The Jealous God

by Brendan Carroll

  Ruth’s casket had been brought to the chalet by a very expensive truck hired in Geneva. While the rest of them, had crammed themselves into two very small rental cars, which had cost them a small fortune. In addition to the truck and the driver, who refused to let his truck out of sight, they had taken charge of the coffin, and, with no little difficulty, had managed to get it into the wine cellar. Not exactly where they might want to store such a thing, but it was the best they could do… for now. Still, none of them had removed the grisly object of concern from the casket, and there was much debate about whether it would be wise to leave it or take it.

  The Grand Master had listened to Lucio’s tale in private and had then spoken with Lucio, Christopher and Simon together and then Omar, alone. The Prophet looked extremely worn and haggard, and Simon did not look much better. The others knew something was amiss with Ruth’s body, but had the good sense not to pry. Now they sat around the table after dinner, digesting not only the lamb and soup, but the revelation of the new problem at hand, that the Master had finally seen fit to tell them.

  A radio buzzed and murmured on the kitchen counter as they tried to listen for updated news concerning the fate of the two missing Knights in Britain. They had heard several more conflicting reports, and none of them had made much sense. The King of England was now blaming Omar Kadif’s regime with the attempted overthrow of his Kingdom and raising many questions about the New Order of the Temple’s motives and rasion d’etre. If, he said, Omar was indeed the divine representative of God, Himself, why did he not simply use his divine powers to quell this war in the west and bring order back to Europe and the rest of the world? He hinted at things being very suspicious in New Babylon, speaking in riddles of conspiracies and secret agendas, adding fuel to the flames of mistrust were springing up everywhere as the conditions worsened and the war continued.

  The news coming out of the far west was worse than ever. Entire cities were being annihilated. Diseases not seen in centuries were ravaging the survivors, along with starvation. There were numerous reports of mass suicides by groups, who were being harassed and persecuted by the Emperor of Haiti and his allies. In particular, such groups as the Mormons and Jehovah’s Witnesses were being massacred along with splinter groups associated with many of the Protestant movements. Baptists as well as Pentecostals were being rounded up for wholesale slaughter in very much the same way as the Jews had been murdered during Hitler’s heyday, but unlike the Holocaust, there was no time for concentration camps or confinement of any sort. They were simply tracked down and killed outright wherever they were found, individually or in groups, sometimes as large as several thousand at a time. The object seemed to be to rid the North and South American continents of everything except Catholics, and even some of them were being killed, if they protested much over the treatment of the others.

  The Pope condemned the actions vehemently on a daily basis from the Vatican, but it was obvious these new Extremist Catholics had no intention of establishing ties with the Holy See, which they said had sold out to the New Order of the Temple, and were, therefore, no longer professors of the True Faith. The speed with which the entire thing was progressing could only be attributed to some sort of assistance from unknown sources of great power. The twelve men at the isolated chalet on the shores of Lake Leman knew exactly what that source could only be. Jozsef Daniel.

  There were rumors of his passing in England as well as Scotland. What made matters worse were the renewed accusations against Omar Kadif, whereby his true identity was once again brought to the forefront of speculation. What few digital and hardcopy newspapers remained in production ran headlines asking where the true Prophet of God might be… in America? In England? In New Babylon? They used old photographs of Omar, along with newer photographs of Jozsef Daniel, and even some photographs of Mark Ramsay, and his brother, Luke, taken years ago when the paparazzi had been hounding them in Lothian.

  Konrad flopped a tattered London newspaper, some days old, on the table in front of the Grand Master. On the cover, were pictures of Mark Andrew, Jozsef Daniel, and Omar Kadif in St. John’s body. Underneath were smaller photographs of Stephano Clementi, Planxty Grine and King William Henry. The captions told of how Mark Ramsay, the reclusive relative of Omar Kadif, had murdered helpless old men, and then, tried to murder King William Henry at the express command of Martin St. John, former Fox Colonel and usurper of the true Prophet’s titles. The attempted coup was made simply because the good King William Henry had tried to make contact with the real Prophet who was somewhere in American exile. Fortunately, no one in Geneva had paid their group any attention as they passed themselves off as Benedictine monks from Byzantium wearing fully hooded robes on their way to Spain in order to minister to the refugees there.

  The Grand Master read the story with an ever-deepening scowl on his face.

  Omar called his palace in New Babylon from an untraceable account and spoke with the Prime Minister, but Ahmed had been very reluctant to speak with him. The Prophet’s political power was fading fast. The Prime Minister had told him, he could not send money, or men, or anything by way of transportation to help him, citing the deteriorating conditions in New Babylon, but Omar did not believe him. It was obvious, the Prime Minister was having doubts about who was who. Omar’s New World Order was washing its hands of him. Ahmed had tried to learn where he was calling from, but Omar had told him they were in Genoa and would be on their way to Paris, as soon as, they could find transportation. Hopefully, he had put him off track, in the event, someone might be looking for them already.

  “I have been considering what this new development might mean,” d’Brouchart said thoughtfully after eschewing the paper for a while. “I have no doubt Ramsay might very well have threatened the King, but willingly murdered Grine and Clementi? I doubt it.”

  “It would depend,” Konrad said quietly as he sat down at the end of the table. “They were in Lothian. That means Ramsay and company surely made it that far. If the King knew about Planxty and Stephano, he must have been keeping tabs on Lothian at least. But, what has he been doing for almost a month now? It could be, he had to kill them.”

  “Why?” Simon spoke up. “Why would he have to do that?”

  “Several possibilities come to mind,” Konrad shrugged. “He has his number one millstone with him. To prevent them from meeting a worse fate. Torture, perhaps. If either of them confessed to something detrimental to the Order or gave up vital information. Also, what would you do if you knew what was about to happen to a loved one, Brother? If you could not suffer or die for them, how would you help them? We must remember, Sir Ramsay’s sense of the nature of mercy may not necessarily be in line with our own. Another possibility is someone had taken his brother hostage; he might have done anything to save him. And, then, there is the problem with Levi.”

  “What about Levi?” Simon’s voice went up in timbre. They had not heard from the Healer’s son in several months. The last time they had seen him was at Barry’s wedding just before the war had begun. He had gone back to Jerusalem at the behest of the Sanhedrin. They had requested Simon’s presence as well, but Simon had been unable to go after the war had started. He had wanted to pass through Jerusalem and pick him up on the way here, but the arrangements could not be made in time.

  “There is something I found here, Brother,” Konrad said slowly and all eyes turned on him, including Omar’s bloodshot ones. “Something my father had been studying, apparently, before he died. I have perused my father’s work… or, at least, I have read most of what he had recorded on disc, but this was never on the computer. It was something he was working with in hard copy… very hard copy.”

  “What do you mean?” the Master asked him.

  “He has some scrolls here. They have the official seal of the Holy See on them. It seems he either checked them out of the Vatican library, if that’s possible or, more likely, he purloined them. They are very ancient, but they are intact. I looked up what little I could f
ind on the web, that is still functioning to a limited degree here in Bavaria, and discovered they are part of the collection known as the Nag Hammadi scrolls. Unlike the Dead Sea Scrolls, my father’s collection is well preserved and intact. If they are not part of the Templar holdings found by the original nine founders under the Temple Mount, then the church has had them in their archives for centuries.”

  “Probably facsimiles of the originals,” Lucio spoke for the first time. He had spent a great deal of time deciphering the Dead Sea Scroll fragments for the Grand Master in the old days when they were first discovered. “The originals were lost for many years and without the protection of proper storage they were degraded by time and weather conditions. By the time they were discovered, it was almost too late to save them.”

  “Wrong,” Konrad shook his head. “It would seem our Holy Father at the Vatican, had his own originals. It is more likely the copies found at Nag Hammadi are facsimiles or copies of these. There was no need to comb through all those fragments, Brother. The Church already had the messages contained in them. Complete and whole.”

  “Santa Maria.” Lucio blinked at him. “How can you be sure they are authentic?”

  “I have connections.” Konrad smiled slightly and sipped his beer. “Actually, I took some of the paper for dating. The paper dates to the first century for many of the writings of the apostles. John. Peter. James. To name a few. Some of the documents are much older.”

  “Santa Maria!” Lucio said again and then sat open-mouthed in shock. He had pondered the copies of the fragments for endless hours, trying to make sense of them.

  “One of them, you may find particularly interesting. Especially in light of our most recent revelations in regard to Mark Ramsay’s identities.”

  “What did you find?” d’Brouchart asked him.

  “Asclepius. It seems to be a recorded conversation between Asclepius and Trismegistus. One not generally found in the Corpus Hermeticum, but rather a scroll or parchment that was part of the Nag Hammadi finds.”

  “Ahh.” D’Brouchart nodded slightly. “And what else did your father have hidden here?”

  “The list is too long to discuss at this point. I haven’t finished sifting through them yet. I believe it would be beneficial to us to carry the bulk of them with us when we leave.” Konrad rubbed his eyes tiredly. He had not been sleeping well. None of them had been sleeping well. “I’ve been able to arrange passage for us from Geneva by train. It should be no problem to carry another trunk as far as the coast, and the prospects are hopeful we may be able to continue from there by boat, but things are deteriorating quickly in Norway and Sweden.”

  “Then we will leave here at first opportunity,” the Grand Master told them. “Brother Stewart, Brother Barry.” He turned his eyes on his Seneschal and the Knight of the Holy City. “Have you learned anything further from America?”

  “There are reports of a rising resistance in the American west. Supposedly, the advance of the Emperor’s invasion has been stopped in the mountains. It seems they underestimated the Mormons,” Barry reported.

  “If our information are correct, there is quite a number of people rallying together and fighting back there. Some of the reports are a bit bizarre, citing reports of angels leading bands of armed soldiers against the enemy,” Christopher added. “If they are to be successful, they will need divine help. The resistance seems to have some formidable weapons at their disposal. It could be left over armaments from the Twenty-Seven Year War.”

  “Nuclear devices and other modern weapons have been reported to be in the hands of the brothers of the Church and remnants of the United States armed forces, who have managed to flee to the mountains ahead of the scourge. There are also reports of Canadian forces joining them as well in the rugged terrain north of Denver, Colorado. Naturally, as the people learn of this new hope, they are migrating in that direction. The Emperor has spread his armies and the forces allied with him a bit thin. America and Canada are very large countries. There may be some glimmer of hope at the end of the tunnel.”

  “That is good news!” Lucio spoke up. “I hope it is not just rumor.”

  “The news came from the Vatican,” Barry told them. “The Holy See has been able to get a few lines open to the west coast. It seems the devastation is not quite so great on the far side of the Rocky Mountains. With the help of God and a little luck, they might be able to begin a push back, or at least, hold him off at the Great Divide. Many things come into play when one takes into consideration the difference in climate and geographical terrain. The invaders come from a warmer climate.”

  “The same thing contributed to Napoleon’s failure when he tried to invade Russia. The indigenous populations of such areas have the advantage. From what I know, the United States kept much of its military reserve in the west, in the less densely populated areas of the country. It is very possible if some of the military leaders could have escaped to those more remote areas with the right information, Christopher could be right. There may be some hope for success.”

  “These reports of divine assistance...” The Grand Master narrowed his eyes. “Do you have more information on them? Did they come from the Vatican?”

  “They did. Apparently, there have been some miraculous battles or skirmishes won by handfuls of men on horseback charging tanks and armored vehicles in the desert southwest and coming away victorious. Supposedly, these mounted warriors are wielding some powerful form of weapon that strikes fear into the hearts of the enemy, and they are fleeing on foot, leaving behind their weapons and heavy artillery which the resistance is making good use of,” Barry said with the hint of a smile. “It may be, we have not heard from John Paul for this very reason. I have suspicions, it may be what he has been up to. It sounds like something he might do. He used to go off for long periods of time and come back with some very interesting things.”

  “It’s funny you should mention Sir Sinclair-Ramsay,” Konrad spoke up again. “My father kept a meticulous journal of John Paul’s activities when he was a boy. He recorded almost everything about him. Naps, meals, habits, interests, everything you can imagine. At first, it sounded like something a doting mother would do for an only child, but as it progressed, he kept it up even when John Paul was grown.”

  “It seems his activities were much more diverse than any of us might have imagined, and my father had suspicions John Paul was even more special than any of you might have imagined. In time, my father would have discerned the truth about our Brother John. Let’s say he was hot on the elusive prophet’s trail up until the end. John Paul was involved in political actions and military operations in places such as Ethiopia, Somalia and South Africa, and he also traveled to China, North Korea, Cambodia and Japan.”

  “It seems he had connections all over Asia, and was apparently, instrumental in resolving a number of civil wars in those countries in the course of his travels. He was also present at the opening of the first Emperor of China’s tomb in the year 2028. He was among the first to enter the tomb when the archaeological teams went in. Some of the things he did were apparently unnoticed by the members of the Council or… unknown to any except my father. He kept close contact with my father during his travels, sending him details of his exploits, it seems, apparently, unaware of my father’s ulterior motives for keeping tabs on him.”

  “You don’t say?” Edgard was truly surprised. The elder von Hetz had kept many secrets from him. “Then, in light of who he is and what we have learned of him lately, it would stand to reason, it very well could be John Paul who is assisting these rebels.”

  “That is definitely a possibility,” Louis agreed. “He was full of surprises.”

  “He still is,” Simon said reservedly. “Let us pray, he is successful.”

  “Then, I would suggest you get your father’s papers packed up, and we get on with the task at hand. Are you sure you want to participate in this, Omar?” The Master sighed and turned his attention to the silent Prophet.

 
“What about Levi?” Simon reminded them of a lost subject.

  “Let it stand for now, Simon. We will get back to it as soon as time permits. Right now, we have this more taxing problem to deal with. Omar?” The Master ignored his son’s rising temper and returned his attention to Omar.

  “I am, Your Grace,” he said. “It would only be fitting.”

  The Grand Master stood up. “Then let us be about our business.”

  Lucio shuddered and pushed himself up from the table. They would now complete the grisly task of removing the head of the child in Ruth’s coffin. They had decided upon handling it in the same manner as the ancient wizard had handled the Skull of Sidon in the Holy Lands prior to the Dark Ages. They had agreed unanimously, they could not afford to leave it unattended in Switzerland, and they could not transport the coffin through Europe. It would be too risky. Transportation was not reliable. Shipments were not getting through in many cases, and a great deal of cargo had been lost, rerouted or simply stolen or looted along the tracks and roads as people searched desperately for food and medical supplies in the regions closer to the coasts. Carry-on luggage was almost the only way a traveler could be assured of any hope of getting to his destination with his belongings intact.

  One of them would have to carry the head in his personal baggage. A task Barry had volunteered to do. The Knight of the Baldric had fashioned a silver reliquary out of two large, ornamental goblets at Konrad’s chalet. Louis had remarked, it looked similar to the reliquary vessel that held the skull of King Dagobert II, that had once resided in a church in France. A head, strangely enough that had been used during the Templar trials in an attempt to prove the charges of worshipping a servered head against them. And, incidentally, the head belonged to one of Louis’ own ancestors.

  Louis gathered the small, leather-lined velvet bag from the table and tucked it under his arm. He carried the bees everywhere with him now, not daring to let them out of his sight. Barry had inspected them and found each had a tiny hole drilled through the abdomen. These holes, he said were designed to receive thread in order to attach them to a robe or breastplate, perhaps. Barry was mulling over the possibility of designing something for Louis in which the bees might be incorporated as part of his uniform. Edgard had told them, he believed the bees had once been on the royal robe of the Merovingian Kings and had suggested they be sewn onto Louis’ black Templar mantle.