Treasure Templari

by David S. Brody

  Menachem tried to keep his voice level. “What’s wrong with Jews?”

  Ezra rested his paw-like hand on Menachem’s arm. “Nothing’s wrong with them. With us. Just like nothing is wrong with a thick steak. But that doesn’t mean I want to eat it for every meal.” He sat back. “I travel to get away, to experience new things.” A smile crept slowly over his face. “But what was that you said about all expenses paid?”

  Once airborne, Menachem summarized the Catskills Mountain site. “The Templar experts hired by Bruce Arrujo—Cameron Thorne and his wife—are fairly certain the treasure is buried in the mountains northwest of New York City.” Finding the actual treasure was more important than locating the Just Judges painting itself, and the Mossad search had been redirected accordingly. “And we’ve already ascertained the treasure is, or at least could be, the secret to converting ocean water into energy. The question now is, who is going to find it first? We know the neo-Nazis are on the trail. And probably the Saudis also. Perhaps others. We need to win the race.”

  “So why do you need me?” Ezra gestured toward his gut. “I may be first to the buffet, but that’s about it.”

  “Because we can’t afford to get this wrong. Too much is at stake. There is evidence that the Templars were in the Catskills in the late 1100s, which would explain how the treasure got there. But the evidence is far from certain. And if the Templars were not there, then we are, as the Americans say, barking up the wrong tree.”

  “So my job is to sniff out the right tree.” He lifted his nose to the air. “Woof.”

  “Precisely, my furry friend,” Menachem replied with a chuckle. “Which brings us back to the thick steaks. That will be your reward. What dog would not be happy with that?”

  Cam, Amanda and Astarte sat in the back of an old, open-air army transport vehicle, bouncing their way along a rutted trail through the woods. They couldn’t very well expect Astarte to sit around the condo all weekend, and they didn’t want to alarm her by explaining Amanda’s abduction, so Amanda had allowed her to talk them into zip-lining on a nearby mountain peak. The last time Cam had been on a zip line he had been pursued by an armed assassin. Hopefully this outing would be less perilous.

  “I’ve been thinking,” he said, leaning toward Amanda. A handful of twenty-something guys on a bachelor party shared the vehicle with them. Based on their bloodshot eyes and the smell of stale beer wafting off them, Cam had no reason to doubt their story, especially when one of them leaned over the side and vomited. “I keep thinking about the Abraxas seal.”

  Astarte interrupted. “Abraxas? What’s that?” She had been subdued since the demonstration in Boston two days earlier. Until now, activism had been something to read about or watch on television. Being splattered with feces, having someone spit at you, watching your father be assaulted and dragged away—these were the realities she was processing. She had, in fact, barely flinched at the sight of the guy barfing.

  “Abraxas was a god worshiped by the Cathars in France during medieval times,” Cam explained. They were far enough from the other passengers, and the vehicle loud enough, to not risk being overheard. “The Cathars were Christians who rejected the authority of the Church. For some reason, the Templars used Abraxas on one of their secret seals.” Cam showed her the image on his phone.

  “If the Cathars were Christians, why did they worship Abraxas?” Astarte asked. “It looks like some kind of pagan god.”

  “Early Christians believed many different things,” Amanda replied. “And you’re right about it being pagan: If you study the image, you’ll see it represents the cycles of nature. The cock, for example. It’s a sign of male fertility—”

  Astarte interjected. “Wait, is that why they call penises cocks?”

  “Yes. But that in and of itself is odd, because roosters, like most birds, don’t even have sex organs. So we need to dig deeper. In ancient times, the sun was considered the male deity. And what animal announces the rising of the sun every morning?”

  Astarte grinned. “I get it. The rooster.”

  Cam thought about pointing out how most men’s penises, like the sun, rise first thing in the morning, at the rooster’s call. But, progressive as he tried to be, there were conversational limits he preferred not to cross with his teenage daughter.

  Amanda turned to Cam. “I never got a chance to tell you, I dug down on this Abraxas stuff after you found the seal.” She sat back and grabbed the seat in front of her as the vehicle powered through a sharp turn, before continuing. “In addition to the cock’s head, we have serpents as feet. Any ideas?” she asked Astarte.

  Astarte nodded. “Snakes are an ancient symbol for wisdom. That’s why the American Medical Association uses that rod with a snake as its emblem.”

  “The Rod of Asclepius,” Cam clarified. “And the snake is also a symbol for the cycles of nature, with it shedding its skin sort of like being reborn.”

  “Both of you are correct. One more thing,” Amanda said, smiling, “then I think we will have beaten the poor Abraxas to a bloody pulp. The Abraxas name itself has symbolic meaning. In ancient times letters were often given numerical values.”

  “Like Gematria?” Astarte asked.

  Cam smiled to himself. How many fifteen-year-olds read about ancient mysticism in their free time?

  Amanda answered. “Gematria is part of Cabbalism, but, yes, it’s the same thing, putting number values on letters. Each letter has a number value. So the word Abraxas, in Greek, when you add up the letters, has a numerical value of 365, the number of days in the year, which infuses the name with mystical and magical powers. In fact, that’s where the magical incantation Abracadabra comes from. The same is true of the name Mithras, another sun god, in the Persian language—the letters add up to 365. But forget the Gematria and magic stuff. The point is, the Abraxas symbol was meant to represent the seasons and the planets and the cycles of nature. So, yes, it was pagan. And, yes, it was a threat to the teachings of the Church.”

  “Which brings us back to my original point,” Cam said. “Why did the Templars use Abraxas as part of their secret seal? Obviously, the Church would have considered it heresy if they found out.”

  They crested a rise, opening up views of a river snaking through the valley between two peaks. Amanda surveyed the scene before answering. “To me, it all comes back to nature worship. The Templars were Christians, sure, but they also venerated Mother Nature and the stars and the seasons. Whereas the Church wanted nothing to do with nature. They saw science and medicine and astronomy as challenges to their doctrines. They wanted people to have faith, not knowledge.”

  “That’s definitely a part of it,” Cam agreed. “But I think it goes further than that. You know my theory: I think the Templars were outlawed because they challenged Church doctrine. The Templars believed in duality, in balance, in yin and yang. The medieval Church was out of balance—too patriarchal, too doctrinal. The Templars knew that a healthy society needed a balance between feminine and masculine attributes. And also a balance between faith on the one hand and knowledge on the other—it’s okay to pray and believe in God, but the Church should not be dictating scientific beliefs.” He paused as the transport vehicle climbed a slope and stopped in a dirt clearing at the base of what looked like an old logging road. “I’ve been looking at other Templar symbolism. And I think I figured out why they used the symbols they did.”

  Amanda smiled and touched his arm as she hopped from the vehicle. “Astarte and I will, I’m sure, be fascinated to hear your theory. But first we need to jump off a cliff.”

  Strapped in a harness and standing on a wooden platform overlooking a forty foot drop, Amanda stared down and tried not to hyperventilate. She didn’t consider herself much of a thrill-seeker—she’d had a rough enough childhood that she didn’t need to invite further hazard. Not to mention that just yesterday she had been abducted and feared for her life. Until this very second, she had not really focused on what she was about to do. She had instea
d been concerned about Astarte: What kind of mother allowed her daughter to plunge into an abyss supported only by a half-inch metal cable?

  But Astarte had leapt without a second’s hesitation, her shouts of joy echoing through the mountains. Now it was Amanda’s turn. And her legs refused to budge.

  “You okay honey?” Cam whispered, standing behind her. The bachelor party boys stood behind him making ribald death jokes. Cam had been studying them, his body language tense. Amanda guessed one of them had made a comment about Astarte.

  She replied, “My brain tells me it will be fine, but every fiber of my being is telling me not to jump.”

  “Of course it is.” He smiled. “Your genetic line didn’t survive by jumping off of cliffs.”

  She swallowed. “It’s like we were talking about before, about blind faith. I’m just supposed to trust that the cable is going to hold?”

  He lowered his voice to keep their conversation private. “Don’t think of it like that. It’s not blind at all. You can see the cable, see how it’s well-secured to the platform, see how the equipment is all clean and new, see how our guides clearly know what they’re doing. The Church didn’t offer any of that. They expected you to believe some mystical deity would save you if you prayed hard enough. That was a leap of faith. This is more about trusting the engineering, really no different than driving across a bridge or flying in a plane.”

  “I guess so.”

  “I know so. Think about it rationally. Astarte went before you and she’s fine. And you did it before, in the Catskills.”

  “Yes, but that was with someone trying to kill you. So I had a bloody good reason. This is just self-torture.”

  He leaned in and lowered his voice. “Honey, you need to do this.” He touched her arm, his eyes on hers. “Astarte is waiting for you. You can do it.”

  Three deep breaths later, somehow she forced herself to vault forward. For a second or two, before the slack tightened, she fell almost straight down, certain she was going to crash onto the rocks below. But the cable arrested her descent and soon she was soaring, skimming above the trees. Now that the cable had caught her, she began to enjoy the feeling of flight. She scanned the horizon, the white-topped Mount Washington looming in the distance…

  Then it hit her, something in Cam’s face that she hadn’t noticed because of her fear: His words to her hadn’t just been a pep talk. When he told her she needed to this, he meant it. Shit. That’s why his body language had been so tense. She wriggled her hips, trying to turn around to look behind, but all she did was cause her body to spin like a top. For a split-second she glimpsed the takeoff platform, but it was too much of a blur to make out what was happening. Ahead she could see Astarte standing on the landing platform, waving and cheering. “Way to be brave, Mum!” she yelled.

  Amanda cursed as the brakes jerked her to a stop on the wooden platform. Unclipping herself from her harness, she hugged her daughter. “Brave and stupid, is what you mean. I think Dad’s in trouble.”

  Katarina had called an emergency Board of Directors meeting for noon on Friday. She strode into the conference room wearing a black business suit, her hair disheveled and her eyes red from crying. She hated to use Detlef’s death as a strategic tool, but would not let weepy sentimentality keep her from her destiny.

  She had purposely chosen a small windowless room with a table too small for the eight people in attendance. She had also ordered the heat turned up and informed her secretary to take lunch orders but not serve the meal until she signaled the meeting was over. By the time she arrived, twenty minutes late, the other directors were hot, hungry and getting irritable.

  “I’ll get right to it,” she said, still standing. “My brother Detlef is dead. The details don’t matter.” Amidst the gasps and platitudes, she held up her hand to forestall questioning. “The police have asked me not to comment further.” She allowed them to see her pain, her sadness. “But there is one thing I wanted to discuss with you today. One thing I want to do to honor my brother’s memory.”

  She described how Detlef had been working on a private project for her, locating a site the company could use for retreats and company outings. “As you may know, Detlef believed strongly that a company should be an extension of family.” She was just making shit up now, but nobody would challenge the grieving sister. “He felt that we had moved away from that in the past few years, and he wanted to find a way for Hildegard Scientific to recapture some of that old comradery. He honestly feels…” She dropped her eyes and swallowed. “He honesty felt … that getting our employees invested in the company was not only good for morale, but good for the bottom line as well. And I happen to agree with him.”

  Katarina took a second to dab at her eyes with a tissue. The question came from a man to her left, some suit her lawyers had told her needed to be on the board. “So, what can we do? What are you asking for?”

  “Detlef found an old resort property in the Catskills. He thought it would be perfect for our needs.”

  “Isn’t that a bit far away?”

  She shrugged. “Four hours by car. Other places, in Vermont or Maine, were three. He felt this property would be worth the extra hour drive. Plus, it would allow us to entertain our New York City customers and clients in a secluded, luxury setting. We can’t do that now.”

  “So, what are you asking?”

  “The property is up for foreclosure on Monday. That’s the reason for today’s urgency. I’d like authority to make a purchase at the auction.”

  “How much?”

  “It needs some work.” She left out the part about the septic system and sluffed over the property being only partially constructed. “Detlef was prepared to pay six million for it.” That should be plenty, given its condition. “I’d like authority to do the same.”

  With a sniffle and long sigh, she turned and walked out, tissue to nose, her shoulders slumped. She saw no need to wait for the outcome of the vote. But she did wait until she had rounded a corner before squaring her shoulders and tossing her tissue into a wastebasket.

  Cam turned to face the five bachelor party guys as he watched Amanda soar safely down the mountain. He exhaled. “One of you guys want to go first? I need to adjust my harness.”

  He hadn’t told Amanda that, when one of the guys slipped on his harness, his shirt slid up. Cam saw a tattoo on his lower back, a pair of black side-by-side lightning bolts stylized to look like an ‘SS’ symbol, the sign of Hitler’s SS soldiers of World War II. It could be just a coincidence—New Hampshire, like most places, had its share of skinheads. But Cam didn’t feel like taking any chances. The neo-Nazis knew where Cam and Amanda lived and could have followed them north. Which was why Cam had been so anxious to get Astarte and Amanda away, to the other side of the ravine.

  One of the guys shoved a chubby, red-haired man forward. “Go ahead, Mickey. Bachelor goes first.”

  “Sure, what the hell,” Mickey said, stepping forward. “My life’s over anyways,” he laughed. The remaining guide, a slim female college student wearing a Plymouth State sweatshirt, helped strap him in. Cam eyed Mickey. Did he trust the man with Amanda and Astarte? He decided to rely on his gut: Some of the men, at least, really were on a bachelor party. And Mickey, in fact, had been the one who barfed while on the transport vehicle. Hardly the behavior of a trained operative. Cam tried to recall the men arriving at the base camp. Hadn’t SS tattoo guy shown up first, alone? Maybe he had somehow wormed his way into the group? Perhaps bribed one of the workers at the zip line company?

  Cam fiddled with his harness, killing time. A second man stepped forward and made the leap, then a third. Cam would prefer not to be left alone with the SS guy, but that was preferable to letting him join the unsuspecting Amanda and Astarte on the far side. And Cam didn’t want to jump himself, fearing the SS guy might sabotage his run. Best to let things play out here, on firm ground and away from his family. Two more men remained, one being the SS guy, plus the female guide and Cam. “Go ahead, b
uddy,” the SS guy said to his companion.

  Did he call him ‘buddy’ because he didn’t know his name?

  The man shrugged. “Sure, I’ll go.” He jumped, leaving Cam alone with the SS guy and the guide.

  Cam tensed, sensing a change in the wind. The SS guy edged closer, his fists clenched. Nervous, or something else? Tall, fit, cold blue eyes. And, unlike the others, no smell of beer sweat. Cam bent down, feigning tying his shoe, his mind racing. If the SS guy just wanted to track him, he could have waited in the parking lot. The fact that the man was here, perched on the crest with Cam, raised the possibility of more nefarious intentions. He guessed the operative planned to take him out, then disable the female guide. Or perhaps the other way around. Either way, Cam would have to act quickly. If it turned out the guy really was just out for an adventure, Cam would owe him an apology and a beer. Maybe more than one. But his gut told him the man was a threat.

  Here goes. From a crouched position, Cam took a deep breath and lunged, hooking the man’s ankles and yanking them forward. As the man fell, Cam rose. The SS guy was larger and likely stronger than Cam, but Cam guessed he had the edge with quickness. Throwing his harness off, he raced away from the cliff edge, the voice of the female guide calling out in surprise. Ignoring her, Cam sprinted back down the logging road, dodging potholes and divots like a skier navigating a mogul run. A couple of hundred yards ahead the transport vehicle remained parked where the guides had left it. Cam considered checking for keys but rejected the idea, figuring instead he could outrun the cumbersome lorry.

  Cam glanced back, glad to see the SS guy in pursuit—he had feared he might choose to zip-line down and go after Amanda and Astarte instead.

  A low branch slapped Cam across the cheek, staggering him. He quickly recovered, but the pain served to fuel his aggravation. Why were these assholes chasing him? Why had they drugged Amanda and abducted him and threatened his family? Obviously, it involved the Just Judges painting and the Templar treasure. But why was a group of white supremacists so fixated on this mystery? Did they actually believe Hitler had been right, that the painting led to the Holy Grail?