The Templar's Quest

by C. M. Palov

  Kate made a T with her hands, signalling a time-out. ‘Back up a moment. What’s the Montségur Medallion?’

  ‘That’s the name of the Al-Qanawat relic. And the Seven is convinced that I have this Montségur Medallion. That’s why they had an assassin called the Dark Angel murder two Delta troopers from my old outfit and make it look like I killed ’em. Earlier today, a couple of CID agents showed up at the Pentagon and accused me of doing just that.’

  Closing his eyes, Finn massaged his sockets with his thumb and middle finger, envisioning the glossy 8 x 10 crime scene photos that the two CID agents had shown to him. He didn’t particularly want those images floating around inside his head. It made him think about the horror, the sheer agony, that his two friends endured before the final coup de grâce.

  He opened his eyes. Then shook his head to clear the gory images from his mind’s eye.

  To his surprise, Kate placed her hand on his forearm. ‘I’m sorry about what happened to your comrades.’

  ‘Yeah, me too. I loved them both like brothers,’ he told her, man enough to own up to his feelings. Still grappling with the brutal slaying, he was grateful for the condolence.

  Removing her hand, Kate said, ‘I’m confused … why did the Seven frame you for murder?’

  ‘They framed me for murder to force my hand. To get me to turn over the relic to them. According to the dead French dude, they’ve got DNA evidence that will prove my innocence. And to sweeten the deal, Jutier offered me a sign-up bonus of one million dollars.’

  ‘But why, after offering you all that money, would Fabius Jutier turn around and kill himself?’

  Finn shrugged. ‘I have no friggin’ idea.’

  Snatching a plaid throw blanket from the arm of the sofa, Kate wrapped it around her shoulders. ‘I’ll be honest with you, Finn, it’s an outrageous story. And, quite frankly, I’m having a hard time believing that these murders took place because some group erroneously thinks you have a gold relic in your –’

  ‘I never said that I didn’t have the Montségur Medallion.’ As he spoke, Finn undid the top three buttons on his shirt. Slipping a finger under the ribbed collar of his undershirt, he pulled out the heavy-ass chain and medallion.

  Eyes opening wide, Kate slumped against the sofa. ‘Oh, my God.’

  15

  ‘I suspect this is quite valuable,’ Kate remarked, still stunned that Finn had been hiding the Montségur Medallion on his person.

  ‘Worth a decent chunk, given the price of gold.’ Holding the pendant by its heavy chain, Finn slowly swung it back and forth.

  ‘That’s not what I meant.’ Kate blinked several times in rapid succession, breaking free of the relic’s hypnotic allure. ‘The value of the metal, in and of itself, wouldn’t account for the Seven’s deadly fanaticism. An educated guess? These engraved images that decorate the medallion are what they’re really after.’

  One side of Finn’s mouth turned down dismissively. ‘Bunch of old symbols. Big whup.’

  A trained cultural anthropologist, Kate knew that symbols were an encoding system employed by all cultures. Depicted literally in art and expressed figuratively in myth, symbols communicated man’s relationship to the world around him.

  ‘May I?’ She held out her hand. Finn obliged the request, passing the medallion to her.

  One did not have to be a trained cultural anthropologist to know that there was a hidden meaning contained within the ‘old symbols’, as Finn had dismissively referred to them.

  ‘Because an X divides the medallion into four different quadrants, I’m not sure if the symbols are meant to be read separately or as in integrated whole. What I do know is that these are symbols used in almost every culture of the world. The sun, as the eye of the world, symbolizes enlightenment. The moon refers to the dark side of nature.’

  ‘Or the passage of time.’ When she glanced at Finn, he shrugged. ‘You know, moon tides and lunar calendars.’

  ‘Or the passage of time,’ Kate iterated, his observation very much on the mark. ‘Stars usually designate the presence of some divinity.’

  ‘Like the crown of stars on top of the Virgin Mary’s head.’

  She nodded, that being as good an example as any. ‘As for the four strangely shaped “A”s, I haven’t a clue. Perhaps they’re a reference to the Four Ages of man or the four classical elements of air, water, earth and fire. Regardless, all of these symbols are prosaic to an extreme. As you said, big whup. Which leads me to the medallion’s flipside –’ she turned the pendant over and showed him the three lines of engraved text. ‘I suspect that this inscription is what the Seven deems valuable.’

  Finn’s head jerked. ‘The rat bastards killed my two buddies because of that?’

  ‘Possibly,’ she hedged.

  ‘Okay, what the hell does it say?’

  ‘I have no idea. However, I’m fairly certain that the last line is written in medieval Latin. I don’t recognize the language used for the first two lines. Clearly, the message was crafted to withstand the ages.’ She tapped the relic with her index finger for emphasis.

  ‘No kidding. Someone would have to melt this sucker to erase the inscription. So how is it that you know so much about symbols?’

  ‘My, um, PhD is in cultural anthropology.’

  His brows noticeably lifted. ‘You’re a bona fide doctor? Are you shitting me?’

  ‘ “Yes” to the first question, “no” to the second. However, I rarely use the title.’ Hard-earned though those three letters were, when she left the world of academia two years ago and ventured beyond the ivory tower, she discovered that her title was off-putting. ‘I’m curious – why did you keep the medallion? Were you planning to sell it on the black market?’ she asked, purposefully changing the subject.

  Leaning against the tufted sofa, Finn crossed his arms over his chest. ‘You don’t think very highly of me, do you, Doc? Actually, I kept it so no one else could sell the damned thing on the black market. My Delta team was sent into a very dangerous situation under false pretences. Put into harm’s way to retrieve a gold trinket so some higher-up could have a nice payday. I held on to the medallion hoping it would force the crooked bastards out of the woodwork so they could be prosecuted.’ Grim-faced, his chin dipped to his chest. But not before Kate glimpsed the stark grief that glimmered in his eyes. ‘I just never thought they’d kill my buddies to get the damned medallion.’

  All in all, an unexpected confession. One that bespoke a noble intent. A virtue Kate didn’t necessarily associate with the foul-mouthed commando sitting across from her.

  ‘All right, now what?’ She carefully set the golden relic on the coffee table.

  ‘Now I track down the assassin who executed Dixie and Johnny K.’

  ‘Have you considered relinquishing the medallion to the Seven in order to clear –’

  ‘Don’t even go there,’ Finn interjected, rudely cutting her off in mid-sentence. ‘This medallion is the only leverage I have. As long as it’s in my possession, I’ve got a chance of getting Dixie and Johnny K the justice they deserve. Just so you know, they were the bravest of the brave. The guys who went in under the cover of night to take out a dangerous threat so that you and everybody else in this country can sleep safely at night. They didn’t deserve to die the way they did. Which is why I will find the sadistic shit who tortured them to death and I will make him pay.’

  The vehemence in his voice sent a chill down Kate’s spine. ‘An eye for eye? Is that what you mean?’

  Hearing that, Finn snorted derisively. ‘I’ve killed enough men in the line of duty to know you don’t gain a whole lot of satisfaction from pulling the trigger. I’m talking about hauling the Dark Angel into a court of law so that he can be tried and sentenced. More than anything else, I want him to be publicly held to account for slaying two American heroes.’

  ‘What if you can’t find him?’ she countered, thinking it might prove a difficult, if not impossible, challenge. ‘Other than his cryptic
nom de guerre, you don’t know anything about the killer.’

  Getting up from the sofa, Finn snatched her coffee mug and walked over to the kitchenette that was located a few feet away. ‘Actually, I do know one other thing about the killer,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘The fact that Jutier went to such lengths to protect his identity makes me think that the Dark Angel is one of ’em.’

  ‘You mean a member of the Seven rather than a paid assassin?’ When he nodded, Kate followed up by saying, ‘Fabius Jutier’s tattoo may provide a clue. Do you mind if I have a look at the digital photograph?’

  Finn unhooked the cell phone from his waistband and scrolled through the log. Walking back to the sofa, he handed her the device. ‘Any idea what it means?’

  Trying to ignore the fact that she was staring at a photo of a corpse, she examined the disturbing tattoo. ‘While I’m not a rune expert, I know that in the ancient Norse poems, runes were considered a magical talisman, capable of bringing the dead back to life. And during the Third Reich, there were a number of occult groups that used runes in their rituals. That said, the runes suggest that Fabius Jutier was involved in some type of esoteric Nazism.’

  ‘I take it that’s different from the goose-stepping variety?’

  ‘Different in that esoteric Nazism was, and still is, a pseudo-religious belief. While my knowledge of the Nazi movement is rudimentary, I do know that during the nineteen thirties and forties, esoteric Nazis were obsessed with finding sacred objects d’art such as the relics of the Bible, medieval icons and Egyptian artefacts. It’s well documented that they sent archaeology teams all over Europe and the Middle East.’

  ‘Yeah, I saw the movie,’ Finn deadpanned. ‘But instead of the Ark of the Covenant, our bad guys are looking for the Montségur Medallion.’

  ‘So it would seem.’

  Finn headed towards the dinette table situated on the other side of the living room. ‘I’m gonna try to hack into Frenchie’s computer. There might be something on it that I can use to track down the Seven.’

  ‘Um, count me out,’ she demurred.

  Kate set the cell phone on the coffee table next to the medallion. The sudden motion cost her, the pain radiating up her spine and across her shoulders. Somewhat gingerly, she rose to her feet, only to teeter precariously to one side. Feeling like a shipwrecked woman washed ashore, she kicked off her shoes and limped over to the window.

  Although she knew it was a pointless exercise, she pulled the dun-brown drapery to one side, needing to verify that the world still turned on its figurative axis. In the distance, the white spire of the Washington Monument gleamed theatrically, lit from below with giant floodlights. Directly across the river was the Pentagon.

  God, what I wouldn’t give to put back the clock. Since Finn McGuire had unexpectedly got into her car at the Pentagon, her life had become a surreal blur of events. Elegant embassy party. Dead man with bizarre tattoo. High-speed chase. Armed assailants. And the capstone, a bomb blast that destroyed her home.

  And wasn’t that a bitter irony?

  After her infant son died, she lost the will to live, feeling as though someone had driven a railroad spike through her heart, pinning her to the tracks. Except the train never came to take her out of her misery. And then, one morning, she woke up and for the first time in nearly two years she could hear the birds chirping outside the window. Could feel the sun on her face. Could taste the sweetness of sugar in her coffee. Small everyday moments that most people take for granted. The fact that she experienced an instant’s joy in them made her realize that she wanted to live. To make that clichéd fresh start.

  And just when she’d decided to return to the land of the living, some group called the Seven decided that they wanted her dead.

  Thank God she’d had the foresight to create a digital photo album with all of Sammy’s pictures, the CD in her safe deposit box at the bank. She could bear losing the contents of her house, but not that. Those were the only memories that truly counted.

  And I can only savour those cherished memories if I stay alive.

  Pensively staring out of the window, Kate could feel the onslaught of emotion about to rear its ugly head. So many ugly heads. So many crashing fears and colliding thoughts. Keep running. Don’t stop. If you do, they will hunt you down and kill you.

  After the 1941 attack on Pearl Harbor, Japanese Americans were forcibly rounded up and interned in ‘War Relocation Camps’. Refusing to be separated from her husband, Kate’s grandmother accompanied her husband Yoshiro Tanaka when he was loaded on to the train bound for the Manzanar Camp. She was the only Caucasian in the internment facility other than the military police who guarded the compound. Like so many thousands of loyal Americans of Japanese descent, in the blink of an eye her grandparents lost their home, their livelihood and their community. She’d often wondered how they survived the shock of having their lives pulled out from under them. Now she knew.

  You just put one foot in front of the other and keep on trudging.

  Ready to trudge forward, Kate let the curtain fall back into place. Peering over her shoulder, she stared contemplatively at the man seated at the table.

  Finn McGuire was the last person she ever thought she’d turn to for help. The fact that she had to turn to anyone made her acutely uncomfortable. After her husband’s hideous betrayal, trust didn’t come easy to her, although she sensed that Sergeant McGuire was loyal to a fault when it came to his brothers-in-arms.

  Even though I don’t know him, I can trust him to keep me alive.

  That might be the only thing that she could trust him with. So be it. She needed a bodyguard, not a lifetime companion. And though nervous about spending an extended amount of time with a man she barely knew, the other option – going it alone – would be a death sentence.

  16

  ‘So, how are we coming along with computer hacking?’

  ‘I was able to get on to Jutier’s desktop, but I can’t access any of his personal files without a password,’ Finn muttered, surprised by Kate’s sudden interest.

  ‘Mind if I have a look?’

  ‘Help yourself. Although I didn’t peg you for the type who approved of computer hacking.’ Particularly given the stink she raised when he snatched the laptop from Jutier’s office.

  Sitting down at a dinette chair, Kate swivelled the computer in her direction. ‘Since you’re locked out of Jutier’s files, it’s technically not hacking. I just want to take a quick peek at his desktop. You know. Curiosity. The cat.’ As soon as she said it, she winced. ‘How weird is that? We’ve been in each other’s company for only a few hours and I’m already starting to sound like you.’

  ‘Just as long as you don’t start looking like me.’

  ‘God forbid.’ As she said it, Kate’s gaze dropped to his right hand. An instant later, evidently realizing what she’d done, she glanced away.

  ‘Luckily, the Syrian who pulled the trigger was a lousy shot. All he got was my finger,’ Finn told her, trying to put a nonchalant spin on a potentially awkward moment.

  ‘Does it ever hurt?’ she asked.

  Usually those kind of questions pissed the shit out of him, but for some reason he found Kate’s earnest expression oddly endearing.

  ‘Nah, it doesn’t hurt,’ he lied. ‘Although I can forecast when it’s going to rain.’ Because that’s when it hurt like a mother.

  From time to time, Finn still caught himself about to scratch his nose, rub an eye or press a keypad with his absentee index finger. As much as he wished the amputation hadn’t happened, he tried to look on the bright side – he could still flip someone the bird. And, hell, it wasn’t like he’d had his Johnson blown off. Luckily for him, that appendage worked just fine. Sometimes a little too fine.

  He shot Kate an appraising glance.

  High cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes, silky black hair and a wide nose gave her a slightly Asian look. Kinda exotic, actually. Which made the freckles that dotted those high cheekbones totally unexpe
cted. Same with the eye colour; not quite grey, not quite blue. More like a muddy mix of the two.

  As he continued to stare at the woman seated next to him, Finn wondered what would have happened if they’d gone on a ‘regular date’. To the movies. Followed by a bite to eat. At that new Thai restaurant over in Rosslyn. Afterwards, they would have strolled along the canal before he took her home. It would have been a given that he’d kiss her goodnight at the front door. And, if the vibe was right, she might have invited him inside for a cup of coffee. If the vibe was really right, the coffee would’ve been served the next morning. As perfect as a date can get.

  Nice daydream. Except they’d had a different kind of date. Not to mention that it was hard to kiss a lady at the front door when she no longer had a front door. Or even a house, for that matter.

  Jesus! She must think I’m a real bastard.

  For some reason, that thought bothered him.

  ‘Don’t call retreat just yet,’ Kate suddenly announced, tapping a fingertip against the laptop screen. ‘Here’s Jutier’s Day Planner. Hopefully, we won’t need a password to open it.’

  ‘I can’t imagine the French dude would have been stupid enough to schedule Dixie and Johnny K’s murder, but yeah, go ahead, let’s have a look-see.’

  Kate’s fingers deftly moved across the keyboard.

  ‘I’m in.’ She opened the calendar for the month of August. ‘There’s tonight’s reception. Tomorrow morning, August third, he has a ten o’clock manicure scheduled. Later in the day, he’s playing a round of golf at the Congressional Country Club.’

  ‘I didn’t know Frenchmen could play golf,’ Finn snickered. ‘And the thought that he was going to have his nails done ahead of time is more than this beer-swigging soldier can handle. Pass me the Freedom Fries on the double-quick.’

  Ignoring him, Kate continued to read aloud from the calendar. ‘The day after that, he’s booked on Air France Flight 039. And, the following day, August fifth at eleven o’clock, he’s scheduled to attend –’ Kate grinned excitedly – ‘ “une réunion du sept ”.’