Eric Lustbader - The Testament

"Used judiciously, our knowledge of all these and more gives us a unique wedge, opening doors otherwise closed to all outsiders. It allows us to influence leaders, politicians, businessmen into making decisions beneficial to the world, and to the prospect of peace."

"And the Knights want war?"

"The Knights want our secrets-our power. I assure you they would not use them so judiciously. They seek to consolidate their power, to at long last break free of the Vatican's yoke. They want to influence governments and business to their own ends."

It seemed odd to him now, but he had always suspected there was more to history than could be read in any library book or doctoral thesis. And why not? His father had trained him to intuitively understand the nature of secrets, to not only accept their existence but learn to unearth and unravel them.

"The secret history of the world," he said, repeating the phrase she had used.

She nodded. "And up until now we've managed to thwart all their efforts. Just so you understand the stakes: what happens in the next week will be crucial not only to the survival of the Order but to the world itself."

"But why now?" Bravo said. "The Knights have been trying to steal the cache for centuries."

"The pope is gravely ill."

"There's been no news-"

"Of course there hasn't-not yet, anyway. The Vatican has seen to that. But his illness has thrown the Vatican into chaos-especially the cabal of cardinals who back the Knights. The Knights have used the panic to galvanize the cardinals' full power behind them once and for all-lengths to which even these cardinals had been afraid to go until the pope was incapacitated. The Knights have come after us as never before. This is the Order's last stand, Bravo. Here we survive, or die."

"How many of you are there?"

"Five hundred, give or take."

"Not so many."

"We're strewn around the globe, in every major country and a smattering of minor ones, but of members like myself there are less than fifty. I'm a Guardian. Have you come across word of us in your studies?"

Bravo shook his head.

"I'm not surprised. The Guardians were deliberately undocumented, a closely held secret. It was-and is-our job to keep the others, especially members of the Haute Cour, safe from harm."

He felt suddenly angry. "And yet you and your fellow Guardians allowed five of the Haute Cour to die. Where were you when my father was killed?"

"Remember I told you that one of the Haute Cour drowned while boating? He was my father. I was in the middle of the Chesapeake Bay when your father was killed. I was in a wet suit, searching for my own father's body."

Her words momentarily took the edge off his rage. "Did you find him?"

"No. The tides were strong and a two-day storm offshore had churned the water to murk. It was impossible to see anything clearly, let alone find a body."

"I'm sorry," Bravo said.

"So am I."

His anger fought to reassert itself. "If it wasn't you, then who was assigned to protect my father?"

The knifepoint of his voice pricked her. "Are you out for revenge, Bravo?" she said shortly. "If so, I suggest you save it for those who murdered him."

Racked by his own tragedies, he hardened his heart against hers. "You didn't answer my question."

They had come to the end of the necropolis, though there was a scattering of other mausoleums in the near distance. They stood facing one another, glaring.

"Your father ditched his Guardian some time before he met you. He also disabled a Knight of the Field who was shadowing him. He was an expert at losing himself whether he was in a crowd or not, and, in retrospect, it's clear he wanted to be alone with you-completely alone."

Bravo took some moments to digest this as they continued down the path she had chosen, then he slowly let out his breath. "You seem to have all the answers, and you're resourceful. Is that why my father led me to you?"

"I wish I did have all the answers." She cocked her head. "Why did your father ditch his Guardian, why did he want to be alone with you?"

I want to make you an offer. Remember your old training?

"I don't know," he said, but there was another clutch in his stomach and he had to fight the urge to hit something. He knew what his father had meant for him, all right. The only question was whether he'd accept it. "No," he said after a moment's thought. "He asked if I remembered my old training. Of course he knew I did, he was simply preparing me. I'm certain he was going to ask me to join the Order."

For a moment she was silent, checking the immediate vicinity as she had done at random intervals ever since they had stolen the SUV. Judging by the dates on the gravestones-all in the eighteenth century-they had entered the oldest section of the cemetery.

"I'm hardly surprised."

"You're not?"

"Your father was someone different, special. He was far more than simply a member of the Haute Cour," she said slowly and deliberately. "But to understand this, I have to start from the beginning. As you know, the Gnostic Observatines were once Franciscans."

Bravo nodded. "The original Order was founded in the thirteenth century by followers of Francis of Assisi, and almost immediately upon his death there were those friars who believed that they should be living in apostolic poverty. This angered the pope no end because it was the Church that owned the riches accrued to its Orders. But it wasn't until 1517, almost three hundred years after the death of St. Francis, that the Order formally split into two separate factions, the Conventuals, who wanted to stay put, and the Observatines, who were convinced that St. Francis wanted them to remain itinerant-wanderers exploring far-flung territories so as to bring the word of Christ to those most in need of His gospel.

"Some Observatines knuckled under and even became the pope's envoys on forays to the Levant in order to gain troops and money for a crusade against the increasingly aggressive Ottoman empire. At the time, the Ottoman's powerful navy was taking the islands of the eastern Mediterranean and had begun to threaten even the Republic of Venice.

"But the Gnostic Observatines resisted the pope's edicts for them to renounce their apostolic poverty. They refused and, at length, they had no choice but to flee, going underground. The pope, angered, sent one of his military orders-the Knights of St. Clement, based in Rhodes-in an effort to once and for all bring them to heel."

"For those few of us academics who remember anything about the Gnostic Observatines at all, that is what passes for common historical knowledge. It is correct in the general, but false in its particulars," Jenny said. "Long before the official schism was recorded in history, an internal battle arose, leading to a horribly acrimonious secret rift in the Order. This was scarcely surprising. From the first, the Dominicans and Benedictines, the older and more established orders, aligned themselves against us."

"Why, exactly?"

"For the same reason I was drawn to the Order," she said. The trees left only small ovals of sunlight winking through the rich green of the leaves, through which they picked their way, side by side, like lovers on their way to a trysting place. "We had an advantage in being formed later than the other orders. We had the benefit of William of Ockham."

"Ockham's razor."

"A theory that followed an Aristotelian path different from Thomas Aquinas's faith-based doctrine. Aquinas had moved beyond Aristotle in saying that when we understand the laws of nature we begin to perceive God's plan. 'Ockham's razor' argued that Aquinas was dead wrong: by insisting that reason was the path to unlocking God's intentions, he had demystified God. So a split was formed that would exist forever more.