Eric Lustbader - The Testament

"Fundamentalism, you see? The Christians on one side, the Islamics on the other. It is no longer simply Israel the Arabs have to fear, but America with its increasingly powerful fundamental Christian constituency. This is a conflict that goes beyond the traditional scope of the Voire Dei, as we have known it, and yet it brings the Voire Dei into particular focus and prominence because what your father saw coming is an age of the New Crusades. Make no mistake, it is the future, and those who ignore its growing importance are doomed to be ground beneath its powerful heel."

Seeing the smirk on Rule's face, Father Damaskinos broke off. "You do not agree, Mr. Rule?"

"No, I don't. The Order is purely secular now, no one knew that better than Dex. The idea that he had become interested in religious infighting is absurd."

"And yet the pope still sends his minions after you-now with ever-increasing fervor."

"The pope knows nothing of this," Rule said shortly. "If he has those around him like Cardinal Canesi, so much the worse for Rome. Even so, Canesi has no religious axe to grind-it's the politics of power he has on his mind. Do you really think he gives a fig about the Testament of Christ? No, the Testament is his enemy. It negates the very power base he has built for himself. It's the Quintessence he's after, my friend. Only the Quintessence will save his sorry skin now."

"He will never get the Quintessence. The good cardinal is doomed."

"He very well may be," Rule said. "But with the pope having only days to live, you can be damned certain he's going to do his best to destroy the Order first."

"How very against God you are."

"Over the years, Father, I've learned the high art of atheism."

"That is a pity," Father Damaskinos said.

"What a surprising comment." Rule didn't bother to hide his disgust. "I've had enough talk of religion and doom to last me a lifetime. Let's get on with it."

Jenny was finally on dry land, for which she could only offer up a silent prayer of deliverance. Her arms were numb, and her legs trembled like a foal trying to keep its feet. A sharp pain at the base of her neck seemed connected to the violent headache that had driven its spike between her eyes.

She crouched in the shadows, not far from Paolo Zorzi, who had gathered his Guardians as soon as they had scrambled off the boat at the fondamenta in Castello. Zorzi had his cell phone to his ear. Her position was such that the acoustics of the street brought her every word he said.

"Where are they now?"

He had marshaled, she had gathered, all the resources at his command, using his men at fixed points like the coastal watch-towers that kept track of marauding Corsair ships, like signal fires that transmitted dire news from city to city.

"The church," he was saying. "Yes, of course I know it."

He turned, his expression set, impatient, annoyed and, Jenny hoped, quite possibly chagrined. During the journey across the lagoon, she had discovered that he had been the one to capture Bravo, but Bravo, thank God, had escaped, along with Rule. It was Bravo and Rule they had been chasing across the lagoon. She had not been able to tell this before, curled on the opposite side of the boat. But now Zorzi and his traitorous Guardians had picked up their trail again, and from the sound of the conversation they might soon have them surrounded.

All she had to do now was to think of a way to stop them. She almost wept with the futility of it-what could she do, one woman alone and unarmed against this well-trained, disciplined cadre?

"There is no good news this day, save one thing," Zorzi was saying. "The crisis generated by Braverman Shaw has at last drawn our enemy out of hiding. Anthony Rule is the traitor, this information is incontrovertible."

Who was he speaking with? Not another of his cadre, as she had first supposed. You're lying! Jenny wanted to shout. You're the traitor!

She wished she could accost each and every Guardian and tell them the terrible mistake they were making. Instead, she had to crouch here, trembling like a fawn and watch her world go to hell. She couldn't let that happen, no way-

"It's a delicate operation, of course," he continued. "Bravo must not be further injured in any way. The trauma of his father's death-yes, though I was six thousand miles away, I take full responsibility. Yes, sir. But you must understand, the delicacy of this operation is extreme. Not only must we extract Braverman Shaw safely but we must do so without killing Rule… Of course, I'm certain. What good will it do us to shoot him dead now?" He walked a little away from the knot of Guardians, closer, as it happened, to where she crouched in a shadowed doorway. "This is our chance to turn the tables on the Knights. Imagine the intelligence about them Rule must be carrying inside his head." Zorzi switched his cell phone to his other hand, his other ear, while he flexed the one that had been holding the unit. "No, sir, I will not handle the interrogation myself. You know my history with Rule; we've never seen eye to eye. How would it look if I handled his interrogation? No, that I will leave up to you, sir."

All at once, Jenny realized that she was shaking all over. What was wrong with this picture? Paolo Zorzi should have been advocating Anthony Rule's death-if only to protect himself. Not only was he advocating the capture of Rule, but he was refusing to lead the interrogation. What Zorzi was saying made no sense to her. And then, with a icy ball forming in her stomach, she realized that if Zorzi wasn't the traitor-if, in fact, he was telling the truth and, instead, Rule was the traitor, the conversation made perfect sense.

Jenny put her head against the door and closed her eyes against the spinning of the world around her. She felt sick to her stomach. Rule was the traitor-Rule, who had been so close to Dex his son called him Uncle Tony. It was perfect-so perfect that she wanted to gag. So many unexplained anomalies raced through her head. No wonder the Order had been losing ground to the Knights, no wonder they'd now been losing key men-including Dex. It had all been Rule's doing.

Without her being aware of it, her fingers curled, her hands turned to fists she planned to furiously employ at the first opportunity.

Bravo became aware of Father Damaskinos's keen eye on him.

"When it came to the Order, your father had a particular interest, Bravo. I wonder if he shared it with you."

The priest spoke in such easy, even tones it was possible to believe that this was not a test. But only for a moment. Bravo smiled, because he liked Father Damaskinos, liked especially his caution in this new time of terrible peril for those in the Order as well as for those who befriended members of the Order.

"He spoke to me often of Fra Leoni."

"Yes, indeed. Fra Leoni was the last Magister Regens of the Order. Afterward, the so-called Haute Cour-the committee originally formed to advise the Magister Regens and see that his dictums were carried out correctly-evolved into an egalitarian ruling body." Father Damaskinos looked at Rule as if in defiance, but Rule was silent. "There seemed little about the Order's hallowed leader that Dexter did not know. He also knew that the only way for the Order to evolve, to become a major force in the modern world was to elect a new Magister Regens."

"Does one of these sarcophagi hold the remains of Fra Leoni?" Rule's interest had suddenly quickened.

"Now that would be something, truly," the priest said. "However, you must know that the whereabouts of the crypt was so zealously guarded over the centuries that it has now become something of a legend. In fact, no one knows whether it actually exists."

"My father believed it existed," Bravo said.

"That's right," Father Damaskinos said, "but I believe that even he had no clear idea where it might be."