"I just want to get my stuff, leave me alone."
"You have the wrong key."
Olivia looked at the key and exhaled, "yeah, a mix-up, but I'm good. Thank you, officer, now if you don't mind, I'll just…can you excuse me?"
"I can stand wherever I want."
"Seriously?"
"Yes," said the detective, "I found a body near the Essex county bridge, Bud Chapman, M16, seen last with a woman, and you match her description. I could bring you in for questioning right now if I want to."
Deflated, Olivia faced the detective.
"What do you want from me?"
"Why don't you see what Dean Anson left for you in there?"
"Shit."
Olivia opened the locker. Lodged in the corner of the metal square was a book with a dark cover, exposed to the daylight she saw that the cover was actually red. The cover was soft, woolly from age. When she opened it, she saw it was a diary. The last entry said was dated April 20, 1886. Olivia's mouth opened slightly.
There were names in it too, or what looked like someone's family tree. Olivia wrested her curiosity from the book. She put it away in her jacket.
Detective Blake followed her as she left the locker corridor. Diggs and Miller were waiting. Olivia said, "this detective Blake."
"Blake Camden, Staffordshire police—"
"We know who you are," Miller said, "what we don't know is why you are following us around?"
"You live dead bodies everywhere you go, Mr. Frank Miller."
"You must be doing a lot of cleaning up then."
"Indeed."
Blake put his hand in his pocket and brought out a photo. He raised it in the air. Droplets of rain pelted it.
"I'm looking for this man, have you seen him?"
Miller took the photo, he shook his head. He passed it to Diggs. Diggs looked at it long with his hard cold eyes and said, "who's he?"
"They call him the Bogeyman, no one knows where he's from, but he's extremely efficient, he is a killing machine. When comes for you, not even God can save you. Which is why I'm curious about you, people."
"What are you talking about?" Olivia asked.
"You are still alive, why?" Blake said, "everyone who has met the Bogeyman died, he was in Morocco, in London and he killed an artist in Miami. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about now, miss Newton. And more recently, he killed an M16 officer. I'm curious. Why didn't he kill you, people, when he had the chance? So many questions. He took something from all three he killed before, something valuable. I figure you people's presence in England has got something to do with a treasure, yes?"
Olivia faced Blake and said, "yes, the Templars Gold, a lost treasure."
"And why exactly do you put yourself in danger for this gold? For all you know, it may be lost forever."
"The people who kidnapped my brother apparently don't think it's lost forever."
"Ah yes, the priest. I read about him in your file," Blake nodded his head, "he was last seen entering a café in the streets of Rome. I must tell you this fella called the Bogeyman is anybody's worst nightmare."
"Thanks for the heads-up."
"Yes, miss Newton, I regret that I have to let you go instead of arresting you, you have caused me a lot of trouble."
"We apologize."
As Olivia entered the Saab, Blake called again, "we have reasons to believe that the Bogeyman is in the employment of a certain powerful cardinal."
Olivia waved him goodbye.
Two hours later, the team was flying out of a private airfield and off to the eastern skies.
—
The Bogeyman was at the train station minutes after Olivia, and her team arrived. He was precisely 348 feet away in an apartment block across the highway, perched on the edge of a small bed. The scope of his M40A5 Remington rifle to his left eye, finger light on the trigger, he counted off the faces and breathed slowly.
The 13-year-old girl who owned the room sat in the corner, her legs pulled up to her chin, terror-stricken eyes watched from beneath curly, creole hair. She was pretty, the Bogeyman had told her, it would be great to keep things that way —remain pretty, and let the parents and little brother watching TV in the living room stay alive.
"What's your name?" he had asked quietly.
"Tia."
"Okay, Tia, I'm a bad man, I'd like to see about some good men, I may kill them and I might not, but we'll see. Sit there and be quiet."
The Bogeyman hadn't come to killed Olivia and her friends. He had only come to make sure they did their job. And when they were done, to take things from there and eliminate them. Simple.
Nothing personal. Just business. The money at stake was too much to fuck around playing.
And if the detective gave trouble, he'd take him out, right there on that platform.
Tia in the corner sniffed.
The Bogeyman raised a finger, "remember what I said."
"Yes, sir."
—
"This is unbelievable," Olivia said, "how on earth can this book exist, it is almost impossible!"
Miller shook his head, as bewildered as Olivia and the rest of the crew. High up in the sky in a private jet, he leased days before in advance, they have gone through the book Dean Anson left them. The book was a diary kept by Anson's great grandfather, and the father before that one. It listed the men —and women— who had borne the daunting responsibility of the secret of the Templars gold.
The tabulation also named how each one them ended his career as a Knight Templar, even though secretly.
More baffling was the appearance of another list around the turn of the last century. Olivia retrieved the diary from Anabia, who was poring over the names. There were three American presidents and five British prime ministers. Several African heads of states, five movie stars she knew well, and a dead serial killer were there, too.
All these people kept the secret of the Templars gold without so much as looking for it?
"But why?" Olivia pondered aloud.
"Why? It makes sense," said Liam. "We are talking about enormous wealth here, and a tradition that's as important as the treasure itself. They lose the treasure, they lose the tradition."
"And millions every year in profits," Victor Borodin added.
They all looked at the Russian.
"Yeah, Russia makes millions every year from the Church of the Transfiguration of our Lord on Kihzi island. And you know what? Hundreds of Christians come there every year to see the place where Christ supposedly turned to a Halo of light. Do I, a Russian, know this is not true, yes I do, do I care? No, I don't, why? Because it's business and no one cares anyway. The transfiguration was centuries ago."
"So what if the gold goes missing without the show and the pomp, no one knows about it? They'd still keep their tradition, and we'd be rich," said Liam.
Anabia rolled his eyes, "don't be ridiculous, Liam."
"Did anyone read about the Bank of America scam last year?" Liam asked.
Miller said he did, and Olivia too. Borodin had no clue.
Liam continued. "These things happen all the time, you know. The bank's one of the most secure banks in the country that have never been robbed. The last guys who tried got locked up in the vault. Shit is automated down there. But the back was robbed clean by two guys last year, they cleaned out the vault. They were caught, yeah, but those guys could say they did it. The robbery never made the news, why?"
Liam clapped the back of one hand in the other palm.
"Because they have a tradition, a myth to protect."
Borodin said, "you're saying we can find the gold, and it still won't change the myth of the Templars Gold?"
"Yes," said Liam, "and it isn't just us who now understands this. What if that's what this Financier guy wants to do?"
Olivia said, "so the Financier is using us?"
"Of course."
The jet yawed; Olivia sat down hard on a couch. She covered her face and breathed. It was all too much to wrap her
mind around it. And confusing as well. Olivia looked at Diggs.
"The assassin was a stimulator."
"Or a provocateur," said Diggs.
"And when we get the gold, we become dispensable."
Everyone agreed.
—
The jet landed three and a half miles from the Church of San Lorenzo, on the Aeroporto Roma Urbe. The Tiber meandered past it to the north. A certain man named Julio Cortisa was waiting beside a car nearby. It was a small Fiat shaped like a matchbox. The group didn't have much luggage. Still, it was cramped in the back. Miller took the keys from Julio and gave it to Diggs.
They traveled in silence.
Olivia was too aware of the suppressed anxiety in the car. More memories of the last time in Rome flooded her head.
The kidnappers hadn't called her again since. She wasn't sure if Andrew was still alive or not. She felt sure though that she could deal with whatever comes. Olivia would hope. And if all else failed, she would take what remained of herself and go back home. She laughed inwardly, the pragmatists escape.
But what was she supposed to do? I can't save the whole world.
The side of Rome she loved began flitting past in the window. The old city seeped through the pores of the new one. Brick walls hid ancient masonry, yet without this antiquity, the city was just a shadow of its old self.
All were a rehashed bastion. A bulwark for the Church: its food, its road, the trattorias, and people walking on the street. Rome lived for the Church, and the Church would die out without Rome.
Across the misty horizon, Olivia sights the walls of the Vatican. She hoped she would not have to go there.
Diggs knew Rome well. He knew many cities well. In twenty minutes they were driving off Viale Delle Province and joined Via Tiburtina. The Church of San Lorenzo appeared on the left.
It was 1:39 pm when Diggs parked the Fiat among the row of cars in front of the Church.
Upon walking to the other side of the Church, Olivia realized the structure was more massive than it looked from the side. The back of the Church was shaded by trees. Anabia and Liam were standing in front of the obelisk with the patron saint Lorenzo on it.
Across the two-lane road, a tram rolled past. There was a building on the other side and beside it another road going out of sight. Diggs was looking at the windows of that building. It was the closest and the best spot for a sniper.
He made this observation to Miller.
"You think he's out there?"
"He is."
Olivia joined them, "you sound so sure."
"Because I would be in that one." He pointed at a window. Diggs turned to the Church. "The door of the Church is hidden from the street, but there are walls all around back there. We have to come out this way again. We'd walk into an ambush."
Olivia sighed.
"We have to find another way out of here," said Olivia as they walked into the Church of San Lorenzo.
—
The bogeyman was not in a room looking at our young girl's window. This time he was on the roof. His gun was still unpacked in his guitar box. He, however, had a camera to his face. It was a high definition device with the ability to take photos, hook up to a remote satellite that, in turn, linked to any agency's database.
Seconds later, Lawrence Diggs's face appeared on the screen of the camera, beside the white, gnarled face was his data.
The bogeyman pouted, "almost equals. Almost equals," the man murmured.
He sat on the edge of a vent machine, it hummed through his body, he liked it.
He put his camera to his face and started counting. If the woman was as clever as the man on the phone, his contractor said, then she and her boyfriend should be out in, he checked his watch, less than ten minutes, tops.
He'll give them five minutes, and then walk over there.
—
Andrew Gilmore had long since learned that no one event was random. His capture was an effect. There was a cause. And in between, somewhere in the grey of all the millions of events, there was the catalyst.
Then there was the effect.
Who was the catalyst? And what had they set in motion?
Andrew Gilmore was either in the way of some huge payoff, or someone was using his disappearance to achieve a payoff.
Olivia?
Olivia was in faraway Miami. This is Rome, and yet, the last time Olivia was in Rome, it had all begun back in Miami.
Andrew bought a great black coat and a broad rim hat and brown leather boots. He checked himself in the mirror of the stores and concluded that he looked like Indiana Jones. Next, he bought dark glasses.
And next came a newspaper.
In the international column, he found several unusual deaths. Two, actually, curious deaths in Morocco and London. Both cases remained unsolved.
He was walking down Piazza Americo Camponi. And it was almost noon, he folded the paper. He entered the San Pietro Boutique Rooms, where he had purchased his apparel earlier.
"Ma'am, do you have internet?"
The receptionist was a dashing girl. She said he could and blinked fetchingly at Andrew.
"Right there, by the shoes."
"Gracias."
More news on the internet indicated that in Miami, the Italian artist Gabriel Capaldi was found dead in his pool. An autopsy showed he was dead long before he frowned. Andrew went back to the reports in Morocco and London.
There was a small report about a break-in Shugborough Hall, Staffordshire. He frowned. Andrew's jaw dropped open.
No, this can't be?
Who was at Shugborough Hall?
—
The San Lorenzo church was many churches within a church.
Olivia gasped at the view. The interior was breathtakingly beautiful. Rows and rows of arcs on either side constituted the walls. It was a shocking masterpiece that was both fragile and monolithic.
She was instantly absorbed by the aura of the Church. She wandered along the aisles, rubbing her hands on the pews. The others spread out too, eating up the view, utterly captivated.
"Fascinating, isn't it?"
"You can say that again," said Anabia.
Two short flight of steps went up the pulpit where there was a tent-like structure for the cleric. Under the pulpit, there was an alter. Beyond that, cut into the concrete was a metal mesh. Yellow light burned from inside there.
Miller was standing before the alter staring at it.
He looked around then and wondered why there was no priest about.
"You guys saw any priest?"
"No, not one," the others chorused.
Liam said, "it ain't like a clothes store, they don't need a receptionist."
Olivia came away from the pulpit and joined Miller. "What did you find?"
"We haven't found anything yet, Olivia. Can we start, guys?"
The others came around.
"Is Diggs taken long or what?" asked Liam.
Olivia said, "let's find the monument."
—
The suspicion that they were being watched gnawed at Diggs since Staffordshire. And that the assassin was agency trained was a possibility that he wanted to unravel.
So Diggs went round the Church. He went up one of the trees, the one that was further back against the wall. So that if the hunter was on that building across the street, he couldn't notice the irregular shake of the tree and definitely take him out.
Diggs went up close to the top. From here, he trained a powerful lens on the building and saw the hump of someone drop behind the edge.
"Gotcha."
—
The bogeyman had slipped for the first time in recent memory. He had just pulled up a map of the area of San Lorenzo church and seen that there was no escape for the woman and her friends on account of the wall. But there was a gap between the Church and the wall.
That was a blind eye.
He quickly ducked just as he saw the feet dangle from the tree there.
It was a chance sig
hting actually, but it was enough.
—
The cave under the pulpit led nowhere.
The monument was not in the main Church.
"We need a map, how did we not get a map," Olivia said in frustration, "can somebody fund a map of the church for God's sakes!"
Liam said, "That means going back into the street, Olivia—"
"Then go out and get one, Liam."
"No, I can't, there's a killer out there."
Anabia said, "there's no one out there, Liam."
"Then you go, Anabia."
Diggs walked into the Church then. He was sweating, and his eyes were lit up, blue ice on fire.
"He's on the roof."
Liam cowered, "oh Christ, he's up here?"
"The building across the street."
Liam breathed, "oh, thank God."
The team looked at Liam. He shrugged, "what, I'm just looking out for us."
Olivia said to Diggs, "we need a map of the church, the monument is hidden, maybe there's an underground place."
Their voice echoed in the Church. Liam opened his bag and brought out his laptop. He brought up a map of the city, then he tapped on the Church, and a blueprint of the layout appeared.
"Here."
They crowded around the screen. There were several compartments in the Church, smaller halls. Each had a name, some technical, others were simply the names of dead people who got sainted by live people.
There were statues, like the obelisk out front. Another stood in the landing that led down to what appeared to the vestments. There was a crowd engraved on the balustrade of the upper level. None of them had a monument at their base, nor the name of Nicholas Poussin on them.
"We need to split then, put your radios on," Diggs ordered, "you find something, radio in."
They dispersed.
—
Andrew Gilmore went out the back of the San Pietro Boutique Rooms. The toilet was that way as well, so the girl at the reception thought he was going to take a lick.
He called Olivia from a payphone and got her answering machine. She three more times before giving up. He reckoned that she may be out at work for Andrew Gilmore had no idea she had left the Miami Daily.
He vanished into curtains of the city after this.
—
The bogeyman was still cursing himself when his phone rang.
Gold of the Knights Templar Page 15