The Pilgrim Conspiracy

by Jeroen Windmeijer

  ‘Did you really think I was going to let you go?’

  ‘What do you—’

  Tony laughed, but it was forced and foreboding.

  ‘Did you think I didn’t know you only came here to find out what happened to Coen? And to Yona?’

  Peter shivered.

  ‘And what happened in Jerusalem?’

  ‘What have you—’

  ‘Jesus … Come on! You’re a terrible actor, Peter. Do you really think you can pull the wool over my eyes?’

  Peter looked longingly at the coast.

  Too far to swim. And besides, what’s the point of jumping overboard if Tony can just sail after me? Or over the top of me?

  ‘Tony …’ Peter tried to speak as calmly as he could. ‘You’re a great guy, really you are, but, honestly, I have absolutely no idea what you mean. Why are you talking about Coen and Yona? And about Jerusalem?’

  ‘Did you really think that Sam and George drowned out here by accident?’

  This is going terribly, terribly wrong …

  ‘Here!’ Tony shouted. He took off his shirt and turned his upper body towards Peter. ‘Here!’ he shouted again, pointing at the left side of his chest.

  When Peter realised what Tony was pointing at, he froze.

  He could see the jet-black outlines of a tattoo.

  ‘Did you really think I wouldn’t figure out the real reason that you came here straight away?’ Tony said in a whisper that was almost infinitely more menacing than when he had been shouting. ‘Do you think I’m an idiot?’ he said, raising his voice again.

  ‘No, Tony,’ Peter said. ‘What makes you think that? I don’t think you’re an—’

  ‘You and your girlfriend just “happened” to find Coen’s body,’ he said. ‘And you just “happened” to go along on that tour with Jeffrey. And you just “happened” to come to Boston to visit your friend at Harvard. And then you just “happened” to visit the grand lodge.’

  Tony drew the quotation marks in the air with his fingers, bigger and more angrily each time.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Now Peter was shouting too.

  ‘Did you think I didn’t know that you were working undercover? That your only purpose in coming here was to come after me?’

  He really has gone mad.

  ‘But Tony …’ Peter said. ‘I’m just a university lecturer. I teach—’

  ‘You just “happen” to teach about the Pilgrims … It’s the perfect cover!’

  ‘Tony, you’ve got it all wrong. I really don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Sam and George … They had no idea …’ Tony said with a sudden quietness, as if he considered the subject to be closed. ‘They knew me well, obviously. We were members of the same society, the same club. More than three thousand years old, going all the way back to the Exodus, a select group. Secret knowledge. Boy, if you only knew.’ Tony’s thoughts appeared to have drifted back to the last time he’d seen Sam and George.

  I’m trapped.

  Peter frantically tried to work out what to do.

  I need to get him talking and keep him talking, go along with his madness, agree with him.

  ‘I just put my boat – this boat – alongside theirs. It was dead simple.’ He laughed at his own macabre pun. ‘I boarded the boat, knocked Sam out and threw George overboard. Sam was out for a while. George struggled quite a bit when I pushed him down and held his head under the water. That took longer than I’d expected it to. People will try so desperately to cling onto life!’

  ‘But why did they have to—’

  Tony carried on talking, unperturbed, as though telling this story was a relief to him, like a penitent at confession glad to be unburdened of the weight of his sin …

  ‘George floated away to sleep with the fishes. Sam came round … I threw him overboard too, but I wanted him to tell me something first. The poor man barely knew what was going on. Kept begging me to spare him. Didn’t want his knowledge to be lost …’

  ‘Knowledge? What knowledge? Seriously, what is this about?’

  ‘He did tell me something in the end, but it was almost nothing!’ Tony was shrieking in frustration now. ‘It’s been passed down for more than three thousand years, but orally, only ever orally. It started in Jerusalem, but then after the destruction of the Temple in AD 70, they spread the risk of it being lost by sending people out to the most far-flung corner of the Roman Empire, to England. The Pilgrims eventually brought the knowledge to Leiden, and then one Pilgrim brought it to America on the Mayflower, and so it came to Boston. They hid themselves among the Freemasons. I know, I know … Officially, Freemasonry began in 1717 when the Masons came out of the shadows and founded the first grand lodge, but in fact, they had been around for three thousand years by then. They go back to the time of King Solomon.’

  So it’s true! Peter thought. There have always been rumours that the Masons go back to 1000 BCE, to the days of King Solomon, the son of King David. Solomon was known for his great wisdom, but also for building the first Temple in Jerusalem. The building’s architecture was thought to conceal all sorts of secret knowledge, hidden so that it could only be seen by initiates. That’s where the essential elements of Freemasonry come from, the square and compasses, the rough stone that has to be turned into a perfect ashlar fit for use in the Temple of Humanity.

  ‘Philippe de la Noye, Benjamin Franklin, George Washington …’ Tony went on calmly, ‘Paul Revere, Mark Twain, John Steinbeck, Henry Ford, John Wayne, Harry Truman. A long list of illustrious names to which I can add my own, such a great honour.’ He spoke these last two words in a sarcastic tone. ‘It was based in the cities of Jerusalem, Leiden and Boston, although the people might not always have lived there themselves. There would have been two, perhaps three people in each country who were given the secret knowledge. Their only task was to memorise it and pass it on to the next generation unchanged. They were living books, Peter.’

  ‘Living books?’

  My God, Peter thought. Of course! That’s what the author of Piet van Vliet’s manuscript was talking about! Boys being initiated and trained, one after the other, to memorise the knowledge and pass it on.

  Despite the absurdity of the situation, for the briefest of moments, Peter was struck by the almost poetic beauty of the idea of a real ‘living book’.

  What a brilliant way to keep knowledge hidden.

  ‘I’m a living book too,’ Tony said.

  Peter thought he heard a note of pride in his voice.

  ‘Sam gave the knowledge to George and me so that we could pass it on when the right moment came to reveal it. According to some, that day was approaching, and that’s why I had to do something. I’d heard the rumours before then. Like lots of other people, I knew the stories about the existence of alternative knowledge, an alternative history. The true story of the Exodus, for example. I never believed it. I mean, I’d always thought that knowledge would be dangerous if it actually existed. But it did exist! For years and years, I searched for it, following tiny clues, poring over old documents, but none of it led me anywhere. And then Sam noticed me. He saw how diligent I was in my search for the truth. George was already his pupil, and I became his pupil too. I was initiated, and I was given my own part of that secret knowledge, Peter. They had no idea. Sam had brought in a Trojan horse, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. I only wanted one thing: to have that knowledge so that I could destroy it forever. The hours, the months, the years I spent on it! And it all started in Leiden. A twist of fate had taken the knowledge to Leiden, and another twist of that same fate brought it to Boston. I went to Jerusalem. Two down, four to go. Then there were Coen and Yona. Four down, two to go.’

  Peter’s chest felt so tight that he could barely breathe.

  ‘Coen was so easy. It was laughable, really,’ Tony said. ‘There were so many people there that night. I pretended that I wanted to ask him about something in confidence, and I stayed behind in the temple after everyone had left. I p
ointed at my chest, very discreetly, but there was no need to. He already knew me, even though we’d never met in person. The custodians know about each other. They know who the other books in the living library are. He never saw it coming. It was over in an instant. Putting the square through his heart was actually the hardest part. I had to stab him with a knife first, but my anger gave me the strength to do it. And then the compasses in his hands … I was taking a huge risk, I know, but the symbolism was just too perfect. I was going to cut out his tattoo, but I heard someone coming upstairs, so I couldn’t finish it. It was a small blemish on an otherwise perfectly executed mission. And then there was Yona. He was in shock, of course, but he wouldn’t tell me anything either. I smothered him with a cushion in the end, and then I took him on a little boat trip through your lovely Leiden canals. Water will erase all traces of evidence on a body. It was very unfortunate that he was found so quickly …’

  ‘But you’d been back in America for a long time when Yona—’

  Tony threw back his head and cackled like a madman.

  ‘I said goodbye to the rest of the delegation at Schiphol airport. “I’ll catch another flight,” I said. “I still have some business to take care of here.” I’m sure that sounds quite familiar. No one questioned it. I went back to Leiden, and then I flew home via Paris. Not under my own name, obviously. Just like the guestbook in the museum this afternoon. I have many names.’

  Could it really have been so simple? Wouldn’t Rijsbergen have checked that Tony actually was on his flight home? And what did Herman have to do with it all?

  ‘And finally, Sam and George. Six down. Now I’m the only one left. Mission accomplished. And when I die, this heresy will die with me.’

  ‘Heresy?’

  Keep the conversation going for as long as possible, Peter told himself. And let him do the talking for as long as possible.

  He tried surreptitiously to look around the deck, but there was nothing on it except for the lifebuoy and two life jackets.

  ‘Yes, heresy!’ Tony said. ‘That was the real reason for the conflict in Leiden. That’s why so many of them ended up staying there. The group that stayed in Leiden were the ones who’d congregated around the two living books of their time. They were attracted to the liberal interpretations, to letting go of tradition, to the “to-each-his-own-truth” attitude, and to treating Bible stories as allegories. The living books were the only ones who knew what had really caused the split. Eventually, the living books became Freemasons, so there’s your connection between the two groups.’

  If this is all true … Peter thought, it would be absolutely incredible. The manuscript that Piet van Vliet found in Leiden barely scratches the surface. This means that all of history as we know it will have to be rewritten, not just the history of the Pilgrims. It’s all starting to make sense.

  ‘The people who went to America,’ Tony went on resolutely, ‘they were the ones who had the true faith. That was the real reason that they left. They still believed in the literal truth of the Bible, that the stories in it literally happened, that the Exodus literally happened. They went in search of a promised land, just as the Israelites had once done, to establish a new Jerusalem. But the lie went with them. An initiate, a living book, boarded the Mayflower and brought the lie to America, like a parasite hidden inside a healthy body, attacking it from within. The idea was to spread the risk by having living books in the original promised land, in the Old World and in the New World. But I put an end to it. I am the great physician who has provided the cure. And now, at last, it will die with me. Although … First, I need to do just one more thing …’

  Could I have seen this coming, Peter asked himself. Surely there’s nothing that indicates that he’s really done everything he says he’s done?

  ‘But Tony, I knew absolutely nothing about this. How could I have known? I only came here to visit my friend.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Sure …’ He sounded tired.

  ‘We can work this out, Tony,’ Peter said as placidly as possible. ‘You’ve been carrying such a heavy burden.’

  ‘You have no idea, Peter. You really don’t.’

  ‘No, Tony, I’m sure I don’t. Secrets can weigh so heavily on a man, much more heavily than the outside world could ever understand. Everyone has their own cross to bear. For some people, it’s much greater than for others, and yours has just been too much for you, Tony. You did what you thought you had to do, but—’

  Tony started to laugh as if he’d been thinking about the punchline to a joke, but now, he’d finally got it.

  ‘Of course, you’re thinking,’ Tony said, ‘“I’ve got to get Tony talking, agree with him, go along with his madness.” That might be how it works in movies, but not here, Peter. I’m not an idiot.’ He sat back down in his seat.

  ‘No, no, Tony, that’s not what I meant. Listen, I’ve been volunteering in Jeffrey’s museum for more than ten years, since long before I ever met you. My girlfriend, Fay, she joined Loge Ishtar three years ago. I just went along with her to the open evening that night. We went to say goodbye to Coen at the end of the evening, and that’s when we found him. I called the police and left it in their hands. I’m just a lecturer, Tony. I teach history. My friend Judith got a grant to come to Harvard months ago. I’ve known her for more than twenty years. I just came to see her, nothing more.’

  ‘I suppose you might have a point,’ Tony said, slumping his shoulders and looking at the floor.

  Peter got the impression that all of Tony’s earlier confidence and conviction was ebbing away.

  ‘Fay asked me to visit the grand lodge in Boston and take some photos for her,’ Peter explained. ‘I was there for her. And obviously I wanted to visit Plimoth Plantation today because that’s what you do when you’re here, isn’t it? Didn’t I go whale-watching too? There’s nothing suspicious about that, is there? And after meeting you in Leiden, wouldn’t it be perfectly normal for me to look you up when I was in Boston?’

  Tony heaved a deep sigh.

  ‘That’s a load off my mind, I can tell you,’ Tony said. His friendly tone was in sharp contrast to his earlier rage. ‘But a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.’ He looked at Peter. ‘I could recite the texts for you,’ he said. ‘But you wouldn’t understand any of it. It’s Ancient Hebrew. I could only memorise the sounds of the words at first. I didn’t learn what they meant until later. As an ultimate back-up, there is actually a written version of the text. Sam told me about it. Coen wrote it. But Coen wouldn’t tell me where it was, not even during our little discussion just before I killed him. It seems he wasn’t so fond of life, after all.’

  ‘As if you’d have let him stay alive even if he had told you.’

  ‘Hmm … You’re right about that. Good point.’

  ‘But come on, Tony. You know yourself that you won’t get away with this. Everyone has seen us together. If something happens to me, you’ll be their prime suspect.’

  ‘What everyone saw, Peter, was us saying goodbye to each other at the museum,’ Tony said triumphantly. ‘It’ll have been caught by the security cameras too. People saw me walking away. They saw you getting into a car on your own, going to catch a bus back to Boston. With a ticket that I’m going to scan later on my way back.’

  ‘But …’

  My God, this was his plan right from the start …

  ‘But,’ Peter tried again, ‘the Uber driver, he’s a witness.’

  ‘Uber driver?’

  Tony let out a loud guffaw.

  ‘Believe me, that man owes me. He won’t report anything. He’s got way too much to lose.’

  Suddenly, Tony rushed at Peter and gave him a violent shove on the chest.

  Peter stumbled backwards and fell overboard. The attack had been so unexpected that he hadn’t even had the chance to close his mouth before he fell. He went under, unable to stop the salty water from surging down his throat. He came back up to the surface, coughing and spluttering.

  Tony leaned o
ver the side of the boat and grabbed the shoulders of Peter’s jacket.

  Peter tried to wrestle free, but Tony held on tight.

  ‘Tony!’ Peter screamed. ‘Come on! This is insane!’

  Tony’s eyes glowed with an ice-cold hatred, like the eyes of a man who has finally decided to go to the dark side. ‘You should have stayed in Holland!’ He spat the words out. ‘Then none of this would have happened! But you had to—’

  ‘I didn’t know anything! This is all in your head!’ Peter pulled his legs up and tried to push off from the hull, but his bare feet were unable to find purchase on the smooth surface, and they slid off.

  Tony looked like he wasn’t sure about what to do next. His grip loosened for a moment.

  Now, at last, Peter managed to brace one foot against the boat. He pushed off so hard that he almost pulled Tony into the water with him, but Tony let go.

  Peter swam a couple of metres away from the boat. Not that it was going to help him much; they were a long way from the shore and the exhaustion he already felt was made worse by his fear. To make things worse, his waterlogged jeans, shirt and jacket were restricting his movement. He struggled out of the jacket and tried to gather it into a pouch and trap air inside it. He had seen it done on a survival show on the Discovery Channel. But the attempt cost him so much energy that he gave up.

  Tony sat at the helm and started the motor.

  ‘Hey!’ Peter yelled, but his weak voice was barely audible over the engine’s roar.

  At first, Tony steered the boat away from him, but a few moments later, he swung it back around. He fixed his eyes on Peter and manoeuvred the boat in wide circles around him.

  Peter could tread water for fifteen minutes in his water polo training sessions at the pool, but trying to do that almost fully dressed in cold water was a different thing entirely.

  Tony circled closer and closer like a shark closing in on its prey.

  As each second passed, Tony felt his legs growing more tired. It felt like something below him was tugging at them, trying to drag him down.