by Adam Hiatt
“I don’t know about the word compromising, but information, yes. Despite a lack of concrete historical fact, many believe that the Templars found something inside, under or around the Temple Mount that would’ve damaged the Catholic Church somehow. So, they paid them off to keep it quiet.”
“I think I’ve read that piece of fiction somewhere,” Reddic said.
“This isn’t fiction. The problem is nobody knows what they found. Speculation is good for literature, but it doesn’t necessarily get to the root of the issue. Look, I have my own theories about what they found, but it doesn’t really matter. All that matters is that they used it for their own benefit. Let me give you an example. Did you know the Templars were the world’s first bankers?”
“In what manner?” Brooke asked.
“Well, during their time in Jerusalem they realized that they couldn’t offer protection to all Christians traveling through the Middle East. So, they built strongholds along the coastal highway that were nothing more than vaults. When a traveler came through the area, he could deposit all his money or valuable possessions in one of these strongholds. The Templars would record how much was deposited and would issue an encrypted note of credit to the traveler. If the note ever fell into the hands of a thief, it became useless. So that traveler could take the note to any of the Templar strongholds and take money out of his account. It sounds pretty straightforward to us, but for that time it was absolutely ingenious.
“The inconsistency came by way of high-profile loans that the Templars granted. They allegedly had more specie than any other group in all of Europe. They issued outrageous loans to kings, emperors, and bishops. In return, they charged interest. Of course, interest, also called usury, is against Catholic law, so what did they do? They called it rent. The Templar coffers were overflowing with wealth and their aura was bigger than life. No other group was given this type of privilege.”
“So, what did them in?” Reddic asked.
“The beginning of the end was the Battle of Hattin. Without going into too much detail, suffice it to say a colossal tactical error was made. The Templar army crossed the Galilean highlands in July of 1187 to fight Saladin’s army. Parched and fatigued, they stopped for the night, allowing Saladin to surround them, set brush on fire, and proceed to decimate the Templars and ultimately take back Jerusalem. The crushing defeat damaged their reputation and crippled morale within the group itself.
“But this is where the story gets interesting. The Templars were weakened over the next century, to a point where their usefulness was coming to a swift end. They were vulnerable and the Catholic Church and King Phillip IV of France knew it. It’s not hard to understand why, either. They had mutual interests in mind. You see, if they could find a way for the Templars to go away permanently, they both would be able to pluck a huge thorn from their sides.”
16
Professors were a lot like politicians, Reddic mused. They could never just get to the point. They felt compelled to take the classroom on a full-fledged demonstration of their knowledge and understanding of a given topic. It was an intellectual power play. Once the ground rules of superiority were established, the point would be made. The key, he learned long ago, was to humor this type of behavior by feigning a profound interest. This tactic inevitably led the individual to reveal much more than was planned.
Reddic had sat through a countless number of Jaxon’s discourses. Some he genuinely enjoyed, others he merely tolerated. Having lost their parents to a tragic accident Jaxon was his only family. They were close in age, only separated by two years, but were much closer in their relationship. Their personalities could not have been any different, however. Where Jaxon was thoughtful and analytical, Reddic was intense and instinctive. What one lacked, the other had. It was a strong bond.
There was no doubt that in many instances Reddic lacked patience, especially in the company of his brother. Jaxon possessed the propensity of having to explain every detail before dramatically revealing what it was that he wanted to know. It used to irritate Reddic like nothing else, but over time he simply dealt with it. One thing was for certain, when in Jaxon’s company he always left learning something new.
When Reddic’s gaze focused on his brother he realized that he had been glaring at him. “What?” he asked sheepishly.
“Am I boring you that much?” Jaxon asked.
Reddic looked at Brooke and shrugged, palms up, in an expression of disbelief. “Don’t be so sensitive, professor. I’m listening. Why don’t you tell us about this thorn that needed to be removed?”
“I want to, but you need to pay attention. This is the most important part,” Jaxon said.
“I was thinking of something else. I’m all ears now.”
“Okay, good. The year was 1314, over two hundred years since the inception of the Templars movement. The Grand Master was Jacques de Molay. He rounded up hundreds of knights and rode to Paris with vast amounts of treasure under the pretense that they would join ranks with other armies. By this time the Knights Templar’s responsibilities were quite diminished. They had lost Jerusalem and no other Crusades were on the horizon. They were very much idle and looking for new work. For any of their enemies, it was also the perfect time to exterminate the Templars.”
“Professor,” Reddic interrupted, mockingly raising his hand like a student. “Would you please explain why anybody would want to eliminate the Templars? I mean, from what you’ve described, they were somewhat a legendary group.”
“As I stated previously, there were two key figures orchestrating the entire takedown. The king of France, Phillip IV, and Pope Clement V. A grassroots movement would never have materialized. There had been fanciful tales of Templar exploits circulating Europe for generations. They were as revered as any group since the twelve apostles. There needed to be a motive and powerful figure the likes of Phillip and Clement to make this work.
“You see, Phillip and Clement were childhood friends. Clement was French. He was born in southwest France. He eventually moved the curia to Avignon under the protection of Phillip. They sensed vulnerability. The Templars were the thorn in their side, as I said, and they conspired to pluck it out.
“Here’s the reason why. Phillip IV had run up enormous debts to the Templars. He needed money. Who in Europe had more money than the Templars? It was a win-win for Phillip. Not only would his debts be wiped clean, he would inherit an enormous treasure. The pope’s reasons were a bit more alarming. He didn’t want treasure, he wanted knowledge. Part of the Templar aura was the alleged hidden secrets found within the Temple Mount. They were so powerful the pope wanted them suppressed. So, there you have it. There were mutual interests at stake.”
“If I remember correctly,” Brooke said. “Phillip had the Templars arrested and accused them of all sorts of licentious acts, like devil worship, pagan ceremonies, and lewd sex acts like sodomy. They were put in an impossible situation.”
“Exactly,” Jaxon said. “All of them that were rounded up in Paris were tortured and coerced into confessing to these falsities and were executed. The spectacle completely changed public perception.”
“I take it Phillip and the pope got what they wanted,” Reddic said.
“That’s the irony. They were both shut out. Phillip never found their alleged treasure, although he did seize a modest amount of real estate assets, and Clement failed to ascertain the secret he was looking for. The bigger point, however, is that I believe somebody wants what could be considered the modern-day Templar treasure.”
Jaxon looked at Brooke and pointed his finger at her. “Your energy source could be worth more than ten Templar treasures. It is power, wealth, and knowledge rolled into one.”
“Now you’re speaking my language,” Reddic said. He arose from his brother’s chair and slowly walked to the window, lost in thought. He could only protect Brooke for so long. Sooner or later whoever was looking for her would find her, and that was only part of the problem. He was at a tremendous disadvant
age not knowing the identity of the persons hunting Brooke. If he were privy to that information, he may have been able to take the fight to them directly. As it was, his options were very limited.
He listed the facts in his mind. The men he encountered in California were Russian, but that didn’t necessarily mean that the Russian government was involved. Misdirection came to mind. Using agents and runners of dubious ethnicity was a smart tactical maneuver to cover one’s tracks. And, because academics depended on research grants, it was unlikely that Brooke’s research would remain a secret. Before Feldman was murdered, she was about to reveal her theory to the world. The truth was the list of possible suspects was seemingly limitless.
Reddic sighed as his shoulders slumped. There had to be something he was missing, something that could at least point him in the right direction. He gazed out the window as a thought suddenly occurred to him. It was a long shot, but at least it had the potential to be that little something he was seeking.
“Jaxon did the Templars have any idea who had betrayed them?” he asked.
“I submit to you that they knew who had betrayed them well before the trap was actually sprung,” his brother replied.
“Do you think there is any thread connecting those that conspired against the Templars and those conspiring against Brooke?”
“We historians don’t believe that history repeats itself,” Jaxon stated. “The characters and settings are too different. That’s what I’m supposed to tell my students, but in reality, I can’t argue that there are certain thematic aspects of history that have never gone away. Chief amongst them is the two brotherhoods, or what the ancients refer to as the secret darkness.”
“Let me ask you in a different way,” Reddic interrupted. “Is there anything about the Templar story that can be of any use to us right now?”
“Reddic, where have you been? This is what I’ve been talking about. The secret darkness, secret combinations, the thirst for money and power, it’s existed since the beginning of man. Nobody suddenly conjures up the idea to have dark, secret oaths. They’re right in front of us, we just can’t see them. And they haven’t changed for centuries. The problem is nobody knows where to start looking for them. I’ve heard stories of people getting close, but then a sudden accident ends their life.
“But to answer your question, yes, the Templars knew exactly who betrayed them, and I don’t mean simply Phillip and the pope. They had intimate knowledge of the dark side of the two brotherhoods and tried to excoriate it, but ultimately failed to do so. This has been the center of my research for the past year. I’ve recently discovered that Molay left clues that may lead to that starting point nobody can find.”
A surge of adrenaline rushed through Reddic’s veins. He felt his energy levels rise considerably, but he forced himself to remain even keel. Unrealistic expectations, he had learned, always led to disappointment.
“Can we take a look at these clues?” he asked.
“Well, no. I don’t have them. But I know where to find them.” Jaxon walked to the far wall where a world map hung. He circled a part of the map with his index finger. “This is where our crusade begins.”
Reddic stood next to his brother and eyed the map. It all started to make sense. The clues to this puzzle were in the place where it all ended for Jacques de Molay and the Templars.
Paris.
17
Dmitri Pavlov pulled into the Broadway parking garage just to the east of Harvard campus. Even after a cross country flight he was still seething, not just for the rebuke that Mahan had delivered to him and his men in the warehouse, but the utter disrespect he showed. The man was a ruthless savage, even by Russian standards. He was a lone wolf, failing to demonstrate any type of leadership quality. He clearly had never led a team before, unlike Pavlov. For over twenty years Pavlov ran an elite group of FSB agents that were thoroughly adept at uncovering and decapitating any group or organization that threatened the central command of the Kremlin.
If there was not so much at stake Pavlov would have gladly pounced on Mahan and fought the man to the death. No doubt the assassin would have been the greatest hand-to-hand challenge of his life, but he would have tried, nonetheless. His mission, however, was too important to derail with a personal vendetta founded on his own pride. Besides, it was inevitable. Once he had the formula in his own hands there would be a confrontation with Mahan. Then he would teach the assassin a lesson.
Pavlov's family owned a major operating stake in Russia's oil conglomerate. If the professor's energy source were to be industrialized by the Americans, it would cripple his country's economy and all but amputate his family's place amongst the ruling class. But Mahan was too short-sighted to recognize that Pavlov and his team of elite mercenaries could be involved for anything more than money. In fact, the assassin never disclosed why they were even hunting the woman professor. The fool! As far as Mother Russia was concerned, there was a world-wide race to find the next viable energy source and she would be the winner.
All first world governments recognized that sooner or later petroleum would be on its way out. The constant instability of the Middle East made for bad business and erratic markets. The world was desperately seeking for a new medium, a new source to reduce the power that the Middle Eastern countries currently commanded. If not, the threat of potentially being held hostage economically by the Middle East would surely become a clear and present reality.
Geopolitics were never Pavlov's strong suit. He left that up to the eggheads back home. He was a hunter, now in Boston, a metropolitan area of over four and a half million people, searching for one woman. The population itself was a challenge, but the woman was a professor, and Boston was the higher education capital of the world. There were over fifty colleges and universities in the area, and she could be at any one of them, or none of them at all. But at least they had a starting point. And like a great hunting dog, sometimes all that was needed was a scent to find the prey.
Pavlov's team was stretched very thin. When he found out that the woman had flown to Boston, he knew it was a wise decision for her. It was a great place for a professor to hide. Pavlov sent his team to other universities around the city to see what they could dig up while he chose Harvard. Fortunately for him Mahan did not protest. He correctly deduced that M.I.T would be the most logical place for the professor to find safe haven, as it was one of the world's leading institutions in the field of physics.
But Harvard was were Pavlov needed to be. Not because he believed the woman would be on campus, but because it was a designated dead drop for many Russian agents over the years. The world of espionage had changed much since the Cold War ended. Most government agencies and operators have transitioned exclusively to electronic communication. The reasons were understandable. The methods of encryption and dissemination were limitless. To counter that, however, the Americans, more specifically the NSA, had to step up its technology to trace and track suspects all over the globe, making electronic communication a much riskier proposition than it was only a decade ago. As far as Pavlov was concerned, there were ways to get around the NSA, such as prepaid phones, encryption software, using coded words, etc. But with the unpredictable assassin nearby, the sensible way to communicate with his handlers was to utilize the old Cold War methods. Hence, the dead drop. There were certainly drawbacks to this method. Communication was much slower, and assets had to be in place to obtain the drop. And, there was always the possibility that the message would be intercepted, but the odds were so remote it was worth the gamble.
Pavlov entered Harvard Memorial Church from the northwest. He silently closed the door behind him and scanned the chapel for any unwanted visitors. The building was empty, just how he wanted it. He reverently walked up the carpeted aisle toward the immense pipe organ built into the front wall behind the oak dais. Pavlov turned into the fifth pew from the front and shuffled over to one of the massive marble columns where he took a seat. Light was pouring in from the arched windows on ea
ch side. Pretending to be admiring the chapel, Pavlov checked again that he was alone.
Satisfied, he reached to the front of the pew and removed what appeared to be a hymnal. He opened the back cover and pressed forward firmly with his palm. The binding moved a fraction of an inch. Pavlov then pulled the cover down, exposing a hidden compartment between the binding. He reached for his phone, opened the battery cover, and pulled the serial number off. It was a fake serial number, but it looked authentic. It was a coded message. Each number represented a letter in the Cyrillic alphabet. Once unscrambled, his handlers in Moscow would learn not only the identity of the woman, but the type of energy source she had discovered.
Pavlov put the binding of the book back into place and returned the hymnal. The drop was complete. He now needed to make his way over to the science center on the chance that the woman was there. He also needed to check in with Mahan soon per operational protocol, so he needed to move with haste.
Exiting through the sane doors he entered, Pavlov peered to his left into the famed Harvard Yard. Through the mature trees directly opposite the church were the steps of Widener Library. He was about to turn away and head toward the applied sciences quadrant when something caught his eye. He took a second look, closer this time. There were two men and a woman. The woman had her hair pulled up and was wearing a baseball cap. The men he had no recollection of, but the woman walked in a manner that was very familiar.
Then it hit him. It was the same gait as the woman physicist. Pavlov's pulse quickened. Of course, he would need to get closer to confirm her identity before notifying Mahan. On second thought, apprising the assassin would only complicate matters. He decided that he would complete his mission right now by apprehending her and the formula.
He reached behind his back and grabbed the stock of his automatic. He twisted on a sound suppressor and released the safety before sliding it back into his waistline. He hurried across the yard in search of his prey. The hunt was again on.