by R D Shah
Harker was certain Brulet could not have written the letter himself, because there was no way the Grand Master could have survived, but in his mind the disclosure must have come from the Templars, and his initials had been used to honour the leader they had lost. Harker guessed that the various governments involved in the clean-up had initially decided to keep the wonder weapon to themselves, but after a week of silence the Templars had decided to ensure complete transparency regarding the technology involved. HAARP needed to be controlled by governments, there was no doubt, but only so long as the public were aware of it. Then those in charge could be held to account and the press would keep an ever-vigilant eye on its progress, even if it was from a distance.
Despite this startling revelation, there were many other things to consider still up for grabs. The film shots of the hellish beasts had already been dismissed as fakes: computer-generated images created by hackers wanting to contribute more chaos in a climate of fear. And the fact that the virus had turned so many into raving lunatics had been widely ascribed to gas mains erupting during the seismic activity and warping the minds of those who inhaled the fumes. It was a terrible cover story and the newspapers were having none of it but no doubt, in the weeks and months to come, more plausible explanations would surface from some branch of the government. Harker was sure that, rightly or wrongly, those individuals high up the chain of military command would surely be unwilling to publicly acknowledge a virus that targets a specific person for death based solely on their DNA. It would be considered far too valuable… wouldn’t it?
Harker found himself lying awake late at night still preoccupied with thoughts of the Templars, Sebastian and Michael Shroder, whom he had not encountered since Chernobyl. Was it the MI6 agent who had arranged for Chloe and himself to have such a quick and easy escape from the prying eyes of the security services and from further involvement in the whole affair? But there was one question that burned brighter in his mind than all else. One that superseded all others as far as he was concerned, and the main reason he had allowed himself to be drawn further and deeper into Wilcox’s insane web of deceit. Where was the Christ child? This was the one loose end, and the most important that continued to tug at Harker’s conscience and his very soul, with a terrible dread of what the fate of that small child might have been.
A few weeks later a hand-delivered letter had appeared through his door, inviting him to the funeral of Sebastian Brulet in the small parish of Kirkliston, just outside Edinburgh. Chloe had received the same invite and now, two days later, they were about to pay their last respects to the man who had not only saved their lives but arguably the lives of six and a half billion others. It was with such thoughts that Harker was now engrossed, and so much so that he hardly noticed the man wearing a long black overcoat who sat down next to him, and it was not until the other spoke that Harker awoke from his ruminations.
‘Hello, Alex.’
Harker spun to his left to find Michael Shroder gazing at him with a friendly smile.
‘So you got the invite, then?’ the MI6 agent surmised, offering a subtle wave of greeting to Chloe, who had now also taken note of his presence. ‘I trust your trip back to the UK was as uneventful as I had hoped.’
‘So it was you,’ Harker replied, glad to find at least one of his loose ends wrapped up. ‘Thank you, Michael.’
Shroder nodded. ‘You’re welcome but I can’t take all the credit. Our friends played a significant role, and anyway your further involvement would have only opened a can of worms which many people wish to remain closed.’
The two men sat in silence for a moment until finally Harker voiced the only question that really mattered to him. ‘What about the child?’
Shroder said nothing but instead reached over to pick up the hymn sheet laying next to him, then gestured to the priest, who was now making his way up into the pulpit. ‘Let’s enjoy the service, shall we.’
The ceremony lasted about forty minutes, during which a number people stood up to offer short yet pertinent eulogies to the man they had all known. Words such as honourable, brave, decent and caring were used again and again, but nothing to suggest these speakers had any idea of their dead friend’s ties to the Knights Templar, or the extent to which he had been involved in recent events. Afterwards the congregation was ushered outside to a grave waiting in the far corner of the cemetery, where the final send-off would take place. Harker, Chloe and Shroder stood and watched as the shiny walnut-wood coffin was gently lowered into the ground and shortly afterwards the small crowd began to disperse.
‘So, tell me again what is it you wanted to know?’ Shroder asked sympathetically.
‘What about the child?’
Shroder motioned to a tall man standing with his back to them, wearing a dark navy overcoat, and shaking hands with the remaining guests. ‘There’s someone I think you should meet,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry Chloe, but this invitation is for Alex and for Alex alone.’ Shroder gestured to the man who was now standing on his own, and with a nod to Chloe Harker cautiously made his way over. He was within metres of reaching him when a somewhat familiar voice stopped him in his tracks.
‘Professor Alex Harker, at last we meet.’
The man then turned around and Harker was immediately struck by his similarity to Brulet. Silver hair poked out from underneath a navy trilby and a pair of dark-lensed aviator glasses reflected the flickering of the burning torches lining the cemetery walls. He offered a glove-covered hand to Harker. ‘My name is Tristan Brulet,’ he said ‘Sebastian was my brother.’
Harker took the hand and shook it warmly. ‘You remind me of him very much, if you don’t mind me saying so.’
‘Not at all,’ Brulet replied, releasing his grip and with one finger lowering his glasses to reveal the same cross-shaped pupils that had made his brother so distinctive. ‘As you see, we share many similarities. Come, let us talk.’
Harker walked at his side as he was led over to the perimeter of the cemetery, waiting silently for his host to speak first.
‘The Templars thank you, as do I, for your help during the past few days. Your service has been exemplary and it is not something that will be forgotten. But, before we go any further, I must ask you a question. My brother, how did he die?’
Harker was already opening his mouth to reply when Brulet continued. ‘I know where he was, and for what reasons, but what exactly happened?’
Harker paused for a moment, because he had not actually witnessed Sebastian’s death with his own eyes but he understood what this brother was getting at. ‘A Magi assassin named McCray tried to prevent us leaving the facility, and your brother decided that was not going to happen. The truth is, Mr Brulet, he died while saving our lives, and I will always be in his debt not only as a protector to me but as a friend.’
Tristan Brulet stared out towards the twinkling lights of the village, and then lowered his head. ‘A hero to the end – I would have expected nothing less of him.’
It was said with such obvious sorrow that Harker was unsure what to say next, but the small object in his pocket gave him pause for thought. He reached in and retrieved it before offering it to the grieving brother. ‘I think this belongs to you.’
Brulet looked down at the silver Grand Master’s emblem, then gently plucked it from Harker fingers. ‘This has been in my family a very long time, and I thank you for it.’ He studied it for a few more moments before popping it into an inside pocket, then turning his attention back to Harker. ‘You had my brother’s trust and now you have mine.’
‘Thank you, that means a great deal,’ Harker declared. ‘So, what now for the Templars?’
‘I am not sure, to be honest,’ Brulet replied matter-of-factly. ‘With the last of the Magi bloodline gone, I am unsure of what role, if any, the Templars have left to play. We will of course use our financial resources to help in the rebuilding of the Vatican, albeit from a distance, but other than that our purpose for the future remains unclear.’
Harker appreciated the honesty of the man’s words and he moved closer to him. ‘I am sure that, under your leadership, a new course will be set. But there is something else I have to ask.’
‘The question of the child, I assume?’ Brulet answered.
‘Yes,’ Harker was not surprised in the least that Tristan Brulet possessed the same power of intuition as his brother.
The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a white envelope bearing a red wax seal whose image was identical to that on one side of the Grand Master’s emblem: the Knights Templars riding on the same horse. He passed it over to Harker who, respectfully took his time to open it. After cracking the seal, he carefully extracted the folded letter inside, and began to read the handwritten message.
‘Dear Alex,
‘If you are reading this letter it means that for whatever reason I have not managed to reach the conclusion of our journey alongside you. It is an unsettling business, whilst I am still alive, to be writing a letter for you to read after my death, so allow me to get straight to the point. I would firstly like to repeat my apologises for keeping you in the dark regarding Claire Dwyer’s association with the Templars. You should know that from the outset her trust in you was absolute, and it was my decision and mine alone to hide her true role from you. Initially, you were an unknown quantity to me but had I been aware then of the man I now know you to be, things surely would have been different. Then, again, maybe not, for you are a worthy archaeologist and truly honourable man, but frankly you are a terrible actor. So the Magi would very likely have recognised this fact, and I fear I might have put you in even more danger than you were already involved in. Regardless, you should know now that Claire had been a member of our Order long before those events that caused our paths to cross. At the time I write this, I do not know if she has survived or not. I can only pray that she is with you now. If not, then you need only know that she was one of my most trusted colleagues, and I am eternally grateful for the sacrifices she has made. Who knows, maybe we are together both watching over as you read these words.’
Harker stopped for a moment and he found himself glancing up at the star-lit sky, before continuing.
‘I shall entrust this letter to Mr Shroder who will pass it on to my brother, Tristan, with instructions to give it to you. My brother and I are similar in many ways, and I have total confidence that he will make a worthy Grand Master of the Knights Templar. He is by nature a more cautious fellow than perhaps I was, but feel secure in the knowledge that the trust and friendship you and I enjoyed shall be extended to you by him. Remember that you are now part of a brotherhood that transcends both leadership and time. You are a Templar and the link you share with those in its service can and never shall be broken.
‘As for any other questions that you undoubtedly may have, I can only refer you to Tristan. As Grand Master it is now up to him to judge whether those questions should be answered.
‘I wish you a long and prosperous life, Professor Harker and that all your hopes and wishes see fruition. I know you will uphold the beliefs and aspirations that have made us close friends in such a short amount of time. I leave you therefore with one last piece of advice. Some secrets have the power to warp a person’s sensibilities, and in doing so transform them into the very thing they most deplore. Be wary of this, my friend, and never allow yourself to veer aside from the path of what you know to be right.
Yours respectfully and always,
Sebastian Brulet’
A grateful tingling feeling ran through Harker as he slid the letter back into its envelope. He thought back to Lusic Bekhit, the Templar betrayer, and how the man had been swayed to serve the Magi. Harker had not even found time to ask Shroder whether he had tracked down the turncoat, but that was a question for another occasion.
It was Tristan Brulet who now pulled him away from such contemplations by offering him a small piece of lined notepad paper, which Harker took in his fingers and read in silence.
‘You should take a trip to that address,’ Brulet explained. ‘No one else apart from you and me know of it, and I would be more than happy to accompany you there tomorrow morning if it is suitable?’
‘I would like that very much,’ Harker said and he glanced back at Chloe, who was deep in conversation with Shroder. ‘But may I bring Doctor Stanton along with us?’
Brulet nodded. ‘If you feel you can trust her, then the decision is yours.’
‘I do,’ Harker replied.
‘Good. I will have a driver pick you both up tomorrow. Someone will be in touch.’
After shaking hands, Harker offered a final respectful nod and then made his way back to Chloe and Shroder.
‘Everything all right here?’ he asked.
‘Everything’s grand,’ Shroder replied. ‘Doctor Stanton and I were just discussing the finer points of… “spook work”, as she puts it.’
‘So what happened, Alex?’
Before Harker could answer her, Shroder was already making a move.
‘I am sure you two will have a lot to talk about but I must say goodbye.’ The MI6 agent shook both of their hands. ‘I’m needed back in London as there’s still a lot to be done.’ He then handed Harker a business card. ‘My number is on there, so maybe we can catch up for a drink sometime and chew the fat?’
‘I look forward to it,’ Harker replied, putting the card in his pocket. ‘And thank you for everything. I was sure that I be sweating it out in some interrogation room for the next few years at least.’
‘Oh, please, we only do that to our enemies.’ Shroder shot Chloe a quick smile. ‘Be good, Doctor Stanton.’
‘And yourself, Mr Spy,’ she whispered after him as the man made his way back along the path to the church gate and the car park beyond.
‘So, who was he and what did he say?’ Chloe asked eagerly.
Harker pulled out the note with a single address scribbled on to. ‘Do you fancy taking a trip?’
She stared at him cautiously. ‘That depends on how dangerous it is.’
‘Don’t worry, it’s not anywhere that will be hazardous to our health,’ he replied. He glanced back towards Brulet, who was still gazing thoughtfully up at the starry night. ‘I bloody hope not, anyway.’
Chapter 49
The bright midday sun radiated its warmth down from the clear blue sky, flooding the quaint Cotswold village of Moreton-in-Marsh in a rosy cheer, as the grey Audi A4 pulled up outside a honey-coloured sandstone building just off the main high street.
‘This is it,’ Tristan Brulet gestured to the house with a light-green wooden door. He turned around to face Chloe who had taken the back seat during the journey from the local airfield. ‘I must ask that you wait here for us, Doctor Stanton.’
Chloe gave an understanding smile. Having only been invited by Harker to accompany them, she was not in the position to demand anything, and she knew it.
He now turned his attention to Harker, who was already undoing his seat belt. ‘Let’s go.’
They had flown in by private jet arriving at Membury airfield, near Swindon, where they had been met by a driver with a rental car. Oddly, Brulet had requested the driver to wait with the plane, and instead asked Harker to then drive the fifty-minute journey into the Cotswolds. They had done so in near total silence but it had not been in any way uncomfortable, and the muted atmosphere had served to amplify the sense of anticipation over what might lie at their final destination. As Harker stared up at the impressive but modest house, he had to admit to a feeling of disappointment. He was hoping to find himself visiting a Templar lair, or even one of their vaults, and the less impressive sight of this rural building did not quite meet those expectations.
‘Come on, follow me,’ Brulet urged softly, and Harker followed him up a short stone path to the green door, on which he knocked three times.
There was a brief wait and then with the muffled scuffling of shoes before the door unclicked open to reveal a man in his mid-thirties wearing a tan cashm
ere jumper and dark green jeans.
‘Mr Denton,’ the young man addressed Brulet, before shaking his hand. ‘I hope you didn’t have trouble finding us. The back roads can be confusing.’
The fact that Brulet was obviously using an alias should not have surprised Harker, but nonetheless the reference did catch him off guard. He paused for a moment shaking the man’s hand, too.
‘And you must be Mr Harker?’ the man said retrieving his hand. ‘I’m David Evans and it’s a pleasure to meet you. Please come in.’
Harker followed them into a hallway and waited for their host to close the door, before leading them into the kitchen.
‘This is my wife, Abigail,’ Evans explained, putting his arm around an attractive woman with black hair, who offered them both a welcoming smile.
‘It’s a pleasure to see you again Mr Denton, and good to finally meet you Mr Harker.’
‘Please, call me Alex.’ Harker replied and shaking her hand.
‘I was just telling Alex, that now the papers have been signed and approved, he is as of this moment your point of contact and representative for all and any future issues. Congratulations to the both of you. It is official.’
Harker watched in confusion as the couple erupted in excitement and began hugging each other. The moment proved so powerful that Abigail was fighting back the tears.
‘That is the best news we could have hoped for. Thank you for everything Mr Denton. And Alex…’ David said and he wrapped his arms around Harker and gave him a tremendous hug, ‘I look forward to knowing you.’