Treasure Templari

by David S. Brody

  He located the envelope Bruce had given him and spread out the tower photos. The first showed the background architecture in the reproduction painting; the second displayed the background in the original painting from an old photograph; the third and fourth were side-by-side comparisons of the tower parapets, the reproduction version having six parapets while the original’s seventh parapet was marked by an arrow; and the fifth and sixth were side-by-side comparisons of the tower spires, the reproduction version featuring six spires, the sixth also marked by an arrow, while the original had five.

  Bruce had speculated that the architectural details might represent some kind of navigational code, and that the reproduction painter had changed the code to misdirect treasure hunters. Cam focused first on the cluster of buildings on the right, the ones which had been altered. He played with the different architectural features, jotting down numbers as he did so:

  5 spires, changed to 6 spires

  7 parapets, changed to 6 parapets

  The 5 and 7 seemed to be key, as they were the numbers associated with the architectural features in the original painting which had been changed. Reading left to right (the 5 spires being left of the 7 parapets), Cam figured the numerals probably signified the number 57. Perhaps a latitude or longitude reading? The 57th parallel north passed through Scandinavia, then across to Newfoundland in Canada. This would make sense as a navigational clue for a Viking-era map, but the Templars were not active that far north. As a longitudinal reading, the 57 degree west line ran down from Greenland, intersecting with the eastern edge of Newfoundland before eventually passing through South America. Again, not a lot of Templar presence in these areas. Cam sat back. Wait a second. Van Eyck had painted this in the early 1400s, before Greenwich, England was commonly accepted as the prime meridian. Poking at his laptop, he learned that the western edge of the Canary Islands was the recognized prime meridian during the early 15th century; this meant that any longitudinal reading deviated by 17.7 degrees from the Greenwich reading. In simple terms, a 57 degree west longitude reading from the early 1400s corresponded to a modern longitude reading of 74.7 degrees west (57 plus the 17.7 deviation). He nodded. This line showed some promise, running through Quebec west of Montreal and then through eastern New York state into Pennsylvania and New Jersey. Was Amanda correct, that the secrets lay on the east coast of North America?

  Finding an old highway map, he used a red pen and inked in a north-south marking along the 74.7 degrees west line. He sat back and studied the map. Most of the Templar activity in America occurred east of this line, in New England and maritime Canada. But there had been a purported Templar expedition to the Catskill Mountains area in eastern New York in the year 1179, precisely along this longitude line. There may even have been a Templar settlement there, as some of the Templars remained in America and married into the local Native American tribe. Cam felt a tingling run up his back. Had the Templar secrets, the treasures, been buried in the Catskills? Perhaps safeguarded by the Templars who had remained behind?

  Energized, he refocused on the tower images. If he was correct and the ‘57’ represented longitude, he still needed a latitude reading to pair with it. He turned his attention to the cluster of buildings on the far left of the painting’s landscape, the buildings which had not been altered. How to decipher them? Spires had been important for the longitude measurement—there were four spires pictured in the left-hand cluster of buildings. But, strangely, no parapets. Was that it, just the numeral 4? That made no sense as a latitude marking, unless the map was directing searchers to the region around the equator. Perhaps the fact that there were zero parapets was important—putting the numbers ‘4’ and ‘0’ together produced 40. The 40th parallel passed through New Jersey and southern Pennsylvania, close to the Mason-Dixon Line. Cam shook his head. The line didn’t feel right. It sat too far south for any known Templar activity.

  Cam studied the buildings again—two towers rose up next to the building with four spires. As Amanda had pointed out, towers always seemed to be important to the Templars. Was that it then, two towers, the number 2? If so, the two numerals together read left to right would make 42. Could this be the latitude? The 42nd parallel passed through New England and New York, marking the border between New York and Pennsylvania. In fact, the parallel passed right through the Catskills. Cam angled his head. He added a second red line—the 42nd parallel—on his road map, then sat back. “Bingo,” he said aloud. The two red lines intersected in the heart of the Catskills.

  If Bruce was right, and Cam had correctly cracked the code, the Just Judges painting pointed to the southwestern part of New York’s Catskill Mountains.

  Where, apparently, the Templar treasure, the Treasure Templari, lay buried.

  As the first rays of dawn filtered through the bedroom window, Amanda rolled over in bed and stretched out a languid arm. Nothing but bed covers. She jolted awake, the fear of yesterday’s events washing over her. “Cam?” she called.

  As if in response, she heard rustling from the kitchen below. She exhaled and settled back against her pillow. Cam was fine. Astarte was fine. Everyone was fine. Except herself—she was a basket case.

  Flipping the covers off, she washed quickly in the bathroom and threw on a bathrobe. Was she happy because everyone was safe, or still angry for the scare they had put her through? Both, she decided. That was the problem with love—it made you vulnerable to so much pain.

  Cam must have sensed her angst. He had her favorite breakfast, French toast, almost ready in a frying pan. “Good morning,” he said cheerfully. “I heard the water running so I started breakfast.”

  She kissed him. “Is this a way to remind me what a great guy you are?”

  “No,” he laughed. “We’re way past that. This is a bribe to get you to forgive me.”

  “Then there better also be ice cream for lunch.”

  She couldn’t stay mad at him. After all, it was as much her fault as his that Astarte was at the rally. As her grandmother used to say, the concept of people living together in marriage without serious dispute suggested a lack of spirit admirable only in sheep. Though, to be honest, sometimes she envied the sheep its dull existence.

  “I think I figured it out,” he said. “The painting.”

  “Does the Dom Tower play a part?”

  “Not from what I found. But there are probably more layers to this.” He explained how the landscape architecture encoded navigational coordinates, and how the alterations made to the buildings changed those coordinates. He smiled triumphantly. “The original version of the painting leads to the Catskills.”

  “Hunter Mountain?”

  “Not exactly. About thirty miles southwest.” He showed her the roadmap with the two intersecting lines. “At first I was disappointed it wasn’t a bullseye on Hunter. Then I remembered that in the 1179 expedition, a few of the knights stayed behind and married into the Mohican tribe. Well, guess where they lived?”

  She didn’t need to guess; she remembered that passage in the journal. “Right along the Neversink River, southwest of Hunter Mountain. So perhaps a bullseye after all.”

  He served her French toast. “I think we need to take another look at those artifacts.”

  Amanda and Cam, along with other researchers, had searched Hunter Mountain and found some Templar artifacts. They had also found artifacts along the Neversink River, based on a map drawn on the ceiling of a Hunter Mountain cave. The original map had been lost to the elements, but not before a drawing was made in the 1970s. Amanda pulled up the drawing on her phone.

  The cave map depicted two rivers, each with two branches, merging together. The river to the left was the Delaware, with its east and west branches; to the right was the Neversink, also with east and west branches. All four branches flowed south out of the Catskill Mountains. Four different symbols were drawn at various locations along or near the river—1) an oval bisected by a horizontal line which Amanda believed depicted a yoni or vulva; 2) a candelabra resemb
ling a menorah; 3) a five-legged octopus; and 4) what Amanda believed was either a feather with a notch missing or a dove with its wings closed. The fascinating thing about the symbols was that searchers had discovered carved rocks in the locations depicted on the map matching each of the symbols. Amanda pulled up these images as well.

  It had been a few years since they had studied these artifacts. “They’re still a mystery,” Amanda said.

  “Aren’t they all symbols of the Goddess?” Cam asked.

  “Yes, to some degree.” The vulva/yoni, for obvious reasons; the menorah symbolized the tree of life and therefore fertility; the five-legged octopus was a symbol of the Merovingian royal family which ruled France in the 5th through 8th centuries and whose members believed they descended from the children of Jesus and Mary Magdalen; and the dove (assuming that’s what it was) symbolized the ancient goddesses such as Venus, Astarte and Aphrodite (curiously, the Egyptian goddess Maat was herself symbolized by a feather).

  “But why,” Amanda continued, “are they scattered around like that? We get it, the Templars worshiped the Goddess. But this is a map—it should lead to something.”

  “I wonder: What if we go to the exact center of this map?” Cam asked, grabbing his road map. With a red marker, he quickly sketched in the four goddess carvings, using the rivers as reference points and using an online map to help home in on exact locations. While he worked, Amanda refreshed her coffee and picked at her French toast.

  After a few minutes, he pushed the map across to her, smiling.

  “What are you grinning about?” she asked.

  “Look. The four Goddess drawings frame, or encircle, the intersection point of the two red lines, the latitude and longitude lines. This cave map brings you to the same location as the Just Judges coordinates do. The western Catskills. What are the odds of both pointing to the same spot?”

  They stared at the map. He continued, “The cave map confirms the Just Judges coordinates.” He pulled up a map on his phone and zoomed in. “Both sets of clues take you to the Neversink River West Branch near Claryville.”

  “Great work, Cameron.” Amanda felt her cheeks flush with excitement. “That’s exactly something the Templars would do, one map confirming the other. The Neversink area. Just like the journals said. You’ve figured it out.” She sat back and whispered three words, not wanting to say them too loud because she wasn’t sure she believed them herself: “The Treasure Templari.”

  Katarina slammed the front door of her brownstone and kicked at a neighborhood cat who had dared to venture onto her front steps in search of breakfast. Beneath those very steps, just yesterday, Cameron Thorne had been imprisoned. But he had slipped from her grasp. Along with her best chance to decipher the Just Judges painting.

  She took a deep breath, her mood slightly cheered by the warmth of the morning sun on her face. She walked especially quickly this morning, as she often did when irritated. It was one of the benefits of her Type A personality—her metabolism ran fast, keeping her thin and fit. That and her superior genetic makeup. Speaking of genetics, who did Thorne think he was, calling her an asshole? He was half-Jewish and was himself raising a half-breed. He’d be lucky not to find himself in a crematorium when the day of reckoning came.

  But back to the painting. She actually believed Thorne when he said he didn’t know where it was. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t find it. It was all a simple question of proper motivation.

  She pulled her phone from her carry bag and dialed Detlef’s number. “Are you awake?”

  “Of course. It is past seven.”

  Old habits died hard; their parents insisted they be out of bed by sunrise, no exceptions. Opa was even more blunt, telling her there would be plenty of time to sleep when she was dead. “Nice work capturing Thorne,” she said. “Sorry I let him get away.”

  “You had no choice. We can’t afford to have you facing criminal charges. By the way, I reported the incident to the police: A man was injured during the demonstrations; we brought him to your townhouse for medical treatment; he was slightly delusional; you offered to bring him to the hospital; he jumped out of your car near Mount Auburn Hospital. And I’ve called our lawyer—he’s already phoned the police chief. Thorne has not filed any complaint.”

  “I don’t think he will. I reminded him we know where he lives.”

  “Okay then. I think this is contained. I’m not sure the police believe our story. The girl reported her dad being abducted, and they probably have some video. But if the victim isn’t pressing charges, and nobody was hurt, they’ll probably just file it. They’re not looking for extra work right now.”

  “Good. Nice job.”

  He let out a long breath. “Tell me, Kattie, what’s going on? I know I haven’t been around. But do you really think this painting is important?”

  “Do you remember the old stories Opa used to tell us, about the Norse legends? About the magical land of Thule?” This was the Thule of magic and myth, not the land to the north mentioned in Greek and Roman literature.

  “Of course,” he laughed. “I used to get nightmares. Giants and fairies living in the middle of the earth, sneaking out of hidden caves.”

  She smiled, his good humor infectious. “Not just giants. Telepathic giants. So they knew if children were misbehaving.”

  “Like I said, the stuff of my nightmares.”

  “Well, Hitler and Himmler also believed those stories. The legends come from the Eddas, the Old Norse poems. And I think Opa believed them as well. The legends said that this magical land of Thule was the homeland of the Aryan people. And that if we could find our way back there, it was possible that all sorts of secrets would be revealed to us. Magic, weapons, technology, even giants and fairies.”

  “You know,” he said, “those old legends and myths and fables, they’re almost all based on truth. At least partly. Think about the stories in the Old Testament, the flood and the Ten Plagues and all that. They’ve proved that stuff really happened.”

  “Well, I don’t believe in fairies. You know me, I’m a scientist. But even I have to admit there are things in nature we can’t prove and don’t understand.” She recalled her visitation from Opa a few nights earlier. “So maybe there is a grain of truth in the legends. Maybe there is a secret entrance to the land of Thule.”

  “And this painting is supposed to lead there? To Thule?”

  She crossed the street at a light. “I don’t know. But Hitler believed it. Himmler believed it. A whole team of Nazi scientists and historians were out looking for it. And now the Israelis apparently are looking for it too, if what Deidre said is true.” She paused. She herself didn’t necessarily believe it, but she did believe in the dangers of close-mindedness and arrogance: Arrogance is a roadblock on the highway to wisdom. “Now that we’re on the trail, don’t we have to look for it also?”

  His voice lowered. “Not just look for it, Kattie. I think we need to do everything we can to find it, to find Thule. I mean, how can we not? What if it’s real and we just walked away?”

  She took a deep breath as she began to make her way across the Longfellow Bridge spanning the Charles River. “Okay then, I’m glad you agree. We do what we can. Thorne’s our best lead—he’s been studying the painting. But he’s going to be on guard now, so it’s going to be hard to get to him.”

  “Agreed.” Detlef paused. “But what about his wife?”

  A warm wind gently blew through her hair. “I was hoping you would say that, little brother.”

  Bruce sat with a hot chocolate on the rocking deck of his Sabre daysailor. It was too cold to sleep in it now, and even too cold on most days to take it out into the harbor, but he still liked the feel of having the ocean beneath him. If the morning mist burned off, maybe later he’d bundle up and let her stretch her legs a bit. He had some things to figure out, and the world always seemed a simpler place to him when close-hauled and tacking into the wind. Most sailors liked running downwind, on a far reach or even wing-on-
wing. But what was the challenge in that? For Bruce, the beauty of sailing was harnessing the power of the wind and redirecting it, of taking the laws of nature and bending them to your will.

  It was not the laws of nature, however, which concerned Bruce today. It was instead a force of nature, in the person of Marco Salvatore. Apparently, Gus had eluded the Mob boss’ gorillas, and now Salvatore had beckoned Bruce to a meeting. Bruce had promised the gangster a prize, a treat. And like a child, he was likely to have a tantrum if it was denied him…

  Bruce’s phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. Cam Thorne. Good. Maybe some positive news.

  “So, did you find our treasure yet?”

  “Actually, maybe so.” Cam explained how the spires and parapets of the background towers seemed to encode a navigational reading marking a spot in the western part of the Catskill Mountains. “This happens to be the same spot marked by another map Amanda and I have been working on that we think was left by the Templars in 1179.”

  Bruce shifted, turning his body so the morning sun hit his face as he leaned against the cockpit. “Wait. The same spot? In the Catskills? Both maps?”

  “Yes, yes and yes. Too much, I think, for a coincidence.”

  “Can you get any more specific?”

  “We’re pretty sure it’s along the Neversink River Western Branch. That’s where the Templars had a settlement.”

  The banks of the Western Branch of the Neversink happened to be precisely where the Levana Resort was located. Bruce thought about the metal sword and other artifacts, but chose not to share the information yet with Cam. “Are you certain? That’s it, mystery solved?”

  “No, not certain. I said I think it’s too much for a coincidence, but that’s still a possibility. And until I decoded the painting, Amanda was pretty convinced the clues led to a city in the Netherlands called Utrecht. So that’s still a possibility.”

  “I’ve heard of it. Famous for some tower, right?”