In the front were two men. She could not see the driver. She could only see the other man.
The man she had met at Newport.
The man with long blond locks followed from a distance in his E-Class Mercedes-Benz. Boredom had led to contempt. He had followed the Jeep all night and now he was about to do the same again.
55
Gabrielle awoke suddenly. A cold shivering sensation was running up the right side of her body. For the briefest of seconds she felt as though she was falling through the air before coming to a standstill on the solid floor.
A sudden bout of dizziness caught her unaware. With it came an overwhelming feeling of nausea, but no pain, nor any recollection of how it came about. Had she been drugged? She assumed so, though without memory of where or when or how. In her mind she recalled two men and a large vehicle, then a large house, perhaps a mansion. Yet the vision was blurry: almost dreamlike and without clarity of whether it was real or a figment of a distorted mind.
She blinked several times and her vision slowly focused. From what she could see she was sitting in a dimly lit room or chamber, illuminated by what seemed to be a series of flickering candles. The light caused shadows and distortions across black and white patterns. Not for the first time in recent weeks the floor seemed more in keeping with a giant chessboard.
She blinked again, this time for longer. In front of her stood what looked like a large altar, like those often found in medieval churches. Strange objects lined the altar. One was unrecognisable, black in colour, perhaps some sort of skull or mummified head, and another, perhaps a statue, reminiscent of the one that guarded the tomb at Rosslyn.
The smell of burning wax teased her nostrils yet she sensed there was a stronger presence in the air. The air was cramped, as though the room was enclosed or underground. As she moved she became aware of other senses. The small of her back came in contact with the cold floor that was either stone or marble, causing her to shiver. She also heard what sounded like dripping water coming from up above, as though it was seeping through floorboards. From somewhere a vague sound of footfalls also rang in her ears, as did other sounds. There was burning: not the candles but something else.
Although she was aware her hands were tied, she noticed the gag that had earlier blocked her mouth had been removed. Yet other parts of her body felt confined. The dressing gown that she had worn earlier that morning was gone and had been replaced by different clothes: someone else’s clothes, stylish but perhaps a size smaller than hers: not readily apparent to a stranger viewing from afar but noticeable to Gabrielle as it restricted her movement uncomfortably around her arms and legs.
After wriggling herself upright, she leaned her back against something solid but cold. She looked over her shoulder and saw it was a stone pillar: a strangely comforting reason for the coldness. As her eyes continued to adjust to the poor light she noticed many of these pillars, gothic in structure and appearance, supporting a high ceiling vaguely reminiscent of an early medieval European cathedral. Where was she? What country? Had she gotten on a plane? Surely nothing like this existed in the USA. Was she in Europe: France or England maybe? Rome perhaps? It reminded her of the crypts in Rosslyn Castle and to a lesser extent the Newport Tower.
Something else unsettled her. She was alone but she did not feel it. Through the darkness she felt something or someone watching her; perhaps guarding her. In the poor light the voids between cloisters, leading she assumed to an underground crypt or steps up to a higher church or castle, remained sealed in blackness. The voids alone were unsettling, yet the feeling of being watched was more unsettling. She considered the possibility that unseen eyes were watching her. Her senses detected something was directly in front of her.
She squinted in that direction. Distorted by the shadows, she saw what seemed to be a circular table. Eight chairs surrounded it. The atmosphere suggested importance unlike any boardroom she had ever witnessed, emphasised above all else by the inclusion of the most impressive of the chairs located at the head of the table, seemingly identical in appearance to a throne.
That was when she realised: a lone silhouette was visible in the darkness.
The figure sat with an air of authority and patience unlike any person she had ever witnessed. Although his features were hidden the outline of his face became vaguely visible when illuminated by the glow of his cigar lighting up the area hauntingly like a vision of hell bathed in a fiery light. She saw the man was bearded but at present she saw nothing else. He spoke with a muffled voice in the direction of one of the other seats. Another was present, sitting opposite. Though she could not see or hear him.
Although the light restricted her vision her senses suggested he was looking directly at her. For the first time he spoke to her.
‘You are currently sitting in the New Temple of Solomon,’ the bearded man said. His words echoed momentarily before fading to a distant murmur.
A deathly hush descended.
‘You were wondering where you were?’
The man’s assumption was correct yet Gabrielle remained silent. A sharp stabbing sensation entered her chest, instantly diagnosable as claustrophobia. Although she had never suffered from a fear of confined spaces before, the severity of the situation enforced it. Her back itched, partly due to the cramped conditions, and partly the tightness of her clothes. She inhaled deeply and from somewhere found the courage to speak.
‘Where are we?’ she asked, realising her throat was dry. ‘Who are you?’
The bearded man spoke clearly. ‘We are in America if that’s any comfort?’
Comfort was the last thing she felt. Using the pillar as a backscratcher she lifted herself up and down in quick succession, relieving some of the tension in her back and allowing herself a better view of the room. As her eyes continued to adjust she felt the room was less old than she had originally thought, yet still relatively established.
‘You are currently seated in the second oldest church in the New World,’ the bearded man continued, flicking cigar ash into an ashtray. ‘I understand you’ve already visited the oldest. I’m sure that once you grasp the story of what is behind it you will appreciate its importance.’
She looked for an exit, yet that was out of the question. Perhaps someone would find her? Perhaps Mike would find her.
Where was he? Was he still alive? She felt her eyes fill up but she could not find tears. Anger turned to numbness. In spite of her fear something else troubled her. She had heard this voice before.
‘Louis,’ she said timidly. ‘Louis Velis.’
The bearded man smoked but did not answer.
‘What’s with the clothes?’
Velis exhaled on his cigar. ‘We didn’t want you to catch cold. They were once the property of my estranged wife. You can keep them if you like. It seems a shame to see them go to waste.’
Gabrielle looked herself over, understanding he was referring to Rachel. That explained why they were a size too small.
‘I suppose this all belongs to you.’
Velis put the cigar to his mouth and rose to his feet. He walked slowly around the table, his eyes remaining fixed on Gabrielle.
‘It was Jacques de Molay’s great ambition, once the Crusades were over to develop the order in a more humanitarian way: incorporating the charity of the Hospitallers and the military and banking expertise of the Templars while remaining wholly committed to the greater good. Free of the dogmas and interference of national politics. Independent of Rome yet still worshipping similar ideals.’
‘Yeah. What went wrong?’
Velis forced a laugh. ‘The man himself was unable. After all, how could a man, weak and ailing in his seventies, ignorant of the true promises of science, politics and theology, illiterate, provide the leadership and stability needed to act independently of the most powerful king in Europe?’
He gestured with his arms.
‘But as you can see: the concept was not entirely unfounded.’
Gabriell
e fidgeted but failed to move. The cuffs burned against her wrists.
‘The Knights Templar were not evil,’ he said, walking slightly closer. ‘Talk of Devil worship, idolatry, spitting, urinating on the cross…seems a little strange don’t you think? After all, no one throughout the course of history has shed more blood for Christianity than the Templars.’
Velis flicked ash into an ashtray. Gabrielle remained silent.
‘The Knights Templar, whatever you might think of them, were exceptional,’ the bearded man said, his smile widening. As Velis walked closer Gabrielle could see pride in his smile: it displayed knowledge yet it was strangely appreciative: almost as though he was an apprentice praising a master.
‘How could it be that a group of nine knights, related by blood, wholly committed to the cause and ideologies of Urban II would within two centuries become the strongest army the world has ever seen? That they should become so wealthy that even the richest nations of the time were in their debt and that they should master the art of banking and yet remain wholly devoted to poverty and worship of Jesus Christ. They could have been rich beyond any man’s wildest dreams. Yet the promise of eternal bliss remained their choice. Remarkable. Don’t you think?’
‘Lemme guess, they found the Holy Grail in a cupboard?’
Velis laughed. ‘Such a thought is amusing. Every book I read on the subject seems to think so, or they were blackmailers or in possession of hidden knowledge. No one seems to realise they were the cleverest businessmen on the planet.’
Velis smoked as he walked. There was a certain smugness and awe about him.
‘By 1307 the original Templars were caught in the middle of a feud that spanned all of Europe. The loss of the Holy Land left a gap in their purpose. After all, without the Crusades they were merely a group of mercenaries funded by the world’s most powerful bank. To tyrants like Philip le Bel, they had the potential to rule all of Europe. The result: they became the focus of attention for every greedy monarch in Europe, even the Pope.’
Velis continued to walk. ‘The bitterness of rival states was focused on them rather than each other. Yet as soon as the Templars were gone, the nations who had dissolved them went back to fighting each other.’
The bearded man smiled as he smoked.
‘The Templars who had survived knew this. And the new order could use this to their advantage. Eventually this ensured the pacification of Europe.’
Velis paused thoughtfully, continuing to walk.
‘In many ways the Inquisition was a good thing. For two hundred years the Templars had operated in the turbulence of the Crusades. They had encountered bloodshed and little reward. For those who had survived, anonymity brought its own benefits. The advances made in banking, science and politics within the last century ensured that the order could no longer play second fiddle to pointless slaughter. This was the birth of Capitalism.’
Velis exhaled, smoke rising from his mouth.
‘Many of humanities’ key advances occurred during this time – the Renaissance perhaps the most important. Yet some things never changed. According to the Templar Rule no Christian could shed the blood of a fellow Christian. This itself promoted peace in Europe. You can understand that, can’t you? But once the Crusades were over it took only the arrogance of one petty monarch to jeopardise the entire continent. The result: the Hundred Years’ War.’
Velis paused momentarily, taking a further puff on his cigar.
‘Following the dissolution of the Templars, Europe turned into a bubbling cauldron. And why: so that the incompetent and corrupt could become secure while the virtuous fell. Throughout history the rule of nations had always remained in the hands of bloodthirsty monsters and their inbred minions. Yet the future of Europe and the wider world was far too fragile to remain in the hands of men so unworthy.’
Gabrielle watched in silence.
‘For two centuries the Poor Knights of Solomon had been the peacekeepers; it was they who had singlehandedly united an entire continent. With the Templars gone, the conflict that existed before reignited. So now it fell to us: a small group of virtuous men to retake order.’
Gabrielle did not respond. Her vision remained transfixed on the banker and the peculiar surroundings.
‘As I am sure you are by now aware, my dear, the survivors of the order did not lie in wait in the seclusion of anti-Catholic Europe to reclaim the Holy Land or serve the Pope,’ the bearded man said. ‘But it is the early generations in particular who deserve most credit for making the Templar vision possible. Through the complex banking network billions of pounds have gone on developing our vision and ensuring stability.’
‘Is that Starvel’s purpose?’
‘For many years the great Templar banks have provided stability for our customers and some of the proceeds even go to the less fortunate: just as we’ve been doing since the 12th century. What you must understand, my dear, is that the dissolution of the Templars had left a vacuum: farms, vineyards, castles, churches, not to mention millions of pounds of currency and gold deposits removed from the economy. But economics is only part of it. Every day the world is advancing: technology, science, politics: all aspects of human life. It takes a particular kind of leadership to oversee such progress. This was something Europe lacked.’
‘Is that why they guillotined half the population of France?’
Velis exhaled. Smoke teased Gabrielle’s lungs and forced her to cough.
‘Republican France has indeed brought stability,’ Velis said. ‘America was born under the Templar vision and that has evolved into the world’s greatest superpower. Throughout all of Europe stability is at an all-time high.’
‘So why all the killings?’ she asked, slightly louder than she expected. ‘Your order has murdered thousands of innocent people.’
Velis exhaled, his expression thoughtful. He delayed responding for several seconds.
‘Every cause has its costs,’ he said quietly. ‘If a man gets shot in the leg, the first step towards rehabilitation is removing the dead cells. Sometimes if you want something to grow you have to cut the decaying cells away and at first make it smaller. Even the most unpleasant of sacrifices can have positive effects in the long-term. Jesus, himself, taught us that.’
A brief pause followed as Velis walked slowly in front of Gabrielle, his cigar glowing as he exhaled. Gabrielle’s eyes followed the banker.
‘You don’t really believe in God, Ms. Leoni,’ Velis said, changing the subject, his eyes focused on Gabrielle. ‘It is important to believe in God. Only through devotion to the Supreme Being can man ensure integrity and commitment.
‘But religion can also be damaging; the Crusades have taught us that. In the 11th century Pope Urban II called on Christians from all over Europe to journey to the Holy Land and offer their lives as part of a noble cause. What you must understand, my dear, is that they really believed they were fighting for the Son of God. That this was his will.’
The banker continued to smoke.
‘But they were deceived. I mean, seriously, what would he have said, do you think, if he had still been alive?’
‘They had to do something. Pilgrims were being slaughtered.’
Velis smiled and nodded. ‘And it was for the protection of these pilgrims that our order was created. And why many of those who came before us gladly gave their lives to protect them. Our goal was and always shall be to serve the greater good.’
He paused momentarily.
‘Yet how does one really define greater good?’ he asked, his arms out wide. ‘Our order once existed to aid Christianity yet we were betrayed by the very people who encouraged the genocide of others. For two centuries the Knights Templar spilled their blood for the cause of the unworthy. Only in our latter days did we finally realise.’
He turned, facing the altar.
‘Jehovah, Yahweh, Allah: the same God, different names. Each concept as stupid as the next,’ he said smoking. ‘He has gone by many names. Osiris, Ra, Apollo, Zeus
, it makes no difference. The difference is in one’s own interpretation. Yet more blood has been shed in his name than any other. And so it continues, even to this day.
‘But fidelity to prayer is excellent. Only through devotion can a man really be accepted as trustworthy. Only through embarking on the path to God can man really become whole. For two centuries no one was more devoted to this than the Templars. But as an order we learned to become indifferent. Capitalism has taught us to do business with all walks of life. This was where our future lay. Every human being is a child of God, not just some of us. But such thinking was prohibited by the very people they had given their blood to protect.’
Gabrielle’s eyes remained fixed on the banker. He delivered his argument as though in possession of definitive wisdom with a voice, almost hypnotic, to match. Yet it was his eyes that struck her the most. They suggested unbreakable concentration with a gaze that offered complete confidence.
‘So you weren’t heretics?’
Velis removed his cigar and exhaled. ‘Heresy,’ he said. ‘What is heresy? In the Middle Ages it was considered heresy to refer to the world as being round or that the earth revolved around the sun. Pioneers such as Galileo and even the great Christopher Columbus were savaged because of their so-called heresy. Yet none of these men were anti-God. What was it Galileo once said: “I do not feel obliged to believe that the same God who has endowed us with sense, reason and intellect has intended us to forgo their use.” As I’m sure we can agree, much of this was unnecessary.’
‘So what is this about? Revenge? Is that why you’ve stolen from the Roman Curia? Is that why you’ve bled Leoni et Cie dry? Because my ancestors opposed you; that they aided the people your order had massacred? Is that why you assassinated the Kings of France? The demise of the Papal States?’
The Templar Agenda Page 52