The Last Templar ts-1

by Raymond Khoury

  As she approached the small cluster of houses at Marathounda, she took off her cardigan and wrapped it around the small pouch. The two fishermen had already left the taverna, but she got one of the men there who recognized her from earlier that day to drive her back to the doctor's house.

  As she stepped inside, Mavromaras greeted her with a big smile. "Where have you been? We've been looking for you." Before she could rattle off some lie, he was herding her deeper into the house, toward the bedrooms. "Come, quickly. Someone wants to see you."

  ***

  Reilly was looking at her, his breathing mask gone, a valiant attempt at a smile on his dried lips. He was sitting up at a slight angle, propped up against three large pillows. She felt something shift inside her.

  "Hey," Reilly said, weakly.

  "Hey yourself," she answered, relief breaking across her face. She felt uplifted in a way she'd never experienced before. She turned and, trying not to attract Eleni or the doctor's attention to it, laid the 201

  bundled cardigan casually on a small cabinet facing the bed, before approaching Reilly and stroking his forehead softly. Her eyes moved over his bruised face and she caught her lower lip with her teeth, feeling some tears welling up.

  "It's great to have you back," she managed in a small voice.

  He shrugged, his face brightening slowly. "From now on, I choose where we go on vacation, all right?"

  Her face lit up, and she was unable to stop a tear from trickling down. "You got it." She turned, her moist eyes beaming at the doctor and his wife. "Thank you," she mouthed. They just smiled and nodded. "I—we both owe you our lives. How can I ever repay you?"

  "Nonsense," Mavromaras replied. "We have a saying in Greek. Den hriazete euhnristo, kathikon mou. It means there's no thanks necessary for what is a duty." He glanced at Eleni, exchanging an unspoken signal. "We'll leave you," he said softly. "I'm sure you have a lot to talk about."

  Tess watched them turn to leave, then hurried up to the doctor and gave him a hug, kissing him on both cheeks. Blushing through his tan, Mavromaras smiled modestly and stepped out of the room, leaving them alone.

  As she turned to move back to Reilly's bedside, she spotted the bundled cardigan that sat there on the cabinet like an unexploded bomb. She felt awful at being deceitful, both to the generous couple who had saved her life and to Reilly. She desperately wanted to tell him about it, but she knew the timing wasn't right.

  Soon,though.

  With a heavy heart, she summoned up a smile and joined him at his bedside.

  ***

  Reilly felt like he'd been away for weeks. He felt an odd, stinging numbness in his muscles, and there was a dizziness in his head that just hung there. One of his eyelids was still partially shut, and the uneven depth perception wasn't helping either.

  He didn't remember much, beyond shooting De Angelis and hurling himself into the sea. He'd asked Mavromaras how he'd gotten there, and the doctor could only give him the sketchy details he had heard from Tess. Still, waking up and finding out that she was there, and in one piece, was a huge relief.

  He tried raising himself carefully into a sitting position, and it brought a slight wince of pain onto his face. He settled back against the pillows.

  "So how did we end up here?" he asked.

  He listened as Tess told him what she remembered. She also had a black hole in her memory from the freak wave to waking up on the beach. She told him about the hit he took to the head, how she'd strapped their life jackets together, and about the wave. She told him about the hatch cover and showed him the deep cut on her arm. She wanted to know why the Coast Guard vessel fired on them, and Reilly told her about his journey from the moment De Angelis had stepped out of the helicopter in Turkey.

  "I'm sorry," she said contritely, when it finally came up. "I don't know what came over me. I don't know, it was just—I must have been out of my mind, leaving you there like that. This whole mess, it's just ..." She couldn't find the words to express her remorse.

  "It's okay," he countered, a faint smile crossing his cracked lips. "Let's not talk about it now. We both made it, and that's the main thing, isn't it?"

  She nodded reluctantly, beaming her appreciation, and he continued, explaining how it had been the monsignor all along, killing the horsemen in New York, even manning the gun himself on board the Karadeniz. He told her how he had shot De Angelis.

  And then he told her about Cardinal Brugnone's revelations.

  ****

  Tess felt a huge pang of guilt when Reilly took her through what had been revealed to him at the Vatican. The monumental truth about what she had found on the beach, confirmed to him by the very people it stood to harm the most, had electrified every pore on her body, but she couldn't show it. She did her best to appear stunned, asking questions, hating herself more and more with every fake reaction. She wanted to whip out the codex and share it with him right there and then. But she couldn't do it. A deep-set unease was etched across his face, and she knew that what Brugnone had told him, the lie at the heart of the Church, was a wound that had to be hurting. There was no way she was going to inflict the finality of its physical proof on him this soon. Right now, she wasn't even sure if or when she could ever do it. He needed time. She needed time, too, to think things through.

  "Are you gonna be okay?" she asked hesitantly.

  He stared into the distance for a moment, his face clouding as he obviously struggled to put his feelings into words.

  "It's weird, but this whole thing, Turkey, the Vatican, the storm . . . it just feels like a bad dream.

  Maybe I'm too drugged up or something, but . . . I'm sure it'll hit home at some point. Right now, I'm so tired, I just feel completely drained, but I don't know how much of it is physical and how much of it is something else."

  Tess scrutinized his weary face. No, now was definitely not the right time to tell him about it.

  "Vance and De Angelis got what they deserved," she said instead, brightening, "and you're alive.

  There's cause for faith in that, isn't there?"

  "Maybe," he half-smiled, unconvincingly.

  * * *

  Reilly's eyes moved over her face, and, although nodding off to sleep, he found himself thinking about the future. It wasn't something he had ever really thought about, and it surprised him to have it cross his mind now, here, barely alive on this distant shore.

  For a fleeting moment, he questioned whether or not he wanted to go on being an FBI agent. He had always liked being with the Bureau, but this case had cut deep. For the first time ever, he felt tired of the life he had chosen, tired of spending his days thrashing around inside the heads of demented lowlifes, tired of experiencing the worst the planet had to offer. He wondered idly if a career change might help restore his appreciation for life—maybe even his faith in mankind.

  He felt his eyelids drooping.

  "Sorry," he barely managed, "I think we'll have to save this till later."

  ****

  Tess watched Reilly sink into a deep sleep and felt exhausted herself.

  She thought about what he had joked about, about choosing vacations. It brought a smile to her face, and she shook her head lightly. She mused that a vacation was just what she needed, and she knew exactly where she would take it. All at once, Arizona seemed like heaven. She decided she would go straight there. She couldn't even conceive of going back to the office. Just change planes in New York and go see her daughter. And if Guiragossian and anyone else at the Institute didn't like it, then to hell with them.

  It suddenly occurred to her that there were lots of interesting things for an archaeologist to do in the southwestern states, and she remembered that Phoenix had a world-class museum. Then she glanced at Reilly. Chicago born and raised, New Yorker by adoption, obviously addicted to being right in the thick of it. She wondered if he could ever give it all up and trade it in for a quiet life in a desert state. And somehow, quite suddenly, that seemed to matter. A lot. Maybe more than anythi
ng else.

  Stepping out onto the balcony of his room, Tess looked up at the stars in the sky, remembering the night that she and Reilly had been alone at the campsite on the way to the lake. The island was quiet even during the daytime, but at night it became ethereally peaceful. She was acutely aware of the stillness and quiet. There might be nights like this in Arizona, but not in New York. She thought about Reilly, wondering what he would say and do if she did quit the Manoukian Institute and moved to Arizona. Maybe she would ask him sometime.

  Looking out over the glimmering sea, she considered what to do about the codex. It was undoubtedly one of the most important archaeological and religious finds of all time and one with staggering ramifications for hundreds of millions of people. To announce the find would make her the most famous member of her profession since the discoveries at the Great Pyramids in Egypt almost eighty years ago. But what would it do to the rest of the world?

  She wanted to talk to someone about it.

  She needed to talk to Reilly about it.

  She frowned inwardly, realizing that she had to do it, and soon. But right now, he needed rest, and so did she. She thought of going to her own bed but went back inside and curled up beside Reilly.

  She closed her eyes and very soon, she too was drifting off to sleep.

  Chapter 84

  The next few days drifted by in a daze. Tess would spend time with Reilly in the morning before going out for long walks, returning by lunchtime. Late in the afternoon, she would venture out again, usually up to the castle ruins from where she would watch the sun melt into the shimmering Aegean waters. She loved that part of her day the most. Sitting there in quiet reflection with the scent of sage and chamomile wafting down from the hillside, she found the idyllic setting among the rocks somewhat reassuring, a bit of respite from the small bundle in her room that was preying on her mind at all times.

  She'd met a lot of people during her walks, locals who were never short of a smile for her and always had enough time for a small chat. By the third day, she had explored most of the small streets and pathways of the town and had started venturing further. To the pastoral soundtrack of donkey guffaws and goat bells, she would explore the hidden corners of the island. She had taken a long walk to the tiny islet of San Emilianos, where she'd meandered among the icons of its whitewashed church and wandered along the pebbly beach, gazing forlornly at the sea urchins that lined the rocks below its waterline. She'd also visited the sprawling monastery at Panormitis where, to her surprise, she'd met three Athenian businessmen in their early forties who were staying in its stark guest rooms and who had told her they were there for a few days of rest and contemplation and what they had intriguingly termed "renewal." In fact, it was virtually impossible to get away from the Church's presence on the island. The churches were the focal point of its villages, and, like all Greek islands, Symi had dozens of tiny chapels scattered across virtually every hilltop. No matter where you were, there was always a reminder of the Church's influence within sight, and yet, oddly, it didn't feel oppressive to Tess. Far from it. It seemed an organic, intrinsic part of the island's life, a magnet that drew its inhabitants closer and gave them comfort and strength.

  Reilly's condition was improving all the time. His breathing was much less strained, the puffiness in his lips and around his eyes had subsided, and the waxy pallor had gone from his cheeks. He was now walking around the house, and that morning he had said they couldn't stay hidden away from the rest of the world forever. Now that he was up to it, he would need to make arrangements for their return. Leaving the house with what felt like the weight of the world on her shoulders, Tess knew that she would soon have to confront the issue and discuss with him what she'd found.

  She had spent the rest of the morning back at Marathounda, where she'd retrieved die chest that had held die codex, and was presently walking up to the doctor's house when she bumped into the two women who had brought her the food and clothing. They were coming out of the small church and were clearly delighted to see her. They told her they had heard the news about Reilly's recovery and hugged her warmly, gesticulating and nodding in unison to express their heartfelt relief. Their husbands were also with them. The men shook hands with her, their faces beaming with sympathy and relief, before the foursome trundled off, waving back with bright smiles and leaving Tess standing there, watching them, lost in her thoughts.

  And that's when it finally sank in. The realization that had been clamoring at her from deep within for days, the confusing feeling that had overcome the instincts of a cynical lifetime, but that she was still denying. Until now.

  I can't do it to them.

  Not to them, not to millions of others like them. The thought had been preying on her mind, day and night, since she'd found the codex. Everyone she had met in the last few days, all the people who had been nothing but unreservedly kind and generous to her. This was about them. All of them, and countless others throughout the world.

  This could wreck their lives.

  The thought suddenly made her sick to her stomach. If the Church can inspire people to live like that, to give like that, particularly in this day and age, she thought, then it must be doing something right. It has to be worth preserving. What did it matter if it was based on a story that embellished the truth? Is it even possible to create something with such a phenomenal power to inspire, she wondered, without straying outside the strict confines of the real world?

  Standing there, watching the two couples walk away and melt back into their lives, she couldn't believe she'd even contemplated any other option.

  She knew she couldn't do it.

  But she also knew she couldn't avoid telling Reilly any longer.

  ***

  That evening, after avoiding him for most of the afternoon, she led him up to the castle ruins. She held onto his hand with a sweaty palm, her other arm tightly gripped around a small bundle that was wrapped in the cardigan. The sun was almost gone, and the sky was now gleaming with a light, pinkish haze as it held the last of the day's light.

  She placed the bundle on a partially collapsed wall and turned to Reilly. She found it hard to meet his look, and her mouth felt dry.

  "I . . ." All of a sudden, she wasn't sure anymore. What if she just hid it, ignored it, and never mentioned it to him? Wouldn't he be better off not knowing, especially given what happened to his father? Wouldn't she be doing him a favor by never bringing up the fact that she had found it, seen it, touched it?

  No. Much as she would have liked to do that, she knew it would be a mistake. She didn't ever want to be less than truthful with him again. She'd already done enough of that for a lifetime. Deep down, she was hoping that, despite everything, she and Reilly could have a future together, and she knew it would be impossible for them to grow closer with such a huge unspoken lie between them.

  She was suddenly aware of the intense stillness around her. The sparrows she had heard earlier were silent now, as if in sympathy with the moment. She steeled herself and tried again. "I've been wanting to tell you something for a few days, I really wanted to, but I needed to wait until you were well enough."

  Reilly looked at her uncertainly. She knew her unease was obvious. "What is it?"

  Tess felt her insides seizing into a tight knot and simply said, "I need to show you something." She then turned and peeled off the layers of the cardigan, exposing the codex tucked inside its folds.

  A fleeting glance of surprise crossed Reilly's features before he lifted his gaze and studied her. After what felt like an eternity to her, he asked, "Where'd you find it?"

  She couldn't say the words fast enough, relieved to get it all off her chest at last. "The falcon was washed up on a beach a couple of bays down from where we were found. The lift bags were still attached to it."

  She watched as Reilly examined its leathery cover before taking it carefully into his hands and glancing at one of the pages inside. "It's amazing. It just looks so . . . basic." He turned to Tess.
>
  "The language. Can you read it?"

  "No. I can just tell that it's Aramaic."

  "Which I'm guessing is the right language, the one it should be in."

  She nodded uneasily. "It is."

  He just stared absently at the ancient binder, his mind locked in thought, his eyes surveying every inch of its cover. "So what do you think? Is it real?"

  "I don't know. It definitely looks the part, but you can't really tell without sending it to a lab—there are many tests we'd have to run on it: carbon dating, analyzing the composition of the paper and the ink, checking for calligraphic consistency ..." She paused and drew a nervous breath. "Only here's the thing, Sean. I don't think we should send it to a lab. I don't think we should have anyone run tests on it."

  He cocked his head, thrown. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean, I think we should just forget we ever found it," she stated emphatically. "We should burn the damn thing and just—"

  "—and just what?" he countered. "Act like it never existed? We can't do that. If it's not real, if this is some Templar forgery or some other hoax, then there's nothing to worry about. If it is real, well then . . ." He frowned, his voice trailing off.

  "Then no one should ever know about it," she insisted. "God, I wish I hadn't told you about this."

  Reilly looked at her, perplexed. "Am I missing something here? Whatever happened to 'the people deserve to know'?"

  "I was wrong. I don't think it matters anymore." Tess heaved a ponderous sigh. "You know, for as long as I can remember, I could only see what was wrong with the Church. The bloody history, the greed, the archaic dogma, the intolerance, the scandals of abuse ... So much of it has become such a joke. I still think a lot of it could use one hell of an overhaul, without a doubt. But then, nothing's perfect, is it? And if you look at what it does when it works, when you think about the compassion and the generosity it inspires . . . That's where the real miracle lies."