Matt was feeling calmer than before, and that had improved his attention. He was wising up to the possibilities. He assumed that the room was probably under surveillance from somewhere.
Sure enough, the camera was located in the corner of the room.
Scott cocked his weapon and shot it. Although it didn’t explode, it broke immediately and fell to the ground.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ Matt said, ‘they’ll hear us.’
‘Better that than see us.’
Matt had to admit he had a point. Continuing through the opening, he espied another room, one that looked like a chapel, though without the Christian imagery.
He walked slowly in the direction of another large pillar. Its construction was superb. He rolled his hand along the exterior, feeling the grooves with his palm. The material was exquisite.
He followed his inclination, heading in the direction of a peculiar set of artefacts, all of which would have looked more at home in a museum.
Suddenly he heard a noise.
Robert remained focused on the grandmaster as he stood on the podium close to the sanctuary. By now rage had been replaced by a strange sense of calm and stillness as he focused on his task. The man was not renowned for his piety, less so his mercy. The situation was worrying.
‘The tomb of Solomon was once contained in the First Temple’s Holy of Holies, a sacred site that only the most revered could enter,’ Mansell said, his expression slightly smug. ‘Unfortunately, it is not a place for outsiders.’
The response was a blessing.
‘Everyone who has ever underestimated the power has been hit with gross misfortune,’ Robert responded. ‘It doesn’t do to tempt the wrath of God.’
The man from Tyre replied sternly. ‘It is not I who tempt anything, young son of Anson. When the ancient empires of Phoenicia and Egypt flourished, they were truly paradise on earth. When they were fragmented, it was so done by the new religions.’ He looked at Anson seriously. ‘The Crusades ended some time ago. Still the war remains.’
‘The ancient Egyptians enslaved the people of Israel. How could any alliance exist with such monsters?’
The question was amusing. ‘Once upon a time I’m sure the people of Israel felt the same way. But let us not forget, Moses himself was raised Egyptian. The cruelty of that evil was disposed of. The Bible itself teaches that.’
Robert shook his head. ‘The past is gone. The fate of mankind depends on slow integration. Not the ravings of terrorists.’
Mansell was confused. ‘Terrorists?’ He walked closer, coming face to face. ‘I am descended of the ancient line of kings.’
Robert started laughing. ‘That’s your plan? You mean to enforce a claim to a kingdom that no longer exists.’
‘The wisdom of King Solomon once symbolised the power of God on this earth. Politically its symbolism defined the creation of great unity.’
He eyed him again.
‘The city of Jerusalem must return to its former sanctity. It is unacceptable the mask that covers that city.
‘First, the God of Islam must fall, including its sacred mosque,’ he said. ‘Then the Gods of Hindu and Sikhism.’ He paused for effect. ‘Finally, the Christian God. Only then will the reverence of the true religion be revealed.’
Robert glared at him with disdain. ‘What about the atheists?’
‘The secrets of the Covenant, when revealed, will present their case. The unbelieving will be swayed.’
‘Then why all this? If you are correct, then why not just tell everyone?’
‘There are many who have fought to discourage change. These same people have sought to see that we should never exist.’
‘What would you have done?’
The man smiled slowly. ‘Take them to the library.’
Matt wasted no time. Acting on instinct, he sprinted in the direction of a linen covered table and dived behind it. For the longest of seconds he waited.
He felt the presence of Scott behind him, partitioned only by the pillar.
Footsteps.
The sound was coming from the room, but it was not obvious exactly where. He looked to his left, risking his body coming into view.
For several seconds nothing happened. Then he saw a sign of life. A peculiar-looking ornament opened, resembling an Egyptian burial casket. Stranger still, there was no being wrapped in white inside.
A single occupant came out. He was dressed in the same colours as the guards and carried an automatic weapon in his hands. He walked slowly, clearly nervous.
Matt monitored him. Strange only one man should be present. He watched as the man approached the table. His expression suggested he was not expecting anything in that room. Matt’s gut instinct told him that the man had seen them enter on the security camera and was heading for the main room. The cocking of the weapon unnerved him. He remembered from New Ross that when the bullets started flying anything went.
He changed position, keeping out of sight as the man continued past the table.
The pillar was the problem. Scott was still on the other side, standing with his back to it. Breathing was difficult. He knew any clue to his whereabouts could be curtains.
He struggled to control himself. Instinct instructed him to turn and look, but he knew the repercussions should he do so.
His senses told him all he needed to know. The sound of footsteps was nearing, but there was a greater presence in the air. The sound of breathing was heavy and audible.
On the other side, Matt watched, his fingers on his gun. Logic told him to keep quiet, but there was part of him that wanted action. He placed his firearm upward and moved forward. Then something caught his eye.
Scott meanwhile inhaled with difficulty. He heard the sound of the footsteps slow, then inexplicably they changed direction.
A sudden commotion began. He turned. Scott rounded on the man. He was of Lebanese origin and clearly dazed.
Matt put his gun to the man’s head. ‘Where do you keep the prisoners?’
The other side of the burial casket offered an unexpected twist. The darkened enclosure, barely allowing one person in width, continued for less than five metres before leading into a small room with a stone staircase in the corner. Matt led the way, followed by Scott with the prisoner in between. He followed the stairway to the bottom and stopped, astounded by what awaited him.
Away from the medieval exterior above, the lower area consisted of a peculiar series of tunnels that were more in keeping with a secret nuclear bunker.
He looked in both directions. There was activity to the right, but whatever was there was out of sight.
He looked at the guard. ‘Which way?’
Nicole looked up. The sound of the opening door roused her. She expected the same man had returned, or else a masked gunman.
She looked in disbelief. ‘Matt.’
Sandra looked in desperation. ‘Oh my God, you came.’
Matt escorted the prisoner down the stone steps and stopped in front of the cell. ‘Open it.’
He looked back without expression.
‘Open it now.’
‘There’s no key.’
Matt exhaled, a mixture of frustration and exhaustion. He looked at the medieval cell and scratched his chin.
Scott stepped forward. ‘Stand back.’
‘Scott, no.’
A quick barrage of bullets caused sparks against the locks. The cell door opened, and Nicole sprinted out. She went straight for Matt, kissed him on the cheek, and then hugged him.
Matt was caught unaware, nearly losing his footing. He looked at the two occupants of the cell.
‘You must be Amanda.’
She nodded and smiled.
Finally came Sandra. She kissed Scott on the cheek, then Matt. Her expression said everything.
‘Come on,’ Sandra said. ‘I want to see this man’s plans. It could shed a lot of light on things.’
Matt was appalled. ‘How can you care about academia at a time like this?’
‘It’s nothing to do with that.’
Matt looked at the prisoner, gun pointed. ‘What about him?’
‘The door locks upstairs,’ Sandra said. ‘You can leave him here.’
They left the room, heading along the corridor in the direction of the main control room. Nicole went first, remembering the way from earlier. She stopped in front of a set of double doors and waited for Matt and Scott to enter first. Both held their guns, but they weren’t needed. The room was deserted.
Sandra’s attention was solely on the model located in the centre of the table. She examined it quickly before moving on to the plans on the wall. The list of kings in particular caught her eye.
‘This is fake,’ she said. ‘This has to be fake. The papyrus is far too recent.’
Matt wasn’t listening. He walked slowly, his eyes on the monitors. Most of them were trained on areas that were presently uninhabited, but there were two exceptions. The first was the cell they had just left. The man inside was banging against the door and screaming to no avail.
The second monitor, however, was concerning. Under the camera was a large room, glistening in bright colours, not obviously gold from the black and white of the surveillance. More obvious were the people inside. Wilfred Mansell was standing with his back to the camera, still on a pedestal. In front of him, several semi-naked bodies were being strapped to wooden stakes. Beneath them, men in masks were assembling what looked like bonfires.
Sandra noticed what Matt was looking at and slowly walked towards the screen. She placed her hand to her mouth.
‘Oh my God, they’re recreating the execution of de Molay.’
Less than half a mile away, a second helicopter descended over a clearing between the trees. Immediately the doors opened, and several men disembarked. Unlike the men in the first helicopter, they were dressed entirely in brown with black crosses covering their torsos.
They moved with precision through the dark, the way lit by the faint rays of dawn appearing across the distant horizon.
On reaching a clearing, they saw a man standing alone.
‘It’s been a long time, Mr. Mills. Where did they go?’
The editor smiled sombrely. ‘Follow me.’
68
Matt sprinted quickly from the room and continued along the corridor. For now he was unaware where he was going. It was obvious from the monitor that the location where the Arcadians had been taken was intrinsic to the building’s importance. He assumed it would make up part of the main temple, but he had not seen the room on his travels so far. Instinct told him it was in the same area, most likely below the room where they had nearly been caught.
Others were running behind him, shouting at him. He heard Sandra’s voice, then that of Nicole.
But that wasn’t the only sound. He could hear a strange vibrating sound, possibly a drum. The more he continued, the louder it became. Then, suddenly, it became inaudible.
He paused. Directly in front of him, the corridor continued, lined by electronic doors.
He turned, walking back the way he came. The sound returned, coming this time from the left. He opened the first door electronically and surveyed the inside.
The room was bare, mostly modern. Failing to find anything, he tried the second door, then the third and fourth. By now everyone else had caught up with him.
‘Matt,’ Nicole shouted.
He put his finger to his lips. ‘Listen.’
All fell silent. They watched as Matt looked at nothing in particular, his expression demonstrating his ears were straining for any kind of sound – any clue.
He turned, this time toward the eighth door on the left, where the sound was at its greatest. Inhaling deeply, he attempted to enter, using the electronic release button.
He held his breath. The door opened.
He entered slowly. What he assumed to be an identical room to the others, a bare room belonging to a science facility or something more war related was, in fact, notably older. The walls were made of stone, obviously medieval. Instead of the usual room or chamber, the area was a corridor, this time more typical of those of a castle. There were images on the walls, not dissimilar to the Egyptian-looking ones, but these were unmistakeably more modern – probably 15th century.
Sandra was enthralled. Walking closely behind Matt, her attention was on the images. The subject was war – war and chivalry. Most of the images were of battle scenes, but others depicted scenes further into the past. Those that weren’t of the Crusades were biblical.
To Matt, the situation was obvious. For someone who had lived his entire life in the shadow of a modern-day Templar and history academic, the images were more than mere decoration. By now the sounds were loud and more distinctive, demonstrating that they were moving in the correct direction.
Matt’s breathing heightened. His heart was thumping, causing an audible sound to resonate across his chest. The beating was like the proverbial drumbeat, beating a recurring rhythm as he walked towards his end. Fear and the unexpectedness of his plight had resulted in a strange surrealism. In his mind the images were alive. The feeling was powerful. Mentally he could picture the Templars of the past, even the recent past, were there alongside him, walking in the direction of the hideous drumbeat.
He came to the end of the corridor, now an opening. He saw light, not natural, but the power of many torches or wall lights. He inhaled and continued, waiting to see what greeted him.
He felt a hand on his shoulder.
‘Stop,’ Sandra said. She walked on slowly ahead of him, and almost as soon as she had, she stopped.
Matt watched her. The fact that she had placed her fingers to her lips demonstrated that it was not necessarily good.
He peered through the gap. He realised that they had passed through a small enclosure. What he didn’t expect was what it resembled. They were on top of one of several ridges, measuring less than two metres in front of him and continuing to every corner of the chamber.
The chamber below was old, at least matching the corridor and the dungeon. The walls were lined with gold, adding to the brightness. Ten feet below, the floor of the chamber was also a black-and-white chessboard, only, unlike the one above, there were no pillars in the centre. Instead, each of the Knights of Arcadia was under capture. Ten were masked, each man on his knees with a gun to his head.
The four most important were not under gunpoint. Instead, they had been bound naked, covered only by a linen sheet, to four wooden stakes, not quite crosses but not completely dissimilar. Below them, men in uniforms were assembling bonfires.
Wilfred Mansell walked slowly in front of the four bound men, examining their expressions.
The abbot looked strained, noticeably so. But to Mansell, the ordeal was not the cause as much as he would have liked it to be. The man was old, and fatigue was taking its toll. His face suggested he was indifferent to the actual torture.
Next to him, Landry was huffing. Should the chance come, Matt didn’t doubt he would try to kill the terrorist with his bare hands.
Next on, Niven Anson attempted to maintain a calm façade, despite the heat of the flame on the nearby wood. For now it was not in the place to harm him.
Finally he saw Robert struggling against the bonds. He attempted to move his hands, anything to loosen himself. The rope was burning, knotted tightly against the wood and his skin. Any movement and the wood would dig into his wrists.
Using all his remaining strength, he pulled, pulled, and pushed, but to no avail. Any attempt was futile. Even should he succeed, the guns were pointed directly at him. Soon the fire would begin. He knew from history that the deaths of de Molay and de Charny were unlike any other. For the first time he spared a thought to the ordeal of the men. As he did, thoughts of the Crucifixion came to him, strangely reassuring.
Perhaps it was an honour to die in such a way.
Ten feet below him, Mansell looked up with a dry expression.
‘You have heard, and you have seen,
’ the man said, the volume of his voice becoming ever louder, ‘but still you do not believe.’
Up on the wood, Robert inhaled deeply, anguish etched across his face. Below, the fire was starting, its small flames burning orange and yellow.
‘When the Templi Desertores fled with our most prized possession, they left their brethren to face a horrible anguish. Now let’s see how it feels to undergo what they so bravely underwent.’
Landry’s face was in turmoil. ‘This is madness.’
‘Madness it was that tore us apart,’ he said, his vision fixed. ‘What kind of person would leave his brethren to undergo such torture?’
Anson fought to control his pain. ‘The Templar Rule forbids harm to another brother, or to any Christian. Your actions will send you to hell.’
The man’s face let out a slight smile. ‘And what of your precious Rule? In the Hebrew Bible, God stated to man: ayin tachat ayin, an eye in place of an eye. When your order left the Inquisition, you brought shame on yourselves and death on your brethren. There is no alternative way, to deny that is to deny the God you worship.’
The abbot raised his head. ‘It was said by the Son of Man: you have heard it was said an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. But I say to you, if anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also.’
The man from Tyre stiffened his neck. ‘The God of the Universe has no Son. There is no God but God.’
Less than half a mile away, the soldiers in brown approached the forested castle.
The leader moved swiftly, stopping occasionally to direct his men. Despite the lack of light, orientation came naturally to him. In the light his appearance was indistinguishable, except the glistening of the moonlight on his glasses. Like the men from Scotland, his target was a small wooden door on the side of the castle, though unlike the others, he knew the location well.
The Larmenius Inheritance Page 44