“You think? We’re just supposed to go back home and hope that nobody sneaks in during the middle of the night and covers our face with a pillow? Even if we wanted to give this up, and I’m not sure I’m willing to just let it go, we’d need a better guarantee than that.”
The Monsignor ran a hand through his hair. “Unfortunately, I can make no promises. As I said, this is a sensitive issue for the Church. I am fairly certain that the Vatican does not know where this genealogy is buried, or even if it actually exists. But I do know they are not willing to sit around idly and be surprised by it being found. Before the internet, there was little risk of anyone putting the pieces of this Prince Henry puzzle together, little chance of anyone actually finding anything. Now, anyone with internet and a GPS can try to connect the dots and search for treasures. At some point, someone will stumble upon something the Church would prefer to remain buried, such as the genealogy. Which is why there are certain factions in the Vatican who believe they can’t allow any treasure hunting at all. Witness Mr. McLovick and your cousin Brandon.”
He looked again at Amanda. Her green eyes hardened and she nodded slightly. “Well, even with assurances, which it seems like you can’t give,” Cam said, “I can’t just let this go.” He had hoped to track down the maggots that attacked Brandon and killed Pegasus, hopefully send them to jail for the rest of their lives. But he couldn’t send ‘certain factions in the Vatican’ to jail. At least in the sex abuse cases, there had been actual predator priests that could be imprisoned. All he could do here was help expose whatever it was they were trying so hard to keep quiet. Hardly a pound of flesh. But better than just walking away. Especially because just walking away wasn’t really an option. He removed Pegasus’ collar from his pocket and twined his fingers through it. “These people are out of control; they need to be stopped. And the best way to do it is to expose their dirty little secrets.”
“It’s not such a little secret, as you know.”
What had he gotten himself, and Amanda, into? He was like the dog chasing the mail truck—what would he do once he caught it? They were doing battle with one of the most powerful entities in world history. “Holy crap,” he breathed.
“Indeed,” the Monsignor Marcotte. “And you need to be very careful not to step in it.”
* * *
Salazar bowed his head in the empty church, crossed himself out of respect for his mother. To be fair, the immaculate conception and resurrection stories were no more outlandish than many Native American myths. In both cases it was all about faith. Which was why he did not want Gloria immersing Rosalita, young and impressionable, in the well of Catholicism. His Narragansett ancestors had almost been exterminated by followers of Jesus Christ. He himself had witnessed the suffering his employers inflicted in the name of Catholicism. And the Church was nearly medieval in its treatment of women.
On the other hand, could two billion Christians be wrong? To be safe, he bowed his head and offered a prayer to the Virgin Mary, asking her to intercede and beseech God to forgive his sins. And if I am not worthy for intercession, I pray you intercede on Rosalita’s behalf. She is innocent and pure. Her hands are not stained in blood as mine are.
Moving to the vestibule, he phoned Reichmann. He had not learned anything in the hour since the priest led Thorne and the girl from the car into the church. Where he took them within the church, and for what purpose, he did not know. But it was best to take credit for this information now, before Reichmann learned of it through other sources. “I found Thorne and the girl. They’re at Saint Catherine’s Church in Westford, with a priest. He’s wearing a robe, like a monsignor.”
“With a priest? I thought you said they were heading north toward Montreal.”
“They were. Then they turned around.”
Reichmann sighed loudly. “Perhaps it is time for me to leave Argentina.” He cleared his throat. “Just so we are clear, Senor Salazar. You are to eliminate Thorne and the girl at the first opportunity.”
* * *
Still sitting around the table in the church basement, they debated Cam and Amanda’s next move.
“I think it’s naïve for us to assume the Legions of Jesus won’t find out you were here,” Marcotte said. “Too many people saw you. So let’s turn it to your advantage a bit.”
“You’re willing to help us?” Cam asked.
“I’ve devoted my life to the Church. And I’ve sworn allegiance to the Holy Father. But I don’t believe the Pope knows anything about this. It’s like in this country—sometimes the CIA or the military do things the President would never authorize and has no idea is going on. My allegiance is to the Pope, not some extreme faction, some cabal, operating out on the fringe.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“So, here’s what I propose. I’ll send a couple of youth counselors back to the Map Stone site to retrieve your Subaru. Once they return, I’ll leave you alone for a moment and you make a show of slipping out and racing away. Then I’ll make a couple of calls, calls that will likely be channeled back to whoever is giving orders to the Legions of Jesus.”
It was a good plan because it hid the fact the Monsignor was helping them. “What will you tell them?”
The Monsignor spread his hands. “Why, the truth, of course. That I tracked you down because I was concerned for your safety. That I warned you to abandon this quest. That you refused and slipped away.” He smiled. “And that you are heading to Nova Scotia because you believe the treasures are buried on Oak Island.”
They weren’t going to Oak Island. “That might buy us a day or two. Thanks.”
“Anything involving Nova Scotia makes the Church nervous. In addition to the Prince Henry connection, in the early 1600s Nova Scotia was called Arcadia, later shortened to Acadia. Mary Magdalene, when she first fled Jerusalem, took refuge in the Greek city of Arcadia before heading to France. So Arcadia, historically, is where the bloodline goes to escape persecution and seek sanctuary. The Church knows there is great meaning in names.”
“How do you know the Arcadia name isn’t just a coincidence?” Cam asked. Not that he believed it himself.
“The explorer Verrazzano, who coined the Arcadia name, made it clear that it was named after the Greek city.”
“But that doesn’t mean the Legions of Jesus will just focus all their attention on Nova Scotia,” Amanda said.
“Agreed. Even if there’s only a small chance this genealogy exists, the extremists will do anything they can to eliminate any risk. The damage to the Church would be cataclysmic. It’s not just about doctrine and dogma and Church teachings. It’s also about credibility and trust—the Vatican has been insisting that the story of Jesus and Mary Magdalene having a child is bunk. If it blows up in their face, their credibility is shot.” He lowered his voice. “Forget the whole infallibility of the Pope thing. They’ll have trouble just getting the parishioners to believe he’s not a buffoon, advised by a bunch of charlatans.”
“That’s a pretty harsh assessment.”
Marcotte shrugged. “It all goes back to not telling the truth in the first place. You look pretty silly when the world proves you wrong. Especially when you’re wearing a cloak of infallibility.”
CHAPTER 8
[Tuesday Evening]
Cam and Amanda ‘escaped’ from Monsignor Marcotte as planned and raced the Subaru north up Route 3 into New Hampshire. At a rest area south of Manchester they made small talk for a few minutes with a woman working the information desk before asking her for directions to Nova Scotia. Reversing course, they exited the highway and headed south back to Massachusetts on smaller, country roads. If the Legions of Jesus were as diligent as the Monsignor expected, they would find the information desk employee.
He sighed. “So, do you trust the Monsignor?”
“I suppose so. He had us in his grasp and let us go. He may have a hidden agenda, but I can’t imagine what it might be.”
“I agree. For now I’m inclined to trust him.”
&nb
sp; “Well, here’s another question: Has he reached the correct conclusion? Do you really reckon the Vatican, or even a fanatical faction, is so bothered by the possibility of a genealogy that it would resort to murder?”
“You don’t?”
“The Monsignor said it would be cataclysmic for the Church if the Sarah legend is proven to be true. I’m not certain I agree. The Catholic Church is built on faith, not reason. None of it—the conception story, Christ’s resurrection, the concept of Communion—is rational.”
“Yeah, but--”
“Let me finish. Since faith is not rational, why should a piece of hard evidence such as a genealogy change people’s faith? It would be like attacking a ghost with a butcher knife. Faith and reason exist on separate spiritual planes.”
“I hear what you’re saying. And maybe a generation ago you might be right. But the sex abuse scandal really changed things, at least in America. Attendance went way down; more importantly from the Church’s perspective, contributions went way down. Some archdiocese had to declare bankruptcy. People are no longer willing to just blindly accept what the Church says.”
“I don’t know, Cameron. There are still tens of millions of active Catholics in the States.”
“Sure there are. But many of them are now questioning the authority of Church leaders for the first time—staging sit-ins to prevent church closings, raising money outside of the Church structure to support local Catholic causes. I really think that’s why The Da Vinci Code was so popular—if it had come out a generation ago nobody would have paid attention to it. But people today are ready to question institutions like their church and their government.”
“I suppose we’ll have to agree to disagree then.”
“You can disagree with me. But I think you’ll agree we should defer to the Monsignor’s judgment on something like this. And he thinks this Legions of Jesus group is after us.”
She took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “I suppose we have no choice but to assume he’s correct. And I will concede that the Church has been known to brutally counter even mild threats.”
Relieved to have found some common ground, Cam opened the window and stuck his hand out to check the temperature. Still mild and no sign of rain. At least the weather was cooperating. “Sorry to do this but I don’t think we can risk checking into a motel tonight. In order to be credible, Monsignor Marcotte had to give a description of our car and license plate number. How do you feel about camping?”
“It all depends. How many sleeping bags do you have?” She arched an eyebrow.
He smiled, not sure how to respond but pleased she wasn’t sulking after their disagreement. He was drawn to her, rash and all. Yet the last few days had been surreal and unique. For both of them. He had participated in a psychology experiment in college in which pairs of people of the opposite sex were placed in stressful, dangerous situations. Many of them developed an intense attraction to one another. Apparently the adrenaline produced by danger caused the same type of physiological changes in body chemistry as did feelings of attraction and love.
A shopping mall appeared ahead, saving him from answering the sleeping bag question directly. “We can grab some supplies here.”
A dozen years ago—heck, a couple of years ago—he would have shared his sleeping bag with Amanda without hesitation. But there was something about her that gave him pause, that made him want to make sure whatever relationship they might end up having rested on a stronger foundation than a shared fear of a Vatican-fringe hit squad.
* * *
While Cam went into the strip mall to purchase supplies, Amanda used his TracFone to ring London on Beatrice’s secure satellite phone. If she and Cam were going to battle Vatican factions, they would need some aid. Perhaps the Consortium could offer it. Cam agreed it was now worth a try.
It was early evening here, nearly midnight in England. Beatrice picked up on the first ring.
“Amanda, are you well? Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick about you.”
“I’m fine. Well, other than nearly being killed by a Vatican-fringe paramilitary group.”
“Pardon?”
“I know it sounds daft. But it seems we’re on the verge of a major discovery involving Prince Henry. And they are intent on stopping us.”
Beatrice was silent for a few seconds. “I think, dear, that I need to advise Mr. Babinaux.” Leopold Babinaux was the Consortium chief, a grandfatherly type who presided over an international shipping empire with thousands of employees. Amanda had only met him a few times; somehow he always recalled her name.
“Very well. Put him on a three-way. I’ll ring you back in five minutes.”
She ended the call, took a deep breath and got out of the car to stretch her legs and get some air. She was both exhausted and more alive than she had been in years.
While waiting she gathered the garbage that had accumulated on the floor of the Subaru, mostly wrappings from the energy bars and peanut butter crackers Cam snacked on to maintain his sugar levels. In all likelihood the diabetes accounted for Cam still being single at 37. Most unmarried men at his age either had commitment issues, were ninnies or were queer. Cam’s only issue seemed to be his diabetes. He had told her that until recently he never expected to live past his thirties, so naturally he dated women like ski-racer-Heidi who couldn’t commit to a serious relationship. It wasn’t as if Amanda was intent on hunting down a husband but it was nice to have finally met a fellow worth the chase.
Humming, she returned from the dumpster, checked her watch and pushed the redial button on her phone. Beatrice picked up on the first ring. “Amanda, I have Mr. Babinaux on a three-way.”
Leopold Babinaux’s tone was kind but grave. “It appears you have been rather engaged, Miss Spencer.” He cleared his throat. “Please recount for us your … adventures.”
She began, describing Cam’s meeting with the Gendrons, the explosion that injured Brandon and the car that tried to run down Cam. “That’s when he and I met. I assume you’ve listened to the tape of our conversation?”
“Yes. Mrs. Yarborough has summarized events until that point. But beyond that, we are in the dark.”
“Yes, well, sorry about that.”
“Not at all,” he said kindly. “But, please, do not spare any details.”
“First, the phone I have is a device called a TracFone. It’s an untraceable mobile we purchased in an electronics store. Is there a possibility they could locate us now via the signal?”
Babinaux consulted with someone in the background and returned to the line. “You are correct to be concerned, but not to worry. You were wise to ring us on the satellite phone. Please continue.”
“When I learned that McLovick had been killed, I didn’t believe Cameron Thorne did it. And if he did not, I reckoned eventually he would find his way to Newport to view the Tower.” She described how someone followed her there, how she and Cam eluded him and escaped again at the highway rest area.
“You are fortunate. I commend your resourcefulness.”
“We reckoned they had tracked us again but it turned out to be Monsignor Marcotte trying to aid us. He believes this all relates to the Jesus bloodline, that some Vatican fanatics fear we’re going to uncover evidence that the story of Sarah is true. A genealogy or some such thing. Which is why they’re trying to stop us.”
Babinaux cleared his throat. “Yes, we have had periodic contact with the Vatican over the years and I would say this Monsignor Marcotte is correct in his assessment. Certain Vatican officials are highly concerned about our efforts to validate the Prince Henry legend. They are not opposed to the legend itself but apparently are afraid of what we might find if we dig too deep—literally and figuratively. I do not know if Prince Henry possessed a genealogy of some kind. But I do know that this is the type of matter the Vatican does not—in fact, cannot—take any chances on. They have informed us in no uncertain terms that they will take whatever action is necessary to prevent us from excavatin
g around any of the Prince Henry sites.”
That explained the Consortium’s hesitancy to dig. “So that is why I rang you up—I need to understand this all better. I need the Consortium’s assistance. I’ve been working for you for over a year but there are many secrets that haven’t been shared with me, information I need to help unravel this mystery.” She took a deep breath. “For example, why did you conceal from me that Prince Henry was the main heir to the Jesus bloodline?”
Beatrice responded. “As we discussed, dear, the protocols are clear on this: We are a self-selecting group. We do not share knowledge; knowledge shares itself with us. We did not conceal anything from you. I have no doubt that at some time you would have made the connections yourself. Be patient—a year really is very little time.”
“Mrs. Yarborough,” Babinaux interjected, “the current circumstances may call for an exception to be made to the protocols. Miss Spencer is in danger, as apparently are some of the Prince Henry sites themselves. I will consult with our senior council. But I can tell you this: It may very well be that the Vatican has more to fear even than the confirmation of the Jesus bloodline through Sarah.”
“More to fear?” Amanda repeated.
“Yes.” He took a deep breath. “I cannot yet give you specific details. But this much I can tell you: You are in grave danger and you must be extra vigilant and extra careful. When threatened, the Church sometimes forgets the teachings of Jesus Christ.”
* * *
Beatrice stayed on the line with Babinaux after Amanda hung up. “Originally I was concerned about Amanda and the solicitor digging and contaminating an important site. But now I feel the dangers are far more grave.”
Cabal of The Westford Knight: Templars at the Newport Tower (Book #1 in the Templars in America Series) Page 17