by Otto Schafer
“That’s not the point. He isn’t fit to be rappelling, Paul.”
“Tell me about it. He’s bullheaded and stubborn just like you.”
She began to panic. “I can’t see him. How long has he been down there? Do you know how deep it goes? What’s at the bottom? What if he just drops off? How much rope does he even have? What if he runs out of rope? Did you two even think about that?”
“Jesus, Bre, knock it off!” Paul turned back to the corridor and shouted down into the void. “Pops! Can you hear me down there?”
A distant voice echoed up from below. “I can hear you. I think I’m almost at the bottom. It seems to go maybe forty yards down, in a sort of bend.”
Breanne let out a relieved sigh.
“I’m down. I passed under an arched opening that seems to be cut right into the bedrock. This is magnificent.”
“Pops, you ready for me?” Paul shouted.
“Yes, both of you get down here, but be careful – it’s a bit slick.”
Adjusting her helmet and snatching up the rope without a second thought, Breanne started to back towards the edge.
“Hold on!” her brother said. “We’re going to do this right. You’re going to gear up.”
But it was too late. She wrapped the rope around the back of her waist and descended into the darkness.
“Who has the hard head now, Bre!” Paul shouted after her.
The slope was slippery as hell, and she fell to her knees twice before reaching bottom. She wondered how she was going to make that climb back up – or how her father would make it.
“I’m down,” she shouted back up the slope before turning to find her father waiting.
“On my way down,” Paul’s voice echoed from above.
“You know what, Dad? You used to say a hard head makes for a sore ass. Maybe you should take your own advice.”
“Watch it… young… lady,” he grunted, stretching his back. Mud was smeared on the front of his clothes, hands, and face.
“Daddy, are you okay?”
Her father smiled weakly. “I’m okay – the slope was a little slippery, that’s all.” Quickly changing the subject, he said, “Look at the size of this place, Bre.”
“How big is it?” She spun in a slow circle, several inches of watery muck sloshing over her boots as her flashlight illuminated the space before her. She was in an expansive cavern. The ceiling was high and natural, stalactites plunging downward like menacing teeth. The floor appeared to have a combination of either muddy muck or standing water, extending as far as she could see.
Paul arrived a moment later. “Holy shit. This place is huge.”
“Okay, listen, as we look around, stay close and don’t walk through any standing water. Could be hidden holes,” her father said.
“Roger that,” Paul said, starting forward.
They started to venture around the cavern, moving further from the slope. As they approached a rock formation at the center of the cavern, Breanne first thought it was just a random stalagmite. She had already maneuvered around several throughout the cavern. But as she drew closer, she could see the top was perfectly flat. Unnaturally flat. Strange, she thought. Either this was a trick of the shadows or… Wait a minute, there is something atop the stone. Breanne’s heart caught in her throat. Her pulse quickening, she tentatively approached the structure, each step sinking deep into the muck. Then she saw it clearly. She wanted to rub her eyes to clear them of the mirage she could not be seeing. Atop the stone stood a man.
“Daddy!” she yelled. “You better get over here!”
Her father’s boots squished towards her. “My God, Bre! My God, you’ve found it!”
Paul quickly trudged his way over and then froze. “What in the world?”
Atop the flat stone, a skeleton knelt on one knee. In the skeleton’s right hand was a medieval-looking sword, its tip touching the rock, almost as if the skeleton figure were about to drop it. Held in the skeleton’s left hand and strapped to its forearm was a shield, held out in front of the skeleton in a defensive position, as if it were about to deflect a strike. The skeleton wore a very brittle, very faded, but very familiar Knights Templar robe, complete with a red cross on the chest. Over the skeleton’s head, neck, and shoulders was draped a rusted chainmail coif. As amazing as the sight of the skeleton was, all their eyes fell to what sat below the shield at the bent knee of the ancient knight.
A treasure chest trimmed in shimmering gold.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
“Don’t touch anything,” their father finally rasped. Then, turning to his children, he threw an arm around each of their shoulders. Pulling them in close, he whispered in a quiet voice, as if speaking too loud could somehow undo what they had discovered, “We’ve found it. Something that should not be, oh my God. We’ve actually found it!”
She smiled wide. Finally, after hundreds of years of failed searching by generations of seekers, she and her family had found the Templar treasure.
15
Pete’s Office
Present day
Petersburg, Illinois
“Step into my office and have a seat, Lenny,” Pete called quietly from across the vast room.
“Your office smells like moldy books, bro. You should really do something about that.” Lenny stepped into the basement with his face crinkled.
“Greatest smell in the world.” Pete stretched out his arms as if the entire place belonged to him and him alone.
Looking around, Garrett figured the library basement might as well be Pete’s, as he suspected it didn’t get much use. Most kids probably just did what he did and used the school library.
The library basement was large, and from what Garrett could tell it contained a lot of middle-grade and younger books. The floors were a bland time-worn tile that seemed to match the water-stained drop ceiling. Both were a complete contrast to the colorful block walls, which provided a canvas for local art students and were covered with murals matching each section’s genre. A row of old computers with dial-up modems sat lonely on a long table below a painted mural of Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn navigating a raft through unruly waters. The caption read adventure. Garrett’s eyes hovered over the word.
“So, what’s the big emergency?” Lenny asked.
“Adventure, Lenny,” Garrett said with a nod. He and Pete sat at a round table on the far side of the library by the historical section, with the whole place to themselves.
Pete waggled his eyebrows and leaned back in his chair.
“Adventure? Are you both high?” Lenny asked accusingly.
“Alright, let’s get serious,” Garrett said. “We don’t have much time before martial arts class, and we have a lot to figure out, like our next move.”
The boys quickly brought Lenny up to speed on the afternoon’s events, including Jack’s involvement and their discovery that they were holding Lincoln’s journal, complete with directions to a secret temple.
“Again, I ask, are you two smoking something? That or you’re yanking my chain.” Lenny stood up and spun his plastic chair around, casually straddling the chair and resting his arms across the back.
“I wouldn’t shit you, Lenny – you’re my favorite turd,” Pete said.
Lenny shook his head disappointedly. “That’s a lame joke, bro. Anyway, assuming what you’re saying is legit, then that’s crazy! Hey, you know, guys, Jack is a real dick, but he did say one intelligent thing.”
“Do tell, Lenny, because I didn’t hear anything intelligent from that nutsack.” Garrett gave Lenny a sideways look.
“Like he said, this journal has to be worth some cash, and he didn’t even know it was Lincoln’s. What does that little fact make this worth, Pete?”
“You can’t seriously be suggesting we sell this to an antique store? That’s not happening.” Pete threw himself back in his chair and crossed his arms.
Lenny held out his hands defensively. “I’m just saying the thing really could be worth
a lot, right?”
“Yeah, sure it could be – once authenticated – but I think you’re missing the bigger picture, Lenny!” Pete said too loudly.
“Chill, man, you are going to get us in trouble, and we don’t want to get kicked out of here. We have some research to do, right?” Garrett said, attempting to calm his friend.
“Yes, we do, actually. Which brings me to the big picture, Lenny.” Pete stood and began to pace. “Abraham Lincoln – if we’re to believe the journal was his, and I think we do – was keeping a secret that was bothering him really bad. According to the journal, it has to do with a hidden temple that a Native American boy told him about. I have read the text multiple times, and I think the Masons must have known about the temple and wanted it to stay hidden. Perhaps it was their temple? Abraham obviously felt like he was in life-threatening danger from the Masons. I don’t know – maybe because he was starting to talk about whatever he had seen, and the Masons caught wind of it. Obviously, he wanted to unburden his conscience but was sworn to secrecy.”
“Wait a second. Who in the hell were the Masons?” Lenny asked.
“Yeah, I mean, I know they still exist today, right? But what are they, Pete?” Garrett asked.
“Riiight,” Pete said slowly, then sighed. “Okay, guys, pay attention. The Freemasons go all the way back to, like, the fourteenth century. They are a secret fraternity, a brotherhood that have a lot of secret rituals and mysterious crap. And yes, Garrett, they’re still around today. There are tons of conspiracy theories linking them to everything from the Illuminati, to the dollar bill, to the Egyptian pyramids. Heck, they’re even linked to the bloodline of Jesus Christ and to the Holy Grail. There are tons more, but I won’t go into all of them because I have no idea how any of this is relevant right now.”
Lenny leaned forward, pressing his chest against the back of his chair and bringing the front legs off the ground. “You know, I remember seeing Uncle Frank wearing this weird ring, and when I asked my mom about it, she said he was a Mason. I asked her what that was, and she explained that he belonged to a secret club of sorts. She said he mostly hung out at a lodge that didn’t allow girls, and she suspected the guys played lots of cards and drank. Sounds like there might be a little more to it than that.” Clanging the chair back down onto all four legs, Lenny turned to Pete. “So, does this mean there is some giant conspiracy going on, and all these Masons know about this hidden-temple thing?”
“Look, there is definitely a lot of secrecy with the Masons, but I don’t know at what level it starts,” Pete said. “At your uncle’s level maybe they do just sit around playing cards, but per Lincoln’s journal there was a secret sect within the secret society, and it was this inner circle either threatening or trying to kill him. Since we are dealing with a temple, according to Lincoln, maybe it has something to do with God. Maybe it is a secret Freemason temple. I don’t know, but we need to learn all we can about these Keepers of the Light.”
Garrett nodded slowly.
Pete uncrossed his arms and placed his palms down on the table. “Here’s a little history lesson, you guys. Abraham Lincoln was not a Freemason, but most of his friends were. No one knows for sure why he never joined up. It would have made perfect sense for him to join too. The Masons were very powerful, and it could certainly have made his political career even easier. But for some unknown reason, he never did. Another theory that I have read is that the man who killed Lincoln, John Wilkes Booth, was also a Mason.”
Garrett shook his head. “Seriously, so the guy who ends up killing Lincoln is actually a Freemason?”
Pete nodded. “Yep, and that’s legit history.” Straightening, he began pacing again. “Further, Lincoln was killed in 1865 and Bowling Green was killed in 1842, and that, my friends, is a major clue that I nearly overlooked.” He snatched up his notebook off the table.
“Question,” Lenny said, making a show of raising his hand. “Pete, man, how could anyone know this much useless shit?”
Pete frowned, pushing his glasses up his nose.
“Don’t pay attention to him. Keep going,” Garrett said, motioning to Pete to continue with one hand, while flipping Lenny the bird with his other.
“Listen to this,” Pete said, and started reading from his transferred notes. “I now have reason to believe our dear friend Bowling Green, who was like a father to me, was murdered nearly twenty-three years ago to this day by the Masons’ most secret inner sect, the Keepers of the Light. Sorrowfully, I believe this to be true as they have learned that I confided in him, a Mason himself, the forbidden knowledge I have now confided in you.”
Both boys just stared at Pete, neither of them understanding.
Pete smiled. “Subtract 1842 from 1865, guys.”
“Twenty-three!” they both said at the same time.
“That’s right! Congratulations, you can both do math at a second-grade level.” Pete rewarded them with a slow, mocking clap.
Both Garrett and Lenny rewarded Pete with the finger.
“Anyway,” Pete continued, “Lincoln said he was in danger. He writes this journal to his friend, then he dies shortly after.”
Garrett traded glances with Lenny. Good, he wasn’t the only one not getting it.
Pete rolled his eyes and shook his head in disgust. “Let me spell it out for you two. Lincoln died precisely twenty-three years after Bowling Green gets murdered by the Masons. Lincoln had to have died right after he wrote this, because he writes that it has been twenty-three years since Bowling Green was murdered.
“Ah! Well, why didn’t you just say that?” Garrett said.
Pete sighed. “The question is, what the hell were the Masons hiding that they would kill a president of the United States for?”
“And what the hell did Abraham Lincoln see in that temple that he felt the need to keep secret for so many years?” Garrett asked.
“And if all this is true, why was this book hidden in a basement behind a wall? What happened to the mystery friend? I mean, how do we know he didn’t already go to the temple thing and take whatever was there?” Lenny asked.
Garrett gazed across the vast expanse of books, his expression serious. “I don’t think so, guys. If a temple had ever been found in Petersburg dating back to that time, I think we would know. Christ, I think the world would know. I mean, maybe it’s possible Lincoln’s friend lived in that house, and that the Keepers of the Light killed him too.”
“Or maybe the journal never made it to the friend, and Lincoln stashed it in the wall?” Lenny suggested.
“More likely it did make it to the friend, and the friend stashed it behind the wall,” Garrett said.
“Maybe, but it is just as likely Lincoln was in that house and hid it there himself,” Lenny countered.
Pete waved his hands. “Stop, you’re both as likely to be right or as likely to be wrong. It could be some other explanation altogether. There are just so many variables that unless Lincoln tells us somewhere in the text why the journal ended up behind the wall, we will probably never know.” Pete shrugged.
“We can sure as hell find out where it leads, though,” Garrett said, his eyes flashing with excitement at the possibility of adventure.
“Yeah, but it would be nice to have the whole journal. Then we could understand what we’re dealing with,” Lenny said.
The three boys sat in silence for a brief moment. “Guys, I just had a thought. I’m pretty sure the other half of the book is still behind the wall,” Pete said, sitting back down at the table.
“What? How do you know?” Garrett asked in surprise.
“Well, when I was fishing around for the pruning saw, I grabbed the journal but then dropped it when I found the saw. When I reached back in to grab it again, I couldn’t find it, so I kept searching. I eventually found it, but way down, much further into the gap than where I originally found it. I figured since I was scrambling to find the stupid saw, I must have somehow hit the journal and knocked it further down. Once I found it a
gain, I didn’t really think much of it. But now I think it was two different pieces.”
“It makes sense, right? Why would only half of it be there to begin with?” Lenny asked.
Garrett laced his fingers together and gazed at his thumbs, knowing exactly what they needed to do. “Guys, we have to get the other half of that journal.”
“But how?” Lenny asked.
“Just so happens I will be working in Eugene’s basement removing that pile of drywall this Saturday,” Garrett replied, glancing up, his eyes sharp.
“That’s going to be risky, bro. He watched us like a hawk last time,” Lenny said. “How about you take me with you, and I somehow distract him?”
“That might work,” Pete said.
“I don’t know… I saw how well your distraction worked last time, Lenny. He sidestepped you like you weren’t even there,” Garrett said with a chuckle.
“Yeah, well, that was off the cuff – I wasn’t ready.”
“Okay, I agree. We give it a shot,” Garrett said.
Pete looked around and lowered his voice even further, as if someone had just walked into the room, though no one had. “Perfect, you two have a mission and so do I. I need to research what this secret sect, the Keepers of the Light, is. Plus, we need to know how to find this tunnel. I already know where Lincoln’s survey stone is—”
“What?” Garrett said, holding out his arms. “You already know? Why didn’t you say so?”
“I did say so,” Pete responded, confused.
“When did you say so? I don’t remember you saying crap about knowing where Lincoln’s survey stone is.”
For no reason Garrett could identify, Pete let loose a good hearty laugh. He continued to laugh until it became infectious, and the three boys laughed together, none knowing why. Garrett only knew something inside him craved this, needed it like a desert needed rain. True laughter with true friends.
Lenny, catching his breath, finally spoke. “So where is it, Pete?”