horror film.

“You just referred to the Templar ‘treasure trove.’” Edie punctuated the two words with a pair of air quotes. “I thought we were talking about the Ark of the Covenant. What are you saying, that the Ark is part of a much larger hoard?”

“That’s the working theory.” Jason Lovett stepped closer. Again, he glanced over his shoulder. When he did finally speak, his voice was little more than a whisper. “With the price of gold being what it is, we’re talking about a treasure worth somewhere in the neighborhood of a hundred billion dollars.”

Concealed by a floor-to-ceiling bookcase, Saviour Panos stood at the back of the reading room, frowning. At the front of the room, he espied the archaeologist conversing with a tall redheaded man and a curly-haired woman. The red-haired man he recognized from the publicity photo; the woman he’d never seen before.

Admittedly, he was surprised that Lovett had taken anyone into his confidence. It didn’t fit the pattern. In the week since he’d been following Lovett, the archaeologist had not spoken to a single person.

Uncertain how to iron out the unforeseen wrinkle, he surreptitiously observed the trio.

Feeling the muscles in his legs tighten, he slowed his breath. A trick he’d learned long years ago. Placing his hand under his jacket, he slid his fingers over the scabbard attached to his belt. His very first weapon had been a fillet knife that he’d stolen from a fisherman’s tackle box. Only thirteen years of age, he’d slept with it gripped in his hand as he’d huddled in an abandoned shack near the piers, afraid of being sodomized in his sleep. In time he’d become skilled in its use, spending hours tossing the knife at a crudely painted target. Once, during a particularly nasty street brawl, he’d plunged the knife into another boy’s belly. Not deep enough to kill. That came later.

In the years since, he’d owned any number of knives. But none as exquisite as the antique dagger he’d selected for this special occasion.

Slowly, not wanting to attract unwanted attention, Saviour removed the dagger from the leather case, careful to keep the blade hidden from view. In his mind’s eye, he could see the centuries-old weapon, forged of steel, the hilt gold-plated, inlaid with twenty-four small rubies set in an eight-pointed star pattern. The Creator’s star. With his thumb pad, he fingered the tiny stones. A bloodred cluster. “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.”

The ornately fashioned blade had been a present from his benefactor, a man known to him simply as Mercurius. The Latin name for the Greek god Hermes. The divine messenger. In truth, his divine salvation.

When Mercurius became his patron, he’d not only seen to his education but also provided Saviour with a penthouse apartment in Thessaloniki’s upscale Kalamaria neighborhood. In return, Mercurius asked only that Saviour be his eyes and his ears. A secretive man, Mercurius kept to the shadows. Saviour was the polar opposite, naturally drawn to the light. Together, he and Mercurius formed a perfect whole. Like the bronze medallion he’d seen in the atrium depicting the sun and the moon. Or the two squares that formed the Creator’s star. Pairs of opposites.

He stared at the trio still huddled at the front of the room, well aware that he had but one knife.

He’d not planned for three enemies. Only the one. A mistake.

Which of the three posed the biggest threat?

The curly-haired woman he quickly dismissed. Which left the archaeologist and the tall red-haired man.

Saviour sized up the two men, deciding who to take out.

As he had several times already, Jason Lovett nervously glanced over his shoulder. “Actually, a hundred billion is a conservative estimate. But we need to, um, keep the dollar amount on the down low. If you know what I mean.”

“Loose lips sink Templar ships,” Edie deadpanned. Or something equally asinine.

Was this guy for real? Talk about selling something off the back of the truck. She glanced at Caedmon, wondering if he was buying Lovett’s egregiously tall tale.

Outwardly calm, her companion opened his water and took a measured sip before placing the plastic bottle on the nearby table.

Edie’s gaze shifted between the two men, struck by the startling difference between them. With his plaid shirttails, baggy cargo pants, and wispy soul patch, Jason Lovett looked like he had arrived on a skateboard. Add to that a barely contained frenetic energy and it made her wonder if the youthful doctor got trapped in a caffeine-laced grunge time warp. Caedmon, on the other hand, attired in a tailored wool blazer paired with a zippered turtleneck and black denim jeans, exuded an air both casual and sophisticated, a feat only a European could pull off. Nearly six feet four inches in height with a thatch of red hair, he stood out in a crowd. She always thought that if you fused some of history’s famous redheads—Erik the Red, William Shakespeare, Thomas Jefferson—you’d end up with Caedmon Aisquith.

“How did the Templars amass such a large fortune?” It seemed the obvious question to ask.

“How indeed?” Caedmon seconded. “Granted, all new recruits were forced to sign over their property to the Order, and the European aristocracy was generous with their donations. But even that would not account for so massive a sum.” Cocking his head to one side, he shot Lovett a penetrating stare. “Pray don’t tell me that you’re one of those misguided chaps who erroneously believe that while in the Holy Land, the Templars discovered a treasure hoard buried beneath the ruins of Solomon’s Temple.”

Lovett raised his hands. A show of surrender. “Hey, you got me mixed up with some other dude. By the time the Templars came along in the twelfth century, the Jerusalem treasury had already been pilfered. Being a history wonk, you know that in A.D. 70 the Romans razed the Jerusalem Temple to the ground. But not before they looted the joint. It stands to reason that the Ark of the Covenant was included in the booty, since the sacred relic was housed inside the temple. Along with a
very
vast fortune in gold, silver, and glittery gemstones.”

“So, in other words, all roads lead to Rome,” Edie said, unconvinced. Then, deciding to play hardball, she went a step further. “Okay, suppose, for argument’s sake, the Romans did ransack the Jerusalem treasure. How did the Templars get a hold of it eleven centuries later?”

Clearly up to the challenge, Lovett smirked. “This is where the story gets interesting. In the early fifth century, the Visigoth hordes sacked Rome. Their chieftain Alaric made off like a barbarian bandit, stealing the treasury that the Romans had stockpiled in the previous centuries. Now, we’re not just talking about the Jerusalem treasury, we’re talking about loot plundered from all over the then known world. A big honking treasure by anyone’s definition. Bigger than anything Mel Fisher and his crew found in the wreckage of the
Atocha
. That’s for damned sure.”

“You still haven’t answered my question,” Edie said, refusing to be sidetracked.

“I believe that he has,” Caedmon said, coming to the younger man’s defense. “After sacking Rome, Alaric returned to the Visigoth stronghold in the south of France and promptly buried his pilfered treasure trove. In the year 1150, the Knights Templar took up residence in the same hills and dales once inhabited by the Visigoths.”

“Where”
—mimicking a gunslinger, Lovett pointed both index fingers at Caedmon’s chest in a quick draw—“you guessed it. The Templars found the friggin’ Visigoth treasure. That’s about the time the Knights Templar started to live large, building their navy and buying up thousands of manors all over Europe. Suddenly, overnight, they had more venture capital than anyone else on the continent. No one could touch these guys. They were a financial force to be reckoned with.” Lovett’s hazel-blue eyes gleamed, Edie certain she could see dollar signs superimposed over his pupils.

“You are, if anything, well versed in Templar history,” Caedmon remarked.

“Hey, I’ve been boning up.” Lovett cackled softly. “Get it? Archaeologist.” He patted his chest in a “Me, Tarzan” kind of way. “Boning up.”

“It’s an intriguing theory,” Caedmon continued, ignoring the shtick. “But without more proof, it’s thin gruel.”

“Personally, I think the whole story is ludicrous,” Edie said, adding her two cents. Figuring that was the real dollar value of the Templar treasure.

“Hey, this isn’t some pie-in-the-sky crackpot theory. I’ve got the proof. Maps, artifacts, archival records. I’ve devoted the last year of my life to following the Templars’ trail.”

“Mmmm.” Pursing his lips, Caedmon cocked his head to one side. Edie could see that he was mulling it all over, giving serious consideration to the story just told.

And that had her worried. Couldn’t Caedmon see that Jason Lovett was a Templar wannabe? He probably liked to dress up in chain mail and pretend he was a medieval knight.

“Where exactly in the New World did the Templars hide their treasure trove?” Edie made no attempt to hide her skepticism.

“I’m pretty certain the Templars made landfall at Newport, Rhode Island. From there, they moved inland, setting up a colony about twenty miles west of Newport. I partially excavated the site. Looks like some sort of massacre took place. That said, I’m not exactly certain where they hid the treasure.” Not nearly as cocky as he had been, Lovett turned toward Caedmon, a beseeching look on his face. “This is where your expertise would come in handy. I found some Templar symbols carved onto a boulder. I think it’s a signpost or maybe a secret code. Since you’re a Templar expert—” The archaeologist stopped in midsentence. Bug-eyed, he teetered unsteadily on his feet.

“Are you all right?” Caedmon solicitously inquired.

Still swaying, the archaeologist frantically reached behind him. Like a man trying to scratch his back, but not quite able to reach the right spot. “The pret-ty boy b-bastard . . .”

Without warning, he lurched, toppling the projection screen as he fell, face forward, onto the parquet floor.

An instant later, Edie screamed, horrified to see a jeweled knife hilt protruding from Jason Lovett’s back.