The Black Templar

by Alex Lukeman

  Selena was no longer part of the field unit, and Elizabeth wasn't about to ask her to put herself at risk. Not with two small children that needed their mother. Valentina's status was still undecided. Besides, her injuries prevented her from going. It was the same with Lamont. He was still having trouble with his vision. He was unfit for duty in the field, in spite of his protests. The condition might be permanent, but it was early days to make that call.

  Elizabeth had difficulty believing Adam's story of an eleventh century Arab mathematician discovering something that only now was coming to light with modern physics and technology. But what if that book really did contain a key to opening a doorway into a different dimension? And what if Adam was right when he said something dark and evil lurked on the other side of that opening, waiting to come through?

  She looked at her watch. It was time to go over to Nick and Selena's place for a final briefing.

  CHAPTER 44

  Ronnie and Lamont were the last to arrive. The others had already settled in around the big kitchen table. Elizabeth waited for them to get seated. Ronnie had on another Hawaiian shirt from his extensive collection. This one was a riot of purple, red, blue and green. Parrots and birds romped across Ronnie's broad shoulders.

  "Where are the kids?" Lamont asked. He held up a package. "I brought them a couple of stuffed animals."

  "In the nursery, with the nanny," Selena said. "You can hand them over later." She smiled.

  Elizabeth brought out her pen and began the meeting.

  "Langley has given me a Gulfstream to take you to Ireland. It's waiting for you at Andrews."

  "What happens when we get there?" Nick asked.

  "Someone from the Dublin station will meet you with transportation. He'll get you through customs without problems. Take whatever weapons you need, just not anything really conspicuous. Nothing big. No rocket launchers."

  "No problem," Ronnie said.

  "Everything about this mission is unofficial. The president doesn't know about it. No one at Langley except Clarence and Lucas know about it. If anything goes wrong, there's no backup."

  "That doesn't surprise me," Nick said.

  "On the surface, your mission is simple. You and Ronnie will penetrate the castle and retrieve the book Adam told you about. With luck, you won't have any trouble."

  "There's always trouble," Ronnie said.

  Valentina sat next to Selena. Now she said, "You need to take me along."

  "We've already been through that," Elizabeth said.

  "I know what you said about my status. But you still need me to go. How will they recognize this book if they find it? They don't read Arabic, but I know enough to help. They can't be certain of what they find without someone to interpret it."

  "You're injured."

  "I am much better now, thank you."

  Valentina opened her blouse and showed them a soft brace she wore around her ribs.

  "This brace is comfortable. I have no trouble breathing and the injury is protected."

  "I could use her," Nick said. "She's right about the book. We need to be certain it's the one Adam is talking about."

  "I don't know, Nick," Elizabeth said. "How many books in Arabic could Payne have?"

  Geoffrey Payne has a noted library of medieval and ancient literature. There are many books in his collection written in Arabic. Would you like to know how many?

  Elizabeth sighed. "That won't be necessary, Freddie."

  "You see?" Valentina said. "You need me."

  "I should go, not Valentina," Selena said.

  "Not a chance," Nick said.

  "Why not? She can stay here with the twins. They like her and they're used to her. We won't be gone long. I'm in better shape than she is and I know how you and Ronnie think."

  Nick shook his head.

  "No. What if everything goes south? What happens to the twins then?"

  "I have a suggestion," Stephanie said. "Take a mini cam with you. It's easy enough to hook it into the comm system. When you find the book, put the camera on it. Selena can tell you what you're looking at."

  "What if the satellite is out of range?"

  Elizabeth began fiddling with her pen.

  "That won't be a problem. We have a geostationary satellite in permanent position over Western Europe. Communications will go through that."

  "I suppose that could work."

  Elizabeth set the pen down. "Good. We'll do it that way."

  Valentina started to say something, then changed her mind.

  "All right. That's settled. The mission is to get into the castle, find the book, and destroy it."

  "What are the rules of engagement?" Nick asked.

  "I don't have a lot of sympathy for someone who's trying to call up Satan," Elizabeth said.

  "So, Payne is fair game?"

  "Payne is an influential man. His money has bought him a lot of powerful friends."

  "You haven't answered the question.".

  "I don't know what you're going to find there. Do what you have to do, but try not to kill anybody."

  "That's pretty damn vague."

  "It's the best answer I can give you," Elizabeth said. "Whatever you do, don't get caught."

  CHAPTER 45

  As soon as they were settled into the Gulfstream and away over the Atlantic, Ronnie reclined his seat and fell asleep. It was an old habit, learned in the Marines. You slept when you could, because you never knew when you might get the next opportunity.

  Nick wasn't having much luck imitating him. He couldn't relax. He'd nod off, then five minutes later be wide-awake. After a while, he gave up.

  He looked over at his friend. Ronnie was sound asleep, his mouth open. Nick noticed he was missing a tooth. Why hadn't he seen that before? Ronnie looked tired. There were deep shadows under his eyes, lines on his face that Nick had never noticed until now.

  He looks worn out.

  He looked out the window of the Gulfstream. It was still light, but they were racing toward darkness. Behind them, the sun threw streams of orange and pink and gold over a sea of clouds passing under the plane.

  Ronnie wasn't the only one who was worn out. Nick had lost count of all the times he'd gone off to some godforsaken place where people wanted to kill him. Sometimes he'd been sitting on a strap bench in the belly of some cavernous military transport. Sometimes he'd traveled in comfort and luxury, like now. Regardless of how he got there, the result was always the same.

  Another dance with the Grim Reaper.

  The tune was getting old. He was tired of the music.

  Every time he went off on a mission, the odds he'd come back in one piece got worse. Much as he didn't want to admit it to himself, he knew it was time to stop.

  Everything came to an end, sooner or later. The team was done. It looked like Lamont might be half blind for the rest of his life. In the past, Selena had almost died and had picked up her share of wounds. Nick had lost track of the number of times Ronnie had been injured. He looked older and more beat up every day. Maybe it was the Navajo genes, but it seemed to Nick that his oldest friend was aging faster than he should.

  He could feel time working to tear down his own body. The old wounds hurt every day. On cue, they began throbbing as he thought about them. He was stiff as hell when he got up in the morning, until he moved around and loosened up. His reflexes were still good, but it was no use pretending he was as quick as he'd been at twenty.

  In the old days he could do two hundred push-ups and two hundred sit ups without breaking more than a light sweat, then do it again. He could do a forced march of twenty miles in a little over three hours with a hundred pounds on his back and a rifle slung over his shoulder, and be ready to fight at the end of it. He thought he could still do it if he had to, but it was getting a lot harder to stay fit. Keeping in shape had become a chore. The joy of challenging himself physically was gone, along with the days of his youth.

  Damn it, I want to see Jason and Katrina grow up.

&n
bsp; By the time the pilot announced the final approach to Dublin, Nick had made up his mind.

  Time to call it quits..

  CHAPTER 46

  The Gulfstream landed in Dublin and taxied to a private terminal reserved for travelers with money or clout who required discrete landings and departures. It was two in the morning. Rain fell in a steady, monotonous drizzle. Puddles on the tarmac reflected the glare of the terminal lights. The pilot opened the hatch and lowered the stairs. Nick pulled up his jacket collar against the rain and exited the plane. Ronnie followed with an aluminum case containing their weapons. A man wearing a tan trench coat with the collar turned up and a brown fedora waited for them by the terminal doors. He was about six feet tall, pale as the Irish winter, dark-haired.

  "Nobody wears a trench coat anymore," Ronnie said. "Guy looks like a spy."

  "He is a spy. Maybe he likes to dress the part."

  They walked up to him.

  "You're Carter?" he said.

  "In person."

  "I'm John."

  Sure you are, Nick thought.

  He held out his hand and they shook.

  "Welcome to Ireland. You have your passports?"

  "We do."

  "Give them to me."

  Nick and Ronnie handed over the passports. Nick was traveling under the name of Nicholas Haddington. Ronnie was Ronald Carpenter. The last names were different. The pictures were real.

  "Wait here," John said.

  He went over to a counter where a customs official watched them and gave him the passports. There was a brief conversation. The man stamped the passports and gave them back. John walked back to where Nick and Ronnie waited and handed them over.

  "Follow me," he said.

  They went through the terminal and out into the freezing rain. John led them to a green Ford escort parked across from the terminal and handed them the keys.

  "Tank's full. It's got GPS. Just plug in where you want to go. Remember, they drive on the left here. Some of the roads are pretty narrow, and trucks and buses don't get out of the way for anyone. Try to bring the car back in one piece when you're done. You get in an accident, I don't know who you are. Watch the speed limits. The Garda isn't very forgiving, and you're foreigners."

  John took out a thick envelope and handed it to Nick.

  "Local currency. Should be more than enough."

  Nick took the envelope and put it in his jacket pocket.

  "Thanks."

  "Where are you headed?"

  "South, toward Wicklow."

  "You want to avoid Dublin," John said. "Follow directions out of the airport and turn right onto the M50 ring road, then head south. That will take you around the city. Stay on it until you connect with the M11 going south. You'll see the signs. From there you're on your own. The car has an electronic tag, so you don't have to worry about tolls. Good luck with whatever it is you're here for."

  "Thanks for your help."

  "No problem."

  They watched him walk away.

  "Put the guns in the trunk," Nick said. "No point in having them out yet. I'll drive."

  Ronnie stashed the weapons. They got into the car.

  "Stick shift," Ronnie said. "Should be fun, driving on the left and shifting with your left hand."

  "At least traffic won't be bad this time of night. Gives me a chance to get used to it."

  "How far are we from the castle?"

  "It's about an hour and a half to Wicklow. From there, maybe another thirty minutes."

  "Full moon is tomorrow night. Doesn't give us a lot of time to check things out."

  "Nope. We have to rely on Freddie and the satellite photos."

  It was getting colder outside. The rain had changed to a mix of rain and sleet. The wipers on the car beat a steady rhythm against slush trying to build up on the windshield.

  Except for trucks, traffic was light. The speed limit was 120 kilometers per hour, but Nick kept the car under the limit. Visibility was poor and the highway was getting slick as the temperature dropped.

  He felt himself tightening up from the stress of the unfamiliar road, driving on the left, and the lousy weather. The lights from the car showed nothing but black pavement and streaking rain and sleet. A headache began behind his left eye.

  Bright lights lit up the interior of the car and shone in the mirrors. A semi came up behind them and roared past on the right with a loud blast of his air horn. A thick rooster tail of spray from the wheels covered the windshield with crud. The wind from the vehicle rocked the car. For a few seconds they were driving blind. Nick struggled to stay on the road as the wiper labored to clear away the slush.

  When he could see again, they were about to go off the highway. Nick pulled them back just in time.

  "Close one," Ronnie said.

  "I'd like to have a short conversation with the guy driving that truck," Nick said.

  It was still dark when they got to the outskirts of Wicklow. Nick pulled to the side of the road and left the motor running.

  "We need to get some rest. There's nothing we can do until tonight."

  He triggered the comm link back to Washington.

  "ET calling home," he said.

  Selena's voice crackled in his ear.

  "You're loud and clear, Nick. Your GPS says you're in Wicklow."

  "We need a place to stay. Something anonymous."

  "I already reserved a room for you," Selena said. "The hotel is on Abbey Street in Wicklow town."

  She gave him directions to the hotel.

  "I told them you'd arrive early in the morning. They'll be expecting you."

  "I wish you were here," Nick said. "How are the twins?"

  "Katrina is fine but Jason is fussy. I know it's early, but I think he's teething."

  "I thought they didn't start getting teeth until they were older."

  "There isn't any agreement on when it begins," Selena said. "Anyway, he's not sleeping much. Neither am I."

  "I'm sorry to hear it."

  "Be careful, Nick. Hurry back."

  "Don't worry. We'll be out of here in a couple of days."

  He broke the connection. A sudden chill raised goose bumps on his arms. His Irish grandmother would have said that someone had just walked over his grave.

  They found the hotel and parked. The lobby was warm with polished wood and soft lighting. There was no one behind the reception desk. Nick tapped a bell on the counter. A minute later, the desk clerk emerged from an office in the back, yawning. Nick guessed his age at somewhere in the twenties. He had large ears that stuck out from his head, dark hair and hazel eyes. He was dressed in a white shirt with a black tie and black trousers.

  "May I help you?"

  He spoke with a noticeable Irish lilt.

  "You have a reservation for Haddington," Nick said.

  The clerk consulted a computer.

  "Yes, Mister Haddington. You're in room 203, twin beds, private bath. Just up the stairs on the second floor. May I have your passports, please."

  They handed them over and the clerk noted down the details.

  "How long do you plan to stay?"

  "Two or three days. Possibly longer," Nick said.

  "The restaurant opens at 7:30 for breakfast. Food is served in the bar from noon on."

  The clerk gave them their passports back, along with two keys.

  "Enjoy your stay. We're quite proud of Wicklow."

  "Thank you," Nick said.

  The stairs had a polished, hand carved oak railing. The steps were covered with diamond patterned carpet. On the second floor they followed a narrow hall to their room.

  It was like most rooms in a decent European hotel, clean and neutral. The bathroom featured an antique porcelain tub with gold plated taps. The toilet was old-style, with a tank mounted high on the wall and a pull chain. In the main room, a large, flat radiator took up part of one wall. It was cold to the touch. A single window looked out on the street and shops in front of the hotel.


  Ronnie set the case with the guns down on the floor.

  "Home sweet home," he said.

  "It'll do."

  Half an hour later, they were sound asleep.

  Nick dreamed.

  He's back in Afghanistan again. They come in low and fast over the ridge, perched on the skids, the harsh sound of the rotors echoing from the valley walls.

  The village is a bleak, dust-blown cluster of low, flat-roofed buildings, baking in a harsh hollow of sharp, brown hills. A dirt street runs through the village between the houses. They drop from the chopper and hit the street running as the bird lifts away, weapons ready.

  On the right, low, flat roofed houses. On the left, more houses and then the market. The stalls are a patchwork of ramshackle bins and hanging cloth walls. A cloud of flies swarms around things hanging in the open air of the butcher’s stall.

  He leads his Marines past the market. Close enough to the buildings to be able to duck into a doorway. Far enough away so a round fired won't burrow down a wall and right into him.

  He hears a baby cry. The street is deserted. Where is everyone?

  A dozen bearded figures rise up on the rooftops and begin firing. The heavy TOK TOK TOK of AKs fills the air. The market stalls disintegrate around him in a firestorm of splinters and plaster and rock exploding from the sides of the buildings.

  He dives for cover. A child runs toward him, yelling about Allah. He's got a grenade in his hand. A child! Nick hesitates, a second too long. The boy cocks his arm back and throws the grenade as Nick shoots him. The M4 kicks back, one, two, three.

  The first round strikes the boy's chest, the second his throat, the third his face. The child's head balloons into a red fountain of blood and bone. The grenade drifts through the air in slow motion...everything goes white...

  He struggles to wake up, but the dream changes.

  Now he is in a dark, endless space with no walls and no end. Somewhere ahead is a red glow. Against his will, he starts walking toward it. The closer he gets, the more afraid he becomes. There is something there, waiting for him.