The Templar's Secret (The Templar Series)

by C. M. Palov

  ‘Voilà, c’est ça!’ he exclaimed hoarsely a few seconds later.

  That’s it!

  54

  Paris, France

  1930h

  Lost in thought, Caedmon stood at his study window and gazed at the courtyard three stories below. Planning. Strategizing. Plotting how best to scale the dreadful, slippery slope.

  The third plate survived the eighteenth-century gunpowder explosion! Even more amazing, someone had salvaged the sheet of copper from the rubble and used it as scrap metal to patch the damage caused by the fateful blast; oblivious to the plate’s content. Or to the fact that, five hundred years earlier, a Knights Templar had hidden the ancient gospel inside the chapel.

  A bloody miracle.

  One that he and Edie were very keen to keep under wraps. To that end, he’d informed G-Dog that the search for the third plate had been temporarily halted due to insufficient lighting inside St Germain-des-Prés. ‘But, rest assured, we shall return on the morrow when the church interior will be flooded with morning sunlight.’

  The lie passed muster, giving them a provisional reprieve. With the time purchased, he had to devise a plan to elude G-Dog’s henchmen.

  As he mulled over various options, Caedmon stared contemplatively at the enclosed courtyard. The summer sun lingered on the western horizon, bathing the rough-hewn cobbles in soft shades of blush and vermilion. Hector Calzada, attired in baggy denims and an oversized black T-shirt, looked out of place amidst the pots of cheerful red geraniums as he stood sentry a few feet away from the building entrance. He’d arrived on the scene a short time ago. Evidently, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern had divvied their duties, one sleeping while the other skulked.

  Returning Caedmon’s stare, Calzada puffed out his chest as he insolently grabbed his crotch.

  Oh, for the love of God.

  Caedmon stood motionless, refusing to react to the macho theatrics. And how exactly was one supposed to respond? With a similar bit of scrofulous machismo? Really. The other man’s behavior would be laughable if not for the fact that Hector Calzada was a bloodthirsty psychopath.

  He raised his highball glass in mock salute. ‘Cheers, mate.’

  Turning away from the window, Caedmon gulped down the gin-less tonic, the citrus-laced quinine water warming his stomach. There had been a time in his life when he’d dematerialized into the haze of near-constant inebriation. Curiously enough, it had been the Knights Templar and their infernal secrets that brought him out of his alcoholic fog and gave him a new purpose in life, the result being his first book Isis Revealed.

  Exhausted, his body wracked with pain, Caedmon grasped the edge of his desk and gingerly lowered himself into the swivel chair. Rubbing a hand over his unshaven cheek, he gazed at the cluttered smorgasbord of file folders, stacked reference books, a small bronze bust of Winston Churchill, several dated editions of Le Monde newspaper, and a ridiculously ornate Victorian lamp that he kept meaning to toss into the trash bin. ‘Chaos and old Night.’ His kingdom. Or, as so aptly expressed by the great English jurist, Sir Edward Coke, ‘The house of every one is to him as his castle.’

  While he might not be the most fastidious monarch, Caedmon knew where every file was located, knew where every book was shelved in the floor-to-ceiling cases and, other than occasionally fluttering the feather duster, didn’t see the point in tidying up. Since he was in the midst of writing his second book, an in-depth study of religion, science and magic in the ancient world, he found it counterproductive to clear his desk at the end of each day as it forced him to lose valuable time the next day searching for the very items he’d recently put away.

  Nerves stretched thin, he slumped inelegantly, resting his elbows on top of the desk. He knew that he should get some sleep, a nap at the very least, the jet lag grinding away at him. But first I need to devise an escape plan. Unfortunately, Calzada and Aveles had the upper hand in that there was only the one exit out of the apartment building. Eluding them would be no mean feat.

  ‘How’s the war plan coming along?’ Edie inquired, strolling into his study. She’d just taken a shower, damp ringlets framing her face. Attired in a ribbed tank top with a colorful sarong tied around her waist, she was a brilliant-hued splash against the dark-stained bookcases and leather-bound volumes.

  ‘I’m mulling over two different plans of attack,’ he replied, not yet ready to divulge any details. At least not until they’d had a chance to discuss the potential dangers and risks.

  Edie padded over to the window. For several moments she gazed at the shimmering point in the distance where the heliotrope haze melded into the urban landscape. She then tilted her head and peered at the courtyard below.

  Shuddering slightly, she walked over to Caedmon’s desk. ‘You know, I’m still having a difficult time connecting the monstrous three banditos with the feel-good story about Father Gracián Santos and his work with inner-city youths.’

  ‘I think it’s obvious that, somewhere along the line, Gracián Santos suffered a misstep,’ Caedmon remarked. ‘Moreover, I suspect that his fall from grace involves Cardinal Franco Fiorio, the self-styled Irenaeus.’

  ‘Speaking of whom: since the College of Cardinals will soon be going into conclave to elect a new pope, Cardinal Fiorio will officially be out of the picture, sequestered behind locked doors.’ Pushing a stack of file folders aside, Edie hitched her hip on to the edge of his desk. ‘From what I understand, once they go into conclave, the cardinals are incommunicado.’

  Her passing remark caused the proverbial chill to scuttle up Caedmon’s spine.

  Christ Almighty! The conclave!

  Abruptly twisting in the swivel chair towards his laptop computer, Caedmon quickly accessed an online search engine. ‘I need to find out when the conclave is scheduled to convene.’

  ‘Unless I’m mistaken, it’s supposed to happen some time early next week.’

  ‘Try Monday morning,’ he said, glancing up from the laptop. ‘Which is why the ransom deadline has been set for Sunday at twelve noon. It also explains why each time I’ve asked for an extension, the request has been adamantly denied.’ His jaw tightened, the abyss having just become deeper and darker.

  ‘Do you think Cardinal Fiorio would actually use the Evangelium Gaspar to affect the outcome of the papal election?’ Edie inquired, her brows knitted in a worried frown.

  ‘It wouldn’t be the first time that a papal election has been ruthlessly manipulated.’

  ‘Yeah, back in the Middle Ages. But this is the twenty-first century,’ she insisted, evidently believing that modern man was more honorable than his medieval predecessors.

  ‘Because of the centuries-old procedures governing the conclave, no one knows what goes on once the cardinals enter the Sistine Chapel and the doors have been sealed shut,’ Caedmon was quick to point out. ‘While they take an oath to uphold the rules of the conclave, arm twisting and brokered deals still occur. So, too, the occasional Machiavellian plot. Rumors have long swirled that in 1958 the duly elected Cardinal Giuseppe Siri had the papacy yanked out from under him when the conservative block that elected him immediately came under dire threat. Two days after Siri’s supposed election, an entirely different cardinal was proclaimed the new pope.’

  Edie’s eyes narrowed, the rose tint removed. ‘All of which makes me think that Gaspar’s gospel contains something incredibly explosive if Cardinal Fiorio is intending to use it to blackmail the conclave.’

  Of like mind, Caedmon checked his email account. Damn. ‘I’ve yet to receive a reply from Cedric Lloyd.’

  ‘He’s your Oxford go-to guy in Greco-Roman Jewish history, right?’

  Caedmon confirmed with a nod. ‘Until we know the gospel’s contents, all of this is mere speculation.’ Leaning back in his chair, he crossed his arms over his chest as he pondered the unexpected twist. While he didn’t have the evidentiary proof, he suspected that a dark conspiracy was at the heart of Anala’s abduction. ‘What we do know is that Cardinal Franco Fiorio h
as gone to extreme lengths to retrieve the Evangelium Gaspar. So extreme, one would think that he’d been born into the House of Borgia.’

  ‘In other words, murder and mayhem are mother’s milk to him.’ Getting up from the desk, Edie paced in front of the tall library-style bookcases.

  ‘The plotting of the murder and mayhem,’ Caedmon corrected. ‘Franco Fiorio is one of those puppet masters who keep to the shadows as they yank their marionettes to-and-fro.’

  ‘And he’s got a particularly nasty troupe of puppets at his command.’ Edie glanced pointedly at the window that opened on to the courtyard.

  ‘Which brings up a matter that I’ve been meaning to discuss with you.’ Caedmon pushed back from the desk and walked over to the bookcases, forcing Edie to stop in mid-pace. In the far distance, he heard the plaintive bleat of a police siren; in the near distance, the high-pitched bleep-bleep of an electronic car lock. Prosaic everyday sounds in a world gone mad.

  He pulled Edie close, protectively wrapping his arms around her. Sighing, she rested her forearms on his chest as she sagged against him. Silent seconds stretched into a drawn-out moment, neither speaking. They were, at that moment, of like mind. Like heart.

  The first to stir, Edie tipped her head back to meet his gaze. The last light of day cast a chiaroscuro glow on to her skin.

  ‘Twilight becomes you,’ he murmured.

  ‘Stop beating around the bush and spit it out, Caedmon. You didn’t get up from your desk and hobble over here to pay me a compliment, lovely though it was.’

  ‘Very well.’ Striving for a calm that he didn’t feel, Caedmon said matter-of-factly, ‘I don’t want you to accompany me to St German-des-Prés.’

  ‘Did I miss the email where I got kicked off the team?’

  ‘Getting out of the building undetected is going to be dicey as hell. I can’t bear the thought of something unforeseen –’

  She put a hand over his mouth, silencing him. ‘Through thick and thin,’ she informed him. Undaunted, there was a determined glint in her eyes.

  At a loss for words, Caedmon stared into those luminous brown eyes, awed by her grace and riveted by her beauty. But he was also astonished by her strength, Edie Miller a curly-haired tower of it. Without a doubt, she was a gift. One that he felt singularly unworthy of. A loner at heart, if it wasn’t for Edie he suspected that he might wall himself up completely. Retreat into his study and retire from the world.

  ‘We’re more than a team,’ he assured her. ‘You do know that, don’t you?’

  Rather than answer, Edie went up on tiptoes, her warm breath caressing his lips. Caedmon put a hand to her cheek, smoothing away a damp ringlet. Then, bending his head, he kissed her.

  Pure magic.

  Cradling Edie’s head, Caedmon deepened the contact between their two mouths as his other hand slid to her breast. Feeling the pound of her heart against his palm, he shuddered. In that instant, he felt the clash between tender feelings and a fierce, more primal emotion, an intense heat spreading from his spine to his lower body.

  With an agonized groan, Caedmon reluctantly broke off the kiss. ‘I haven’t shaved in days,’ he muttered apologetically. ‘If we keep going like this, you’ll soon be covered in a red rash.’

  Smiling, Edie caressed his unshaven jaw. ‘I like it. It makes you look dangerous. And you don’t actually expect me to wait around for you to shave, do you?’

  Amused by her eagerness, he returned the smile. ‘I wouldn’t dream of making you wait.’ Caught up in the moment, Caedmon bent to sweep his lady love into his arms. Only to reconsider the romantic impulse a split second later. ‘I would carry you into the bedroom, but –’

  ‘Your bruised ribs.’ Taking him by the hand, Edie led him towards the door. ‘Bit of a battered warrior, aren’t you?’

  Caedmon raised her hand to his lips. ‘Fear not. I shall soldier on.’

  ‘I should certainly hope so!’ Edie retorted, a flirtatious twinkle in her eyes.

  55

  Paris, France

  Saturday 0100h

  As he sat at the small bistro-style kitchen table waiting for the electric kettle to boil, Caedmon stared at the computer screen.

  ‘The mind boggles,’ he whispered, having just finished reading the translations from the Evangelium Gaspar that Dr. Cedric Lloyd at Wolfson College had emailed to him. ‘And I now know why the Knights Templar went to such extraordinary lengths to find the ancient gospel.’

  Astounded, Caedmon reread the first translation.

  The Birth of Yeshua bar Yosef

  Truly the heavens declare the glory of the Eternal One for great was the sign in the night sky! The star shone, radiant and gleaming, and it foretold of the Anointed One who would be born with the Fishes. The Magi had long awaited the One who would bring the Light of redemption and become a mediator between the Father and his Children.

  Having seen the sign, we set forth from the Kingdom of Parthia in a great caravan to that land that had been set aside for the Children of Moses. We travelled at night when the star was brightly visible to the town of Bethlehem where it had been foretold in the Book of Micah that the Anointed One would be born.

  Guided by the Shekinah, we came upon a dwelling that was set inside a deep cavern. Bearing our gifts, we entered the room where the infant slept in his mother’s arms, the father near at hand. The Nazorean Elders were also present and they welcomed us warmly for our arrival had been prophesied to them many years prior.

  We then approached the family and presented our gifts to Yosef and his young wife Miriam. We offered frankincense to open the portal to God; gold to honor the Anointed One’s elevated status; and myrrh to usher the Anointed One into the next life.

  The Elders then led us outside where their leader, a man named Zerah, spoke of how the Angel Gabriel had appeared to their ancient forbears with specific instructions so that they could fulfill the Divine Plan for the birth of the Anointed One. For seven generations they had assiduously purified themselves in advent of the birth. When they knew that the time was near, they took great care in selecting the perfect vehicle of conception who would bring the Anointed One into the world. Zerah gave assurance that Yosef and Miriam were both descended from a line of pious Nazoreans. When I made inquiry as to the nature of the preparations, Zerah revealed that when Miriam was four years of age, her mother Anna had brought her to the monastery at Mount Carmel where she was ritually dedicated and underwent eight years of training and study. She was one of many maidens who were similarly consecrated in the hopes that they would be perfected in mind and body should one of them be chosen. During this time, the consecrated virgins drank no wine nor did they consume the flesh of animals.

  When Miriam was twelve years of age, she and the other virgins were led to the altar at the monastery to burn incense for their morning prayers. Suddenly there was a flash of lightning in the sky and a golden halo of light formed around the young virgin Miriam. The Elders who were present at the altar knew that it was the sign from the Eternal One that He had selected Miriam to be the vessel to bring the Anointed One into the world. Three years would pass before she wed Yosef who had been carefully chosen by the Elders because he was a man of pious and righteous character.

  Now that the Divine Plan had been fulfilled, the Nazorean Elders were gravely concerned about the barbarous king who ruled Judea. Fearful that this wicked monarch would learn of the child’s birth, a plan was made to safeguard the family. Two of my brother Magi were to accompany Yosef, Miriam and the baby Yeshua to Egypt where the family would seek sanctuary with the Nazorean healers who lived on the banks of Lake Mareotis. Zerah and I then decided that I should return in twelve years’ time.

  And so I did.

  No sooner had Caedmon finished rereading the text from the first plate than Edie padded barefoot into the kitchen. Attired in a white silk robe, she appeared rested, but pale.

  ‘Heya, Big Red,’ she said, smiling warmly as she sat down beside him. ‘I don’t know about you, bu
t the three-hour nap did me a world of good.’

  Caedmon gestured to the laptop computer. ‘I received the translations of the two copper plates.’

  She flicked a swatch of curly hair over her shoulder before pulling her robe more snugly across her bosom. ‘And . . . ?’

  ‘And I now have a much clearer understanding of the Templars and their beliefs concerning the historical Jesus.’ Curious to get her reaction, he spun the computer in her direction. ‘This is the translation of the first plate.’

  ‘It’s subtitled “The Birth of Yeshua bar Yosef”,’ Edie remarked as she adjusted the computer screen, tilting it slightly.

  ‘Yeshua bar Yosef is Aramaic for “Jesus son of Joseph”. Yeshua is, in fact, Jesus’ actual name and the one by which his family and, later, his disciples knew him,’ he explained. ‘Similarly, Miriam translates into the English name “Mary”.’

  ‘Well, then, let me have at it.’

  Getting up from the table, Caedmon walked over to the counter and snatched the kettle from the electric plate. While Edie read the translated gospel, he poured the boiling water into the glass carafe. As the grounds steeped, he removed two mugs from the cupboard. Knowing Edie’s penchant for sweets, he rummaged through a drawer, managing to locate a tin of shortbread cookies which he placed on the table along with a sugar bowl and a small carton of milk.

  As he plunged the coffee, Edie looked up from the computer. Just as he expected, she had a flabbergasted expression on her face.

  ‘Wow. I mean . . . wow,’ she reiterated, slack-jawed. ‘Do you think it’s true? That Yosef and Miriam were handpicked by the Nazorean priests to be the “vehicles of conception” for the prophesied Messiah?’

  ‘What reason would Gaspar have to fabricate a lie?’ he countered. ‘That the Nazoreans planned so carefully is astounding. Clearly, the birth of the Anointed One was not a chance event.’