The Last Templar - Страница 52

"They were so close." Vance was in his own world, examining the navigation instrument more closely. "If the Falcon Temple had only held together a few hours longer, they would have made it to shore, hugged the coastline, and used their oars to reach one of the nearby Greek islands, which were in friendly hands. There, they would have been able to repair the mast and sail on, free from the fear of attack, either back to Cyprus or, more likely, to France." He paused, then added, almost to himself, "And we'd probably be living in a very different world . . ."

Reilly, sitting on a small batch of concrete blocks, couldn't hold back any longer. The frustration was unbearable. He'd felt he stood a good chance of taking out the Turks and Vance if he moved fast, but he didn't want to endanger Tess or Rustem. But there was more to it than just a bruised ego. At the back of his mind, something else was vying for attention. Somewhere, this had evolved from a straightforward manhunt into something far more insidious; he felt personally threatened, but it wasn't physical. He couldn't quite put a finger on it. Deeper, more fundamental questions had been gnawing at him ever since they had decoded the manuscript, and he suddenly felt troubled and strangely vulnerable. "A different world?" he scoffed. "All because of, what, a magic formula to make gold?"

Vance let out a dismissive chortle. "Please, Agent Reilly. Don't sully the Templars' legacy with petty myths of alchemy. It's a well-documented fact that they gained their wealth from the donations of noblemen across Europe, all of it given with the full blessing of the Vatican. They threw land and money at them, because they were the valiant defenders of the pilgrims . . . but there was more to it than that. You see, their mission was thought to be sacred. Their supporters believed that the Templars were seeking something that would be of immeasurable benefit to mankind." A hint of a smile broke through his stern features. "What they didn't know was that had the Templars been successful, it would have benefited all of mankind, not just the 'chosen ones,' as the Christians of Europe arrogantly deemed themselves."

"What are you talking about?" Reilly blurted.

"Among the accusations that led to the Templars' downfall was that they had gotten close to the other inhabitants in the Holy Land—the Muslims, and the Jews. Our dear knights were said to have been seduced by their contacts with them, to have shared mystical insights with them. On that front, the accusations were actually correct, although they were

quickly swept aside in favor of the more colorful ones I'm sure you're both familiar with.

The pope and the king—who was, after all, anointed by God, no less, and was desperate to prove he was the most Christian of kings—were understandably keen to smother that idea, the notion of their champions actually fraternizing with the heathens, than to use it as further ammo in bringing down the Templars, however damning it was. But it wasn't just about them all sharing mystical insights.

In fact, it was far more pragmatic than that. They were planning something incredibly daring, brave, and far-reaching, an act of lunacy perhaps but also one of breathtaking courage and vision." Vance paused, seemingly moved by the very notion, before his eyes settled on Reilly again and tightened.

"They were," he announced, "plotting to unify the three big religions."

He looked up at the mountains framing them and waved his hands expansively. "The unification of the three faiths," he laughed. "Just imagine it. Christians, Jews, and Muslims—all joined in one faith. And why not? We all worship the same God, after all. We're all the children of Abraham, aren't we?" he mocked. His expression hardened. "Think about it. Imagine what a different world we'd be living in, if that were the case. An infinitely better world . . . think of all the pain and bloodshed we would have avoided over the years—today more than ever. Millions of people, none of whom would have had to die senselessly. No inquisitions, no holocaust, no wars in the Balkans or in the Middle East, no planes plowing into skyscrapers . . ."A fleeting glance of mischief crossed his features. "You'd probably be out of a job, Agent Reilly."

Reilly's mind was racing, trying to make sense of the revelations. Could it be possible . . . ? He flashed to his conversation with Tess about the nine years the Templars spent in seclusion in the Temple, their rapid rise in power and wealth, and the Latin inscription Tess had told him about.

Veritas vos liberabit.

The truth will set you free.

He looked up at Vance. "You think they were blackmailing the Church. You think the Vatican allowed the Templars to gain power at their expense."

"They were scared out of their wits. They had no choice."

"But . . . with what?"

Vance took a step closer, reached out, and fingered the crucifix that hung in the unzipped V of Reilly's wet suit before suddenly ripping it off his neck. Holding it in his fingers, the chain dangling off the back of his hand, he looked at it with scornful eyes that turned to ice. "With the truth about this fairy tale."

Chapter 63

Vance's words hung over them like the blade of a guillotine. His eyes took on a life of their own as they glared at the small, shiny object held in the palm of his hand. Then his expression darkened. "It's amazing, isn't it? Here we are, two thousand years later, with everything we've accomplished, everything we know, and yet this little talisman still rules the way billions of people live . . . and die."

Sitting in his damp wetsuit, Reilly felt a shiver of unease. He darted a glance at Tess. She was looking at Vance with a rapt expression that Reilly couldn't read.

"How do you know this?" she asked hesitandy.

Vance tore his eyes away from Reilly's crucifix and turned to her. "Hughes de Payens. The founder of the Templars. When I was in the south of France, I found out something about him that surprised me."

The French historian's derisive remarks came rushing back to her. "That he was from there, from the Languedoc—and that he was a Cathar?"

Vance's eyebrows shot up and he tilted his head, clearly impressed. "You've done your homework."

"But it doesn't make sense," she countered. "They originally went out there to escort Christian pilgrims."

Vance's smile remained in place, but now there was an edge to his voice. "They went out there on a mission to retrieve something that had been lost for a thousand years, something that had been hidden by the high priests from Titus's legions. What better cover for them—and what better way for them to have access to the site they were interested in— than to claim to be die-hard supporters of the pope and of his ill-conceived Crusade? You see, they weren't about to try and fight the Church blindly—not before amassing enough power and wealth to be able to survive such an impossible challenge. The Vatican had a long history of ruthlessly suppressing any challenge to its one and only true faith—entire villages, women and children massacred by the pope's armies for daring to follow their own beliefs. So they hatched a plan. To bring down the Church, they had to have the weapons—and the influence—to make it happen. And they almost made it. They found what they were looking for. As the Knights Templar, they became hugely powerful militarily and immensely influential. They were very close to coming out of their spiritual closet. What they hadn't counted on was that they—not just the Templars, but all the Christian armies—would be kicked out of the Holy Land before they'd had a chance to launch their attack on the Church. And when that happened, ending with Acre in 1291, they didn't only lose their power base—their castles, their army, their dominant position in Outremer—but they also lost their prize, the weapon that would allow them to blackmail the Vatican for two hundred years, the object that would empower them to fulfill their destiny, when the Falcon Temple sank. And from that point on, it was only a matter of time before they were wiped out." He nodded slightly before framing them with a fervent stare. "Only now, with a bit of luck, we may be in a position to finish their work."

Suddenly, the silence was shattered by a loud and terrifying crack as the head of one of Vance's men suddenly exploded outward, the force of the impact tearing his body back off its feet and throwing him against the ground in a bloody mess.

Chapter 64

Instinctively, Reilly lunged toward Tess, but Vance had already seized her by the waist and was pushing her to safety behind his pickup truck. More bullets whizzed by and exploded around Reilly as he dived for cover behind the Pajero, while instinctively concentrating on trying to isolate the echo of the report to get a handle on where the shooter was. Three shots blasted into their SUV, ripping through the hood and into the engine block and shredding the right front tire while giving him a very rough angle on the sniper's position: somewhere to the south, in the tree line—and hopelessly out of pistol range.

An uneasy silence descended on the forest, and, after a tense moment's respite, Reilly leaned out to survey the damage. The Pajero wasn't going anywhere. He looked over toward the upturned table, where they'd been sitting. The wiry, balding Turk was huddled behind it and looked terrified. Reilly noticed a movement to his side, by the shed, a flash of blue as Rustem emerged with a rifle, another small-caliber weapon, something he probably used for hunting rabbits. The old man stood there, scanning the distant trees, bewildered, looking for a shot. Reilly waved and yelled out to him frantically, but, before the man could react, two more rounds came from the sniper, one ricocheting off the concrete pipes stacked on the ground, the other spinning into the old man's chest, slamming him back against the shed like a rag doll.