Brian Sadler Archaeology 04 - The Bones in the Pit

by Bill Thompson

  They talked for half an hour about the bombing, possible reasons behind it and the ongoing investigation. Brian did most of the talking, Arthur interjecting a question or comment here and there. They finished the wine and moved to the dining room. More wine on the way, they placed their orders.

  “All right, Arthur. You’ve kept me in suspense long enough. What’s your theory on the stolen manuscript?”

  “You’re aware how extensive the Club’s collection of very old works is.”

  Brian nodded.

  “I’m sure you’ve heard of Oak Island in Nova Scotia.”

  He nodded again, a slight smile on his face.

  Arthur sighed dramatically and reached into his briefcase, retrieving a sheaf of papers that appeared to be his notes.

  “I see your smile. You’re thinking I’m just another crazy treasure hunter with yet another hunch about the contents of the Money Pit. But I’ve come across something very interesting. So hear me out. You may just learn something new today!”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Brian settled back in his chair, ready for a story about Oak Island. The British Earl was a great tale-teller. He managed to captivate Brian every time he had something new and mysterious to report. This time was no exception – the enigma of Oak Island was something that had interested Brian since he was a kid. A classic mystery set in North America – an ancient story involving pirates, treasure perhaps beyond imagination and someone who went to amazing lengths to create a booby-trapped pit. Who did it and why? Brian was surprised most of the world didn’t even seem to wonder. Most people had never heard of Oak Island.

  Lord Borland referred to his notes occasionally as he told the story. “As you know, the theories about what lies at the bottom of the Money Pit range from pirates to the Vikings to native Americans to Inca lords and much more. Some have speculated that the crown jewels of France were hidden there in the Middle Ages. Or the gold the Spanish were seeking from the Mayans in Mexico. Or the manuscripts that will tell who William Shakespeare really was. Or that aliens who came on spaceships secreted the knowledge of the ages. No one knows. But there is one theory, one possibility I haven’t yet mentioned, that keeps turning up in my research. I think I know who built the Money Pit but I don’t yet know why. Any ideas who?”

  Brian smiled. “You’re enjoying this guessing game, aren’t you, Arthur? I give up – at the moment I can’t recall my Money Pit history well enough to think whom you haven’t mentioned.”

  “Then I’ll tell you, dear boy. I’ve spent hours here in the Monument Club’s library. They have copies, originals too sometimes, of the actual records of the earliest syndicates who tackled the Money Pit. I found the original journal of a man named Simeon Lynds. He lived near Oak Island and organized the first expedition. It was called the Onslow Syndicate.”

  “I’ve read about Lynds and the Syndicate. I think it’s fascinating that our Club has his account of it.”

  “So do I. His old journal was written in 1804 and 1805 at the time these fellows took the Money Pit down nearly a hundred feet. According to Lynds’ diary, they hit what he described as a wooden chest. When they arrived the next day the pit had flooded almost to the top. That was the first encounter with booby-traps in the shaft. A year later the syndicate dug a new pit alongside the existing one. They went down over a hundred feet, tunneled sideways to reach the Money Pit and that new shaft flooded too.”

  Brian said, “I remember this vaguely. That’s when the Onslow Syndicate gave up, correct?”

  “Right. They ran out of patience and money and apparently the syndicate members, like the three teenagers who had first dug out the pit, went their own ways. Interestingly, those teens grew up. One bought property Oak Island; he and some former members of the Onslow Syndicate invested in the search again years later.”

  “So did you learn anything new from old Simeon’s journal?”

  “Ah, I haven’t gotten to the interesting part yet. Patience, dear boy. Patience.”

  Over the next half hour Arthur Borland told Brian what else Simeon Lynds had written in his journal. Lynds was a well-educated and wealthy man and he was a member of the Masonic Lodge.

  Borland pulled an index card from his pocket. “Pardon my relying on notes but this next part is tricky. In addition to being a Mason the diary says Simeon was the leader of a shadowy group called The United Religious, Military and Masonic Orders of the Temple and of Saint John of Jerusalem, Palestine, Rhodes and Malta. That name’s a mouthful, and after using the complete moniker once Lynds only refers to it as ‘The Order’ afterwards.

  “Lynds led the Order. He and other members invested in the Onslow Syndicate. Members of that mysterious secret group he called the Order wanted what lay hidden in the Money Pit.”

  Brian’s interest was piqued now. He leaned forward, wanting more information. Taking another sip of the Sancerre he asked, “What else do you know about the Order? What are you holding back, Arthur? Because I know you are. You weave too good a tale to give me everything up front.”

  Borland smiled. “The Order had several subsets, several of which became part of Freemasonry. These sub-orders include The Knights of Malta, the Knights of Saint Paul and the Knights of the Red Cross. Have you heard of any of them?”

  “Not that I recall. Are they relevant to your story?”

  “Not really.”

  “OK, Arthur. Is there a point to this tale? I love Oak Island mysteries but what secrets are you holding back?” Brian smiled as he chided the British Earl.

  Arthur gave him a wink. “Perhaps I forgot to mention one other sub-group that sprang out of this association which Simeon Lynds nicknamed the Order. The other part was called The Knights of the Temple.” He stopped, leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. He smiled as he watched Brian.

  “The Knights of the Temple. That’s awfully close to…wait a second. Are you saying…?”

  “Am I saying what, Brian? Do you see where this is going?”

  “Are you saying Simeon Lynds and the members of the Onslow Syndicate were Knights Templars?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying. Not the same Knights Templars as the ones who were exterminated in 1310, but directly related to them in terms of thought, deed and purpose. These later Templars restarted the order in secret in the 1400s. They were dedicated to preservation of what the early Templars began, they were committed to Templar ideals and they knew the secrets of the earlier group. These secrets were passed down in coded books over the centuries. Including, I’m certain, the answer to whatever was hidden at the bottom of the pit the Templars built on Oak Island.”

  “So these Templars were the Masonic Knights Templars? I think my grandfather might have been a member, actually.”

  “Absolutely not. The Templars I’m talking about have nothing to do with the Freemason Templars. Same name, different groups entirely. Simeon Lynds’ Templars are directly tied to the tenth century Order through the Catholic Church.”

  “Really? Incredible. Does the secret Order of Templars in the Catholic Church still exist?”

  “I’m still researching that but I believe so. If I can find out more about them it may explain why someone went to such lengths to get the manuscript that was at Bijan Rarities’ gallery in New York.”

  The story stopped as the men ordered coffee. Thoughts swirled through Brian’s head. Arthur said nothing, watching as Brian processed the information he had heard.

  Finally Brian said, “So the manuscript that I got was part of a set. And I presume it’s one of the books you’re talking about – the ones with coded secrets of the Templars. Am I right so far?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Obviously the one given to me was very important to someone. Do you have any idea where the others are? Have they been stolen as well?”

  “No, they haven’t. They’re safe and sound.”

  Brian saw Arthur’s impish smile. The Earl was still playing games, revealing almost nothing.

 
“OK, Arthur,” Brian said, serious now. “Knock it off. Tell me the rest.”

  “All right. There are five volumes in all, each bearing the title Opus Militum Xpisti or The Work of the Soldiers of Christ. The first was recorded by the original Knights Templars, the ones who were rounded up in 1307 by King Philip of France and exterminated in 1310. It would have been a stand-alone account of the two hundred years of Templar existence had it not been for the men who came along in the 1400s and secretly resurrected the Order.”

  Arthur paused to allow Brian to soak in the information.

  “So volumes two through five are records of the Knights Templars who followed the earlier ones? The volume that was the reason for the bombing of my gallery is part of that set?”

  “It is.”

  “And you’re certain of this how?”

  “Because I’ve seen all the volumes except yours. Not originals, of course, but I have seen copies of them. Right here in this very building.”

  “The Club has copies of these volumes? Where are the originals?”

  “The originals are in secret papal archives in Vatican City.”

  Brian was astonished. “Now I see why you hoped I had made a copy of my volume too. Arthur, I know the Monument Club’s library is something special, but tell me how in hell they could get copies of ancient manuscripts that are in the Vatican’s archives?”

  “A very wealthy Italian named Marco Caboto donated the originals to Pope Pius IX in 1875. But not before he paid to have them copied by hand. He secretly kept those copies in his own collection. After Caboto’s death in 1930 one of his heirs, a member of our Club himself, donated this man’s entire book collection to the Monument Club. Among thousands of old works were the copies – the four ancient manuscripts describing centuries of Knights Templars activities.”

  “But the volume I had wasn’t copied.”

  “Up to this point everything indicates it wasn’t. But I may have found something, Brian. In fact I just discovered it yesterday in the library. I haven’t looked at it yet so I don’t want to discuss it until I do. The book you saw covers the time from roughly 1475 to 1700. Until yesterday I believed the wealthy Italian never had that volume. He may not have known his four volumes were a chronological set. Or that a fifth book was missing. I think the manuscript you saw has been separated from the others for a very long time. But the jury’s still out on whether Marco Caboto ever owned the volume that’s now been stolen. One thing’s for sure – he copied four volumes of the Templars. If he ever had the fifth I’ll wager he copied it too.”

  “Why is this particular one, the missing one, so important?”

  “Think about it, Brian. Think about the time period it covers.”

  Once again Arthur sat back in his chair, impassive, watching Brian’s face as the American’s mind raced. He said nothing, letting Brian reach a conclusion.

  “It’s important because it records what happened at Oak Island. It’s when they built the Money Pit. That’s your theory, isn’t it, Arthur?”

  “Exactly. And I’m close to proving it.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  It was nearly four pm when Brian and Arthur left the Monument Club. They set a dinner date for the day after tomorrow.

  The men walked to Charing Cross train station.

  “I’ll be waiting for a report on the mysterious thing you found yesterday in the library, Arthur. Don’t keep me in suspense!”

  Borland promised to get on the project in the morning. They parted company, Brian heading one direction and Arthur another, his briefcase in his hand as he waved goodbye.

  Brian’s mind was racing as he took the subway back to Green Park station, then a short walk down Piccadilly to the Bijan gallery in Old Bond Street. He took out an access card, opened the front door and stepped into the showroom. Although smaller than the New York gallery, it was tastefully appointed with displays of priceless artifacts for sale.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Sadler. Nice lunch?”

  Jason Hardesty had been with Bijan for a couple of years, working with Brian and Collette in New York before being moved to London a few months ago to assist the new UK gallery manager. Jason loved history. As a twenty-something single he jumped at the chance to work in London. He had been grief-stricken to learn of the loss of his good friend Collette and the destruction of the company’s New York headquarters. Brian and Jason had spent an hour talking about the Fifth Avenue bombing earlier this morning.

  “A very interesting lunch, Jason. As every meeting with Arthur Borland is. I always end up with more food for thought than nourishment!”

  “Sounds interesting! FYI Cory’s at the Connaught Hotel meeting a client who wants to discuss consigning some pottery.”

  Brian went to his office. He glanced in the one next door. It belonged to Cory Spencer, the manager of Bijan’s London location. Overcoming a very difficult youth, Cory had worked for Brian several years ago while he was in undergraduate school in New York City. Later as a Sussex University graduate student in archaeology Cory had led a dig at Palenque, Mexico. He discovered an incredibly strange, ancient artifact that had almost gotten him killed. Brian had become involved in that project to help the government after John Chapman, the President of the United States, disappeared deep inside a tomb at Palenque.

  Not long after the Palenque adventure Cory graduated and called Brian about employment. It was a perfect fit – Brian trusted the man implicitly and had put him in charge of the growing London gallery. Brian was grateful to have Cory as his second-in-command especially now that New York was history. The Old Bond Street location was critical – it was the only one left.

  There was a large FedEx box sitting in the middle of Brian’s desk. It contained most of the things Brian had been working on at the time of the bombing. Rather than checking the bulky, heavy box on the plane Brian had shipped it overnight to the London gallery. For a half hour he went through everything, sorting and arranging the contents for handling over the next couple of weeks he planned to be in London. This was his office now. His headquarters. It seemed odd but it was the new reality.

  Around 5:30 Brian heard the soft buzz that indicated the front door had opened. Ten seconds later a voice boomed loudly from the showroom. “I hear the boss is back in town. Best behavior, everyone!”

  Brian stood as Cory Spencer came into his office. They hugged each other – although they had spoken several times a day since the tragedy in New York Brian hadn’t seen Cory in person. Tears welled up in both their eyes as they patted each other on the backs and Cory offered his condolences over the loss.

  Pulling back, Brian composed himself and said, “I’m glad we’re a team, Cory. I need your help and I’m deeply grateful to have you.”

  “Ditto, boss.” Cory had the utmost admiration for Brian Sadler and appreciated the opportunity to learn from him and work at one of the nation’s most respected antiquities dealers. Bijan had made quite a name in the past few years thanks to its involvement with the world’s rarest objects such as the Bethlehem Scroll, Mayan codices long thought extinct and Egyptian mummies. The science networks, Discovery and History especially, had done several documentaries featuring Brian. And national news networks in the US and abroad called on him frequently for commentary about new discoveries around the world. Brian Sadler and Bijan Rarities were well known to those who loved the thrill of archaeology and ancient things.

  “Are you free for dinner? We need to catch up and it might be easier outside the gallery than during the work day.”

  “Thought you’d never ask.” Cory had hoped this would happen. He relished the time with his mentor and took every chance he could to be at Brian’s side.

  Jason locked up at six as Brian and Cory wrapped up the afternoon’s work. They stopped by the Ritz Hotel on Piccadilly, three blocks from the gallery. In the beautiful Rivoli Bar they ordered martinis, clicked glasses and talked about how things were progressing on the case in New York. Brian brought Cory up to speed on the stol
en manuscript and gave him a brief synopsis of the story Arthur Borland had told this afternoon. Cory was fascinated.

  Brian and Cory walked to Chinatown, just the other side of Piccadilly Circus less than fifteen minutes away from the Ritz. Soon they were seated at Dumplings’ Legend, Brian’s favorite place in London. It was nothing fancy but Brian considered it the best Chinese place in the world. He tended to eat here several times a week when he was left to his own devices in London.

  Two glasses of wine and a couple of dim sum plates got them started.

  “What’s next on the manuscripts?” Cory asked. “Is it possible that rich Italian copied the stolen volume too?”

  “I’ve given that a lot of thought since I left the lunch with Arthur. Arthur’s not sure if this one was copied. Maybe the Italian never even had it. But I wonder. It’s worth doing some digging. I’ll get with you in the morning – I need your help to start the search. Think about it tonight and I’ll do the same. I’m supposed to meet Arthur for dinner the day after tomorrow. I’d like you to join us. We can lay out our ideas to him then.”

  Cory was thrilled – the chance to meet Lord Borland was important to him both personally and professionally. He was of course fully aware of Brian’s earlier adventures in Guatemala with the Earl of Weymouth and knew Brian had a great friendship with this man, the son of the late, great Captain Jack Borland, one of the world’s most flamboyant explorers.

  Brian’s phone rang. “Speak of the devil,” he said, glancing at the screen. “It’s Arthur’s home phone.”

  He answered with a smile. “Hello old boy. To what do I owe the honor of this call?”

  Brian was suddenly quiet. Cory waited as his boss listened intently, his smile now gone.

  “Brian, this is Carissa Borland. I’m so sorry to be a bother but wonder if you and Arthur have wrapped up yet. I know sometimes you both go on for hours and I hated to disturb you but his dinner’s been on the stove for an hour and he’s not picking up his mobile.” He noticed her attempt to be lighthearted but could sense the concern in her shaky voice. She was worried.