The Newport Tower is one of the oldest structures in America. Situated toward the northwest corner of Touro Park, close to Mill Street, and surrounded by metal railings, it stands approximately 28 feet in height and 24 feet in exterior width.
Despite its circular appearance, the tower is one foot and one inch longer when measured from east to west compared to the same from north to south. Its eight strong columns form round archways in keeping with that of a medieval cloister, measuring 37 inches in thickness, equivalent to one Scottish ell, while the inner chamber reaches a diameter of six Scottish ells. Four windows, located at equal points some 16 feet up, also provide evidence that the tower once incorporated at least one upper chamber that has long ceased to exist.
The first thing Mike noticed on encircling the tower was that there was no plaque or guide providing information on the structure. Based on first impressions alone, he could not guess what possible purpose it ever had. According to its official history the tower was used as a windmill by former governor Benedict Arnold, ancestor of the famous American general who defected to the British in the American War of Independence, sometime between 1661 and 1677 and located on land once belonging to the former governor.
Yet from what Mike had gathered from Henry Leoni, the tower had already been marked as a “Norman Villa” on a map composed by the Italian navigator Giovanni da Verrazano in 1524 and, according to excavations made in the past decade by, among others, Alexander Broadie, potentially dated back to the late 1300s.
The site met the necessary criterion. The round structure supported by eight legs was in keeping with countless former Templar churches in England, Scotland and Scandinavia dating back to the 12th century while the pathway area surrounding the tower offered good evidence that an ambulatory had once encircled what was formerly the rotunda of a church. Any possible views the tower had overlooking the nearby sea were blocked on each side by the abundant trees, yet according to Henry a clear view would have existed back in the 15th century.
It was Henry’s view that the tower was probably built by followers of Zichmni at the time stated in the diary, not only as a church, but also an observatory, calendar system, and lighthouse marking the first Templar colony in the land described as Drogeo, and, of more significance, cementing their status as the first non-indigenous discoverers and settlers of what is now the United States of America.
Henry Leoni looked in awe at the mysterious tower. Although the structure was well preserved, he guessed from its condition that the outer shell had once been coated in white plaster that had peeled away over time. After pausing for several seconds to review the tower’s exterior he walked with enthusiasm toward the metal railings and entered the interior, a special privilege following his meeting with Alexander Broadie. He walked slowly across the grass beneath the tower, paying close attention to its eight legs and inner wall.
Gabrielle followed, diverting her attention up toward the cloudy sky through the empty void where a roof once existed. She was dressed in dark combat bottoms, a yellow Newport sailing jacket which she had purchased earlier that day and wore a rucksack over her back.
Gabrielle paid attention to the structure. Two of the legs were stronger than the other six, possibly indicating that they had previously served as the entrance to what was once the rotunda. Towards the summit there were a further three small windows, probably put in as lookout posts, potentially further validating the hypothesis that the tower had once served as an observatory. Opposite the western window of what was formerly the first floor were the remains of what appeared to have been a fireplace.
Gabrielle looked at her uncle with disappointment. Based on the evidence in view the tower offered no obvious significance.
Henry surveyed the interior for several seconds. At the west end he observed a strange egg shaped stone, which he assumed was once used as part of an ingenious ancient calendar prior to the invention of printing. For over a minute he stared intently at the void once used as a fireplace, his eyes narrowing the harder he concentrated. He unzipped his jacket and removed a series of photocopies from an inside pocket.
Mike shook his head. After walking around the tower for the second time he diverted his attention toward other areas of the park.
It was an attractive setting. The surrounding area was a historical residential area whose buildings included an inn, a Unitarian Church and a 17th century synagogue. Although the park was heavily secluded by trees the buildings of the nearby streets were visible, their empty windows providing an unnerving reality check that their presence could be under observation.
Still he saw no one, just Gabrielle and Henry standing close together by the ruins of the tower. He watched silently as Henry walked slowly towards a nearby tree before returning with a thick leafless branch, measuring over sixteen feet in length. Gabrielle, meanwhile, walked back in the direction of her uncle. Seconds later she disappeared from sight.
Ludovic Gullet entered the park undetected. After making his way along the same path that Mike had earlier walked with Gabrielle and Henry he changed direction, heading past the statue of Matthew C. Perry and the nearby Japanese fountain. He waited there for over a minute, examining the area surrounding the statue.
He looked up suddenly. Someone was moving towards him.
Gabrielle passed the statue of Matthew C. Perry and froze. Instinctively, she looked over her left shoulder, paying close attention to the strange fountain next to the statue.
It looked out of place to her – almost as though it had been placed there by accident. She examined it closely, paying careful attention to the body.
Then she moved onto the statue of Perry. On closer inspection she noted the presence of several figures from Japanese history and folklore carved into the body of the statue’s tall base, a tribute to Perry’s naval record in that part of the world.
She gazed at the images, attempting to identify their significance but without success. Intrigued, nevertheless, she encircled the statue slowly, taking the time to read every English word on the inscription. Once she had finished she peered in momentarily, looking at a four-pronged symbol, one of four similar symbols of what she assumed was a poppy or similar, located at the head of the base where the exterior curved outwards at its widest point.
Henry Leoni paced up and down the interior of the tower, mumbling to himself intently. With the large branch in his hand he gazed up once more at the disused fireplace. His focus narrowed.
Suddenly a strange feeling overcame him, both familiar and at the same time terrifying. He could tell instinctively that something wasn’t right.
Gabrielle froze. Footsteps were moving behind her.
‘Oh, thank God,’ she said, turning breathlessly and coming face to face with Mike.
‘Don’t wander off like that,’ he said softly. ‘Stay where I can see you.’
She exhaled loudly, looking at him apologetically. Without realising it she was resting her hands on his shoulders.
They stood before one another awkwardly. Mike was the first to break eye contact, taking a moment to examine the surrounding area. The location was quiet. Still he failed to shake the idea that their being there was under observation.
‘Come on. There’s nothing here.’
Gabrielle nodded, returning her attention to the statue. She retreated a couple of steps, allowing a better view. Several feet above her Matthew C. Perry stood elegantly, leaning against his sword.
She eyed it closely – overwhelmed by the feeling that she was missing something. Something was not right about the four-pronged poppy symbol.
Finally she noticed.
‘Mike.’
Mike returned to Gabrielle. She was pointing at the four-pointed symbol etched into the statue on the base under Matthew C. Perry’s feet.
‘What?’
‘Look.’
Mike eyed the symbol curiously. ‘It’s just a poppy.’
Gabrielle shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘It’s a Templar cross.’
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Mike gazed intently at the symbol. There were four of them, all located at equal points: north, south, east and west. All were cross pattée, composed in the manner of a flower. It was the perfect disguise. Had she not have mentioned it, he would never have noticed.
‘Come on, let’s get your uncle.’
Seemingly oblivious to his comment, Gabrielle stepped over the spiked railings, approaching the statue. She placed her hands against the cold figures before descending to her knees to investigate the lower area. Although it was now raining, the sky overhead leaden with expectancy, she concentrated intently on the statue, ignoring the light shower that was descending. Squatting on all fours, she shuffled in a circular movement around the base, maintaining her grip for any hint, any clue, any possibility.
When she reached the east side of the statue she stopped. Directly below her was an opening in the ground. She pushed aside the covering, attempting to find what was underneath. Then she saw it. A missing panel revealed a spiral staircase.
Gabrielle looked at Mike, her smile widening.
Mike put his hand to his chin, an action of disbelief. There was no logical reason for it being there.
‘Let’s get your uncle.’
Before he had the chance to move, Gabrielle was already descending the stairwell.
Over thirty yards away, Ludovic Gullet looked on as the Swiss Guard disappeared from sight. He paused momentarily, making sure they did not return to the surface.
He edged closer to the statue, staying close to the trees at all times. Convinced he had not been seen, Gullet waited in the covering before moving on towards the fountain.
One thing he was sure of, if they attempted to return, he would get them.
The blond-haired American smiled to himself as he watched Gullet hiding amongst the foliage before sneaking toward the statue of Perry. He liked the way the former Swiss Guard looked over his shoulder with clockwork consistency, yet he was still to detect his presence.
From his position among the trees he waited patiently for Gullet to make his move.
Then, to the American’s surprise, as he approached the statue he disappeared.
Less than one hour after his arrival Mark left the house quickly and sprinted towards his rented 4x4. In his hand he carried several pages of printed document, the same document that Mikael Devére had hidden. It was a document that his widow had no interest in keeping. Take what you need, she had said.
Lady you have no idea.
He was in a daze. Was this why Devére had been murdered? Is this why the others had been murdered? He felt sickened by the thought. Still he had no idea why, but finally he was getting warm: a single ray of light in a frosty wintry garden devoid of sunshine.
Yet part of him did not want to believe it. The document, now on the passenger seat as he drove furiously along the dusty road, could potentially implicate a lot of people, people whose reputations were without blemish.
And that, itself, was disturbing.
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The stairwell was winding, revolving around what appeared to be a circular stone column. It descended in an anti-clockwise direction, suggesting to Gabrielle that the design was probably British in origin, like those found in the towers of medieval castles. The steps were large slabs of grey stone widening the further away they got from the source.
Gabrielle led the way slowly, careful to avoid losing her footing on the treacherous stone. In the absence of natural light she waited until she knew for certain that her leading foot was safely on the next step before continuing further. Visibility was difficult. The darkness seemed almost tangible, a combination of both the blackness of the carefully constructed walls and the underground location penetrated only by the small piercing glow of their torches.
The air was damp. With each passing step it became more and more obvious that the location had been starved of fresh air for a considerable time. As she continued downwards she found her breathing quickened, a natural reaction as her body adjusted to the lack of oxygen entering her lungs. Yet to Gabrielle there was more to the air than just the damp: it was expectant, heightened by the location of the entrance.
In her mind she counted the steps. In her agitated state she feared that the stairwell would never stop – that she had become trapped forever in this secret void located somewhere between the park and the sea, somewhere between the present and the past. As she touched the wall to her right the thought occurred to her that she was touching history: history of an unknown kind. As far as she was aware, nothing like it existed anywhere else in America.
The stairwell continued for a total of thirty-three steps before coming to an end, merging with the floor. The lack of warning caught Gabrielle by surprise, causing her to stumble.
Mike followed tentatively, careful not to make contact with her feet. On reaching the bottom he shone his torch directly in front of him, revealing what appeared to be a gently winding tunnel, lined by manmade walls that supported an arched ceiling.
Gabrielle stood next to Mike, captivated by what she saw. As she shone her torch in the vicinity directly above them she realised that the ceiling was vaulted, surprisingly reminiscent of the type found in the crypts or ceilings of medieval churches. In the deepest recesses where the walls joined, she could just make out the unappealing presence of cobwebs seemingly floating against the dark backdrop.
Despite the fear, she could not help but admire the genius of vault’s constructors, not only operating in an area lacking air and light but also having the skill to carry out the job so far back in the distant past.
Mike eyed the tunnel apprehensively. Despite the relative seclusion of the location, and the absence of people in the park above, the lack of light made him wary. As his eyes continued to explore, aided only by the light of the torch, he realised that the stairwell was located at the far end of the vault, and that the tunnel ahead was the only way forward.
He concentrated his attention on the stone steps. In his mind he wondered whether any random passerby could stumble across the location. He also wondered whether Henry Leoni had already uncovered it, and opened it himself. Silently the alternative worried him. Should it have been opened by any other means the possibility hit him that they were susceptible to falling into a trap.
He blinked instinctively. Less than two feet in front of him Gabrielle was shining her torch in his face. His reflection caused a distorted shadow against the long stonewalls. Blinded by the light, he put his right arm across his face as a shield.
Gabrielle lowered her torch. ‘Come on.’
What goes in must come out. At least that was the saying.
As Ludovic Gullet concentrated his attention on navigating the twisty stairwell, he found himself readily amused that anyone could think something so naïve.
In a way he almost felt sorry for them, both of them. Unsurprisingly she had taken the bait and now she was in place – underground in a hidden vault. It was the last place, as he believed, that anyone could come out from.
Still, the guard was a highly experienced and skilled soldier, trained for such an occasion. And such things had to be taken into account.
Mike and Gabrielle walked on slowly. The ground beneath their feet was of stone construction, surprisingly even, and extended to a width of between two to three metres, making the tunnel wide enough for them to walk side by side.
Even in the poor light, Gabrielle could see that the walls were constructed from stone. Mounted on the walls at frequent intervals were ancient unlit torches, indicating that the area might have been used frequently at sometime in the past. In her mind’s eye Gabrielle imagined the enigmatic Prince Zichmni and his followers walking this same floor five hundred years earlier, their way lighted by the fiery glow on the now rotting wood. In many ways she was unsure what amazed her the most: the fact that such a place existed, or that such a place was even possible.
Yet the more she thought about its creators, the more she felt afraid. She wondered wh
at significance it could possibly have, why this order, if that’s what they were, could have carried out so much evil, even to her.
As her eyes adjusted to the poor light she thought she saw shadows lurking in front of her. The thought unnerved her, causing her breathing to tighten. She exhaled deeply, realising that the shadows belonged to themselves, caused by a distortion of the torchlight against the gentle slope of the wall.
Although they could not see each other, both were aware of each other’s presence. Both were struggling to control their breathing, their sounds seemingly more audible in the poor light. Gabrielle moved quickly, almost losing her footing. Without warning, she grabbed Mike’s hand and held it tightly. In another time and place Mike wondered whether he might have viewed the moment in a different way, but in his overly vigilant state he concentrated on other things. He felt momentarily as though she was looking at him, but he couldn’t be sure. He thought he saw her smile, a soft genuine smile, perhaps one of excitement. For the briefest of seconds he thought it was the first he had seen from her, although without further attention he dismissed it.
The light must be playing tricks on him.
Mark sat uncomfortably behind the pilot, his mind focused intently on the document on his lap. Reading was difficult, not helped by the high altitude. His head hurt all the more at the thought of what had been uncovered and harder still when he considered the possibilities it might bring. They were approaching New England.
He just hoped they would not be too late.
The Templar Agenda Page 39