Unlike the immense stone and gothic masonry of the château, the house was a fifteen-bed colonial mansion dating back to the late 1690s and located on a hilltop just outside Boston on the road to Salem in the Massachusetts countryside. Like many buildings of its type, it comprised four storeys of white timber with large windows and high ceilings providing the house with a pleasant airiness, sometimes missing from the château. The house was approachable along a two hundred yard oval shaped driveway, covered in gravel and flanked by beautifully kept lawns, abundant in maple trees, and entered through one of two identical metal gateways. One of the most distinguishing features was a wide porch, comprising four pillars, supporting a triangular shaped gable that included the name Maplewood Manor. On the right side of the porch a Star-Spangled Banner hung softly in the daytime breeze; at night four mock Victorian lampposts illuminated the driveway.
Directly above the porch the upper storey contained an unusual looking balcony that Gabrielle explained to Mike was a widow’s walk, a common feature of past centuries that provided grieving widows brief contact with the outside world at a time when it was customary for a widow to remain confined to the indoors for the first year following the death of a husband. Also, being the only place in the house with a view of the ocean, it allowed the wife of a fisherman the opportunity to look out across the sea in anticipation of the return of her husband: many of whom never returned.
The walk provided spectacular views of the ocean and also a complete view of the garden to the west. The garden was less impressive than the one in Switzerland yet it still comprised over four acres of stunning greenery. Inside the house, countless artists’ impressions of the garden hung from the walls, including impressive attempts by Gabrielle, capturing the countryside at its peak and offering a romanticised portrayal of the New England fall.
Although Mike’s bedroom was vastly smaller than the one in Switzerland it was elegantly furnished with items from the colonial era and managed to house a king-sized four-poster bed in the centre. Two antique mirrors lined the walls and a Victorian wardrobe, brown in colour with one squeaky door, covered much of the far wall. The white paint appeared dull in the poor light, shrouding the room in an unappealing gloom in the early hours although it caught the sun pleasantly in the evening.
Mike had remained in his room since they returned. He sat silently on the edge of the bed looking through the large window overlooking the back garden. In his despondent state his gaze became strangely transfixed on a small copse about 600 yards from the rear of the house. As the sun continued to set, he became drawn to a series of bizarre shadows that formed as the light hit the ancient wood. Across the garden several artefacts, including ancient carriages, a well, and an Amish-style barn, gave Mike the strange sensation he had ventured back in time and was witnessing the hustle and bustle of New England in its heyday. To Mike, the setting created a curious illusion of timelessness somehow heightened by the way the branches fluttered effortlessly in the breeze.
A gentle knock at the door broke his attention. As he looked to his left, he saw Gabrielle holding a cup of tea in her hands.
‘I thought you might be thirsty.’
Mike looked up and nodded. ‘Thanks.’
He received the cup and adjusted his grip. The burning sensation aroused his senses, returning his mind to reality. He was now aware that he had been lost in his thoughts and that his thoughts had been depressing. In his mind he could still see the living body of Irving Swanson in front of him, blood covering the banker’s shirt and even Mike’s own hands.
‘How are you feeling?’
Mike did not respond immediately. His gaze now focused on the floor.
‘I can’t believe Velis could kill him like that. Executed in cold blood.’
Gabrielle gently removed the cup from his hands and placed it on a coaster on the antique bedside cabinet. She pulled the duvet towards her to remove a wrinkled fold and sat down beside him. She cleared her throat quietly and looked at Mike. His gaze remained fixed on the floor.
‘Louis Velis is evil,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t just Swanson. It was all of them. He killed my dad. He may not have pulled the trigger...’
She stopped mid-sentence, close to tears. She took a deep breath and composed her thoughts.
‘There was nothing you could do.’
‘That’s not true.’
Gabrielle inhaled slowly; an expression of genuine concern crossed her face. ‘Okay,’ she said. Then she tried reverse psychology. ‘What could you have done?’
Mike shook his head, his eyes fixed on the floor.
‘You did everything you could. You have nothing to be ashamed of.’
Mike nodded unconvincingly. He put his hands to his head and rubbed it as he exhaled.
‘He knew he was going to die,’ Mike said. ‘He knew that Velis would find out. He knew Velis would kill him. Even if not today, he knew it would happen. Velis was never going to let him get away with it.’
Gabrielle remained silent.
‘After he was shot he asked me if I believed him.’
‘About what?’
Mike shook his head. ‘He didn’t say.’
A strange silence filled the room. Gabrielle placed her right hand to his left shoulder and stroked it gently.
‘I could tell he was talking about that day at the Vatican. He was asking if I believed he was innocent.’
Gabrielle’s expression changed to confusion again. ‘He was.’
‘Not to him. He really thought he was on trial. That’s why he did it.’ Mike said, turning his head to the left, making eye contact with Gabrielle. ‘He died because he wanted to make amends. He really thought he was a traitor.’
‘But we went through this. He explained.’
‘He was still guilty because he could’ve seen it coming. He risked his life because he really convinced himself he was in the wrong. He gave his life.’
Mike looked down at the floor and shook his head. He forced a laugh.
‘When we were down there he really laid into Velis. And when he was finished he actually asked Velis to let me go. Can you imagine? He told Velis to let the guard go.’
‘He knew that you were a good guy. And that you did all you could.’
Mike looked at Gabrielle briefly and forced an awkward smile but remained silent. Gabrielle scratched her head.
‘You know, it’s funny, the more I get to know you the more you remind me of my brother.’
He looked at her with sudden interest.
‘My brother, his name was Stéphane. He was five years older than me. When we were younger he’d tease me and pull my hair and even beat me up,’ she said forcing a laugh, her voice breaking slightly.
Mike looked at her with slight concern.
‘Anyway, the school I went to had a lot of snobby brats, sons of legacies et cetera,’ she said without making eye contact. ‘Sometimes at school, a few of the kids used to tease me. You know, because of my dad, some of them weren’t as rich…it was always one big competition.’
Mike looked at her as if he was seeing her for the first time. Strangely he thought back to the day of her father’s funeral.
‘And Stéphane always used to look out for me, you know?’
Mike nodded, his eyes remained focused on hers.
‘Anyway, he went to college in the US and when he returned he was all set to join my dad at Leoni et Cie, but he changed his mind. He joined the Swiss Army and eventually became a Swiss Guard.’
Gabrielle wiped a couple of stray tears from her eyes, her gaze at times on him whereas other times it wandered.
‘I guess growing up with Leoni et Cie being so normal the Vatican always there in the background made a mark.’
She paused momentarily.
‘My dad was disappointed but strangely proud. I was delighted. See he’d always been there for me. He made an excellent guard.’
Mike rubbed his right eyebrow, thinking back to a time a few weeks earlier. ‘There were photo
s of him in my room in Switzerland?’
She nodded, smiling weakly.
‘He was killed,’ she said, anticipating his question. ‘In 2004 he was on guard outside the Porta Sant’Anna. A madman ran him over. He hit his head and…well.’
Mike nodded silently. The story was strangely familiar to him. He had only been a halberdier for a few months, but he was sure that he had known him.
‘I’m sorry.’
She looked at him and forced a smile once more.
‘I loved him,’ she said. ‘Even now I think about him, I think about the way he was, the way he used to stand up for me…’
Another brief silence descended.
‘I know I gave you a hard time,’ she said as she wiped her eyes. ‘When we were at Newport I thought I was going to die, but then I think about the way you told Gullet to let me go…and the way you held me.’
Her voice trailed off slightly as she failed to control the tears.
‘And the way you came for me that day at the Vatican…’ she said, her voice quivering for the second time in quick succession, tears smudging her pretty makeup. ‘And the way you dived for Riva…’
Mike looked at her seriously, his eyes focused on hers.
‘Look, you have no right to feel guilty about letting Swanson down. You said it yourself: they don’t let anyone join the Swiss Guard…’
As Mike made eye contact he could see that her eyes were filling with tears. For several seconds they looked at one another without speaking. He placed his hands delicately over hers and then to her face. He wiped away the tears softly with his thumbs, keeping his eyes focused on hers. He moved his hands gently against her face and saw her smile. Then, with a sudden lunge, he put his hands behind her head and kissed her, bringing her lips to his, bashfully, then deeply. She placed her hands behind his head and moved closer to him, all the while their tongues massaging one another’s. Slowly his hands wandered up and down her sides and hers on his, her body rising as he explored her waist. The strangest thing that entered his mind was how normal it felt: as though why hadn’t they been like this all along?
Her the billionaire’s daughter and he the guard.
The Deputy Director of the FBI listened with interest to the voice on the other end of the phone. It was the Vatican policeman in Boston explaining exactly what had happened. He would get what he needed within the next few hours.
In a hired Jeep, paid for anonymously by cash, Ludovic Gullet and three other men travelled north at speed. The meaty engine churned loudly as the driver accelerated up the hill, causing an irritating humming noise to reverberate through the open window. The early summer air was surprisingly warm despite the late hour and the powerful headlights that had been on full beam for the last half hour cut the darkness of the deserted road devoid of passing traffic and streetlights.
Gullet checked the clock on the dashboard and saw it was nearing 2am. From New York to Boston the hunt was on. He had promised to keep the Grand Master posted on any new developments.
Three hours till their destination.
The Mercedes followed. The driver drove with dipped headlights to avoid suspicion and kept a distance equivalent of four to five vehicle lengths. As yet they were still to discover he was tailing them.
If luck was to hold, nor would they.
54
Mike awoke slowly, his blurry gaze coming slowly into focus as he looked across the twilight sky. For the briefest of seconds he struggled to grasp whether it was the hour before night or the hour before dawn. He was completely disorientated. It was as though he had been part of the strangest yet most wonderful of dreams.
Was it a dream? he wondered. Could it have been real?
No. Impossible.
As he rolled onto his left side his body felt warm and content. He felt strangely relaxed: particularly around his head. It almost felt as though something or someone was stroking him.
Now he realised what had awakened him. He blinked a couple of times and his vision came into focus. The woman he was supposed to be guarding was lying next to him.
Naked in his bed.
She smiled. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t resist waking you,’ she said, her smile widening.
Mike forced the laziest yet most content of smiles. ‘That’s quite okay.’
She laughed. ‘Every time you look at me, it’s like you haven’t seen me in years. You’re like a lovesick puppy.’
Knowing it was a complement he smiled and asked her how she was. She did not respond with words. She leaned over and kissed him: a kiss that lasted over thirty minutes.
The Jeep was parked in a secluded area off road at the rear of the mansion. After turning off the engine and extinguishing the headlights, Gullet departed the vehicle and ordered the other three to disembark. The mansion was only nine hundred yards away.
Gullet led the way undetected over an eight-foot brick wall and across the open ground. They moved swiftly, the mansion appearing nearer and nearer: four hundred yards, three hundred, two, one.
They continued in the direction of a small copse in close proximity to an unused barn and took shelter behind its walls, less than seventy metres from the house.
Gullet looked at his watch. 4:41am. Magnificent.
They would be out before dawn.
Gabrielle smiled, almost laughing, as she walked barefoot across the tiled kitchen floor towards the refrigerator. Wearing only a dressing gown, she felt a cold chill rise up her body from her feet but in her happy state she barely noticed.
She poured orange juice into two glasses and closed the fridge.
Dressed in casual clothes with the exception of dark balaclavas to veil their faces, the four mercenaries approached the rear of the vicinity with caution. Above them the sky was slowly becoming lighter as the first signs of dawn appeared beyond the distant sea.
The first of the men approached the conservatory door. He rattled it with his right hand; unsurprisingly it was locked. The second of the men removed a crowbar from his jacket, broke the glass and slid open the inside lock.
They were in.
Upstairs, the Swiss Guard was oblivious to the muffled sound of glass breaking below. He had already left his bed and entered the master bathroom.
Gabrielle closed the door to the fridge and placed the first glass under the ice dispenser. She pushed the button for several seconds and two large pieces of ice fell into the glass causing liquid to splash over her white dressing gown. She placed the glasses delicately on the side and wiped it with her spare hand. There was a shuffling of footsteps behind her.
‘Aw, did you miss me?’
The intruder wasted no time. He grabbed her by the mouth, prohibiting her from screaming. Familiar feelings of dread overcame her. Glass hit the floor.
Two of the intruders ascended the stairs with caution. They knew the guard would be upstairs and assumed he would still be sleeping.
Armed with Heckler and Koch MP5 submachine guns, in keeping with the weaponry of the Swiss Guard, they walked almost crab-like: backs to the wall, every angle covered.
Silently they approached the first door.
Mike left the bathroom suddenly. The sound of a toilet flushing followed by the appearance of the Swiss Guard, dressed in only a t-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts, was unexpected.
The first thing the Swiss Guard saw did not register to his conscious self; instead intuition directed his actions. He moved his body as a reflex, sprinting through the door of the nearest room and closing it behind him.
Gunfire narrowly missed him.
His drowsiness was gone instantly. With his heart thumping, he stood with his back to the closed door and quickly searched his memory. There were two men: both were dressed casually and their faces hidden; both were armed, clearly professionals.
And they were clearly after him.
The Swiss Guard took a step to his right and waited for the door to open. Seconds later it did.
Gunfire.
Hidden behind the door he
was completely safe from the marksman’s bullets. He saw a hand appear holding a Heckler and Koch, bullets spraying aimlessly across the room. Mike fixed his grip on the door handle and pushed it with fury. The intruder was caught hard on the shoulder, forcing him against the wall. The gun fell to the floor and skidded beneath the bed.
Reacting instinctively, Mike closed the door and forced the intruder to the floor, striking him twice in the face. After knocking him unconscious, he crawled under the bed.
More gunfire.
The second intruder had opened the door and was firing blankly in the direction of the double bed. He noticed the slouched body of his partner, clearly unconscious, but saw no sign of his target. Ceasing fire, the intruder walked slowly around the bed, taking care to avoid his partner although largely unconcerned for his health.
The room was a mess, the air polluted by tattered bed linen. He considered the position of the Swiss Guard. Nowhere to hide: he must be under the bed.
Mike had crawled to within touching distance of the second man. Seeing nothing but the bottom of his legs, he grabbed both of them and pulled violently.
A thumping sound was followed by a short burst of gunfire. As the intruder hit the floor the weapon fell from his grasp and bounced away several feet. Wasting no time, Mike reappeared from beneath the bed and grabbed the man’s upper body. He forced the intruder hard to the floor and punched him twice in the face.
With both of his attackers unconscious, the Swiss Guard picked up one of the guns and sprinted out of the room and down the stairs. He heard footsteps then all was quiet. The house was otherwise deserted.
Ten minutes later the hired Jeep was travelling south through early morning Boston. On the back seat, Gabrielle struggled to relieve herself from the wrist cuffs and mouth gag. Despite the seatbelt she had no way to protect herself from the bumpy journey that threw her from side to side.
The Templar Agenda Page 51