Steve Berry - The Templar legacy

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The question seem to catch the man off guard. "Of course, Master. It's required of all who become treasurer. I'm presently teaching those below me."

"At the time of the Purge, what was our wealth?"

"Incalculable. The Order held over nine thousand land estates, and it's impossible to value that acreage."

"Our liquid wealth?"

"Again, hard to say. There would have been gold dinars, Byzantine coins, gold florins, drachmas, marks, along with unminted silver and gold. De Molay came to France in 1306 with twelve pack horses loaded with unminted silver, which was never accounted for. Then there is the matter of the items we held for safekeeping."

He knew what the man was referring to. The Order had pioneered the concept of safe depositories, holding wills and precious documents for men of means, along with jewels and other personal items. Its reputation for trustworthiness had been impeccable, which allowed the service to flourish throughout Christendom-all, of course, at a fee.

"The items being held," the treasurer said, "were lost at the Purge. The inventories were with our archives, which disappeared, too. So there's no way to even estimate what was being held. But it's safe to say that the total wealth would be in the billions of euros today."

He knew about hay carts hauled south by four chosen brothers and their leader, Gilbert de Blanchefort, who'd been instructed first to tell no one of his hiding place, and second to assure that what he knew was passed to others in an appropriate manner. De Blanchefort performed his job well. Seven hundred years had passed, and still the location was a secret.

What was so precious that Jacques de Molay ordered its secretion with such elaborate precautions?

He'd wondered about the answer to that inquiry for thirty years.

The phone in his cassock vibrated, which startled him.

Finally.

"What is it, Master?" the treasurer asked.

He caught hold of himself. "Leave me, now."

The man stood from the table, bowed, then withdrew. De Roquefort flipped open the phone and said, "I hope this is not a waste of my time."

"How can the truth ever be a waste of time?"

He instantly recognized the voice.

Geoffrey.

"And why would I believe a word you say?" he asked.

"Because you're my master."

"Your loyalty was to my predecessor."

"While he breathed, that's true. But after his death, my oath to the brotherhood commands that I be loyal to whoever wears the white cassock-"

"Even if you don't care for that man."

"I believe you did the same for many years."

"And assaulting your master is part of your loyalty?" He'd not forgotten the slap to the temple from a gun butt before Geoffrey and Mark Nelle escaped the abbey.

"A necessary demonstration for the seneschal's benefit."

"Where did you obtain this phone?"

"The former master gave it to me. It was to be of use during our excursion beyond the walls. But I decided on a different use."

"You and the master planned well."

"It was important to him that we succeed. That's why he sent the journal to Stephanie Nelle. To involve her."

"That journal is worthless."

"So I am told. But that was new information to me. I only learned yesterday."

He asked what he wanted to know. "Have they solved the cryptogram? The one in the marshal's report?"

"Indeed, they have."

"So tell me, brother. Where are you?"

"St. Agulous. At the ruined abbey just to the north of the village. Not far from you."

"And our Great Devise is there?"

"This is where all clues lead. They are, at this moment, working to locate the hiding place. I was sent to Elne for supplies."

He was beginning to believe the man on the other end of the phone. But he wondered if that was from desperation or good judgment. "Brother, I'll kill you if this is a lie."

"I don't doubt that declaration. You've killed before."

He knew he shouldn't, but he had to ask, "And who have I killed?"

"Surely you were responsible for Ernst Scoville's death. Lars Nelle? That's more difficult to determine, at least from what the former master told me."

He wanted to probe further but knew that any interest he showed would be nothing but a tacit admission, so he simply said, "You are a dreamer, brother."

"I've been called worse."

"What's your motive?"

"I want to be a knight. You're the one who makes that determination. In the chapel, a few nights ago, when you arrested the seneschal, you made clear that that wasn't going to happen. I determined then that I'd be taking a different course-one the former master would not like. So I went along. Learned what I could. And waited until I could offer what you really want. In return, I seek only forgiveness."

"If what you say is true, you shall have it."

"I'll be returning to the ruin shortly. They plan to camp there through the night. You've already seen how resourceful they are, both individually and collectively. Though I'd never presume to substitute my judgment for yours, I'd recommend decisive action."

"I assure you, brother, my response will be most decisive."

FIFTY-NINE

MALONE STOOD AND MARCHED TOWARD THE ALTAR. IN THE BEAM of his flashlight he'd noticed that there was no mortar joint beneath the top slab. The seven-nine arrangement of the support stones had drawn his attention, and kneeling had allowed him to see the crack.

At the altar he bent down and shone the light closer. "This top is not attached."

"I wouldn't expect it to be," Mark said. "Gravity held them in place. Look at it. The thing's what? Three inches thick and six feet long?"

"Bigou hid his cryptogram in the altar column in Rennes. I wondered why he chose that particular hiding place. Unique, wouldn't you say? To get to it, he had to lift the slab enough to free the locking pin, then slide the glass vial into the niche. Shift the top back and you have a great hiding place. But there's more to it. Bigou was sending a message by that selection." He set the flashlight down. "We need to move this."

Mark walked to one end and Malone positioned himself at the other. Grasping each side with his hands, he tested to see if the stone would move.

It did, ever so slightly.

"You're right," he said. "It's just sitting there. I don't see any reason for niceties. Shove it off."

Together, they waddled the stone left and right, then worked it enough so that gravity allowed it to crash to the floor.

Malone stared into the rectangular opening they'd exposed and saw loosely packed stones.

"The thing is full of rocks," Mark said.

Malone smiled. "Sure is. Let's get 'em out."

"For what?"

"If you were Sauniere and didn't want anyone to follow your tracks, that stone top is a good deterrent. But these rocks would be even better. Like you told me yesterday. We need to think like folks thought a hundred years ago. Look around. Nobody would have come here looking for treasure. This was nothing but a ruin. And who would have disassembled this altar? The thing has been standing here for centuries unmolested. But if someone did do all that, why not another layer of defense."

The rectangular support stood about three feet off the floor, and they quickly tossed the stones aside. Ten minutes later the support was empty. Dirt filled the bottom.

Malone hopped inside and thought he detected a gentle vibration. He bent down and probed with his fingers. The parched soil possessed the consistency of desert sand. Mark shone the light while he scooped the earth away with a cupped hand. Six inches deep he hit something. With both hands he cleared away a foot-wide crater and saw wooden planks.

He looked up and grinned. "Ain't it nice to be right."

DE ROQUEFORT STORMED INTO THE ROOM AND FACED HIS COUNCIL. He'd hastily ordered an assemblage of the Order's officers after finishing his telephone conversation with Geoffrey.

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