Mike looked seriously at his commander. ‘Sir, I swear…’
‘I’m not referring to your integrity, Frei,’ the oberst said rubbing his face. ‘What you are suggesting goes against all rational thought.’
Mike nodded, remaining silent. Eight weeks earlier he would have said exactly the same thing.
There was a question he wanted to ask. For the past few weeks he continuously had the feeling that he was missing something, something other people probably knew: the cardinals? probably. The oberst? surely. Mark? definitely. Even the Pope?
‘Sir, to tell you the truth this whole experience has been a little hard to believe. What with the symbols at Rosslyn matching those in the death warrants, the diary, what Henry Leoni said… sir, is there any chance that the Knights Templar still exist?’
The commander did not respond immediately. He downed a glass of mineral water with a paracetamol. He savoured the flavour of the water, using the opportunity to consider his response while alleviating the dryness on his tongue. The humidity in the city was often unbearable in the summer, but summer seemed to have arrived early that day. Outside, thick cloud dominated the sky, its water falling at irregular intervals. Three days of consistent rain and thunder had done little to help the comfort levels and more thunder was forecast for the next day. At least the meeting was today.
‘Throughout history there have been countless organisations claiming to be descendents of the Knights Templar,’ the oberst said pausing. ‘You know even the Swiss Guard units are said to have been formed by Swiss mercenaries taught by fleeing Templars.’
Mike shook his head. ‘No, I didn’t.’
The oberst smiled, probably the first for a while. ‘I have never heard of this.’
He paused momentarily to refill his glass.
‘The Vatican Police have been investigating the murders for two months now and still have no leads. The murdered men have no obvious connection to one another. Four have some connection to the Vatican, but no obvious motive for their deaths. Martin Snow was found dead on a train. No CCTV. Von Sonnerberg was in his hotel, seemingly having died of natural causes, surprising for a man of thirty-six. However, the presence of barbiturate, paralytic and potassium solution from the autopsy suggest otherwise. Nathan Walls was also in his office; again, there was no CCTV. Commissario Pessotto is convinced that the suicide note found beside the smoking gun was a decoy. Devére was found in his holiday villa in Mauritius. You know about Llewellyn and Leoni.’
Mike nodded.
Thierry shook his head, exhaling deeply. ‘Why anyone would want to murder poor old Cardinal Faukes is beyond me.’
He paused briefly for water.
‘All were alone. There were no witnesses. No description of the killer. And that’s what makes this confusing. Remember, Frei, Devére’s comments alone are not proof.’
‘Presumably Devére must have had some idea. His own death seems evidence of that. Mark mentioned he had his own connections with the Rite of Larmenius.’
‘The Rite of Larmenius are a strange organisation, Frei. They are not accessible to the average man and they do not give out lists of members. No outsider even knows for sure who its members are. They do not advertise, yet allegedly they can be found when you know where to look. By being a member of the Rite of Larmenius you are merely rubbing shoulders with the well connected. They have no obvious cause as a whole, nor do the Freemasons. Individuals, perhaps groups, may provide for financial gain, but that’s a drop in the ocean compared to the size of the organisation worldwide.’
The walkie-talkie on his desk buzzed.
‘All the Vatican Police have is rumours,’ Thierry resumed. ‘Such rumours can often disguise the true event. Supposedly thousands of murders have been attributed to the Rite of Larmenius, the Freemasons or other secret societies, at least in the eyes of the media or conspiracy theorists. Never has a murder been officially credited to an individual who is a confirmed member: and none on behalf of the organisation. Only a few have been tried in a court of law: and even if one was found guilty of a crime it would be as an individual. The group has never formally been tried. How can it be?’
Mike nodded. That made sense.
‘We do not even know for sure that these murders were done by the same person or even for the same reasons. And that makes Mr. Devére’s comments rather inconclusive, don’t you think?’
Mike nodded. ‘Who do you think is behind this, sir?’
Thierry shrugged momentarily. ‘Our job is the security of His Holiness and the Apostolic Palace,’ he said. ‘Commissario Pessotto thinks we could be dealing with hired killers. In the past various members of the Rite of Larmenius have not been overly friendly towards the Vatican. They were particularly vocal at the height of the Lateran Treaty and their members are known to have had some involvement with the P2. They haven’t denied involvement in this, but very little comes from them these days. It’s like they’ve vanished off the face of the earth.’
The oberst rose to his feet. He walked across the room and inserted a key into the lock of a drawer. The key turned slowly, making a loud clicking sound. He retrieved a collection of photographs and returned to his seat. He passed Mike a photograph of three men eating at an outside table.
‘Who’s this?’
Thierry smiled. ‘Daniel D’Amato, Senator for Montana: in certain circles he’s being touted as the next President of the USA, God help them. I’ve heard some interesting reports but nothing concrete.’
‘Is he a member?’
‘Yes. One of the few we know for sure and just their type. The man alongside him also: Lord Parker, former UK Chancellor of the Exchequer. As I say, they’re mainly just a rich boys’ club for the extremely wealthy. Not only bankers: academics, politicians, that kind. Former presidents, prime ministers, even monarchs have become members. Supposedly they are ritualistic in nature, a bit like the regular Masons. Some accuse them of Devil worship. Bollocks if you ask me.’
Mike studied the photograph. ‘Who’s the other man?’
‘Ludovic Vladimir Gullet,’ Thierry said raising his eyebrows, ‘former KGB, communist sympathiser and lone wolf terrorist. He is one of the world’s most famous assassins. That man, Frei, was involved in the assassination attempt on His Holiness John Paul II.’
A look of horror crossed Mike’s face. For several seconds he fought to control his hatred.
‘You think that he’s responsible for the murders?’
‘Not much is heard of him these days. He is exceedingly wealthy. He owns a chain of casinos and lives as a tax exile in Campione d’Italia. Commissario Pessotto’s intelligence informs us that he was present in the correct locations the nights of the murders of von Sonnerberg, Walls and Snow. There is some suggestion he was also in Washington the night that Llewellyn was murdered.’
Thierry looked seriously at Mike.
‘If he was involved, he could not have been in St. Gallen to kill Al Leoni as well could he?’
‘How about Cardinal Faukes?’
‘At present we have been unable to confirm that one either way.’
Mike nodded, allowing himself to take it all in. ‘Could he and possibly others be acting on behalf of the Rite of Larmenius?’
Thierry paused. ‘Gullet seems to have left the business, but that cannot be ruled out. And I’m glad to see recent weeks have taught you lateral thinking, wachtmeister. The Vatican Police have a man working at Gullet’s casino in Campione. Off the record, of course.’
Mike looked up, a hint of a smile on his face.
Thierry passed Mike two other photographs. ‘Murder by Gullet in connection to the Vatican is not altogether unique, wachtmeister. It is almost certain that he was involved in the killings of these unfortunate souls.’
Mike looked at the photos. Both were men: mid-forties, Italian, dark hair. One had a moustache and flat hair; the other, clean-shaven, round glasses, hair combed neatly to a side parting. Mike recognised neither. An answer came before he asked.
‘Alexei Nesta and Gianluigi Calveccio.’
‘Who were they?’
‘Bankers; very good bankers,’ the oberst replied. ‘They were both connected to Banco Ambrosiano prior to 1981 and both had regular dialogue with the Vatican Bank. They were killed shortly before the deaths of Calvi and Soisson, although what with the later furore they received very little press coverage.’
Mike nodded. He was vaguely aware of the happenings of Banco Ambrosiano and Clearstream at the height of the P2 scandal.
‘What do you think are their motives?’
‘Who knows? I’m sure the victims’ deaths are of benefit to someone. We must assume that the murders are connected and we also cannot rule out the possibility that a powerful body has decreed them. The Rite of Larmenius are seemingly the most likely. Yet there are too many members to make the organisation itself worthy of suspicion.’
He swallowed more water.
‘Officially the fraternity is merely an appendant body of the Masons that spans every continent. Most of its members have probably never met one another. Yet within the organisation there is secrecy. Meetings take place between people who most of the six billion people on this planet have no idea even exist. What goes on in them?’ Thierry shrugged. ‘For several years rumours have circulated that someone may rule them from down below. It is unlikely that Gullet or any other could carry this out alone. Why the Rite of Larmenius should do this remains unknown.’
He paused momentarily.
‘Secret fraternities and religion often have a strange relationship. Many of their members could even be Roman Catholic. But their views on religion are certainly not consistent with yours or mine. No two individuals are alike. Their mercenaries themselves probably do not know. But whoever is behind them…’
‘Sir, I know this may sound strange, but Henry Leoni spoke of a strange legend. Apparently before the last Templar Grand Master was executed he passed over the reigns to a man named Jean-Marc Larmenius. If there is any substance to this continued Knights Templar, could they be connected to the Rite of Larmenius? It seems too big a coincidence.’
Thierry didn’t reply straightaway. The sound of footsteps, soft footsteps, was coming from the corridor. Then there was a gentle tapping at the door.
23
Gilbert de Bois had been talking for nearly an hour and forty-five minutes by the time his presentation came to an end. What had started off as a general meeting on logistics, investment portfolio and the usual quarterly performance update had developed into a full scale exhibition and corporate biography highlighting the phenomenon that was Leoni et Cie. Thighs were being slapped, backs were being patted, asses were being kissed, and complements and pleasantries were being passed around the table like a plate of biscuits as all present were in turn praised by the Chairman of Leoni et Cie for the indispensable role each had played in the proceedings.
De Bois owned the floor. He walked with a vague swagger and dressed in a brand new bespoke suit. To Gabrielle his façade presented the profile of an astute, hard-nosed businessman yet on this day strangely mixed with the baby kissing, tree hugging, shaking-the-hands-of-the-dying-to-cure-them-with-his-royal-touch bravado of a dodgy politician.
The presentation ended and the interior of the chapel came into view. Gabrielle yawned vigorously. She never enjoyed these occasions and this was one of the worst. Man, de Bois could talk. It made no sense her being there from a business point of view, but it was her whose behind de Bois was kissing the most: or Al Leoni’s as the case might be. Most of his presentation was used as an opportunity to praise the deceased magnate for his service to the bank and the Church.
Throughout the presentation her mind continued to wander. Mentally she rehearsed her request for permission to enter the Vatican Library, her thoughts continuing to linger on the possibility that something of interest might be hidden within its ancient rooms.
Yet that was not the only thing on her mind. Thoughts of Mike kept entering her head, strange considering the importance of what might await. Her eyes had remained wide open throughout but her attention was divided. She could not stop thinking about him, particularly that moment in the corridor. Did they kiss? Did he mean it? Did she mean it? Did she like it? Surely not: he was her guard, he was a jerk and why did he never wear those clothes she bought him? He looked like a bum. Yet there was something suddenly appealing about him.
A hint of a smile crossed her face.
With the lights on, her thoughts returned to reality. The memory of the slide show that had illustrated cash flow forecasts, expected turnover, expected outgoings, long-term debt financing and all that other stuff that had sounded like it was being spoken in a different language, gave way to awareness of the chapel’s exquisite interior.
Lining the lower tier: painted drapery, coloured silver and gold, hung above the walls marked with papal crests at their centres.
On the central tier: masterpieces by Ghirlandaio, Signorelli, Botticelli, d’Antonio, Perugino, and Rosselli displayed a visual history of the life of Moses opposite scenes from the life of Christ: depicting the joining of the old covenant and the new, as illustrated by Moses receiving the Ten Commandments proceeded by the coming of Christ, leading to the formation of the new Church.
Gabrielle felt her neck stiffen as she looked up at the Popes of old, lining the upper tier, positioned above the images of biblical times. A certain irony spun through her mind as she saw the Popes appear above Christ and Moses: a positioning used to demonstrate the new political role of the Church, as emphasised by Peter receiving the Keys to Heaven from Christ, as depicted by Perugino. What was initially painted to represent Saint Matthew’s vision of the keys illustrating Christ’s power to forgive his friend who betrayed him also constituted Christ’s passing on his power to the new Pope who would later pass it on to each successor since.
Above the Popes, images of the ancestors of Christ then slowly merged with the ceiling. Leaning back on her chair, her neck almost vertically back, she gaped in awe at God’s perfect creation as portrayed by Michelangelo. Scattered across the ceiling like stars across the sky, the scenes of Genesis were mapped out, almost like an epic cartoon strip, revealing God’s creation of the perfect world tainted by humanity as illustrated by Adam, whose separation from God led humanity into disgrace. The ambiguity of the image was clear as Christ appeared in the same cycle: representing the lineage of Adam as an ancestor of Christ, also painted by Michelangelo, but also identifying humanity’s need for salvation and leading to the coming of Jesus born to redeem the world.
She rubbed her neck as she adjusted herself in her seat. Looking beyond two of Gilbert de Bois’s flowcharts and behind the stand on which the projector was aimed, her attention now moved on to the final miracle of Michelangelo, perhaps the most intense imagery contained within the chapel.
Dominating the entire wall at the altar’s end were a collection of muscled figures, some originally painted naked, instantly recognisable as the key characters of the bible returning at the coming of the Last Judgment. High above six candles and a crucifix at the altar’s centre, a sea of blue interrupted by visions of men and women on land and cloud illustrated an intimidating view of Michelangelo’s Apocalypse where earth waited in fear for the Second Coming of Christ as depicted in Revelation. The humans on clouds, Gabrielle could see, were ascending to heaven whereas others fell in the opposite direction. Interestingly, the wall somehow became more threatening as it increased in height in what was a stark contrast to other frescos lining the walls and ceiling that despite being elegant and awe-inspiring in appearance failed in every way to rival the natural power given out by the figures who are humble before God.
Gilbert de Bois thanked all present for their attention and applause filled the room. For the first time in almost two hours de Bois stood in silence, his demeanour somehow fitting beneath Christ’s stance in the Last Judgment having dominated the proceedings since the beginning. He folded the pages of the flowcharts and
took a seat at the end of the table.
Every member of the council was present today, the exception being Cardinal Tepilo who had travelled from Zürich to join up with the Pope on his tour of Scandinavia. At the head, de Bois lowered himself into his seat, a seat he was not used to occupying. To his left was an empty chair, usually taken by Cardinal Tepilo.
Next on, Giancarlo Riva applauded quite loudly.
To the Italian’s left, Cardinal Torres applauded more gently and nodded his head politely in acknowledgement of what he had just seen and heard. His appearance was youthful, despite approaching his fifty-sixth year. Below his zucchetto, long locks of curly blond hair, lined with sparse streaks of grey above a partially wrinkled forehead and freckled face, successfully brought out the warmth in his deep blue eyes.
Next on from Torres was Swanson. Like de Bois, his suit was purchased only a few weeks earlier and he wore a bright red tie against the backdrop of a white shirt.
Next was Cardinal Utaka, sitting opposite Gabrielle. Ceasing his applause, he removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes gently. Shades of purple were still present under his brown eyes that always seemed to radiate warmth.
Opposite de Bois, also next to Gabrielle, was Rogero, sitting with his fingers grasped loosely together. As usual, he dressed in an elaborate white suit more like that of a Colombian drug baron than a banker. His calm façade illustrated composure and tact, displaying a foolproof poker face. He nodded philosophically as his dynamic mind digested the activities of the past two hours. De Bois had focused most of his attention on the president, at times giving the impression that he was talking directly to him.
Next to Gabrielle was Cardinal del Rosi. His goatee beard was neatly in trim and his hair smartly combed. In Gabrielle’s opinion he always seemed angry, despite being one of the most pious men at the Vatican.
Sitting alongside del Rosi was Juan Pablo Dominguez.
Also Colombian, Dominguez had an impressive résumé. His role at the Vatican Bank had begun in earnest five years ago after taking early retirement. Like Rogero, he had thrived in the Latin American turbulence of the 1980s. Following on from his training as an accountant in the United States, he acted as a financial adviser for many of the big banks and businessmen, including Rogero, and many regarded him as “Rogero’s lieutenant”, whereas Rogero usually said it was the opposite.
The Templar Agenda Page 25