by Nick Thacker
Victoria shrugged. “Hard to say, exactly. I tend to believe there is — both have storied histories that coincide with one another and share many elements, and both are well-respected, and simultaneously highly suspect, organizations today. They both boast many members, and both claim significant support from advocates worldwide.”
“And yet,” the student continued. “There is animosity between the groups. The Catholic Church does not allow any of its members to be involved in Masonic rituals, correct?”
“It not only frowns upon the rituals, it downright prohibits any of its members from joining the Freemasons. That has been Papal policy since the 1700s, and it has never been overturned. If you ask me, I think the Catholic Church and the Freemasons have been fighting an epic battle for thousands of years, both trying to prove its own validity while disproving that of its main rival. The battle hasn’t been public, nor has it been acknowledged in writing, but… I can’t help but imagine there is one.”
“But the Freemasons aren’t a religion, are they?” A student asked. “Why would the Catholic Church care if they exist or not, and vice versa?”
Victoria smiled again and looked up at the wall clock. She knew she could talk about this subject all day, but they were running out of time. “Well,” she said. “I guess that depends on your definition of religion.”
3
Ben
The man was gaining on him. He was thinner than Ben and actually seemed to enjoy running. Running, to Ben, was something done only when being chased. And since he was being chased, Ben figured now was as good a time as any to run.
Still, the man was faster. He would catch up, and that meant Ben would have to fight him one-on-one, without the help of anyone back at the checkpoint. He wasn’t afraid of his ability — he was brutally strong and had held his own in plenty of head-to-head engagements — but this was a different sort of battle.
This battle wasn’t a kill-or-be-killed battle. He couldn’t just blindly throw his weight around and hope for the best. He wouldn’t be able to strike any lethal blows, and he wouldn’t be able to resort to the scrappy, risky fighting style that he’d used in the past.
He needed to use his intelligence to win this one.
He stopped, turned around. The man came at him again, and Ben threw a punch that was meant more to destabilize his attacker and throw him off balance than to injure him.
Yet his attacker was even better trained than Ben, and even more agile. He ducked out of the way, allowing the blow to glance off his side while he shifted his feet slightly and changed direction. He slammed into Ben’s chest with his head, once again knocking the wind out of him.
This time Ben went down hard, only a rock beneath him to break his fall, and the man piled on top. Ben felt his lungs compress and his breath disappear, and he wondered how the man could keep his hands and feet moving so fast, so effectively. He had almost wrapped Ben in a jujitsu hold three times in the three seconds they’d been on the ground, and it was only Ben’s sheer size that kept the other man from succeeding.
“You’re not going to get it,” Ben said, breathlessly. He threw an elbow up at the man’s head, taking advantage of the momentary lapse as the other man looked at his face as he spoke. The blow hit him in the chin, and it was enough to shake him off Ben’s body.
Ben stood, hands up. He backed away, knees slightly bent. He was prepared for a third attack, but it never came.
“You think you’ve won?” the man asked.
Ben shook his head. “Neither one of us is back yet,” Ben said. “Neither one of us has won.”
“True,” the man said, smiling. “But only one of us can go back to the checkpoint.”
Ben frowned. He knew the rules — return to the checkpoint with your own payload, within 24 hours. Return with someone else’s payload and you win immediately. Return with no payload and you lose immediately.
“What do you —” Ben stopped. He noticed it at that moment, feeling the pressure from the weight of his cylindrical payload no longer present. “How did —”
The man in front of him — Gareth Red, or Reggie, Ben’s best friend — was laughing. “You were too focused on taking me out, you didn’t even care about your payload.”
“Where is it?” Ben asked.
Reggie grinned, then shrugged. “No idea, actually. I tossed it over my shoulder right after I pinned you to the ground.”
“Pinned me to the — you didn’t pin me, you schmuck. I let you attack me.”
Reggie threw his head back and laughed. “Seriously, Ben, you have quite the imagination. If I hadn’t let you land that elbow blow, you’d still be stuck to the snow, pleading for me to let you go.”
Ben stared at him. “Still, no one’s won yet. We have to —”
Reggie bolted, flying past Ben and launching himself in the direction of the checkpoint. Ben turned and watched him go, hoping that he would get lost in the woods and be unable to find his way back.
Ben found his payload — carabiner still attached — lying next to the root of a tree he’d felled the year before. It was dinged, the metal canister showing the wear and tear of a few rounds of their game, as well as the years of use it had already put in as a water bottle. He brushed the snow from its side and clipped it onto the other side of his pants. The belt loop he’d had it on had been ripped off on one seam by Reggie, and it was now flapping against Ben’s left leg. He found another loop to clip the payload to and started out.
You owe me a pair of pants, he thought as he finished clipping the water bottle-turned-payload and headed deeper into the woods. Ben knew the area better than anyone — he owned the land — but in the dead of winter in Alaska, things got white, still, and homogenous very quickly. He sniffed, letting the sharp pain of the below-freezing temperature wake him up.
And I owe you a good right hook.
Reggie was going to find the checkpoint; Ben knew it was behind the woodcutting pile they’d erected not a year earlier, east of the cabin and about two-hundred yards to the north. It was in a natural clearing, marked by the pile to the south and a small frozen stream to the north where Ben and Julie had practiced their ice fishing technique last spring.
Ben hiked quickly, no longer worried about beating Reggie but still excited to get back to the checkpoint — it meant the end of the training game and a return to his nice, warm cabin.
And it also meant a free drink — whoever won the game had to buy the first round at the bar in town.
4
Julie
Julie ran forward to intercept Ben as he marched into the clearing where they’d made camp. She embraced him, and they kissed. About three seconds later, she pushed him back.
“Yuck,” she said. “You smell disgusting.”
He laughed. “You’re puttin’ off a nice aroma yourself, dear.”
She raised an arm and sniffed. Crap, she thought. He’s not kidding.
The CSO group had only been out here for a day, but it seemed like their exertion had caused them a bit of extra strain, and their bodies were paying for it. Julie had groaned when Reggie announced the offsite camp and training games, and she groaned again now, knowing she was still one night away from her shower.
The worst part of it was that her shower was only half a mile away — the cabin she shared with Ben also served as the headquarters of the Civilian Special Operations group, a group in which her fiancé served as leader — and yet she couldn’t hike the half-mile and use it until tomorrow.
Gareth “Reggie” Red was the team’s unofficial training and development coordinator, as he had years of Army and Special Forces know-how and experience under his belt. In addition, he had spent years training corporate executives survival skills in a high-end training course he’d built in the Brazilian forests. He was more than qualified for training his civilian friends to hunt, track, fight, and survive, but at times like this Julie wished he wouldn’t take things so seriously.
They’d spent the first half of the day learn
ing from Reggie about tracking techniques, all of which they’d been tested and drilled on, and all of which had been part of a set of actual homework assignments he had prepared. The training camp they were now “enjoying” was the culmination of a semester-long curriculum Reggie had written himself.
And he was, apparently, quite proud of it. He stumbled into the circle of tents behind Ben and slapped him on the back.
“Well, we almost had a winner besides me,” he announced.
The two other women that made up the CSO walked out of the woods on the other side of the fire pit. Mrs. E and Sarah Lindgren had been joking and laughing with one another, but stopped and stared at the animated Gareth Red as he kept moving toward the group.
“Ben would have had me,” he said, keeping his voice loud enough to ensure that everyone heard — especially, Julie assumed, Sarah. “But he second-guessed himself.”
“Bullshit,” Ben said in a snicker. “You got lucky.”
“Pfft. Lucky would've been getting back here without being spotted. I could have spotted you through a brick wall with my eyes closed.”
“Good thing there isn’t a brick wall in a hundred miles.”
Reggie sniffed the air. “Ah, ain’t that the truth. You got a nice place here, Ben. Too bad I keep beating you at your own game.”
Ben scoffed, and Julie tried to hide her smile as the two men bantered. “My own game?” Ben asked. “How is running around like an idiot my own game?”
Reggie cocked an eyebrow and came up closer to Ben. The two men were almost eye-to-eye, but Reggie had a couple inches on Ben. However, Ben was taller than most men and had the shoulders of a bear.
“Weren’t you the kid who spent an eternity traipsing around a national park in order to ‘find yourself?’” Reggie asked.
Julie laughed out loud. “You think he’s found himself? I thought he was still looking.”
Ben looked from his best friend to his fiancée, Julie, and feigned an expression of pain. “You both are against me, now? Come on, man. I almost won!”
“But you didn’t!” Reggie sang, and Mrs. E and Sarah joined in the laughter.
Julie pulled up a camp chair and began lighting the fire in the dying light of the evening. She could see and feel her breath tumbling out of her mouth as she worked, both appreciating and respecting the fast-changing weather. Alaska was the most beautiful country she’d ever seen. Weather here could change from open skies and bright sun to dreary overcast and brutal cold in a matter of minutes. She’d seen it happen, and if it weren’t for having a warm cabin stocked with a full pantry and plenty of firewood, she’d feel vulnerable out here tonight.
But she’d also seen the frozen hellscape of Antarctica in person, had fought for her life in a below-freezing dungeon beneath a mile-thick sheet of ice, and had come out the other side stronger for it. Reggie’s training aside, she had become the type of woman she’d always looked up to — strong enough to do anything on her own, and confident enough to want to.
The team gathered around the growing embers of her lit kindling as she stoked and nursed it to life, and she heard Reggie cajoling Ben into a rematch.
“No,” Ben said. “Game’s rigged.”
“What? How can it be rigged?” Reggie responded.
“You set up the rules, you won,” Ben said. He shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s rigged, I just don’t know how.”
“You’re a sore loser,” Reggie said. “If these ladies hadn’t run into each other first, one of them would have easily beat you.”
“I seem to remember one of us sitting on top of the other one,” Ben said. “And one of us not being able to do anything about it.”
“And I seem to remember you losing. Period.”
Ben grinned. “Doesn’t matter. I get paid more than you.”
Julie saw Reggie’s tongue poking the inside of his mouth. “Well… that’s just… I mean you’re married. Well, almost. And Mr. E wants to make sure…”
Julie stood up and stuck her chin in Reggie’s direction. “Make sure of what?”
“Just that… I mean Ben has to take care of you and all…”
Ben guffawed from his side, and Julie herself couldn’t hide her laughter. “The day Ben thinks he needs to take care of me is the day I move out,” she said.
“Well, maybe that’s when you move in with me,” Reggie said, cracking one of his massive, bright-white teeth-bearing grins.
Sarah stomped over and smacked his shoulder. “Really, now? Seriously?”
He and Sarah had been dating on and off for some time, and lately things had been obviously in the “on” phase. Sarah had been staying with Reggie in his apartment in Anchorage when they weren’t working.
“What?” He said. “I was just joking.”
“Damn right you were,” Sarah said. She turned on a heel and walked back to her tent.
“Because I wouldn’t be able to get any peace with two women in the house.”
“I heard that,” Sarah called out.
5
Garza
“I told you where to find the book,” the man said on the other end of the phone.
Vicente Garza spat, then brought the phone back up to his ear. He was growing irritated, but he couldn’t afford to upset a client. Not again. “I understand that. I am en route to the book now,” he said. “But I can’t even be sure that the book is what we need, nor can I be sure it is there.”
“The book is what you told me you needed to find the temple,” the man said.
“I believe it is,” Garza replied, forcing his voice to remain calm. “And yet I am not even sure what it is I am looking for. You realize there are thousands of temples in South America.”
“This temple holds the key to a remarkable break—”
“—’Breakthrough in genetic technology,’” Garza said, interrupting. “I know. I read the brief, and you’ve said it a thousand times. But I don’t expect there will be a sign hanging above it saying as much.”
“I expect not,” the voice said, dropping a few notes. “And yet you are the man I hired to find it. Shall I reconsider?”
Garza felt his blood heating up. He gritted his teeth. He absolutely hated to feel inferior to anyone — especially those paying his bills. This client was just that — a client. He could break off the deal at any moment, tell the man to take a hike, and spend his time and considerable talents elsewhere, where it was appreciated.
But he needed a win. He needed to bring this one home.
“There also is the matter of your daughter.”
His blood’s temperature changed direction, and within seconds it ran cold. He felt his forehead beginning to sweat, his back now moist and sticking to his shirt. “What of my daughter? She is none of your concern.”
“Your daughter is working against our interests. That is not a secret, Garza.”
“She’s not part of this investigation!” he said, nearly shouting.
“And yet she is a bargaining chip, played onto the table of fate.”
Garza pulled the phone away from his ear. What the hell does that even mean? he thought.
“You will deliver the package, within the agreed upon boundaries, at the designated time, or we will remove your influence in the South American region.”
“Remove my interest? You don’t have the jurisdiction to —”
“If you fail to deliver, we will take further action. I know you love your business, Mr. Garza, but I also know how much you love your daughter.”
Garza felt frantic for a moment, but he quickly regained his composure. As it should be, he thought. He had spent a lifetime — and a lifetime’s salary — working to control his emotional state, seeking to perfect his emotional and physical grounding. It had helped in his quest to perfect himself in every way. Though he had some distance to go, he felt that he was on the correct path.
But he was human. There would always be certain things that caused his emotional state to waver. The list of those things was a short
one, but his daughter topped it. When his client mentioned his daughter, he’d felt violated, vulnerable. Flipping the imaginary switch in his mind helped keep him in check, but instead of feeling trapped and scared, he began to feel angry.
The adrenaline began coursing through his veins, and he allowed it. The rush of anger filled him, and unlike anxiety, fear, or vulnerability, he knew how to use it to his advantage. Anger wasn’t a hindrance — to Garza, it was a crutch.
He seethed, silently, as the client droned on.
“There is more at stake here than your money,” the man said. “If we do not secure the book, and what it leads too, there will be others.”
Garza frowned. “Others? I thought you were the only party who knew of the book?”
“Nonsense. You knew all along that was not true. We are far from the only party interested in its whereabouts, though we may be in the best position to acquire the book. However, please do not make me question that statement.”
“Understood,” Garza said through gritted teeth. “I’m en route to the location of the book. If it is not there, I will at least have new information to point me in the right direction.”
“Very well. I will await your next call.”
Garza didn’t respond other than by hanging up the cellphone and jamming it into his front pocket. He cursed, then turned to the driver. “Speed up,” he said. “We’re close.”
The trees in this area had thickened to the point of being nearly a continuous wall of green and brown. Snow covered the ground, making the dirt road they were on nearly invisible, and the driver of the jeep they had rented pressed down on the gas pedal, using only the part between the solid rows of trees as a guide.
Garza hoped they would catch the team with their guard down. His information suggested that they were working on a state-of-the-art security and communications system, but that they were still a month away from going live. He hoped that was still the case, otherwise he would be in a situation he hated: having too few men to get a job done.
