The Larmenius Inheritance

by John Paul Davis

  Several metres away, Matt did the same. Breathing quickly and trying to assess the situation, he looked vainly for opportunities to escape. His anger was building. Questions entered his head, questions he had been asking since the beginning.

  Was it you who killed my father?

  Was it you who attacked me?

  But despite the hatred, Matt was somewhat in awe of what he saw. They had the efficiency of soldiers and appeared similar in stature and style. He counted thirteen, including Degen, some standing behind them – all armed and no doubt highly trained – appearing like members of the Royal Marines.

  Yet he knew they were no friends of his.

  ‘Who are you?’ Matt asked.

  ‘Do not waste my time with stupid questions, Mr. Anson.’

  The Swiss walked forward, stopping in front of Sandra. He snatched her rucksack and looked at the contents. He removed the flagstones and examined them closely.

  ‘It seems the rightful owner wants his property back.’

  ‘The house is the registered property of my father,’ Matt said, courage taking over. ‘His estate belongs to my family.’

  Degen looked at him without emotion. ‘I said the owner of these.’ He pointed at the flagstones.

  He looked at the soldiers, then Richards. ‘Take us to the labyrinth.’

  Sandra refused to respond. Degen walked closer, his face close to hers. Degen called, and two mercenaries came towards him.

  ‘Now.’

  Deep below in the underground labyrinth, the man named Stephane Degen and all of the mercenaries bar two followed Sandra through the maze of tunnels. Despite the lack of light, the markers from before were still present, mapping out the route.

  The operation took place quickly. The lack of air that had earlier affected Sandra and Matt to the point of hyperventilation seemed to make no impact on the soldiers. They followed the academic to the final chamber and stopped before the altar. Three items remained. The two chests and the tomb.

  Sandra turned to face Degen. ‘You might want to be careful.’

  Degen was unimpressed. ‘Take it to the chopper.’

  Matt watched as Sandra, Degen and the mercenaries returned with the chests and the stone tomb. He was still to see the chests, but he guessed that they possessed something of monetary value.

  Solomon was famous for his silver and gold.

  He turned away, looking in the direction of the nearest hill, at least two hundred yards away in the distance. A strange flash of light caught his eye. There was movement, but for now it was unclear what. Surely there was nobody else with them.

  The hour was still early.

  Degen watched with folded arms as the mercenaries loaded the strange containers onto the helicopter. Less than twenty metres away, Matt gritted his teeth. He desperately wanted to know what was there, what was inside.

  Was it really there? The lost treasure of the Temple of Solomon? Is this what his father had really been looking for?

  He shook his head. Whatever it was, it was disappearing before his eyes.

  Degen returned from the chopper, his attention on Sandra. ‘Take her on board.’

  She screamed.

  Matt attempted to sprint for her, but the cords securing his wrists restricted him. Four mercenaries came from nowhere, holding him back. He felt a sharp blow to the shoulder, then the stomach, winding him. Several feet away Scott was there, harbouring a bloody lip.

  He heard Sandra scream. He heard her call his name, then the struggle. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her being taken away, forced into the helicopter.

  ‘You bastards.’

  Matt felt another punch to the cheek, instantly numbing. Out of his vision, Degen was approaching.

  ‘On my command.’

  Suddenly every firearm was aimed at Matt and Scott. He felt himself being dragged to his feet. Alongside him he saw spit fly through the air, coming from Scott, blood tainting his saliva.

  ‘I really wish we’d stayed in Edinburgh, Matt.’

  Matt looked at him and felt his eyes well up. ‘I know. I’m sorry.’

  He watched as Scott received another punch to the face. Two mercenaries approached, both armed, their rifles held in execution style.

  ‘Look, take whatever’s there,’ Matt yelled against the wind. ‘But leave my cousin; leave her; they’ve done nothing wrong.’

  ‘You are in no position to bargain,’ he said, his finger pointing.

  Matt felt himself being pushed to one side, the force of the restriction on his wrists now burning his skin. He looked at Scott, then the helicopter. Finally he saw Sandra. The faintest of smiles touched her lips as she saw him through the window. Tears covered both eyes and cheeks.

  Suddenly he heard the sound of a scuffle to his left. Scott had broken the grip of one of the mercenaries and was scrapping with two others. It took four to finish the job, but now they were both surrounded.

  Matt stood with his back rigid, his eyes on Degen. Degen called a mercenary towards him. He said something that Matt did not hear, and the mercenary raised his rifle once again as though preparing to carry out an execution.

  He considered playing for time, but what for? They were isolated. Fear and anger had subsided. A strange resignation had overcome him. Four weeks ago, his father was alive; he was still in the navy. Life was full of promise.

  Now it was slipping away.

  Degen checked his watch. Slowly he started walking with heavy footsteps across the ground, forming muddy footprints in all directions from there to the helicopter. He walked to within five metres of Matt and folded his arms. Matt looked towards the east. In his dazed state of mind, he thought he saw a glimpse of that strange light again.

  ‘Thank you very much,’ Degen said.

  He barked another order at the mercenary, whose gun was still at the ready.

  ‘Ready.’

  Matt heard a gunshot, far too early in the command. Looking around, he could see the mercenaries scattering. The executioner was down. Their helicopter was moving, and gravel was spraying everywhere.

  Matt dived and rolled instinctively, his actions guided by his senses.

  Bullets sprayed from different directions. Metres away on either side he felt the ground move. Grass, mud and gravel flew into the air.

  The impact was grazing, but nothing more. He crawled forward, trying to keep his head down. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the mercenaries firing in the direction where he had first seen the light. It wasn’t obvious what they were firing at, only that bullets were coming from there as well.

  He made his way to the verge, a point where the ground rose in height, and attempted to get to his feet. Scott was near, his hands also bound. Blood streamed from his face.

  From there, the view was better. The helicopter was hovering overhead, picking up mercenaries one by one. As best he could tell from his view across the open greenery, two were down and another was injured. Degen was shouting orders like a maniac, attempting to round up his men.

  Only five remained below.

  A punch to the right caught Matt hard. A second came, this time from metal. A mercenary with a rifle was hitting him. He felt his balance go, forcing him to the ground. The rifle was now aimed squarely at Matt’s face.

  Gunfire.

  Matt rolled, but the bullets did not come from there. A sound of anguish from the man preceded the appearance of blood.

  A second flurry of bullets came. Matt watched as the man dropped his gun and fell back, not dead but definitely hit. The white around his shoulder was now soaked with blood.

  Matt wasted no time. He ran toward Scott, the gun in his hand.

  ‘Quick, remove the bindings.’

  Scott placed his hands wide open against the rock, his face turned away. A look of anguish turned to relief as a bullet allowed his hands freedom.

  Scott repaid the favour before heading toward the final mercenary dazed on the ground below. Scott punched him in the face, but the man recovered. Scot
t felt a kick in his stomach and went down winded.

  Matt approached him quickly. His vision was blurry from debris, but the scene was clear. Directly in front of him the mercenary had recovered. For several seconds the two men watched each other, neither daring to move.

  Matt dived to one side as the mercenary advanced, throwing a sideways punch before running hard to take evasive action. The metal handcuffs that constrained the movement of his hands like manacles still strained, but at least they no longer restricted both arms together.

  As he passed the ridge, he felt the force of the helicopter against him, knocking him off balance. The strength of the blades felt cold on his wounded body, stimulating his senses. The sensation may have increased his concentration, but he felt disorientated.

  A sudden bang to the cheek knocked him down. He struggled to get a grip, but as the mercenary dived at him once more, he made his escape. He turned, punching the man in the face, flattening his nose on impact. The man fell to the floor, turning onto the soil.

  A second hit came from behind. He found himself being thrown to one side, then forced to the floor.

  He attempted to turn but failed. The strength of the man was overwhelming. With all his remaining strength, he grappled with his legs, turning the man to one side.

  Now he could see him. The stranger was dressed in similar uniform, only this time black instead of white.

  They wrestled, both keeping each other at deadlock. Slowly the man overpowered him, taking every ounce of his strength away.

  He removed his mask. ‘The force is with you, Young Skywalker. But you’re not a Jedi yet.’

  55

  Matt took a few seconds to allow fresh air to fill his lungs. The presence of debris forced him to cough vigorously.

  He sat up as best he could, trying to overcome the force of the man on top of him. The man’s physique was robust. His actions demonstrated he was highly trained, perhaps equalling the men departing in the helicopter.

  But it wasn’t only the attack that was disturbing. It was the face in front of him. The face from his youth, now older and hardened compared to the soft features of years earlier. The kind blue eyes remained, only now with clear focus. The soft lips, cracked and dry from the weather, were also somehow hardened and displayed knowledge, perhaps even wisdom. Whereas the last time he had seen him he was clean-shaven, a finely trimmed beard now covered his face, similar to what Matt remembered of his father.

  Their father.

  He attempted to breathe but struggled. The shock had intensified. He closed his eyes, screwing them as tightly shut as he could. In that second, memories came flooding back, visions of the past long since forgotten.

  Then he opened them again. The man was still there, his vision focused on him. Then he felt a slap to the face.

  ‘Come on.’

  Matt didn’t move. Instead, he continued to look at the man he knew as Robert, staring at him like a ghost. He had seen the man buried.

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Do not ask stupid questions, Matthew, you know who I am. Now move quickly or you’ll get us both killed.’

  Still he refused to move. He punched Robert; almost immediately Matt felt his hands being grabbed. He felt strong arms around him, but still he struggled to break free.

  Then he was away. Matt scampered in the direction of the house, his actions dictated by instinct. In his mind he continued to replay moments from his past, visions now merging with the present.

  But the present was there.

  He stumbled, rugby tackled from behind. He felt his head begin to bleed as he made impact with the ground. Now on his back, he could see the sky. In the distance, the helicopter was flying overhead.

  Then there was gunfire.

  He attempted to get to his feet but failed. He felt himself being dragged, slowly at first, then quickly. Then the sound of gunfire became louder, causing debris to fly up all around.

  Then fading.

  Then silence.

  Time seemed to pass slowly. He attempted to move but failed; the weight on top of him was overpowering, but even that failed to compare to the shock of recent proceedings. Adjusting his head, he realised that the man who matched his brother in appearance had ushered him to a depression in close proximity to the verge, reducing the possibility of being hit by gunfire.

  The sound ceased, as had the noise of the helicopter that had departed and was heading east, somewhere in the direction of Europe.

  Suddenly the pressure on his back eased. The man had rolled off him. Matt watched him as he breathed, heavily, followed by a cough. A red stain had appeared on his right shoulder.

  ‘You’re hurt.’

  The man shook his head. ‘It’s fine.’

  Matt watched Robert, paying particular attention to his facial features. He found himself reacquainted with a strange feeling, one he had not felt for seven years. He punched the man, then again in the chest, then his arms, and lower stomach.

  Suddenly he jumped on him and embraced him. ‘I thought you were dead.’

  In spite of the pain, the monk’s expression illustrated his compassion, but for now there were no tears.

  ‘I don’t understand. You died.’

  ‘No, Matthew, only in name.’

  Robert helped him to his feet. ‘Come on. We need to move.’

  Robert led Matt across the garden, stopping on reaching the heart of the verge where the castle had apparently once been strong. Scott was there, sparked out on the ground. For now it was unclear whether he was conscious or not.

  Robert lifted his cousin onto his shoulder and carried him up the verge. Matt followed, his attention wildly distracted by the recent events. Instinct still told him that this was not real.

  They came through the greenery and changed direction on passing what little remained of the ruins. It was quiet, almost ghostlike.

  In no way did it seem that the earlier events had occurred.

  They continued along the garden, stopping on reaching a small group of men. The first thing Matt noticed was that the plane he had seen moments before the helicopter landed was there, parked on the grass some thirty metres away, beside his own. A larger gathering of armed men, this time dressed in ordinary black combats, stood around the plane, their focus on two others sitting on the grass. Then he saw them rise to their feet.

  Alongside the abbot, Nicole smiled sheepishly.

  56

  Matt watched as Robert carried Scott through the door, setting him down somewhere inside. He could tell from the sounds that Scott was coming to, but was at present totally disoriented. Matt allowed himself a smile.

  The shock was imminent.

  He turned, coming face to face with the abbot. The man’s expression was calm, but it also portrayed concern, notable concern. To his side, Nicole was also worried. Her hair was done up in a ponytail, and she wore a dark fleece, shielding herself from the breeze.

  The abbot stepped forward. ‘Tell me, Matthew, what, if anything, was taken away in that helicopter?’

  He paused, the fear in his eyes registering. ‘They have Sandra.’

  ‘Do not change the issue, Matthew,’ he said, this time firmer than before. ‘What did you discover here?’

  He looked at him closely. ‘There was a tomb – perhaps two other chests. I think they took them all.’

  The abbot’s face displayed only calm. He turned to his left. Seconds later the sound of raised voices was heard. Scott had come to and had launched an attack on Robert, almost identical to Matt.

  The monk returned. ‘My cousin has a slight concussion.’

  ‘He’ll live, I don’t doubt that,’ the abbot said, humour absent from his voice.

  Matt followed as the abbot and Robert led the others through the house. They ventured straight into the cellar, their focus on the well where the tunnel began.

  Robert cursed loudly before disappearing from sight, followed by a line of soldier monks. There were eight in total, each man armed and identical
in stature and drill to the men he had seen only moments ago; men he assumed to be members of the Order of the Ancient Star. Each man followed in single file. Masks covered their faces, allowing air to enter.

  Matt stopped on command by the well. The abbot stood beside him, as did Nicole.

  The abbot’s expression was serious. ‘Tell me everything.’

  Matt recalled the events of the last few weeks, days, hours and minutes, stopping at the point where the helicopter left. For the first time that day, the arrival of both groups began to sink in. Suddenly he felt furious. He assumed Jura was responsible for the first.

  Surely someone had set this up.

  Matt struggled to control his breathing. The dampness of the cellar, enhanced by the air coming through the void from the cavern below, felt uncomfortable on his lungs.

  But it was not just the physical condition that was affecting him. His mind refused to accept what had happened. How was his brother still alive? How did they know they were there?

  The abbot listened to Matt’s every word as he recounted recent events, starting with Portugal, Dighton Rock, Sandra’s beliefs of The Cross and the discovery of the secrets of the monuments. Beside him, Nicole was captivated. There were a million questions she wanted to ask.

  ‘Who was the man in command?’ the abbot asked.

  ‘I’d never met him before.’

  ‘You didn’t hear his name?’

  ‘No. He took Sandra.’

  ‘You’re certain you’d never seen him? Any of them?’

  ‘No. They spoke only in German.’

  Matt looked at Nicole, then the abbot. ‘Sir, they took Sandra.’

  Nicole said, ‘Frankly I am a little sceptical of your Professor Richards. It is unclear how much she knows or what her motives are.’

  Matt’s face was like thunder. ‘She’s a teacher, a professor. Investigating history is what she does.’