by Athanasios
“What is it that troubles you the most, Quentin? That I am a Mason or that I pushed to remove others when we were before the pope?” Bernhardt asked, voicing the true nature of Quentin’s confusion.
“Both,” he blurted out. “You are not fit to be in our church, let alone our order, and you are definitely not fit to lead it,” Quentin exclaimed.
“Seneschal, you are an full Templar. You have done things and taken oaths that initiates would consider Satanic, or at least anti-Christian. Every Grand Master since 1312 has known what you’re now learning. Rest easy and listen to these two as they educate you. Brother Caldwell, please continue.” The Grand Master had stripped down his Seneschal and now it was trying to build a new Quentin on the remaining foundation.
“Brother Quentin, we have infiltrated the highest offices of the Papacy and installed our own Pope. In truth, the previous Pope was sympathetic, but fell prey to a weak conscience and an even weaker heart. Blessed John was an ally. He believed in a one-world government under papal rule, while we have contended that religion stifles free speech and expression. To a degree, our goals were common, so we helped each other.”
Caldwell jumped back as Quentin emerged from his stupor and lashed out with an accusation, fueled by the bile building inside him. “Your goal was the final ascension of Satan, himself, you son of a bitch!” The Templar bounded up, snatched a Second Crusade battle sword and sprang at Caldwell, who ran for the door behind him. The whisper of drawn steel behind him stopped Quentin just as much as the bellowed voice — a voice to which he had answered in many battles and violent confrontations.
“Seneschal Quentin! Drop that weapon!” For years, the Grand Master was the supreme swordsman of the Templars. Even so, Quentin turned and leveled a swipe at his side though Hapsburg parried with ease. He carried the blow down to the ground, using his own cross-guard to force Quentin’s to the floor. As the sword touched its flat on the heavy oak planks, the Grand Master’s foot came down and broke the blade, just above the cross-guard.
“Quentin that was a priceless relic! You blundering oaf! You live because I’m at the limit of patience with you. Now, sit down before I run out of patience completely!” The Grand Master knocked his Seneschal back into his seat with a backward blow of his fist and swung around as the doors burst open and the sentries entered. “It’s alright, brothers. Seneschal Quentin was just giving me a surprise test of readiness. Thank you, Tino.” Quentin nodded and held what felt like a broken jaw from Hapsburg’s backhand. “Thank you brothers, please leave us to our discussion.” As the sentries closed the doors behind them Caldwell sat down in his chair and the Grand Master fell into his. “I’m getting too old for this Quentin, and so are you.”
“Well, what do you want from me?” Quentin asked. “I’m told of things about which I can do nothing. Each new fact sickens me more.”
“Quentin, Brother Quentin, the entire time you have known me as fellow adept, Turcopolier, Commander, Seneschal and now rightful Grand Master, have you ever had cause to doubt my conviction about our ideals? We are fulfilling a plan that began with our inclusion more than 500 years ago. Everyone above the rank of Sergeant knows we continued in secrecy within the Roman ranks. Only the Grand Master knew better.” He got up and went to a portrait, motioning for Quentin and the two Masons to join him.
“Jacques de Molay, and the Seneschals who gave their lives to appease anyone watching, had already made plans to continue the order.” He stepped forward and replaced the sword he used to parry with Quentin. “Mr. Caldwell, please continue.”
As soon as everyone was seated again, and Quentin had fallen into a calm born of exhaustion, Caldwell continued. “We have been working with the Vatican, but also with the Luciferians. They believe we will deliver the world to their Lucifer at the Availing Time. As your Grand Master is already aware, we will not.” Caldwell stopped and let Mr. Russell continue.
“In all of our overt alliances over the centuries, our goal has remained the same. We are that into which the Templars have evolved. It is no accident that money handling made us so successful and envied, or that we have survived in the nation that still does this work.”
“Switzerland?” Quentin said, baffled. “You can’t be serious.”
“Father Quentin, we have survived by remaining invisible. We’ve been behind history’s major and minor upheavals,” Russell explained.
“Strictly in terms of economics, you know that before 1312, we were without equal. Now, we are entrenched even deeper. There is no nation, corporation, wealthy individual or family, who do not have numbered Swiss accounts.” The Grand Master nodded to Mr. Caldwell and Russell.
“So, why are you telling me all this?” Quentin, still reeling from shock. “You already have more than enough resources and people working for your cause. You already own every government, corporation, bank and powerful family in the world. Why are you talking about the Availing Time? It sounds like you already have it and have had it for centuries.” Quentin couldn’t stand to hear more about how powerful they were. “I believe you. Congratulations, you have pulled off the most incredible heist in human history. You have, little by little, fraction by fraction, stolen the entire world.”
“It would appear so, Father, but this is not the case. There are others, powerful enough to defeat us. If we were to press our advantage now, we would plunge the world into cataclysm, with nothing for anyone. Both the Catholics and Luciferians have a lot of fight left in them,” Russell said.
“It is not enough to take over the world, Father Quentin. We want to be unopposed. We want it to be ready, willing and compliant.” Caldwell finished with a quickening of breath, which added a sexual creepiness, unexpected in all the intrigue discussed.
“Yes, Seneschal Quentin, we do have control over the Catholics, and the Luciferians believe they have control over them through our Mason brothers,” Bernhardt continued. “It’s an area on which we don’t need to concentrate full attention. The situation we need to look after is one that has been plaguing us for ten years now. Since 1962, when they lost their Messiah and Supreme Tribunal, the Luciferians have been useless.
“We are now able to rectify the situation,” Russell continued. “A member of an old family wanted the power the boy had. He relocated his birth to a different location and took him from there.”
“Kostadino Paleologos will be dealt with. He turned on the Engineer’s Plan. Though this boy is another matter we’ll have to deal with,” Bernhardt added. “He is the prophesied savior of evil: their Christ. The Nobility will decide soon enough. Until then, he’ll live.” He stopped and thought for a moment before continuing.
“H.W. told me the Luciferians have sent a party to reclaim him. How they found him, I’ll never know. Accompanying this party is Albert Pike, he is a Luciferian and goes with reverence for the boy. We’ll send our own people to take the boy.”
“Grand Master, why not just let them take him? We know where he’ll be and they’ll never be the wiser until the time is right. If we go against them now, we’ll tip our hand too soon,” Russell proposed.
“That is a sound theory, Mr. Russell, however, we cannot let them have this boy. The balance of power will shift too far in favor of the Luciferians. Despite the precariousness of the mission, we’ll have to take him ourselves. When they discover that we’ve been working our own cause all along, it will fall upon our liaisons to mediate a truce. That will be difficult indeed,” Grand Master Bernhardt replied, but was cut short by Quentin’s scoffing.
“By all that’s holy, man, you’re going to betray the Devil and hell, itself, and you’ll let them know you’ve done it? What gall! You’re either the bravest souls in all of history or the biggest fools!” he pronounced.
“As I said before, Quentin, we have been working with them in the same way we have worked with the Catholics — to further mutual goals. Now our path is split and we’ll have to show them we are no longer allies. They believe that we will hand over the world to the
ir Lucifer at the Availing Time. Who would willingly give up absolute power to a distant deity?” Russell asked. “Some of us still believe in this original plan, but most in the Nobility, as well as other organizations, want to keep the world for themselves. We have no intention of handing it over. It has been ours far too long and we are too close to complete victory to share it. Nay, not share, they want it all from us. How rude to sit back and take it. We’ve worked hard to get where we are. They’ve only waited and encouraged our efforts, believing that we do all of this for them alone,” the stockily dark, smiling Mason said haughtily.
“We are not the hired help, Quentin. We will not sit back and wait for scraps from the table for which we have not only prepared the meal, but also for which we have cut down trees, shaped the wood and built! We have worked in the shadows and in backrooms for so long, we are invisible to those who think of themselves as better than us. In truth, we work for ourselves and have been since the order began with de Payens in the 1100s. No longer will we be anyone’s servants,” Bernhardt fumed.
“This is crazy! I’m arguing with you over the control of the world? Our order is the secret organization that has been manipulating world affairs for centuries? We’re the true kingmakers of nations? Now you say that you don’t want to give it up, then don’t. You don’t have to tip your hand either, just say that you’re there to take the boy into custody. You don’t want the boy to be with the Luciferians. You don’t have to explain or go against them and reveal your final plan,” Quentin suggested.
“This is why I want you with us, Quentin.” Bernhardt’s smile sickened Quentin. “You see a sliver in most arguments you shove open into a chasm. Fine, we’ll take the boy and tell the Luciferians we will look after him in the name of the Grand Dragon. At most, it will be taken as faction fighting, not the true plan.”
“No! No, no! I’m not going to help you! You’ve betrayed every oath you’ve ever taken and now you expect me to come aboard! You’re dreaming!” Quentin got up and turned away to walk out the door. The Grand Master got up and stood behind him, placing his head in a chokehold. He held him for a few seconds, desperately thrashing about, until his body went limp and Bernhardt let him fall to the floor.
“Russell, Caldwell, be sure he is well taken care of. We need him in our ranks, so we have to try our best to turn him. Leave no avenue unexplored. I will not tolerate his death until I am satisfied that everything has been done to make him ours. Is this in any way unclear?” Bernhardt sighed, hopefully.
“No, Grand Master. Father Quentin has proven himself to be a unique man, and once indoctrinated, invaluable to our order.”
They both drug the unconscious Templar out of the meeting hall, leaving Grand Master Bernhardt Hapsburg, of the Dark Nobility, looking at de Molay’s portrait as the revered former Grand Master railed against his accusers, even as flames consumed him.
- Collision -
TIME: JUNE 12TH, 1972. DIGBY ISLAND, BRITISH COLUMBIA, CANADA
Adam sprung up in bed and jerked his head from right to left. He jumped up and ran to the window, looking into the trees nestling their home. He quickly stepped into a pair of Levis, tossed on a Munich Olympics T-shirt, opened the door and ran out into the woods. He ran past where Kosta parked the Chevy; saw that it was still there, so he knew Kosta was still on the island. He searched a few select places outside where they read, and where Kosta sometimes went to get away from Adam’s loud music.
The ground at his feet erupted in a line of tiny explosions, raising dirt and a row of popping thuds. Adam stopped dead in his tracks and peered to see from where the shots had come. On his left, there was a group of eight men, armed with variety of handguns, rifles and machine guns led by a slim cigarette smoking dandy who gestured for them to hold their fire.
As they advanced on Adam, one of the group, the second from the right, flew violently into the air, a victim of an exploding land mine. The leader bellowed at the men, saying they were fools to have led him into the middle of a minefield, and another two followed the first into the air, one of them standing next to the now cringing dandy. Nobody moved for what seemed like hours.
The leader commanded the remaining five men to walk past where the land mines had been detonated to the boy. A few refused, but he insisted, tripling their fee and reminding them their job was to risk their lives and consider this a more challenging mission.
One, an older battle-scarred, balding man, shouldered his machine gun and began picking up rocks. He tossed them in a line in front of his position until he almost hit Adam with the toss. He repeated with another row of stones, then another, until he set off three more mines. He stepped forward and each of the remaining men did the same, Adam still standing motionless. The leader ordered the rest of the men to clear the way for him first and they complied. By this point, the veteran had almost reached Adam; the dandy yelled not to hurt the boy and he nodded affirmation.
Three paces before he would have been able to grab Adam, he was leveled by two quick shots from a high-powered rifle. The booming blasts made Adam cover his head and drop to the ground in a ball. Everything happened so fast; his wits raced faster than his jackhammering heart. The dandy and his men crouched down, trying to locate where the shots were coming from. More shots followed and hit all around them until the fourth exploded another mine and dropped another man. The blast knocked a few of the men down, and by the time they were back up, two more had been shot. Of the eight men, two were left. The dandy decided they should retreat, and yelled he would go for help, as another shot stopped any reply.
When the last man hit the ground, Kosta’s voice echoed and directed Adam to move five paces straight back, three to the right, four back again, with two to the right, to make it safely out of the minefield. Adam did as he was told, and when he had reached safety, ran into Kosta’s arms.
He shook with emotion, his bottom lip quivering as he asked Adam if he was all right. Adam nodded and they ran home, wary of other intruders. They rushed into the house and stopped short, Adam bumping into Kosta, and saw another gang of men waiting for them, guns bristling and flanking a black-haired, effeminate man with dark round Lennon glasses.
“Kostadino Paleologos, you have much to atone for.” He sat in Kosta’s chair and tried to look scary. Kosta cursed himself for not having taken more than the rifle still slung across his back.
“You have me at a disadvantage.” Kosta was desperate to stall so he could edge to any of a number of weapons hidden around the house. “You know me and I don’t know you. The only thing that’s obvious is you’re a Luciferian and that you’ve got mercenaries in your employ.”
“Disadvantage? Did you say that to my predecessor?” Mordecai hissed. “In truth, if you hadn’t kidnapped our Messiah, I would’ve rewarded you for what you did to Balzeer.” His Cheshire grin was short and cold.
“Stay where you are,” a grizzled, double-chinned veteran barked, noting Kosta was trying to maneuver.
“I would do as he says; he’s in charge until Mr. Pike gets here,” Mordecai suggested.
Kosta looked at Adam, and with darting glances, tried to make his intentions clear. “You’re sure you’re not in charge, Supreme Tribunal? The Antipope is ceding command to a gun-wielding soldier?” Adam tried to get under Mordecai’s skin and was instantly rewarded.
“Who are you to question me?” he asked haughtily.
“You don’t recognize him? You wear the six marks; you’re the Antipope he’s…” Kosta allowed Mordecai to put the pieces together and smirked as his mouth gaped and he dropped to his knees.
“Oh, Lord! You’re almost a man! How can this be? You’re only ten years old!” His disbelief would have been complete, if not for the confirmation he felt in his Tribunal tattoos. For the first time in weeks they felt natural on him.
Adam answered in the easiest way he knew; he lied. “The Prince works in mysterious ways. Who can know the reasons for what my father does? Only He knows His motives. All we can do is obey and do as
we’re told.” Swirling mist formed all around the twelve mercenaries. There was a frigid cold in the air and the mist was the color of gangrene, pus yellow, bruised purple and blue, crimson and lifeless grey. The Darkness within Adam tugged to be free.
Mordecai prostrated himself and wept to be forgiven for not having shown fealty. Adam soothed his inner Darkness and looked at Mordecai without emotion — his reverence didn’t move him.
Everyone shifted their attention to the exchange between Mordecai and Adam, so nobody saw Kosta pop a catch in the wall, grabbing a Winchester 1300 shotgun and start to pumping .20 gauge rounds into the unwelcome guests. The booms were deafening in the small house and got worse when Mordecai’s bullies returned fire.
“Adam, hug the ground!” Kosta didn’t have to tell him twice; he was as close to the dirt as he could get. Mordecai was three feet from Adam, who smiled at his pained expression of abject betrayal. He wanted his reality and his faith to be true, but Adam didn’t buy any of it. If he wished, Adam pushed the unsaid thought to Mordecai, he could rise to his feet and meet the same end Balzeer had, with the same weapon no less, but Mordecai didn’t take Adam up on the invitation.
Kosta knew exactly what to go for in the tight quarters and made short work of the unlucky men who chose this contract. They were hampered by location and their choice of weapons. Kosta was supreme in the house, having designed its defenses, and had another surprise for them.
There were nine men left and he took three of them out in the first volley of shots. He waited a second and made sure Adam was on the ground.
He had fashioned a tight little corner that withstood most caliber weapons and housed controls for hidden traps all around the house. Adam knew he had to get to a specific spot in the middle of the room. They had practiced this maneuver countless times.