The bearded man to his right nodded. He smiled at the young man opposite. ‘Such is the way of the Lord that your induction would also be the most challenging, young Robert.’
Robert looked back at Andrew Landry. ‘Fortunately, I have never been one to shirk responsibility,’ he said with fire in his eyes. ‘If the opportunity had presented itself, I would have quite happily killed the banker and taken the belongings.’
‘That would have been foolish,’ the man at the other end of the table said, his first words. ‘The fate of the order has rested all this time on prudent planning. Never did the knights of old risk all by leaving blood over every vestry.’
Robert returned a powerful stare. The man was slightly smaller than Landry, perhaps six feet exactly, and had a fine full head of plain white hair. A large pair of wire-rimmed varifocal lenses, perched at the bridge of his nose, slightly distorted his green eyes that suggested complete and unbreakable concentration.
‘Forgive me, sir, I did not mean to sound reckless. However, I would be unwilling to sit by when I could offer my resources for a far superior cause. Even if it meant giving my life.’
Both Winter and Landry nodded, their eyes on the newest seneschal. The man smiled at Robert.
‘Your father would have been proud to hear such commitment,’ the man said. ‘Perhaps I’ve been out of your life for too long.’
‘Too long indeed, cousin.’
The man nodded without giving away extra emotion. His name was Niven Anson, an antiquarian and businessman of high renown, particularly in the north of Scotland.
Winter looked to Robert. ‘What news of young Stuart?’
‘The circumstances still await official verification,’ he said, almost despondently. ‘The mutilation of the corpse only further impeded the process of recognition.’
Landry nodded. ‘Where was the wee lad found?’
‘Gloucester Road tube station,’ Robert replied. He forced himself to bite his lip to avoid swearing. ‘His wrists and chest were slit before his carcass thrown to the line.’
The grandmaster nodded. ‘The driver of the train was understandably upset by the whole thing.’
Anson removed his glasses and put his thumb and fingers to his eyes. He remembered seeing something similar in his younger days.
‘And the assailant?’
Robert shook his head. ‘Unclear.’
‘Such an outcome suggests an equally likely source,’ Landry offered.
Robert felt his anger building. ‘I thought the Order of the Ancient Star had grown up. Their grandmaster seems such a charismatic sort.’
‘Often the ones that need the most attention,’ Landry said.
Winter shook his head. ‘It is perhaps those close to him that deserve closer attention.’
Niven Anson watched them studiously. ‘What of the academic?’
‘Egyptian, respected historian and archaeologist. Word has it, he knows a thing or two about other things as well,’ Landry said.
‘And the Israeli?’
‘Also a scholar, respected, and not just by those of his own religion.’
‘Any others?’
‘Unclear.’
Niven nodded. ‘What of the woman?’
‘Sandra?’ Winter asked. ‘She is as big an enigma to herself as she is to anyone else.’
Robert watched him closely.
‘Forgive me for asking, but is she a threat?’ Anson asked.
Winter met his gaze. ‘Of course not, nor would she be.’ He allowed himself a rare smile. ‘Her greatest threat to both us and herself is to be contaminated by those she mistakes to be allies instead of enemies and in turn acting against her allies instead of her enemies.’ He looked at Robert. ‘Until recently your father had been something of a guardian angel to her. After all, we all know of her past.’
Robert nodded. ‘She is dangerously close to the Order of the Ancient Star.’
‘Yes, but not intentionally. To her, Jura is just a means to an end.’
Niven Anson looked at them all closely. ‘What’s in it for her should they succeed?’
‘Academic credibility,’ Landry said. ‘That’s what most of them want.’
Winter looked unsure. ‘I think we all know that isn’t true.’
A wry smile from Landry. ‘The lassie has a long history. She’s an Anson, isn’t she?’
Robert raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m aware she was distantly related to my father.’
‘Third cousin,’ Winter confirmed.
‘Sometimes I wonder whether it would be easier to simply tell her the truth,’ Robert said.
Niven Anson was unimpressed. ‘You are unfamiliar with our laws, young one. The bond of secrecy must remain sealed. That is why we were chosen.’
Landry nodded. It was only his third appearance as a seneschal. ‘Aye. Even if they figure out Corte-Real’s destination, it seems unlikely they will stumble on anything that will help them.’
‘It sounds to me as though they already have. Let us not forget what we salvaged from the safe of our former grandmaster,’ Niven said.
‘The exploits of our ancestor are indeed legendary,’ Robert said.
Niven nodded. ‘Let’s also not forget, the apparatus for young Matthew is under his very nose, in his father’s garden! It sounds to me as though he has already learned how to use it.’
He studied each man seriously.
‘You overestimate their chances, cousin,’ Robert said.
Anson looked at Robert. ‘Do not be naïve, Robert. You are still young, no more than an apprentice. Scripture writes of the appalling casualties set on humanity by those who do not understand the value of what they possess.’
‘Even we do not know the full story,’ Landry said.
A disturbing silence fell on the room. For several seconds nothing was said, but eyes moved with regularity.
‘Just because one knows the wisdom of the ancient world, doesn’t mean one can control it,’ Anson said at last. ‘Its powers have no source.’
‘You have seen this?’ Robert asked.
‘I respect the sources.’
Robert looked at all closely, this time with more enthusiasm. ‘The world has moved on. The world of the Old Testament is over. Times change, and we must move too.’
Their expressions suggested they didn’t agree.
‘The Temple of Solomon is a gift. Christianity, Judaism, Islam, religion is at an all time low. The tomb alone is a symbol. A symbol that can unite, restore the faith.’
Further silence fell. Anson shook his head.
‘The Keepers of the Light feared the tomb,’ Winter said softly. ‘They feared the Acts even more. Its presence in the wrong hands could be fatal.’
‘The castle at The Cross was made so that human hands could not breach it. Only we, the Keepers, were allowed the way in,’ Niven said.
Winter nodded.
Robert looked at his great-uncle and saw the certainty in his eyes. He had seen it many times. Now was not the time to contest the decision of seniority.
‘What of my brother?’
Winter smiled. ‘They must be protected, but for now from a distance. In time, Matthew will come to learn the true importance of the Knights Templar and their offshoots.’
Anson agreed. ‘Very well, so it is decided.’
Winter nodded. ‘The tomb shall stay where it is – as shall the scrolls. Robert shall continue to monitor their progress.’
‘And the journalist?’ Robert asked.
‘She must be found. That must be our priority.’
The four men rose to their feet. The three seneschals bowed to the master, and Landry and Anson left the room. Robert was stopped by the grandmaster’s hand.
‘Be careful, Robert,’ he said. ‘It does not do well to live too long in the past.’
48
Mills placed his index finger against the button for the third time in quick succession and waited anxiously for a response. Receiving none, he retreated several steps
away from the doorway and surveyed the exterior. Most of the windows on the floors above were closed, some with curtains drawn, and displayed no sign of life. He knew from the address that their apartment was on the fifth floor, but without prior knowledge of the layout, he could not be sure which windows belonged to their apartment.
He tried the buzzer for the fourth time, only now more in hope than expectation. He removed his mobile phone from his pocket and tried Amanda’s mobile number. Then he tried Nicole’s.
Now he was nervous.
Three days had passed since he had last seen them.
Sitting in a deserted office, Sandra stared blankly at the wall in front of her. The news she had learned over the phone was incredible. The transaction between Landry, Anson & Son, and the unknown Larmenius Corp was completed on the 12th of May 2006. Interestingly, there was no mention of the costs involved, but on further reading, the omission was less obvious.
One individual was named for Larmenius.
Back in Ayrshire, Matt lay on his back, his eyes focused on the monument of the Guercino masterpieces in front of him. He admired the way the artist had used the presence of the objects to demonstrate the way. The irony wasn’t lost.
There was wisdom hidden in the monument.
A loud vibrating sound was coming from his left pocket. His mobile phone was ringing. He saw from the display the caller was Sandra.
‘Hello.’
‘Matt, I have some amazing news.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Never mind that, I’ve found out who the owner of The Cross is.’
‘Okay, great, who?’
‘The Cross was bought and registered by a company called Larmenius Corp in 2006.’
The words were a complete surprise. ‘Larmenius?’
‘Sound familiar?’
‘But that was owned by my father.’
Just over fifteen minutes later Matt sprinted up the stairs, passing the many paintings of his ancestors before entering his father’s study. He remembered from past experience that his dad kept all the important files in a locked filing cabinet by the window.
He removed a set of keys from the wall safe and took a seat behind the desk. He moved the chair closer to the filing cabinet, moving easily on its wheels. The key jammed slightly as he inserted it. He opened the bottom of three drawers, revealing a well-organised section separated according to subject matter.
Larmenius Corp had its own leaf. Officially the company was founded in 1989 as a subsidiary for his grandfather’s salt mixing company that his father later sold.
Within two minutes, he found the one for New Ross.
He stared at the document for several seconds.
He couldn’t believe it.
The property was his.
Nicole parked her car out of sight from any passer-by and walked quickly along the high street in the direction of one particular house. The village was quaint: a small picturesque leafy location whose houses were mostly two-storey stone cottages.
Despite the lack of residents, the village was crowded. A plethora of men and women, mostly students, walked with sticks and rucksacks, heading in various directions, reading from maps and guidebooks. The sun blazed in the clear blue sky that had earlier been overcast and cloudy. A steady breeze blew from time to time, taking the edge off the temperature that was stifling in the direct sunlight.
Nicole walked quickly along the street and changed direction on reaching the next. She was dressed in shorts and a white top. As usual, she disguised her eyes with mirrored sunglasses and wore a baseball cap, a necessity today for the weather as well as to avoid observation. She had checked on leaving the car park and on the road; she had not been followed.
She walked to the end of the road and changed direction again, heading down a small cul-de-sac. This area was less populated than the centre of the village: the perfect place to live without observation. She continued until reaching a house, three from the end: a typical stone cottage with a red door and double-glazed windows.
She rang the bell and waited. After several seconds, she assumed there would be no response.
The sound of the uPVC door handle indicated movement.
The door opened, and a man answered. He was slightly younger than she thought: early fifties with a crew cut of grey hair, and blue eyes.
He looked at her, his expression one of uncertainty. ‘Yes.’
‘Mr. Woltz?’
He recoiled slightly. ‘Who are you?’
‘I’m a journalist working for the Tribunal. I need your help with something.’
The man looked back nervously. ‘I don’t associate with newspapers.’
‘That’s okay; I need your help with something else. You see, the Order of the Ancient Star have my friend.’
His facial expression turned to one of complete hesitation, as if he had seen a person murdered before his eyes.
Nicole moved closer. ‘Please help me, Mr. Woltz,’ she said quietly. ‘Or may I call you Mr. von Gostel?’
49
Nicole kept her eyes on the man known as Steven Woltz, wary of the possibility of anything unexpected. He was slightly less than five ten in height and, despite a scrawny physique, had at least two stone on her and, by the look of him, was susceptible to paranoia.
She watched his eyes, his expression gathering in hesitancy.
‘Let’s go inside before someone sees us.’
Nicole passed the author without further direction and turned immediately to her left, entering a small living room. A traditional fireplace was set into the main wall that was painted white and included traditional features, including wooden beams supporting the roof and stone brick that matched the outside. The furniture was like that of an ordinary holiday cottage and its features homely. One of the first things she noticed was a rare selection of medieval artefacts on the wall. She recognised the logo of the Knights of Arcadia.
She had come to the right place.
She removed her sunglasses and baseball cap. After five hours of wearing them, they had made an imprint on her nose. A ring of sweat had formed around her forehead, making her feel itchy in the close weather. She wiped her face with her sleeve and turned back toward the doorway.
The man known as Steven Woltz had returned. His features had hardened. ‘Who are you?’
‘As I say, Mr. von Gostel, I’m a journalist from a newspaper in London.’
He nodded with resignation. ‘I knew this day would come. I never expected they would send a girl.’
Nicole looked back, confused. ‘Nobody sent me, I’m here all alone.’
With his eyes fixed firmly on Nicole, the author opened the top drawer of the nearby cabinet and removed a gun. With it came a stare of concentration, almost like that of a madman before pulling the trigger on school kids and then turning the gun on himself.
‘It has been over ten years since the Order of the Ancient Star has threatened this. I thought they had finally bored of me.’ He cocked the trigger. ‘What girl would come here to kill for them?’
Nicole looked back, her expression one of terror. She had never seen a gun in real life, and this one was pointed directly at her.
For several seconds she struggled to speak. ‘I’m here alone, Mr. von Gostel. Please, I need your help. The Order of the Ancient Star has my friend.’
He continued to monitor her, his eyes closing in an extended blink. The concentration was there, heightening. Ten years living in fear had led to this. Still he watched, his vision focused. What was going through his head?
‘Mr. von Gostel, I know about the Order of the Ancient Star. I’ve read your book – your great-grandfather’s book. Please, I need your help. The Order of the Ancient Star is trying to kill me.’
The briefest of changes in his eyes confirmed that the words were understood. Still silence, for now only a rigid expression, one of anger and fear.
She gulped, an involuntary swallow accompanied by a feeling of heightened breathing.
&nbs
p; Still no words. Just fear.
‘You mistake me for a fool,’ he said, his voice firm. She assumed from his real name that his accent might be Swiss rather than Canadian. She guessed correctly, but on closer attention that had softened after several years living in this quiet Welsh paradise. ‘Maybe this is all a trap. You wish to lure me into a false sense of security. Then you will strike.’
She looked back with a solid stare. ‘Please, Mr. von Gostel, I am unarmed.’ She gestured, opening her bag. She lowered it to the floor. ‘I’m just a girl. I’ve never even held a gun.’
He observed her closely, wary that she might use the opportunity to remove a firearm from her bag. He watched her place the bag on the floor and was momentarily reassured.
But only momentarily. Who was she? What did she really want?
‘Please, Mr. von Gostel, speak to me. If only for a minute.’
His expression remained unflinching, his lips wavering seconds earlier now still and firm. A pause, longer than before, gave Nicole a feeling of genuine unease. Within seconds the trigger could be pulled. In seconds her life could be no more.
‘Please, lower your gun; you’re upsetting me.’
The comment made a mark. Tears had formed in his eyes.
‘What do you want?’
‘The Order of the Ancient Star has ruined my life. They have taken my friend, perhaps killed her. They have killed others, including my boss, my colleagues, my friend’s father, his friend. They killed Jerome Belroc less than an hour after I spoke to him. He gave me your book.’
His face changed. ‘You knew Belroc?’
She nodded. ‘I met him once. He gave me your book and your great-grandfather’s book.’
She knelt down by her handbag, keeping her hands as visible as possible. She removed the book the man had written from her bag, keeping her eyes on him.
She rose to her feet. ‘Belroc was killed because he knew too much. They want me dead, others have been killed.’ She forced a desperate smile. ‘Please, help me defeat the Order of the Ancient Star.’
The Larmenius Inheritance Page 33