The big priest seemed to stare into Sam’s soul, making the journalist more than just a little uncomfortable. “I’m waiting,” Sam said, just to break the silence between them. “What retort will you whip me with next?”
“None,” Father Harper replied, folding his arms across his chest. “I was simply listening to you, Sam. Am I not supposed to look at you when you speak to me?”
“Oh,” Sam said almost inaudibly. “I am just so done with religion, Father. All the rules and threats, applying human emotion and traits to a god. Not only does it not make sense from a scientific, or even moral, point of view, but religious people live in such a bubble where their way is the right way, that they forget that it is but one point of view, one angle, in a million.”
“Like a fool being too foolish to know that he is a fool?” Father Harper asked casually.
“Aye!” Sam cried, delighted that the priest could summarize his tirade so perfectly. “How did you know that? How could a man who is squarely in the middle of the nonsensical be so perceptive of the division caused by his faith?”
“Nina told me that once,” he smiled bitterly, dropping his gaze to the ground, “and secondly,” he wavered slightly, allowing Sam to read his mind.
“You weren’t always a priest. I get it, Father, I do,” Sam nodded profusely, bringing a smile to the priest’s face.
Jan Harris came stumbling out with a travel bag in one hand and dragging a hard case on wheels with the other. The priest hastened to take her bag, but Sam casually sauntered after them, reserving his chivalry for women he liked.
On the way to the borough of Newham, the atmosphere was fraught with apprehension between them.
“Where exactly are we going in Scotland?” Jan Harris wanted to know as the taxi pulled away. “We are going to Sam’s place for him to get fresh clothes…?”
“And my gear,” Sam chipped in sternly, giving Harris a spiteful grimace.
“…and then we will take his car to Oban, to my cottage at the church,” Father Harper finished, giving Sam another one of those sharp looks he always did when the rugged journalist was being rude to someone.
Harris’ phone rang. Both men froze, exchanging glances. They both suspected correctly that Ayer was calling for an update from her, but in front of the driver, there was not much they could discuss. She looked at her companions, shrugging.
“You have to take this,” Sam insisted in the most normal tone he could. “It could be an extremely important call.”
“Not here,” she whispered. “It’s too noisy and I need privacy, as I am sure you can appreciate.”
“Take the fucking call, Harris,” Sam hissed.
His less than gentle urging arrested the attention of the driver, who pretended not to care, but still kept looking in the rear view mirror.
“Harris, if something happens to Nina because you did not comply…,” Sam warned.
“Okay, alright. Jesus!” she groaned. The priest stared at her, shaking his head. “Sorry, Father.” She answered the phone, but before she could say anything, she was told to shut up and listen. With Sam frantically gawking at her for some sort of windfall, she only nodded sporadically, looking worried. He turned to Father Harper. “Something’s wrong.”
“Don’t fret before you have reason, Sam,” the priest consoled under his breath.
“I know Harris. Nothing scares her. That face you see her making there?” he whispered harshly. “I have never seen that expression on that woman. She is scared of something. It had better not be because she has bad news to give me.”
“I will, yes,” she said, clutching the phone. Sam grabbed it from her. “Listen, Ayer, speak directly to me if you have to! Ayer! Fuck!”
“He is already gone, Sam!” Harris moaned, snatching her phone from his hands.
“What did he say?” Sam probed, but Father Harper motioned to him to wait until they were out of public earshot. It drove the journalist crazy to have to wait, but when they arrived at London City Airport, he could take no more. “Harris, I have to know,” he said as they exited the cab and retrieved her baggage from the boot.
“Can this wait just a second?” she howled at him.
“No! It concerns me, have you forgotten? Just tell me. Is Nina still alive?” he asked, dampening his aggressive enthusiasm as the need to know consumed him. “Just, Harris, just tell me that much. I saw your expression, so don’t fucking lie to me.”
Father Harper had by now given up on reprimanding Sam Cleave on his incessant swearing, even for the secular ones, so he simply trailed the two journalists into the hallway marked ‘Departures’ and tried to think of a way to mediate between the two foes.
“Apparently she is still alive, Cleave,” she relayed, “but from what I hear that will change abruptly if we don’t deliver Toshana.”
“What do they want with her? Did he say?” Father Harper asked.
“No, he refuses to enlighten me on anything, apart from the fact that they will kill many more people to get to her,” she said, wearing that worried face again, “and that includes all three of us, for respective reasons.”
“Well aware of that part,” Sam replied. “We have to get hold of Purdue.”
“Sam, we cannot involve more people in this. It only increases the risk of failure and,” he placed his hand on Sam’s shoulder, “…exposure.” The tall priest’s dark eyes glimmered with caution.
“Look, Purdue is the only person with the resources to find Nina and blow the shit out of Ayer’s nest, if need be,” Sam defended. “He cares deeply for Nina, and he will go to any lengths to save her. We have to elicit his help, Father. If what you said is true, these lads are not to be fucked with and if we are going to fuck with them, there is none better than David Purdue to back our army. And, according to your warning about this bunch of soldiers, we are going to need some big guns.”
“Let us concentrate on the positive for now, okay?” Harris suggested. “She’s alive. She is, from what I heard, unharmed, well-fed, and kept in comfortable lodgings. They’re simply using her as a bargaining chip. I doubt they will kill her.”
Father Harper almost responded to her last statement with an educated negation, but he thought it better for Sam’s general emotional state to hold his tongue about the nature of the Templar apostates and the fact that these were brutes who would gang-rape Nina and put out their cigarettes on her skin just to enjoy her expression.
24
Illustratio Antiquis
“Hey, old cock! Look at this amazing scenery,” Purdue grinned. “I wish you and Nina were here!”
The Skype broadcast was not the best, but he had to take Sam’s call in case the journalist had something important to tell him. Purdue had been away from his home at Wrichtishousis, and checked in daily with his personal assistant to make sure he still stayed on top of things on a business front. She had told him that Sam Cleave was looking for him and arranged for a time to make contact. He panned his tablet around the Temple Mount in Jerusalem to show Sam the stunning panorama.
“Purdue, we need your help with something,” Sam told him, looking run down and serious. It was not like Sam to get straight to business, so the billionaire knew something was amiss.
“Alright. What is it, Sam?” he asked, while his eyes followed the beautiful shape of the Countess where she wandered.
“Nina is missing,” Sam said. “And it is not the I’m-taking-some-time-out missing, either. She’s been kidnapped, Purdue, and we need to locate the hive of the people who took her. They wish to trade her for a woman I inadvertently got involved with while doing an exposé in the UK.”
“Oh, yes, I know what that is like,” Purdue smiled, not bothering to look at the screen while in conversation with Sam.
“You do?” Sam asked.
“Of course. Getting involved with women that suddenly turn our worlds upside down is always a foolish but delightful endeavor,” Purdue said, still watching the dark-haired beauty use his Subgeo device to scan the grounds of the Temp
le for her treasure.
Sam was stunned to silence. To make things worse, it seemed that remaining mute did not at all get the attention of his friend. Purdue was completely indifferent to Sam’s plight. It was disturbing to see how apathetic Purdue was to the fact that Nina’s life was in danger.
“Purdue!” Sam shouted. Finally Purdue looked at him on the screen.
“I’m sorry, Sam. What were you saying?” he shrugged in amusement. “I am just a bit distracted. I have a bunch of laborers here to excavate a…a crown…that was said to have belonged to the ancestors of my beautiful consort, Countess Baldwin.”
“Oh, now it all makes sense,” Sam snapped. “You have a new piece of ass and now Nina means nothing.”
“Please, Sam, do not speak of the Countess with such contempt,” Purdue reprimanded him with a darkened countenance that fell over his face like a mask. Something was very wrong with Purdue, but Sam had to keep his composure to keep the good graces of the billionaire, if only to save Nina.
“Sorry,” Sam feigned apology. “What crown is this you are interested in? And where did you meet the lovely Countess?” His dark brown eyes flashed up to those of the the priest, standing in the corner of his office with a cup of tea. Father Harper could hear the conversation, and found himself as concerned about Purdue’s attitude as Sam, but he kept quiet and waited for Sam to beguile his friend into helping them.
“I met her a few nights back at the Bilderberg Conference, Sam. She is a goddess. I cannot wait to introduce you to her!” Purdue cooed. “The crown, she says, once belonged to the high order of the Knights Templar, long after their founding in the 12th Century. It is said to have been fashioned by the wizards of Solomon to contain power over kingdoms, the likes of which the world has never seen.” Purdue recited the history as if he had known it for years. “But the Templars feared that the crown would promote deadly avarice in any sovereign wearing it. So they stole it during the Second Crusade to hide it from the European kings, Louis VII and Conrad III.”
As one of the best investigative journalists in the world, Sam knew how to seduce the unwilling, and this was the perfect time to employ this particular talent. “That sounds like the kind of relic worthy of your collection, old man,” Sam smiled.
“Oh, but it’s not for me, unfortunately. It belongs to Countess Baldwin. But at least she’s generous enough to have let me in on some global profits. Long story,” he winked suavely.
“You have to send us some pictures,” Sam invited excitedly, while inside him his heart was breaking. Purdue seemed so distant, lost from the rest of the world, just when Sam needed him most.
“I shall!” Purdue chuckled, the hot Jerusalem air whipping his hair.
A female voice called from a distance, “It’s not here, David! It’s not here! Someone must have removed it from the monstrance! Jesus Christ! I’m going to have a goddamn fit if I don’t get what I’m looking for, I promise you!”
Purdue’s eyebrows raised as he looked away from the screen. “Oh God, Sam. I’d better go, my friend. She’s furious!”
“Wait! Wait, Purdue, do you guys need help down there?” Sam asked quickly, using the opportunity wisely. Both Jan Harris and Father Harper perked up at Sam’s sudden decision, waiting with baited breath. They had no idea what Sam was playing at, but both had respectively learned to trust Sam Cleave’s instincts before.
Purdue looked flustered with mild panic, his big pale blue eyes wild as he looked at Sam. “You know, I would actually really appreciate some help, come to think of it.” He looked away at the woman out of the frame. “I’m coming, my dear! Don’t worry. I promised you we would find it.” He looked back at Sam as the woman started ranting and raving like a lunatic. “We are staying at the Citadel,” Purdue said quickly, as the woman’s voice became louder on approach. “Please, by God, hurry.”
The screen went black and the sound ceased with a loud click. Sam slowly looked up at the other two, sitting down at Father Harper’s desk. He shrugged, “I guess we’re going to Jerusalem.”
“Wait a minute, Sam,” Father Harper said. “Has everyone suddenly forgotten about Nina?”
“No,” Jan Harris replied, “but remember that, without Mr. Purdue we’ll have no way of confronting these Templars. Am I right?”
“I’m just concerned about the time we’re wasting,” the priest explained.
Sam came to sit down with them. “I know, Father. I’m aware of the time constraints, but we have to get Purdue. I don’t give two shits about his new girlfriend or the treasure he is after. Once we’re with him, it will be easier to cock his hammer to help us. At this distance, given his obvious obsession with this…Countess…we will not be able to get through to him.”
“Alright,” Harris agreed, “I suppose we leave for Jerusalem in the morning?”
“Aye,” Sam said. “But first we need to know everything about these so-called Templars. Between Father Harper and Nina’s notes, we should be able to gather enough detail about them, right Father?”
The priest looked distraught, but he lifted his cup. “Aye, Sam.”
At once, Sam brought forth the notes Dr. Hooper had given him containing Nina’s observations. He spread out the pages on the desk of the church office, while Father Harper opened the window for some daylight illumination to compliment the lights.
“According to Nina’s notes, each of these cadavers boasted the same sigil, the sigil of the soldiers,” Sam started explaining while Jan Harris filmed him. “But instead of the Templars’ well known emblem, the sigil doesn’t state that these men are soldiers of Christ, just…soldiers.”
“That is accurate,” Father Harper affirmed. “These men are apostates.”
At the quizzical stares of the other two, he felt the need to explain his statement. The large priest leaned on the desk, pointing at the rough sketch Nina had made of the sigils tattooed on the dead bodies.
“Apostates of Christ,” Harris clarified, assuming she had understood correctly. But Father Harper shook his head. His voice was toned down, yet his words seemed to pierce their ears with the intensity of a shofar, echoing through ages of theology.
“Apostates of piety, of religion, and of duty,” he explained. “These are men who have not forgotten the stain on the name of their noble forefathers’ efforts and the barbaric way in which innocent knights had been dispatched – in the name of avarice.”
To Harris it felt as if the whole church hushed for this preacher to speak his doctrines, to tell the story of bygone heroes and their atrocious treatment. She felt her skin crawl with some kind of veneration as Father Harper paced slowly up and down in front of his lit hearth, recounting.
“The bloodlines of the Templar Knights from all across Europe became diluted as more and more branches came into being. For example, Order of Montesa, the Order of Christ, were some of the new sects founded by the kings of Spain and Portugal to protect their Templar Knights by quietly joining into the new orders, ceding Templar lands to them to evade the wrath of their persecutors. By the 16th Century, all that remained of them, according to popular belief, were some organizations of differing loyalties. Brotherhoods and clandestine allegiances were formed and disbanded as they assimilated, leading to better known affiliates such as the Freemasons.”
“So, that is what Ayer and his men are? Masons?” Sam asked. “But why the practice of stoning that is so common to Middle Eastern faiths?”
“You must do more research, my friends. Do not assume that because a practice is demonized for belonging to an undesirable culture or a threatening race, that that is all they are about. This is precisely the misplaced assumptions that are born from the lack of information, of education, that is perpetuated by the media and popular culture. Not all Muslims are suicidal maniacs. Not all Christians,” he looked hard at Sam, “are pissy and self-righteous hypocrites. Not all hippies are stoners and not all Scots are hard drinkers…” He stopped, shrugging. “Okay, maybe the last one is a bad example.”
&nbs
p; Sam smiled, but Jan Harris was too spellbound by the powerful voice and wisdom that came from the attractive priest. “My point is, friends, that just because a woman was to be stoned to death, it does not make her attackers decidedly Islamic, does it? Such crimes have been used during wars throughout ancient history until today, simply because rocks do the trick when men run out of bullets.”
“Jesus,” Harris said.
Both men looked at her, merely because she said something, but at that point, Harris felt guilty just for being feminine. “Sorry.”
Sam smirked, but the need for illumination prompted him to pry some more. “What happened to these bloodlines? Where does Ayer fit in?”
It was time for Father Harper to open a very well guarded book of his past. Even according to his own rule, revealing what he had done before becoming a priest was now a matter of life and death. Sam and Jan had to know what he knew, since their very lives depended on it.
“His full name is Ayer Molay, Sam. He is a distant descendent of one of the original Templar Masters who was burned for heresy in Paris,” the priest revealed. “From what I learned from his father, whom I also had the pleasure of serving with, the accusations of devil worship were a deliberate and wicked misconception brought to aggravate charges against the Templars.”
“Aye, we all heard about the goat they supposedly worshiped,” Sam acknowledged, his fingers knotted into a clumsy canopy in front of him as he took in the information.
“Baphomet,” Harris added. “The goat was called Baphomet. Many say that it is a derivative of Mahommet.”
“Esoteric scholars speculate that the name is Kabbalistic, and when read backwards means the Lord of the Temple,” Father Harper told Harris. He tore a piece of paper from his note pad next to the telephone and wrote in big black letters – ‘TEM OHP AB’.
Outside the stained glass windows, thunder clapped, starling them. Sam guffawed and looked at his companions with a sincere chill. “Speak of the Devil.”
Order of the Black Sun Box Set 7 Page 14