Eric Lustbader - The Testament

Now here I am again, Jordan thought, back at Sumela with my old friend as he ends his journey in search of the Order's cache of secrets. Christ, it was here all along. Irony, indeed. But irony was hardly unknown to him. On the contrary, sometimes it seemed to him as if his entire life was one grotesque irony. Take his relationship with Bravo, for instance-what could be more ironic than that? Friends, they had been friends: shared secrets, intimacies, close encounters with the opposite sex in Ibiza, Paris, Stockholm, Cologne and elsewhere. However, everything he had shared with Bravo had been a lie-even the girls. Jordan had a penchant for having two at once, something someone as straight-laced as Bravo would never understand or condone. Besides, his mandate with Bravo had been to get as close to him as he possibly could. What was the phrase his mother had used? "You have to get under his skin in order to know him, and you need to know him in order to manipulate him."

The precarious trip proved beneficial, though Jordan felt as if he were moving through a minefield laced with hidden trip wires. Everything they said to each other contained the possibility of disaster. Everything had to be withheld from Bravo. Everything…

His cell phone burped. He knew who it was even before he looked at the caller ID.

"Mother," he said with a smirk he was happy to conceal from her.

"What are you doing, darling, having me followed?" Her voice was as rich as butter. "Your man almost ruined everything."

"I should think it was Damon Cornadoro who holds that dubious distinction."

Silence on the other end of the line; he'd rarely been able to cause her to miss a beat.

"Admit it," he continued. "I was right about Cornadoro. In the end, he could not keep to discipline."

"It was the Quintessence that corrupted him."

She said it as an admonition-not in retrospect about Cornadoro, but to him. He knew it, and it infuriated him further.

"You and Cornadoro…" His voice clotted with emotion.

"What about me and Cornadoro?" his mother said blithely.

"I know he was your lover. What kind of pillow talk-"

"My pillow talk only goes in one direction, darling, you know that." But her voice had grown steely. "You're not becoming suspicious of me, are you? Because that would be a waste of your precious time-"

"My man was on surveillance because I was suspicious of Cornadoro," Jordan said. It was a half truth, anyway. He had gotten a firm grip on his emotions; no more stupid outbursts from him that would give her a clue to his current frame of mind. "You can't blame me for that."

"Certainly not, darling. On the contrary, I applaud your prudence."

"And I applaud your clear-eyed ability to shoot your lover."

"It was hardly difficult, there was never any emotion involved. Cornadoro served a purpose-when it came to an end, so did he." There was a brief pause. "But I do resent being spied upon, and especially by that horrid Albanian."

Jordan glanced over at the driver. "That horrid Albanian is sitting right here beside me."

"What are you saying? Jordan, are you in Trabzon?"

"No, I'm in Sumela, Camille." With three Knights of the Field: the Albanian, the German and the Russian, formerly of the FSB, but he wasn't about to tell her that. Now his voice turned steely. "I'm here to pick up the pieces, to make the corrections you have been unable to make."

"Idiot!" she said in his ear. "Everything has gone precisely according to plan. Bravo trusts me completely, as does Jenny. I'll be in on the end when he opens the Order's cache."

"No, Mother, that honor is mine." He signaled to his Knights, got out of the car.

"If you show yourself now, all will be lost," she said. "The minute he sees you he'll understand everything."

Jordan signed for his Knights to fan out. "Don't concern yourself, Mother. I'll make my appearance at the right moment." He watched his Knights moving up toward the monastery. "Shock tactics, something I learned on my own." He began to walk toward the steep stone stairs that led to the buildings themselves.

"Even your being here-you're making a mistake, Jordan."

"You let me worry about that."

"Dammit, I've spent decades orchestrating this-"

"The last four years I've nurtured Bravo because you told me to, because of what I never had, because of what you promised me."

"Don't be a child, darling."

He felt as if he had been stuck with a cattle prod and, with an animal growl, leapt up the stairs.

"I'll have my revenge, Jordan." The steel reappeared, like the claws on a cat. "Don't spoil it."

"Is that a threat? I sincerely hope not, because I hold the ace of spades, the information you've gone out of your way to keep from Bravo. The one-"

Her gasp produced a little thrill that ran right through him.

"So, enough of this posturing," he concluded. "Get out of my way, Mother, get out of my way now."

The Sumela Monastery was ancient, dating back to the fourth century after Christ. Founded in honor of the Virgin Mary by two Athenian priests, it was named Sumela, from the Greek melas, meaning black. Whether the founders were influenced by the Karadaglar-the Black Mountains-in which they built their monastery or by the color of the icon of the Virgin Mary they brought with them remained an unanswered question.

Bravo had cause to think on this enigma as he and the two women moved past the complex, which housed the Rock Church, several chapels, kitchens, student rooms, a guesthouse and library. After renovation in the thirteenth and nineteenth centuries, the monastery was finally abandoned in 1923, following the three-year Russian occupation of Trabzon.

Now it was nothing more than a tourist attraction. But through Khalif Bravo knew the Order had been here. Through the twelfth century, King Alexius III and his son Manuel III had contributed to the wealth of Sumela, had used it as one of their eyes in the Levant.

The mystery of Sumela's name mirrored the mystery of his father's last cipher: a long set of instructions, unambiguous and yet mysterious-the most mysterious of all of them raising more questions than it answered.

Beside him, Camille hiked silently, tirelessly. If Bravo hadn't been shown evidence of them already, he would have marveled at her physical competence and stamina. Behind them both came Jenny, backtracking, quartering through the trees and underbrush as they made their way up the mountainside, farther and farther from the tour groups.

Just past a particularly rocky stretch, she called them to a halt in a small copse of pines.

"I saw something," she said softly. "I think it was the man who tackled me on the grounds of the high-rise."

Keeping his father's last message in mind, which he needed to do at all times now, Bravo was unsurprised. "Circle back," he told Jenny. "See if you can get around him."

"He's Jordan's man," Camille said. "I'll go with you."

"I think that's unwise," Jenny said.

"Why? Don't you think I can be of help?"

"It's not that."

"What, then? He's unlikely to be alone. I know Jordan better than either of you."

"She's right." Bravo kept his gaze on Jenny. "I need both of you at my back now, all right?"

Jenny nodded.

"Meanwhile, I'll continue on," he said. "According to my father's instructions the cavern where the cache is buried is about a kilometer northeast of here. Come as quickly as you can."

The Albanian had a long memory. He could resurrect every man who had ever attacked him, every man he had killed or maimed. The number was more than a few, less than a shitload, as he liked to joke with his fellow Knights of the Field when he was half drunk. But in all that time he'd never come up against a woman, let alone been bested by one-until he'd attacked Jenny. Furious, he was out for blood-her blood. Before this day was done, he'd hold her bloody head in his hands, this he had vowed to himself.