‘Being followed certainly changes you.’
She nodded, simultaneously wiping tears from her eyes.
‘How did you find my uncle?’
She swept her fringe away from her eyes, placing it either side of her face. ‘The author told me where to go; he knew I needed help. The Knights of Arcadia had been following me for some time anyway. I saw a monk killed while I was on the tube.’
He looked at the ground and then at her.
‘He was murdered in cold blood. Then the guy who killed him phoned me and told me Amanda was dead. Then he hung up.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s my fault she got caught up in this. I wish this whole thing had never happened.’
‘Tell me about it.’
He looked at the ground, head bobbing. Inside he felt himself close to welling up, yet in the blink of an eye, the feeling passed.
He turned to face her and saw that she was crying, this time slightly worse than before. Her eyes, made up with black mascara, were smudged, causing a black streak that ran down her cheek.
He leaned over and placed his hand over hers. He looked at her, and she at him.
Someone appeared behind them.
It was Robert.
‘Is your shoulder okay?’ Matt asked.
He nodded, his eyes on his brother, then on the garden.
Nicole dried her eyes. ‘The Order of the Ancient Star headquarters is located somewhere in Switzerland. I’ve heard rumours, but sadly no one knows exactly where it is.’
Robert was unimpressed. ‘And there it must stay. There is nothing we can do.’
Matt’s expression changed. ‘Nothing we can do? They took Sandra.’
‘That’s hardly my fault, now, is it?’
He leapt to his feet. ‘Not your fault? Whose fault is it?’
‘The treasure taken by the Order of the Ancient Star is nothing but a collection of minor gold, countless iron pyrites and a pirate’s remains. They have not found what they think.’
The comment seemed ridiculous. ‘And where, might I ask, is the real thing?’
‘That’s not for you to know.’
Matt felt like he was about to erupt.
‘Only a full member of the order is entitled to know its secrets. You are not that.’
‘Not entitled. Our father was the pissing grandmaster.’
‘That won’t be enough.’
‘I’m not leaving her to rot.’
‘And what would you do? Huh. Even if you knew where it was?’
He picked up the monk, gripping his jacket. ‘I’m not going to let her die.’
The monk kneed Matt in the chest and forced him to the ground. ‘Are you out of your mind?’
Robert released his brother. As Matt hit the ground, his medallion became visible.
Robert snatched it from his neck. ‘Only the grandmaster has the authority to wear that,’ he said, walking away.
Matt turned, still on his knees. ‘Don’t walk away, you prick!’
Nicole stood in front of him, guarding the way. ‘Calm down, he’s not thinking straight.’
She helped Matt to his feet, brushing some dirt from his face.
‘The book by von Gostel suggested the headquarters was somewhere in the mountains near the Devil’s Bridge,’ Nicole continued. ‘I don’t know the area well.’
Her expression was one of desperation. ‘They might have my friend.’
He looked at her. ‘Come on.’
He started sprinting, heading along the garden away from the house.
‘Matthew?’
‘We can take the plane. I’m not waiting.’
Inside the house, the atmosphere was sombre. Behind the closed doors of the living room, the abbot and the monks were involved in an animated discussion.
Robert entered quickly, his attention on the abbot. He passed him the medallion. For several seconds the grandmaster seemed overcome.
‘We cannot allow her to remain in their hands,’ Robert said affirmatively.
‘We must allow for calm,’ the grandmaster said. ‘First, we must be sure where the Third Temple resides. Only then can we embark on a journey of discovery.’
Nicole followed Matt across the garden and slowed her pace on reaching the plane. It was a white Cirrus SR22, single-engine, four-seat model that Matt’s dad had purchased for over £600k in 2006.
She entered through the passenger-side door, taking a seat alongside Matt. ‘I never knew you could fly.’
‘The only good thing I learned in the navy.’
Nicole smiled as she strapped herself in. The seat was uncomfortable, but comfort was no longer a priority.
She looked on as Matt rattled through the pre-flight checks before the machine burst into life. She watched as the former navy lieutenant got the plane running, picking up speed before making its way into the air.
Matt sighed in relief on reaching the sky, his attention on the ground below him. The land was becoming fainter and fainter as he continued to gather height. At 10,000 feet he relaxed, setting his course for Switzerland.
Nicole rattled through her belongings. ‘We need to find an exact course to fly to,’ she said. ‘Hopefully, it should be mentioned in here.’
Matt nodded, otherwise unresponsive. Several thoughts occupied his mind.
What had he just seen? His brother was alive; after all these years, he was alive. Was he dreaming? Was he even awake? The more he thought about it, the stranger it seemed.
Nicole looked at Matt, concerned. ‘Hey,’ she smiled, ‘you did it.’
He nodded, forcing a smile. ‘I can’t believe that bastard.’
She assumed he meant Robert. In truth, she couldn’t understand either. ‘He must have had a reason; I don’t think twenty-three year olds become monks for no reason.’
Matt looked back but remained silent. He sipped from a bottle of water. ‘Robert talks to us as if he’s our master. You ask me, it’s stupid. My dad would still have been alive if it wasn’t for this.’
Nicole looked up. She was thrown by the comment. There was no denying he had a point. ‘If the wisdom of Solomon exists, then someone needs to protect it.’
Matt put his hands to his head and massaged his temples.
Nicole looked at him. ‘You okay?’
He chose not to respond. ‘Where are we heading?’
‘Woltz said that the location was somewhere near the Devil’s Bridge.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘Somewhere in the vicinity of the St. Gotthard Pass in the Swiss Alps. According to Woltz, the French Templars settled there after they were excommunicated.’
Matt nodded. He thought back to his arrival at Jura’s house. The painting that had caught his eye was of an Alpine pass.
‘Sounds about right.’
‘Wherever it is, it must be well hidden,’ Nicole said, still rummaging through her stuff. She found a copy of Woltz’s book, but von Gostel’s was missing. The last few days had taught her that the known history of the order was guild related, not dissimilar to the Knights of Arcadia. ‘The present order dates back to 1315; judging by what your brother said, the original order could be older than that, perhaps even predating the birth of Christ.’
She went through her handbag, shuffling for books. It was definitely not there. ‘Shit. I must have left it at my apartment.’
Concern crossed his face. He hesitated before answering. ‘Okay. So we can get it from there?’
She nodded, angry with herself. ‘Right. Set a course for London.’
Sandra stumbled through the open doorway and lost her footing on reaching the cell. She felt a sharp fist into her back followed by the sound of a closing door echoing loudly for several seconds.
The chamber was dark, lit only by the faint glow of light entering from the window. The chamber incorporated all of the characteristics of a medieval dungeon; however, the exterior suggested parts of the castle, if that’s what it was, were more modern.
&nb
sp; She took a deep breath and coughed as a reflex. The dank air was overwhelming, its scent tainted by what she assumed was rot and decay. What was unclear for now was where the smell was coming from.
Yet she detected there was a yet stronger smell in the air. The odour was intense, particularly as she neared the corner of the room. The reason was unmistakeable. The smell was urine and faeces.
She turned, facing the far side of the room. Consumed in darkness, she could just make out the marks of the brickwork, jutting out unevenly. The exterior of the walls suggested the castle was genuinely Middle Ages, perhaps 14th century. Traditional knowledge told her nothing of the sort should exist in Switzerland.
But the reality defied logic.
The walls displayed the usual features of a dungeon, notably manacles and chains, a sight that filled her with dread.
Yet it was not only that which troubled her. Another presence was in the air, this time stronger.
Another human was present, sitting against the wall.
‘Who are you?’
The figure rose slowly. Its balance was unsteady, and its frame revealed signs of malnourishment.
The figure approached, now visible in the light. The person was a girl, twenty-eight at the most. Her pretty face and red hair was frizzy and demonstrated exposure to dirt and debris.
‘What’s your name?’
As the girl approached, she stumbled, falling into Sandra. She caught her and grasped her in her arms. Suddenly the girl started crying.
‘Who are you?’
‘Amanda,’ she wheezed, struggling to get the words out. ‘Amanda Hopkinson, I work for the Tribunal.’
Sandra stared into her eyes. They were tired, resigned. Her face was thin, demonstrating again that she had not eaten much recently. She held her tightly and stroked her hair, fearful that the young woman’s eyes could suddenly roll back at any second and her breath give out.
‘How long have you been here?’
She gasped, still breathless. ‘I don’t know. A week maybe.’
Sandra watched with pity, still holding her tightly. ‘Don’t worry, Amanda. I’ll get us out of here. I promise.’
Alone in his office, Daniel Mills looked vacantly at the night sky. Although the night was starry, from his position the sky was spoiled by the glow from the nearby streetlights.
On his desk, the bottle of fifteen-year-old scotch, a present from his former boss two Christmases ago, was open and already down by a tenth. He hated the taste of alcohol, but on this occasion, he was in no mood to object. His mind was troubled by the series of events that was beginning to unfold.
Worse still were the things that were yet to come.
59
Nicole rattled the key in the lock and hurried through the door into the unlit apartment. She flicked the switch on the nearest wall, and the hallway came into view. The apartment looked untouched, as if recent events had all been some kind of sick dream. From this alone, all was normal.
She had returned to last week.
Matt followed her inside, closing the door behind him. The apartment was comfortable, not quite luxurious but not without charm. For London’s standard, it was little more than a bolthole, located in an area where you get far less for your money than anywhere else in the country. He remembered Nicole had a love for swans and tennis, making Wimbledon the perfect address. The thought made him smile, albeit briefly.
Despite the comfort of the place, he detected an atmosphere. The apartment felt empty, as though something or someone was missing. Nicole was quiet and anxious – more than any time recently. He watched her check the kitchen, then the dining room, a nice room with the curtains drawn. The area was empty.
Matt followed Nicole along a small corridor, lined with two bedrooms and one bathroom. Nicole seemed preoccupied as she passed the other bedroom. The door was ajar, but the light in the room was off. He waited until Nicole had entered the other room before peeking inside. Her flatmate’s clothes and possessions were still there, some even placed across the bed as though she was about to get changed.
In the next room, Nicole rifled through her possessions, looking for the book she had left behind. She cursed herself for leaving it, but she knew she had not been thinking straight. The night she had run away had been hectic, and her actions were directed by fear. She vaguely remembered having the stuff the night before, but exact recollection was difficult. The more she thought about it, the more she found her mind was playing tricks on her.
‘You check my room,’ she said. ‘I’ll check the dining room.’
Matt nodded and immediately began his search. The room was different to her one at uni. Gone were the posters of actors and boybands, replacing them were prints of random art, particularly by Degas, Renoir and Cézanne. The wardrobe was still cluttered, though tidier than he seemed to remember. The bedroom suited a young career woman, but it was difficult to imagine it as hers.
He sighed deeply and lowered himself to his haunches.
He was looking for a book he had never seen before.
Nicole headed quickly into the dining room. The room itself was unaltered. The dining table in the middle of the room, flanked by two wooden cabinets that contained the finer cutlery, a present from her mother last Christmas as a moving-in present, was as it should be, as was the remainder of the furniture.
A bookcase on the far side of the room was half full. She walked over in the direction of the shelves. Although the overhead light was off, the light from the lamps was enough to allow her to read the names.
She could see that the one by von Gostel was not there.
She turned, looking in the direction of the corridor leading to the kitchen. Something caught her attention. A light was shining from the lounge, strange considering there was nothing on the timer.
She walked slowly towards it. She assumed that Matt had turned it on, but it was not clear without further inspection. A sense of foreboding overcame her, making her fear the possibility of intrusion.
She entered the lounge, on her guard in case of sudden attack. The curtains in front of the door that led to the balcony were closed, though there was movement behind them.
She stopped, waiting nervously. She thought about calling for Matt, but the words wouldn’t come.
She looked around, her attention on the wall.
Something was different, badly different.
The area where the body of the flayed editor had once been was now a large white void.
She turned away, her body numb. She watched the curtains. The movement was subtle, not like that of a person but instead that of a faint wind.
Inhaling deeply, she pulled the curtains apart and stepped back. The sliding door to the balcony was an inch ajar.
Matt lowered himself to his stomach and began searching under Nicole’s bed. The area was a mess. A recently used suitcase was still open and not completely empty. A large pile of clothes was lying on the other side of the bed; he assumed they had been recently taken from the case. A large guidebook of Malta was located within, but that was the only book.
He pushed the case to one side and looked further in. The area was bare, so he moved on.
The bedside cabinet was on the right side of the bed and contained an alarm clock with a CD player, a box of tissues and a photograph of Nicole and Amanda. A similar one of her parents occupied the shelf below, the only item.
He looked at them. He had never met Amanda, but he could tell from the photo who she was. She was prettier than he expected, and judging from the smile, something of a party girl.
He replaced the photo and searched the two drawers beneath, feeling guilty, but knowing that he had no choice. Starting with the top, he skimmed through her belongings, most of which were cosmetics.
Failing that, he went for the bottom one. Most of the content was miscellaneous, ranging from pieces of paper with notes to random photos. He rifled through them quickly, just in case a book was hidden.
Scanning them, he noticed
something that stood out. A photograph of him and Nicole. He had seen many similar ones, but rarely just the two of them. He was about nineteen, she slightly older. He recognised it immediately: they were on the Nemesis at Alton Towers.
He smiled, reminiscing. She was dressed in a skimpy orange T-shirt that showed her shoulders and suited her hair. He remembered the way he felt when the photo was taken. It hurt him to think what had happened since.
Regaining concentration, he placed the photo on the side and continued looking through the other contents. Most of the stuff was Tribunal related.
One item caught his eye; notes for an article, one he recognised. It was the same one that had caused him to lose his trust in her.
He read through her notes. The name of his father written down hit him, stirring up feelings of loss and anger relating to the time of the funeral and the release of the article soon after.
The notes were not what he expected. Nothing of the final product was there. The content was wide ranging, mainly focusing on his academic career and his books. She paid special attention to his most well known: Cathedrals in the Sky. Silently, Robert’s words stirred him. He knew the name well.
Less so the content.
He continued reading; the more he did, the closer he found himself to welling up. Nothing he read suggested manipulation; instead, he found the content more reassuring. William Anson was a loyal, loving, family man with an interest in humanitarianism, religion, philosophy and charity.
This was the real article. There was little bad about the Templars.
There was nothing at all written about him!
Nicole froze, literally afraid to move. The strong breeze, lightly seasoned with rain that fell intermittently from the cloudy sky, was notable, causing a chill to pass across her arms.
It wasn’t just the physical cold that was affecting her. Logic told her that the door should always be locked, but to her tense mind, it was unclear how long it had been open. The possibility could not be ruled out that the door had been opened when they took Amanda.
The Larmenius Inheritance Page 39
