Thief on the Cross: Templar Secrets in America (Templars in America Series Book 2)

by David S. Brody

  “Is he going to help us?” She sped on before he could answer. “I hope so. Miss Amanda is very cross with you, and it would be better if we were all friends.”

  He answered the girl truthfully, as he usually did. “I don’t know. Your people and my people are what we call minorities in this country, Astarte. That means there are very few of us compared to the others. Because of that, people don’t always want to help us.”

  She chewed on this information for a few seconds while January coughed into his handkerchief. “If we tell Miss Amanda that God needs Mr. Thorne and her to help us, I think she’ll do it.”

  “Remember what I told you. People sometimes don’t believe you when you tell them you are doing God’s work.”

  She nodded knowingly. “That’s why you need to show them the special papers and rocks, right?

  “Correct. I showed Mr. Thorne some of the rocks today. I’ll show him the rest in the morning.”

  Cam had expected some kind of muscle car, but Salazar waited for him in the Burger King parking lot in a gray minivan with an “I Support Youth Soccer” bumper sticker. “Better cover,” Salazar said. He was not the type to use three words when two would do.

  Cam climbed in and allowed a prancing Venus to lick his face. “Hi, baby.” He buried his face in her fur, her familiar scent both a comfort and a reminder of how their lives had been upended. Venus sat on her haunches between the two front seats. Occasionally Salazar reached over and scratched her tawny back as he drove; after a few such gestures Cam casually pulled the dog out of Salazar’s reach and onto the floor at his feet. The two men had similar builds—both were of average height and fit, like they belonged on a soccer field somewhere. But while Cam sported a goatee and an easy smile, the mercenary was clean-shaven and brooding, as if showing either stubble or joy would be a sign of weakness.

  “The van also carries all my equipment. Infra-red goggles, parabolic listening devices, explosives, firearms.”

  Cam turned in his seat. He hadn’t fired a gun since summer camp. “Are we planning to storm the compound?” He smiled.

  Salazar shrugged, his features frozen. “You want to get Amanda out, right?”

  The response hit Cam hard. He figured they would sneak in and pull Amanda to safety, maybe knock a guard over the head if they had to. But Salazar seemed to envision a commando raid. Maybe the Salazar thing wasn’t such a good idea. “Well, let’s just make sure she doesn’t get hurt.”

  Salazar set his jaw. “Nothing will happen to Amanda.” He took a deep breath, his eyes checking the rearview mirror. It was just after midnight, a tough time to tail someone without being seen. “My Rosalita still talks about the time she met Amanda at the Newport Tower.” Amanda had shown the girl how the rising sun illuminated an egg-shaped keystone in the round stone tower on the morning of the winter solstice, symbolizing the rebirth of the earth as the days began to lengthen. “Amanda was real nice to her. Almost mother-like.”

  Cam knew the girl’s mother had left Salazar when the girl was a baby. But didn’t know how to respond to the ‘almost mother-like’ comment. “How old is she now?”

  For the first time tonight the mercenary smiled. “Eight. Probably the same as this little girl you’re dealing with.”

  Cam changed the subject. “So what’s the plan for tonight?”

  “First step is to make sure we’ve got the right place. Venus might help with that. Then we do some reconnaissance. Then we figure out a plan. Then I go in.”

  “You mean we go in.”

  “No. I only work with pros. Going in with amateurs gets you killed real quick.”

  The point didn’t seem negotiable. But later Cam might revisit it. “I’d prefer sooner rather than later.”

  “Sometimes sooner means you screw up. As long as she’s not in immediate danger, we’ll take it slow.” He turned to Cam. “You meeting January again tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, first thing in the morning, at his compound. He wants to show me more of his collection.”

  “Don’t piss him off. As long as he thinks you’re cooperating, Amanda should be safe.” Salazar adjusted the rearview window. “I read about you and Amanda last year after we … parted company.”

  “You mean after you shot me and we escaped.”

  The mercenary shrugged. “Just doing my job. Besides, I let you go.”

  They rode in silence for a few minutes. “Do you really think the Knights Templar were here before Columbus?” Salazar asked.

  Cam took a deep breath. At least it was a safe subject. “Yeah, I do. I’m not sure we have all the details exactly, but there were definitely groups of explorers here in the late 14th century, and they definitely had connections to the Templars. My guess is they knew at some point the Church would turn on them again, as they had done in 1307, and they’d need a safe refuge.”

  “But I thought the Templars were the army of the Church. Why did the Church turn on them?” It almost seemed like Salazar felt sorry for the medieval knights.

  “Because the Templars figured out the Church was built on a bunch of lies. When they were in the Middle East in the early 12th century they found documents or artifacts or something that revealed the true history of the early Christians. In fact, that may have been why they went to Jerusalem to begin with, may have been why they called for the Crusades—the early Templars were made up of noble families from France, families who had kept alive the true teachings of the early Christians from before the Vatican took over. In fact, some of these families believed they descended directly from Mary Magdalene and Jesus. Later most of these families were wiped out in the Albigensian Crusade in the Provence region.”

  “Weren’t they called Gnostics?”

  Cam nodded. Salazar had been doing some reading. Which was not surprising—many military types were fascinated by the Templars. “Yes, they rejected the need for the Church hierarchy. They felt they could be good Christians by praying directly to God, without a priest as an intermediary. So the Church massacred them.” Cam paused. “But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. When the Templars first went to Jerusalem in the early 1100s, I think they were looking for evidence that proved the stories that had been passed down through their families about Jesus and Mary Magdalene having children.”

  “And they found what they were looking for?”

  “I think so. Or maybe they found other Church secrets about early Christianity. Either way, that’s how they got so powerful so fast—they basically blackmailed the Church by threatening to reveal the truth.”

  “‘Blackmail’ is not really the right word.” His knuckles had turned white on the steering wheel.

  Cam barely knew the mercenary, but his memory of him was of a man in control of his emotions. That seemed to have changed. “Well, whatever word you want to use, it took the Church 200 years to avenge the … incident. Many Templar Knights were killed or imprisoned. But those that remained, the vestiges of the Templar Order, reorganized themselves and focused on North America as both a hiding spot and possible future settlement area.”

  Salazar turned onto a winding country road, ending the Templar discussion. Every few seconds he checked a GPS device, eventually slowing and pulling onto the shoulder. “We walk from here. Put Venus back on her leash and then come give me a hand with these packs. And rub some of this onto your face.” He handed Cam a tube of black paste.

  Each shouldering a backpack, they pushed through a wooded area, a nearly full moon illuminating the night. Salazar led, slashing through the thicket with a machete. “We’ve got about a half-mile hike; we’ll need to stay quiet when we get closer. From what I learned from the tax rolls, January owns about 20 acres. We’re coming in from the back.” He checked his GPS. “There’s some wetlands up here; we’ll swing wide around them.”

  Salazar moved at a fast pace but Cam kept up easily, relieved to finally be in action. Venus seemed to sense his tension, her ears back and her eyes scanning the forest around them. Ten minutes later Salazar motioned for
Cam to slow and keep quiet. “We’re getting close. Stay low. My buddy said there’s an eight-foot fence and cameras mounted every 50 feet.”

  Cam tugged lightly on Salazar’s arm, intending to point out the thinning trees ahead. But the tug was like a trigger. Snake-like the mercenary uncoiled, shoved Cam in the chest and pulled a knife from his belt as he crouched in a fighting position. A feverish intensity in Salazar’s eyes froze Cam, the knife pointing menacingly inches from his face. Cam held his hands up and pushed the words through his constricted windpipe. “Easy, Salazar.”

  Salazar clenched his teeth, gulping air through them. “You shouldn’t ever touch me.” His eyes, dark and dilated, slowly refocused. “I am a trained fighting machine,” he said softly. He slid the knife back into its sheath.

  Cam rotated his neck. What had he gotten himself into? Venus huddled by his feet.

  “Wait here,” Salazar ordered. He crawled ahead about 20 yards and returned, now seemingly calm and composed. “Just as my friend said. Time for Venus to go to work.” He clipped an electronic tracking device onto the dog’s collar.

  “What’s she supposed to do?”

  “Did you bring an article of Amanda’s clothes?”

  Cam pulled a dirty sock out of his pocket.

  “Good. Let her smell it. Then just let her go. She’s a retriever, it should be instinctive.”

  Cam shrugged. “Okay.” He removed the leash, put the sock at her nose, gave her a gentle push in the direction of the fence. “Go ahead, girl. It’s okay. Go find Amanda.”

  Sniffing the ground, the dog zigzagged her way forward, angling to her left toward the fence. Thirty seconds passed. “She may have something,” Salazar said as he peered through the trees with a pair of night-vision goggles.

  They lost sight of her. Cam waited another half a minute. “I’m going to go look for her.” Venus was only about 40 pounds; she had no chance against a coyote or even a fisher cat.

  Salazar shook his head. “No. Give her a minute. We would have heard her bark if there was a problem. But it’s a long fence.” He handed Cam a palm-sized monitor. “You can track her on this. She’s following the fence line down to our left.” He paused, staring at the monitor. “It looks like she stopped.”

  The electronic dot on the screen pulsed in the same spot for about ten seconds before moving back along the fence line toward them at a fast pace. Another ten seconds passed and Venus came trotting through the brush with something in her mouth. She stopped at Cam’s feet and, almost proudly, dropped Amanda’s muddied pink and blue sock into Cam’s hand.

  Cam rubbed Venus’ neck and glanced at Salazar. “I don’t know how Amanda’s sock made it out to the fence, but she’s in there all right.”

  Salazar surveyed the forest around him, at home here in the darkened woods. It would be simple to stick a hunting knife in Thorne’s back. Then drive back to the Burger King, get Thorne’s car, leave it here by the side of the road and hike back to the minivan. Nobody knew they were out here; nobody had seen them together.

  But did his feelings for Amanda justify murder? He had long since come to grips with the moral ambiguity of mercenary work. He was a U.S. Army Ranger turned soldier of fortune; it was his job to kill. That he was now fighting on behalf of corporations and institutions rather than on behalf of nation-states was really a distinction without a difference: Killing was either immoral or it was not. And if it was acceptable for nations to wage war for economic or religious or political reasons, why was it any less moral for non-governmental entities to do the same? He no longer wrestled with the question. Taking others’ lives had become an accepted part of living his.

  But this was different. This was murder simply because he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about a woman who was engaged to another man. This was a selfish, primordial need to possess a woman who was as close to the ideal female as he had ever encountered. This was about the needs of an alpha male to find an appropriate mate. In an earlier time, when men lived in the wilderness, walking the fine line between survival and death on a daily basis, the decision would have been a simple one. He would have killed Thorne and taken Amanda as his own. Had the fundamental nature of man truly changed? He shook his head in the dark.

  He ran through the conversation he would have with the police, the story airtight even if they checked Thorne’s cell phone records. Yes, Thorne contacted me, asked for my help finding his fiancée. We were supposed to meet in the morning; he asked me to bring his dog. He said he had located January’s compound and was going to scope it out overnight. He said he was being followed, had a fight in the parking lot with a couple of guys. Maybe they tracked him into the woods.

  Then, of course, he would rescue the remarkable Amanda. She would mourn the death of her lover, no doubt. He would expect nothing less. But in time she would get over Thorne. And he would be waiting.

  Salazar handed Cam a pair of night-vision goggles and, using the trees as cover, together they crept close to the fence. Venus, tied to a pine, was content chomping on a rawhide bone Salazar had the foresight to bring.

  The mercenary surveyed the area. “Basic perimeter fence. Barbed wire, a few stationary cameras, no electricity, just like my buddy described. Keep kids and hunters and maybe a small-time burglar away.” He pointed toward where Venus had retrieved Amanda’s sock. “She tried to dig under.”

  “So what next?”

  “We wait. You go to your meeting in the morning with January and get a feel for the place. Try to figure out where they’re holding her. Then we go in tomorrow night.”

  Cam hated the idea of leaving Amanda un-rescued when they were so close, but he also saw the benefit of waiting a night to gather more information.

  His cell phone buzzed, interrupting his thoughts. An unidentified Connecticut number flashed on the display. He moved deeper into the woods and answered in a low voice. “Hello.”

  “Cam, it’s me.”

  “Amanda,” he breathed. A pile of bricks floated off his chest as he exhaled in relief. “Are you all right?”

  She spoke in a hushed voice. “Yes. But I can’t talk for long. I’m being held in January’s compound.”

  “I know. We’re out in the woods behind the fence. We found your sock.”

  “My sock? And who’s we?”

  “I’m with Salazar. I need help to get you out of there; I think January paid off the cops.” Salazar gave him a strange, almost cheerless look and his shoulders seemed to sag, but Cam was too excited to focus on it. “Where in the compound are you?”

  “Above the garage, front room. But don’t get me yet. I want to stay one more day.”

  “You what?”

  “Trust me. That little girl needs me, and I’m perfectly safe. But I need to go now.”

  Now that they knew where she was being held, they should just go rescue her. “Are you sure you’re okay. Are you hurt at all?”

  “I’m fine. Really. But I need to go.”

  “All right. But be ready for us at four o’clock tomorrow morning.”

  “Got it. And Cam, I love you.”

  “I love you too. Just be safe.”

  Cam and Salazar spent another half-hour walking the perimeter of the compound before heading back to Cam’s hotel.

  “I’m going to stay up listening to an all-night radio show,” Cam said as they entered the lobby. The show often discussed exploration of America before Columbus and Cam planned to call in to see if anyone knew January or had any insights into the Burrows Cave artifacts. “So you might want to get your own room.” The truth was Cam had no interest in sharing a room with the mercenary.

  Salazar nodded. “You’re paying, so whatever.” He bent over and patted Venus on the forehead. “Meet at seven in the lobby.”

  Cam showered quickly, checked his blood sugar, ordered a hamburger from room service and, the Internet connection now working, found the website for a radio show hosted by a researcher that focused on ancient American artifacts and history. The host was d
iscussing how Native American oral history told of many waves of European exploration of North America prior to 1492. Cam dialed; the host and Cam had met a couple of times, and het put Cam on the air.

  “I wanted to shift gears and try to get some info about Burrows Cave,” Cam said. “There’s a guy named Jefferson January who apparently has a pretty big collection of artifacts from the cave. Anybody have any opinions about whether these artifacts are legit or not?”

  “In fact, January was a guest on my program a couple of years ago,” the host said. “He’s got some interesting theories. To understand where he’s coming from you need to know a bit about the Book of Mormon.” He explained that the book, which Mormons viewed as co-equal to the Bible in terms of importance and sanctity, detailed how a group of Israelites left Jerusalem circa 600 BC and sailed to America. Once there, they split into two groups, Nephites and Lamanites, who frequently warred with each other. Eventually the Lamanites destroyed the Nephites, whereupon the Lamanites broke into various tribes and became what are now identified as Native Americans. “Now, the book goes into some pretty specific geographic detail, which has led most Mormon historians to conclude that these ancient peoples originally lived in Central America and only later made their way north to what is now the United States and Canada.”

  “But not January,” Cam responded.

  “Not January. He believes the ancient lands were in the Great Lakes region. Remember, Lake Ontario isn’t far from where Joseph Smith claimed to have found the golden plates containing the Book of Mormon. And January claims to have the artifacts that prove his theory.”

  “The Burrows Cave artifacts.”

  “But not just those. He claims to have other artifacts. A bunch of the Michigan Tablets, for example. They disappeared from a private collection years ago. Maybe he bought them up.” The host explained that hundreds of engraved stones depicting Biblical scenes were dug up in the Detroit area in the 1890s. Most experts dismissed them as fraudulent. But, curiously, much of the ancient writing found almost 100 years later on the Burrows Cave stones matched the writing on the Michigan Tablets. Cam found an image of one of the stones.