The Templar Concordat

by Terrence O'Brien

  The land rose to a ridgeline three hundred feet south of the house where they had a good view of the walled villa and the road leading up to it. A flat stretch of hard-packed sand ran from the ridge line to the house, with the only cover a pump house at the halfway point.

  “There. On the left.” Eguardo tapped Callahan on the elbow. “Coming around the corner of the wall.”

  Callahan focused his goggles and saw a single guard with an AK47 slung over his shoulder kicking stones in front of him as he slowly made his way along the west wall. When the guard turned the corner, Callahan clicked his watch and timed his progress down the south wall. At that pace, he would take ten minutes to kick the stone all the way around.

  The wall was forty feet out from the house, and about ten feet high, too high for one man to jump to the top and pull himself over. They’d need two men, a ladder, or a rope. The rectangular house itself had a ground floor terrace, with balconies on the second and third floors. The sliding glass doors Berrera’s man had drawn for them were right where he said they were.

  “Four cars and a van in the drive,” said Berrera. “Eight men? Ten?”

  “Makes sense. So where are they?” Callahan moved east along the ridge until he could see the east side of the house, with its much larger second floor balcony overlooking the Gulf. Four men were out there. No, three men and one woman. And from the way one man’s hands were roving over her, he doubted she was a Saudi’s wife. They wouldn’t even let their wives be seen.

  Callahan clicked the radio headset he wore. “Take a look down here. Three guys and one girl.” The balcony was well-lighted so Callahan snapped several telephoto shots of the four people. Even from a distance, he was sure one was Hammid Al Dossary himself.

  “I’m coming,” Eguardo said in his earpiece. “Berrera’s going to stay in position.” When Eguardo slid next to Callahan, he focused his goggles on the balcony. “Whore,” said Eguardo. “Interesting.”

  “Think there are more?” he asked Eguardo.

  “Probably,” he said. “They usually work places like this in groups. Four or five. She’s Filipino, and she has a Filipino pimp who works for a Saudi somewhere. The other girls would be Filipino, too.” Eguardo clicked his mic and spat some fast Filipino at Berrera.

  “You’re lucky, Callahan. I think we might have our inside man now. Or I guess inside woman.”

  Berrera told him earlier he had learned the entire staff at the villa was Indian Muslim. That didn’t mean they supported terrorists, Berrera said, but it did mean they didn’t know who they could trust, so they couldn’t approach anyone.

  Now the lone guard came walking back around the wall, still kicking stones in front of him, and still watching the stones instead of the surrounding area.

  “Look at that wadi.” Eguardo pointed at the gully running north and south on the east side of the house. “That’s how we approach. It’s only thirty feet from the wadi to the corner of those walls.”

  “We have to get out of here, Callahan. We have to get back to the car.”

  “Why?”

  “I bet the pimp is sitting in the van. He’ll take the girls back about 1:00 am. That’s how they usually do it. We need to follow the van, so we have to get the car up here.” Eguardo adjusted his goggles to detect any heat from the van. “I can’t see if he’s in there. I’ll be right back.”

  Before Callahan could object, Eguardo took off down the ridgeline to the west. Callahan clicked his mic. “Where you going, Eguardo?”

  “Just going to get a better look in that van,” Callahan heard in his earpiece. “That pimp is around here somewhere.”

  “He’ll be Ok, Callahan. He moves like a ghost,” said Berrera’s calm voice in the earpiece.

  Ten minutes later Eguardo was back. “I was right. He’s sleeping in the front seat of the van. That means the girls don’t stay here. They just bring them in at night. Get as many pictures of that girl as you can. High power telephoto. We need to find her.”

  * * *

  When the white van left just after midnight, Callahan let it go a quarter mile before turning on his headlights and following north on the road back to Khobar. He wasn’t sure how fast he could push the Impala with the ATV on the back, but the pimp stayed to the limit.

  “They probably live in a dormitory somewhere,” Eguardo said from the backseat, “and this guy will drop them there. Then we locate the girl in the pictures.” He was paging through the digital pictures Callahan had taken. “These are good. We can find her.”

  Callahan couldn’t help wondering how Eguardo knew so much about the prostitution business in Saudi Arabia. Another question he should let die.

  When the van reached Khobar, it stopped outside a local hospital and the four women got out, all wearing white hospital uniforms. When the van pulled away they went down the street and into a dormitory for foreign female hospital employees, just like they were coming off a normal shift.

  “They are nurses or technicians of some kind,” said Eguardo. “That means they are paying someone in the hospital, too. So, there’s the pimp, someone in the hospital, and the Saudi who protects the whole operation.”

  Callahan leaned over the front seat. “You think you can find this girl in the picture?” He looked at Berrera, who said nothing.

  “I guarantee I can find her,” answered Eguardo.

  * * *

  Two days later Callahan was in the Aramco offices of Triad pretending to work when Berrera called on his cell phone. “Eguardo found her, and he found her pimp.”

  “Did he make contact with her?”

  “Yes,” Berrera was obviously uncomfortable with this. “Eguardo said she was afraid of her pimp, but now she’s more afraid of Eguardo. So’s her pimp. Callahan, I don’t want to hurt this girl.”

  “We won’t hurt her. I tell you what. The only reason she’s working as a whore is to get enough money to get out of here and set herself up at home in the Philippines, right?”

  “Yes, that’s the case with all these girls. They can make much more money as prostitutes than they can in their legitimate jobs here. This girl is a lab technician, highly skilled occupation… and she’s making much more at night as a prostitute.”

  “Have you talked to her?”

  “No, Eguardo is the only contact she has had.”

  The Templar Master had told him to do whatever he had to do. He had to keep Berrera focused, and couldn’t let Berrera’s instincts as a priest could get in the way of the mission. “Look, Berrera, she wants money, so let’s give it to her. Give her enough to get out of here forever. She doesn’t want to be here, she doesn’t want to be a whore, she does want money, and she does want to go home. And we need information and help. So, let’s give her everything she wants, as long as she does what we want.”

  “You’re going to pay her?”

  “No, Berrera. You’re going to pay her. I’ll make it work, but you make the deal. We give her half now, and half after we’re done.”

  “How much will you pay her?”

  “Hell, I don’t know. How much do we need to pay her? You know more about the Philippines than I do.”

  “Is ten thousand US dollars too much?”

  Too little, thought Callahan. Let’s make sure this works. “Make it twenty thousand. We deposit ten thousand now, and another ten thousand when we’re done. But she can only get it by physically showing up at the Philippine bank. Have her get us the name of a relative or friend who can go to the bank and verify the deposit. Get me that name, and a city, and I can have it done in an hour. Then she can call the relative and she’ll know we’re good for it.”

  “Ok. I can talk to her this evening.”

  “Berrera, I know you don’t like this, but consider this. She’s getting out of the prostitution business and going home. We’re doing a good thing here.”

  * * *

  Maria Archuletta had never been in the tall glass and steel building in Manila’s financial district. But this was the address, and t
his was the bank her parish priest had given her.

  She walked through the doors and timidly approached the uniformed guard, showing him the name on the paper the priest had given her. The guard looked doubtful, but spoke to a young man at a desk. The young man looked even more doubtful and asked what her business was. She answered as the priest had instructed. “It’s a private banking matter.”

  The young man looked at the name of the bank official again, considered his career, flipped a mental coin and punched the number for the official’s secretary. Maria watched his expression slowly change from smug to confusion to fear.

  “Mrs. Archuletta, may I welcome you to our bank, and if you will allow me, I will personally escort you to Mr. Compos’ office.”

  When they reached the executive floor, Compos’ secretary ushered her directly into the spacious office overlooking Manila. He showed her every courtesy, displayed account statements, and assured her the bank stood ready to offer any assistance.

  “How much, again?” she asked.

  “Ten thousand US dollars.”

  “And it all belongs to my daughter, Anna?”

  “Yes. All she has to do is come see me in person, present proper identification, and we will release the money to her.”

  Very strange, she thought as she rode down in the elevator, very strange. The bank president?

  As soon as she left, Mr. Compos placed a call to a private bank in Zurich.

  Khobar, Saudi Arabia - Monday, May 11

  Anna Archuletta reached for the cell phone Callahan held out to her. “Just make the call,” he said.

  There were tears in her eyes when she returned the phone to Callahan. “And there will be another ten thousand US dollars after I help you?”

  “Yes, you can have your mother verify it again. But I want you to understand you cannot get the money unless you personally go to the bank in Manila. That’s how it works.” He looked at Berrera, who seemed much more at ease now.

  “Ok,” Anna said, “what do you want me to do?”

  Callahan spread out the drawing they received from the workman.

  She knew the house well, and told them how almost all the rooms were used. “And this thing you are looking for, the thing that has them all so excited? They call it the treasure. It’s right in here.” She pointed to a room in the middle of the second floor. “That’s the room they guard, and it’s where they always come to check. It’s locked all the time, and Hammid is always going in there.”

  “You have never been in there?” Callahan asked.

  “Not when their treasure was there. Nobody cares about it when Hammid is gone. One night, when he was gone, the door was open, and I went in. It’s just a room with a table, and there is a glass… a glass box.” She mimed opening a glass top upward. “It sits on the table, but it was empty. That’s why I think the guards only check when Hammid has his treasure in there. When he is gone, his treasure is with him.”

  “What about this room here?” Callahan pointed to the corner room with the sliding glass doors. “Whose room is that?”

  She now blushed deeply, shot a glance at Berrera, and softly said, “Now? It’s nobody’s room. Once… Abdullah the Pig… but I think he’s gone now.”

  “Does anyone go there? Any girls?”

  “Not anymore.”

  Callahan tapped the corner bedroom. “The sliding glass doors here? Are they locked?”

  “Sometimes yes, sometimes no. They will go all around the house sometimes locking all the windows and doors. These doors have a pipe at the bottom so they cannot slide open. To open them you must move the pipe.”

  He pointed to the middle room again. “But you are sure this is the room. This is what they call the treasure room?”

  “Yes. They don’t think we understand Arabic, but we understand more than they think. Like I said, they call it the treasure. Once, someone called it some kind of paper. I didn’t know the Arabic word. And there’s another guy. Zahid is his name. He’s not like the others. I think he’s a professor or something. He goes in there with books and a magnifying glass.”

  “Any other equipment?” asked Callahan.

  “Zahid has a whole laboratory here,” she moved the first floor diagram on top and indicated a room. “But whatever work he was doing is finished. Now he just wanders about and reads a lot. But he does go into their treasure room with his books.”

  “Do the doors have locks?” asked Eguardo. He moved his finger along the corridor.

  “Most have those little locks in the doorknob. You know the little button on the inside with a keyhole on the outside? But the treasure room has…” she spoke in Filipino to Eguardo.

  “Deadbolt.” He turned to Callahan. “She says it’s a deadbolt. That’s the only door in the corridor with that kind of lock.”

  Callahan cocked his head to the side. “I’m average at lock-picking. I can probably get in, but I’m not sure how long it would take.”

  Berrera waved a hand toward Eguardo as if he were introducing the master. Eguardo laughed. “Don’t worry about the lock. I’m sure I can do it in a few minutes.”

  “You have the picks you need?”

  Eguardo nodded.

  That brought up another question Callahan decided not to ask.

  Callahan turned to Eguardo and Berrera. “That sure sounds like the room we want. What do you think?”

  “I think that’s it,” said Berrera. “It all fits.”

  “It looks good to me,” said Eguardo. “And it’s all we got, so what the hell?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Vatican - Tuesday, May 12

  “Let’s try a thought experiment, gentlemen.” The Pope took a seat at the table in his office and looked at each of the three men. “Let’s say the treaty is authentic. Suppose I stand up and tell the world the doctrine of Papal Infallibility is wrong, an unfortunate error made by the First Vatican Council in 1870? What happens to the Church?”

  He’s going to do it, thought Agretti. He’s going to bring the Church down. Destroy it. Damn him. “First, I very much doubt you could say that.”

  The Pope leaned toward him. “Really? Watch this. Papal Infallibility is wrong.”

  “But you didn’t say it ex-cathedra, intended as teaching, promulgated to all the faithful, and binding all Catholics. You just said it to us as a simple rhetorical trick, with respect, Holiness.” Agretti leaned back, clasped his hands over his belly, and waited.

  Respect, my ass, thought the Pope. “In that case,” said the Pope, “you see any discussion of denouncing the teaching as a waste of time because it’s impossible for me to do it?”

  “Essentially, yes.”

  “But,” Bishop Gustuv of the Pontifical College raised a finger, “I presume, Cardinal, you rely on the doctrine of Papal Infallibility to prevent this Pope, or any Pope, from denouncing the teaching of Papal Infallibility. Isn’t it that doctrine which says it is not possible for the Pope to err in such matters?”

  Agretti placed both palms on the edge of the table and pulled himself forward. “Yes. That doctrine prevents any Pope from saying such a thing. The Holy Spirit makes it impossible for a Pope to err in such a manner.”

  “So…” said Gustuv softly. “If a Pope did say it, did teach it, did promulgate it? Wouldn’t that in itself negate the doctrine? Wouldn’t he be doing something the doctrine of Papal Infallibility claims is impossible? And wouldn’t that action destroy any pretense of Papal Infallibility?”

  Cardinal Cortese of the Congregation of the Faith whacked his hand on the arm of his chair. “Go further, Gustuv.” Cortese was enjoying this. “We would have the Vatican Council of 1870 saying infallibility is true, while the Pope says it isn’t.” He rubbed his hands together. “Now, there’s a fine kettle of fish to keep theologians arguing for centuries. Somebody’s wrong, but neither can be wrong.”

  “Yes, Cardinal,” said Gustuv. “We would have the Pope contradicting another Pope and a council. And we all know where that would soon lead.�
��

  “Straight to the Cadaver Synod?” asked the Pope.

  “Right, Holiness,” answered Gustuv. “Straight to what is probably the most disgraceful and despicable action any Pope has ever taken.”

  “That has nothing to do with this,” protested Agretti. “That was outside of the Church.”

  “Outside?” asked Gustuv. “A Pope did it. A real Pope. In St. John’s Lateran Church. In Rome. In the year 897. Pope Stephen dug up the body of Pope Formosus, dressed him in papal vestments, sat him on a chair, stuck a boy behind the body to act as the body’s voice, and convened a Church Synod to put the rotting corpse on trial.”

  Agretti reddened and pointed at Gustuv. “This has no bearing on anything. It was… it was an aberration.”

  “And papal aberrations are exempt from the watchful eye of the Holy Spirit?” Gustuv shot back. “We dismiss what we don’t like as an aberration? I guarantee the rest of the world knows what happened just as well as we do.”

  “If I recall,” said Cortese, “Pope Stephen nullified everything Formosus did as Pope, including all his ordinations of priests and elevations of bishops.”

  “Yes” said Agretti, “but you forget that in November of 897, after the death of Stephen…”

  “Murder,” Gustuv interrupted.

  “…after the death of Pope Stephen,” Agretti continued, “Pope Theodore convened another synod invalidating everything Stephen’s synod had done.”

  “Wonderful.” Gustuv laughed. “Now we have dueling synods. Which team was the Holy Spirit on?”

  “This is not a laughing matter, Bishop.” Agretti wiped his sweaty hands on his cassock.

  “Ok.” Cortese leaned an elbow on the table and looked down at Agretti. “You’re right about Theodore invalidating Stephen’s actions. But then we have Pope Sergius a few years later invalidating Theodore’s invalidation, and reinstating Stephen’s Cadaver Synod.”

  “And that’s where the matter rests today,” added the Pope. “Nobody has touched it since Sergius.”