Steve Berry - The Templar legacy

"What did you do, call the abbey when you left here to get supplies?" Mark asked Geoffrey. "I wondered why you volunteered. You haven't let me out of your sight in two days."

Geoffrey continued to stand, his face stiff with conviction.

"You're a disgusting excuse for a man," Mark spat out.

"I agree," de Roquefort said, and Malone watched as de Roquefort's gun came level and he fired three shots into Geoffrey's chest. The bullets staggered the younger man back, and de Roquefort finished his assassination with a bullet to head.

Geoffrey's body collapsed to the floor. Blood poured from the wounds. Malone bit his lip. There was nothing he could do.

Mark lunged at de Roquefort.

The gun was aimed at Mark's chest.

He stopped.

"He assaulted me at the abbey," de Roquefort said. "Attacking the master is punishable by death."

"Not in five hundred years," Mark yelled.

"He was a traitor. To you and to me. Neither of us has any use for him. That's the occupational hazard of being a spy. He surely knew the risk he was taking."

"Do you know the risks you're taking?"

"A strange question coming from a man who killed a brother of this Order. That act is punishable by death, too."

Malone realized this show was for the others present. De Roquefort needed his enemy, at least for the moment.

"I did what I had to," Mark spit out.

De Roquefort clicked the hammer of the automatic into place. "So will I."

Stephanie stepped between the two men, her body blocking Mark's. "And will you kill me, too?"

"If need be."

"But I'm a Christian and I haven't harmed any brothers."

"Words, dear lady. Only words."

She reached up and fished out a chain with a medal from around her neck. "The Virgin. She goes with me wherever I go."

Malone knew de Roquefort could not shoot her. She'd sensed the theater, too, and called his bluff before his men. De Roquefort could not afford to be a hypocrite. He was impressed. It took balls to face down a loaded gun. Not bad for a desk jockey.

De Roquefort lowered the weapon.

Malone rushed toward Geoffrey's bleeding body. One of the men raised a hand to stop him. "I'd drop that arm if I were you," he made clear.

"Let him pass," de Roquefort said.

He came close to the body. Henrik stood staring down at the corpse. A pained look filled the Dane's face and he saw something he'd not seen in the year he'd known him.

Tears.

"You and I will go back down," de Roquefort said to Mark, "and you'll show me what you found. The others will stay here."

"Screw yourself."

De Roquefort shrugged and aimed his gun at Thorvaldsen. "He's a Jew. Different rules."

"Don't push it," Malone said to Mark. "Do as he says." He hoped Mark understood that there was a time to hold and a time to fold.

"All right. We'll go down," Mark said.

"I'd like to come," Malone said.

"No," de Roquefort said. "This is a matter for the brotherhood. Though I never considered Nelle one of us, he took the oath, and that counts for something. Besides, his expertise might be needed. You, on the other hand, could become a problem."

"How do you know Mark will behave?"

"He will. Otherwise, Christians or no, all of you will die before he could ever climb out that hole."

MARK DESCENDED THE LADDER, FOLLOWED BY DE ROQUEFORT. HE pointed left and told de Roquefort about the chamber they'd found.

De Roquefort slid his gun back into a shoulder holster and aimed his flashlight ahead. "You lead the way. And you know what happens if there are any problems."

Mark started walking, his flashlight added to de Roquefort's beam. They eased their way around the staked hole that had almost claimed Stephanie.

"Ingenious," de Roquefort said as he examined the pit.

They found the open grille.

Mark recalled Malone's warning about more traps and took only baby steps forward. The passage beyond narrowed to about a yard wide, then angled sharply right. After only a few feet, another angle back to the left. One step at a time, he inched ahead.

He made the final turn and stopped.

He shone his light and saw before him a chamber, perhaps ten yards square with a high rounded ceiling. Cassiopeia's assessment that the subterranean vaults might be of Roman origin seemed correct. The gallery formed a perfect repository, and as his light dissolved the darkness, a multitude of wonders came into view.

He first saw statuary. Small colorful pieces. Several enthroned Virgins and Child. Gilded pietas. Angels. Busts. All in straight rows, like soldiers, across the rear wall. Then the glint of gold from rectangular chests. Some overlaid with ivory panels, others sheathed in a mosaic of onyx and gilt, a few gilded in copper and decorated with coats of arms and religious scenes. Each was too precious for simple storage. They were reliquary caskets, made for the remains of holy saints, probably commandeered in the rush, anything to hold what they needed to transport.

He heard de Roquefort slip off the backpack he was wearing, and suddenly the room was engulfed in a bright orange glow from a battery-powered light bar. De Roquefort handed him one. "These will work better."

He didn't like cooperating with the monster, but knew he was right. He grabbed the light, and they fanned out to see what the room contained.

"COVER HIM UP," MALONE SAID TO ONE OF THE BROTHERS, MOTIONING at Geoffrey.

"With what?" came the question.

"The power cords for the light bars are wrapped in a blanket. I can use that." He motioned across the church, past one of the burning fires.

The man seemed to consider the inquiry a moment, then said, "Oui. Do it."

Malone stomped across the uneven floor and found the blanket, all the while assessing their situation. He returned and draped Geoffrey's body. Three guards had withdrawn to the other fire. The remaining three were stationed near the exit.

"He wasn't a traitor," Henrik whispered.

They all stared at him. "He came in alone and told me that de Roquefort was here. He called him. He had to. The former master made him pledge that, once the Devise was found, de Roquefort would be told. He had no choice. He didn't want to do it, but he trusted the old man. He told me to play along, begged my forgiveness, and said he'd look after me. Unfortunately, I couldn't return the favor."

"That was foolish of him," Cassiopeia said.

"Maybe," Thorvaldsen said. "But his word meant something to him."

"Did he say why he had to tell him?" Stephanie muttered.

"Only that the master foretold a confrontation between Mark and de Roquefort. Geoffrey's task was to ensure one."

"Mark's no match for that man," Malone said. "He's going to need help."

"I agree," Cassiopeia added, talking through her teeth, her mouth not moving.

"The odds aren't good," Malone said. "Twelve men armed, and we're not."

"I wouldn't say that," Cassiopeia whispered.

And he liked the twinkle in her eye.

MARK STUDIED THE TREASURE THAT SURROUNDED HIM. HE'D never seen so much wealth. The reliquary caskets contained a variety of silver and gold, either in coinage or as unminted raw metal. There were gold dinars, silver drachmas, and Byzantine coins, all stacked in neat rows. And jewels. Three chests brimmed with rough stones. Too many to even imagine. Chalices and reliquary vessels caught his gaze, most of ebony, glass, silver, and parcel-gilt. Some were coated with relief figures and dotted in precious stones. He wondered whose remnants they supposedly contained. One he knew for sure. He read the engraving and whispered, "De Molay," as he stared into the reliquary's rock crystal tube.

De Roquefort came close.

Inside the reliquary were bits of blackened bone. Mark knew the tale. Jacques de Molay was roasted alive on an island in the Seine, in the shadow of Notre Dame, shrieking his innocence and cursing Philip IV, who'd dispassionately watched the execution. During the night brothers swam the river and scrounged through the hot ashes. They swam back with the acrid bones of de Molay in their mouths. Now he was staring at one of those mementos.