by Shawn Oetzel
“I think you caught all of us,” she said, motioning with her hand to encompass her three equally shocked colleagues, “with our proverbial pants down, Mr. Nicholas.”
The older gentleman smiled at her rather blunt summary of the situation. His smile seemed sincere and he appeared to be genuinely amused, which managed to alleviate some of the tension she’d felt. She was not a hundred percent positive quite yet, but she hoped she could trust this man.
“Who or what are the Franklin Knights?” Professor Foshay asked.
Leave it to Foshay to ask the pertinent question. This afternoon had taken such an unexpected turn that Sommers thought her brain might be on some sort of sensory overload. She was grateful the professor was at least still paying attention. She turned to look in his direction, and when he met her eyes she gave him a smile and a nod to show her appreciation.
“The Franklin Knights, Professor Foshay, are the guardians and caretakers of the very sword you all have been looking for. It has been our charge for over 200 years to protect Excalibur and its secrets.” Nicholas took another long puff of his cigar, exhaling a cloud of aromatic smoke.
“I don’t understand,” Reggie said. “If your…organization has known about Excalibur for all these years, why keep it hidden? Why not give it to a museum or even to a government agency for safe keeping?”
Amy had been thinking something similar, and now turned her attention to Nicholas to see how he would respond. Their host did not answer right away. Instead, he slowly leaned back in his chair and stared at Reggie for several long seconds before answering.
“The simplest answer to your question, Agent Blackburn, is that the duty given to my great-great-grandfather by Benjamin Franklin himself was to guard the sword until such a time it would be needed,” Nicholas said.
She was on the verge of posing her own question when the professor slapped his open palm onto the top of the table.
“Of course!” the professor said, his voice rising in excitement. “I knew your name sounded familiar. Your great-great-grandfather was Samuel Nicholas, the leader of the Continental Marines, wasn’t he?”
“Very good, Professor Foshay. He was indeed the very same man you just mentioned,” Nicholas said, a large friendly smile moving his face as well.
“I’m sorry to intrude,” Ambrosius said, “but what does any of this have to do with Excalibur?”
Good old Ambroisus, she thought. He had been quiet up to this point, not all that out of character for him as she had personally witnessed his many mood swings over the last few hours, but the man’s own excitement was starting to again show through the chinks in his prim and proper veneer.
“Ah, my good Agent Ambrosius,” Nicholas said. “It has everything to do with Excalibur.”
“Why don’t you fill in the blanks we seem to be missing for us, Mr. Nicholas?” she said.
“It would be my distinct pleasure, Agent Sommers,” Nicholas said. He set his cigar in the crystal ashtray next to his wine flute, and sat forward in his chair, giving nothing away. “I am sure the knowledgeable professor here has already filled you in on the events leading to Excalibur’s arrival in this country, so I will not bother with those details.”
“Yes, according to Professor Foshay,” Ambrosius said, motioning towards the professor, “the sword’s last known location was in the possession of you ancestor, Samuel Nicholas, but after that, Excalibur seems to have been lost to history.”
“Not quite,” Nicholas said. “As you know, Benjamin Franklin brought Excalibur home with him when he returned from his travels abroad. This was shortly before the outbreak of the Revolutionary War in May of 1775. Later that year, in early November, the United States Marine Corps was born at Tun Tavern in Philadelphia when the Continental Marines were formed. My great-great-grandfather, Captain Samuel Nicholas, was put in command. He was quickly promoted to Colonel and given four officers to serve under him.”
“Why is that significant?” she asked, interrupting their host’s explanation.
“All in good time, Agent Sommers,” Nicholas said. There was the hint of a mischievous gleam in his eyes before he continued. “Now, naturally, the Marines that Samuel Nicholas was in charge of were not like the elite fighting force the Marines are today. They were more like an undercover protection service. Some of their first assignments were covert operations in which they assisted the Navy. The Continental Marines participated in the first naval battle between an American squadron and the British Navy in 1776. They also fought at the Battle of Princeton against General Cornwallis’ main army. Most importantly, however, they had the task of ferrying and protecting the Continental Army, including General George Washington, across the Delaware River at the Battle of Trenton. In all of those instances, along with all their missions in-between, Samuel Nicholas carried Excalibur with him, and in all of those instances, the Continental Marines were never beaten.”
The significance of Nicholas’ last statement was not lost on her or her companions. No wonder a terrorist organization would want to get their hands on the sword. Yes, according to legend Excalibur granted the rightful owner the right to become king of Britain, but even if that particular bit of lore proved to be false, the terrorists could cut an unstoppable and bloody swath through England on their way to the throne.
“This history lesson has been fun and all, but when do we get to the part where you and your merry band of knights come in?” Reggie asked.
“Let the man finish, Reggie,” Sommers said, shooting him a stern look which he ignored completely in true Reggie fashion.
“Thank you, Agent Sommers, but I was just getting to that part,” Nicholas said. He took a sip of wine before launching into his story anew. “Once the war was over, there was no further need of the Continental Marines. In 1785, they were disbanded. Samuel Nicholas traveled to Philadelphia accompanied by his four officers to return Excalibur to Benjamin Franklin. Unbeknownst to Nicholas and his men, a select group of this country’s forefathers had met and discussed this very subject, and decided Excalibur would not be returned to the French, to Britain, or anyone else. Instead, it was to be kept safe in case it would be needed, especially if the English tried to retake the Colonies. It was left up to Benjamin Franklin to decide how and who would keep Excalibur’s secret. Naturally, Franklin turned to the one man he had already entrusted the sword to – my great-great-grandfather Samuel Nicholas. Thus, the Franklin Knights were born.”
“That’s quite a tale, Mr. Nicholas,” she said.
She looked around the room. Everyone was busy mulling over all the information they had been given. She was sure there were at least a thousand questions swimming around in each person’s head, but no one seemed sure how or where to begin.
“I can’t believe after all this time and study I have put into Arthurian legend, Excalibur has been right here in Boston under my nose,” the professor said.
She had to smile at the sound of astonishment in his voice. For him this must be akin to someone who had spent the bulk of their professional life searching for Bigfoot only to find themselves accidentally stumbling across the beast as it slept in their back yard.
“That does bring up the question as to how Excalibur came to be in Boston,” Reggie said.
“And its current location,” Ambrosius added.
“Would you mind elaborating further for us, Mr. Nicholas?” she asked.
Before Nicholas could reply however, the muffled sound of the William Tell Overture emanated from the his jacket. The sound was so unexpected it left her momentarily speechless.
“If you will excuse me for a moment,” Nicholas said. He then reached into an inside pocket and removed a small black cell phone which he answered. “Yes…I see.” Worry lines appeared on his brow. “Call me back when he leaves.” He hung up, frowning in a moment of trepidation, albeit a brief one. “Let’s see, where were we?” he asked.
“You were about to tell us how the sword got here in Boston,” she said, deciding to let the
phone interlude pass for now.
“Ah yes. Thank you, Agent Sommers. After accepting the job they had been given, Samuel Nicholas and his officers left Philadelphia and came to Boston. This is where most of them were originally from, so it was where they would hide and protect the sword. Only those five men knew its location. That secret has been passed down from father to son for generations, as has the charge of keeping Excalibur safe until such a time its power is once again called upon. Our group has grown over the years to include watchers, and even soldiers in case their services are ever needed. But only the descendents of the original five men, designated as Caretakers, know where Excalibur is.”
“So you know where it is right now?” Ambrosius asked in an excited whisper.
“I am one of five current Caretakers,” Nicholas said. “Mr. Grant, who served as your guide here, is another.”
“And you will take us to the sword?” Sommers asked.
“Yes, Agent Sommers. It has been decided that you will be given the duty of returning Excalibur to its rightful home.”
“After all these years of keeping the secret, you’re willing to just hand it over?” Reggie asked. “I’m sorry, but what’s the catch.”
She had to admit Reggie had a good point. She had been so caught up in the initial fervor of fulfilling her mission that she did not bother with thinking the whole thing through.
“Yeah, Mr. Nicholas. Why would you give me, or us,” she said, motioning, “the sword whose secret you and your organization have taken so seriously for the last 200 plus years?”
Nicholas smiled sadly before answering. “Trust me, Agent Sommers, this decision was not made lightly. This conclusion was reached only after much debate. The moment the document surfaced, those of us in charge knew our time was limited. If Excalibur fell into the hands of terrorists, the results could and undoubtedly would be catastrophic. We are simply not equipped to handle such a threat. Recent events have made that fact even more abundantly clear.”
This last statement left her a little confused. “Has something happened, Mr. Nicholas?” she asked, thinking of the phone call Nicholas had gotten a short while ago, and also wondering if it had anything to do with the Ghost. She looked over at Reggie and saw the same concern mirrored on his face.
“Nothing unexpected, Agent Sommers,” Nicholas said. “It seems our mutual adversary has finally made an appearance.”
“Are you talking about the Ghost?’ she asked, and was embarrassed by the quiver in her voice.
“The one and same,” Nicholas answered.
“We knew it was only a matter of time before our paths would cross with his,” Ambrosius said.
“We can’t let him get his hands on Excalibur,” Reggie said.
“Don’t worry, Agent Blackburn,” Nicholas said smugly. “This Ghost is in for a bit of a surprise, and Excalibur is currently in no danger of falling into the vile clutches of this rather unsavory fellow.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“The document was not currently accurate. We moved the sword to a new location a several years ago due to an unforeseen restoration project taking place at its original location.”
She sat back in her chair and let out the nervous breath she had been holding. Reggie gave an audible snort of nervous laughter while the professor and Ambrosius sat in silence. The tension which had swept over the room at the mention of the Ghost was released as quickly as it had come.
“Again, I have to ask, why me?” she asked when the feelings of relief subsided.
“Honestly, Agent Sommers, we did not have a lot of options and we wanted to move quickly. If anyone would have the means of protecting the sword, it would be the Agency. My associates and I knew you and Agent Ambrosius would eventually seek out Professor Foshay, seeing as how he is the foremost expert in Arthurian legend. It was a slight surprise to also find Agent Blackburn there as well, but his presence only adds to our knowledge that Excalibur will be kept safe.”
“Will you take us to the sword?” Ambrosius asked.
“Mr. Grant is standing by to do just that. But first, I need assurances from you that Excalibur will be returned to its rightful owner, and that it will be kept safe so as not to fall into the hands of those who would use its power for evil.”
“Sir, if given Excalibur, I can guarantee it on my life,” Ambrosius said his voice as serious and grave as she had ever heard it.
“Then the charge passed down to me from my great-great grandfather Samuel Nicholas, given to him by Benjamin Franklin, I know pass on to you: Agent Sommers, Agent Blackburn, Agent Ambrosius, and Professor Foshay.”
The enormity of the man’s words settled on her shoulders like a shroud. By the serious and dedicated looks on the faces of her three companions, especially Ambrosius, she knew they felt the weight of responsibility too. Something very important had passed to them, and they were not about to falter for any reason.
Nicholas’ cell phone cut through the silence again. A similar scene as before played itself out. Nicholas carried on a brief conversation, then returned the phone to his pocket. This time, however, a look of amusement moved across his face instead of concern.
“It would seem your Ghost has realized his mistake and left empty handed. From what I have just been told, he was not very happy upon his departure.”
“That is not going to bode well for someone,” Reggie said.
“Yeah,” she said, heeding Reggie’s warning as thoughts of the translator’s body and how he had been tortured before he died flashed before her eyes. “Let’s just hope its not us.”
“Mr. Nicholas, if you would be so kind to tell us where Excalibur is now, we can get started,” Ambrosius said. “The quicker we get the sword, the quicker we can get it far away from men like this Ghost and his employers.”
“Of course,” Nicholas said as a knowing and mischievous smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Do any of you follow baseball?”
—Chapter 24
The Ghost drove aimlessly through the congested streets of Boston, trying to decide how best to proceed.
He spotted a business which piqued his interest, an internet café nestled between a mom and pop dry cleaners and a shabby looking bakery. With its offering of modern technological advances, the small coffee shop looked about as out of place as a python in a bunny cage.
“Always Online Café,” he said reading the name of the bright blue neon sign hanging out front. “Let’s hope so.”
The place was as empty as the many parking spaces outside proclaimed it to be. The Ghost was pleased. He did not need some pimply-faced computer geek who had been updating a Facebook page in hopes of adding more friends to a list that would never fill the empty space the geek had in his real life looking over his shoulder as he worked.
After his failed excursion at the King’s Chapel, the document enclosed inside the Halliburton was nothing more than a worthless piece of paper. The mere thought of the time he wasted searching the chapel’s basement made his blood boil all over again.
He sat as still as petrified wood, both hands gripped tightly around the steering wheel, as he tried to get his emotions under control. After several deep cleansing breaths he felt his fury slowly drift into mild irritation and finally dissipate into the reserved calm he was more accustomed to.
The Always Online Café was not very big, the lighting was low and seeing as how he was the only customer, the place was quiet.
A twenty-something guy sat behind a register, reading an astrophysics textbook. He did not bother to look up until the Ghost was standing directly across from him. “May I help you?”
“Yes you can,” the Ghost said coldly. “I need to use one of the computers, and I would also like a cup of whatever you have that will pass for coffee.”
“That I can do, Sir. Please have a seat anywhere you like. The coffee will cost you $1.25 and there is a $5.00 an hour charge for use of the computer and internet.”
“I may be a while, so just run a
tab for me.”
“No problem, Sir. Help yourself to a computer, and I will bring your coffee out shortly.”
He chose a spot close to the entrance but off to the side for privacy. The computer was a newer model Dell, but basically a child’s toy compared to his Acer Travelmate back in London. It would serve his purpose however, and that was all he was interested in.
After reaching over for his cup of coffee and taking a sip, he made a face of pure disgust as the bitter flavor reached his taste buds. He looked back with pure malice over his shoulder at the young man, who had retreated behind the counter and resumed his studies. He did not know who he would have to kill to get a decent cup of gourmet coffee in this country, but he was giving serious consideration to finding out.
A scene of some tropical island served as the wallpaper on the monitor, a harsh reminder of the chilled temperatures outside. The Ghost opened an internet search engine and went to work.
It took him barely an hour to get what he was looking for. He smiled gleefully as Special Agent Reggie Blackburn’s private Agency cell phone number appeared on the computer screen. Even though he had not been active with the Agency for years, the backdoors he had installed into their security systems were still there. He would have to remember to utilize this little trick of his more often for future reference.
He punched the number into his own cellphone so he could save it, shut everything down, paid his bill without leaving a tip on the principle that the coffee was horrid, and exited the internet café.
Once back in the Trailblazer, with the heater on, he took out his cellphone again.
With a deep breath to focus his thoughts, he scrolled down his contacts list until the number for Blackburn came up, and he pushed the “send” button.
Fenway Park, Blackburn thought. Who would have ever guessed…?
Mr. Grant, their initial guide, would drive them to Fenway Park and oversee Excalibur being transferred to Sommers. His grandfather several times removed had been a lieutenant under Samuel Nicholas, making him part of the inner circle of the current Franklin Knights.