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

by David S. Brody

  “Salazar?”

  “Long story—I’ll tell you later. But let’s find Astarte first.”

  “They got into Eliza’s car. Hurry!”

  “Eliza has the artifacts also,” Cam said.

  The ding of the elevator bell drew them, racing, back down the hallway. Amanda arrived first and jabbed at the buttons. She took the opportunity to embrace Cam as the car descended. His heart pounded against her. “Are you okay?” she asked again.

  “Yes. But Salazar isn’t.”

  She shuddered. “Is that how Eliza found us? With Salazar’s help?”

  He nodded. “He tried to kill me.”

  She kissed him. “I think this is my fault. I think he has a crush on me.”

  He rubbed her cheek with the back of his hand. “Some crush. Not that I blame him.” The elevator slowed. “How was the traffic out there?”

  “Quite heavy, actually.”

  “Good.” Cam glanced at his watch. “The hockey game just ended. Hopefully it was a big crowd.”

  The elevator door slid open as they hit the first floor. “Go,” said Cam. “I can’t run. I’ll try to follow but this is going to have to be you.”

  Amanda nodded and kissed him again quickly. “I’m off.”

  “Just follow,” he yelled. “Don’t get too close!”

  She bolted through the hotel lobby and turned right out the front door. Fortunately most Canadians drove sedans so Eliza’s gray SUV should be easy to spot. Amanda raced to the next intersection. No sign of the SUV. Traffic flowed straight and right, the street to the right being the larger road. Without hesitation Amanda cut right and sprinted. Astarte needed her.

  As she approached the next block traffic clogged outside the main bus terminal. She pictured a map of the city in her head. Straight would put Eliza deeper into the hockey traffic. A left on Rue Berri would take her toward Old Montreal, from where she could merge onto Route 720 and head south to the United States. Assuming the woman had a GPS or even a good map, that would be the choice.

  Was it only a few hours ago she had sprinted these same streets? Ahead in traffic she glimpsed a gray roof protruding above the line of cars. She pumped her arms, her eyes glued to the metal of the SUV. The light changed and the car jerked ahead, the flashing of its brake lights betraying the driver’s impatience. It had to be them.

  Slowing slightly she pulled out her phone and directed Cam to her route. “I think she will be getting on Route 720. Perhaps Father Jean can do something.” Sprinting again, she closed the gap to half a block. But traffic was thinning a bit. And of course once they reached the highway there was no way Amanda could keep pace.

  The light ahead flashed yellow and then red. This was her only chance. Using the pedestrians to shield herself, she dodged her way forward, reaching the car just as the light turned green. Now what? The doors would be locked, and she had no weapon. Her only hope was the crowd around her. She raced from the sidewalk and leapt onto the hood of the car. “Help,” she yelled. “This woman is kidnapping my daughter!”

  Eliza reacted immediately. She spun the wheel and, screeching forward, U-turned into the opposite lane of traffic. Still on the hood, Amanda gripped the rim beneath the front windshield, her legs swinging from the centrifugal force of the turn. Horns honked as Eliza raced up the incline, Amanda barely hanging on. Her heart pounded as her fingers dug into the metal. Now what?

  Cam dragged his left leg along the route Amanda had given. She had far outdistanced him but he couldn’t just stand there and wait for her at the hotel. Maybe he’d see a policeman or an idling cab….

  Or a scooter. A young man, probably a college student, hopped off an electric scooter in front of a pizza parlor. Cam jumped in front of him. “Do you speak English?”

  “Yes, a little.”

  Cam pulled out his wallet. “This is an emergency. I need your scooter. Here is all my money and my credit cards and my driver’s license. I’ll be back soon.” Without waiting for a response he pulled the cycle to him, mounted it and sped off.

  Barely slowing, he raced through an intersection. From the far end of the block a gray SUV careened toward him, a blanket or some other debris atop its hood. He slowed. Amanda. The crazy Eliza was swerving and braking, trying to dislodge her. No way would Amanda survive if she fell under the tires.

  Cam had only a few seconds to react. Bending low so Eliza wouldn’t recognize him he edged the scooter toward the road’s center line, slowing as the SUV bore down on him. At the last second he cut hard to the left, the scooter skidding into the opposite lane as he leapt free and rolled to the pavement.

  Amanda had never been so frightened in her life. The gunshot in the hotel room had whizzed by her ear, death only inches away. But the danger was fleeting. This, now, clutching the rim of the hood with every ounce of strength while a madwoman tried to dislodge her, was like being on a never-ending carnival ride without a safety harness. She couldn’t hold on forever—at any instant she might soar through the air and splat onto the pavement like a bug on a windshield. If only she could get a better grip with her feet….

  The SUV swerved suddenly to the right. Amanda strained to maintain her grasp. She barely heard the blare of the horn only inches from her ear. The vehicle thumped and skidded, metal grinding against metal as the SUV collided with something. Whatever it was had lodged itself into the vehicle’s undercarriage, apparently causing the swerve. Amanda glanced over just in time to brace herself and swing her legs away before the SUV crashed into a sign post.

  The sudden stop ripped her fingers away, catapulting her forward off the hood. She flew toward the sidewalk, mitigating the impact of the fall by forcing her body to roll and tumble with it. She thumped to a stop against the front wall of a brick building. Blinking, she did a quick survey of her body. Scrapes and bruises, but nothing seemed to be broken. Or the adrenaline was masking it.

  She rolled to her knees just as Eliza pulled Astarte from the SUV. Holding the girl in front of her, Eliza marched toward her, gun in hand. “Idiot,” the woman screamed. “The hand of God is directing me. Who are you to try to stop me?”

  Amanda pointed her chin at the scooter wedged under the SUV. “Apparently God isn’t much of a driver.”

  “I’m tired of your insolence.” She raised the gun and closed one eye, the other eye cold and hard. “And your interference.” Amanda froze in fear. Would Eliza really shoot her here on the street, in front of the girl and all these witnesses?

  Amanda said a silent prayer. Father Jean was right—in moments of peril faith overcame reason.

  Cam was getting really sick of jerks pointing their guns at Amanda. He probably could have disarmed Eliza with a simple karate chop to the back of her wrist. But he didn’t want to take any chances. Plus four days worth of rage had built up in him. He rushed up from behind and, two hands clasped over his head, clubbed Eliza across the back of the neck. She crumpled to the ground, her gun skidding away as the skirts of her house dress bunched at her knees.

  Astarte edged away from her aunt but not all the way to Amanda, torn between her destiny and her desires. After a few seconds she swallowed and lifted her glistening blue eyes to Amanda. “I guess God doesn’t want me to be the Fortieth Princess.”

  From her knees Amanda reached out and took the girl’s hand. “On the contrary. God has cleared the path for you. He wants you to be anything you want to be. Including the Fortieth Princess.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Cam had awoken early, dreams of gunshots and skeletons and needles haunting his sleep. Not to mention the lumpy cot in Georgia’s room. But at least the worst was over for him, as well as for Amanda and Astarte. Eliza, on the other hand, languished in a Montreal jail while Salazar remained unconscious in a hospital with a fractured skull and internal bleeding. And some poor Vatican envoy, who had just taken the red-eye across the Atlantic, faced the prospect of some unpleasant conversations with his superiors in Rome later today.

  As requested, Astarte sat at the r
ight hand of Father Jean during the 8:00 breakfast. Amanda sat next to Astarte with Cam positioned to the priest’s left and Georgia next to him; the envoy sat at the foot of the table. Along the side wall a representative from the Canadian government and an assistant to the envoy sipped at coffee, observing. The scroll and the artifacts, cushioned carefully in Cam’s pack, sat under the table at his feet.

  As the priest had predicted, the Vatican envoy—a younger, heavy-set man with ruddy cheeks—looked a bit silly in his red-buttoned black robe and cape, complete with pink satin sash and skull cap. “He looks like one of the Russian soldiers in Anastasia,” Astarte giggled as the envoy consulted with his aid. She had surprised Cam by waking up cheerful and energized; Amanda explained that children who viewed themselves as heroes rather than victims tended to be very resilient. No questioning which category Astarte fell into.

  “Yes,” the priest responded to Astarte in a whisper. “All he would need is a taller hat and a sword.”

  They made small talk for a few minutes, Cam taking the opportunity to finish his French toast. It seemed like the first meal he had actually savored in weeks. Father Jean theatrically put down his fork and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “So,” he said, “we have some decisions to make.”

  The envoy responded immediately. He smiled a lot as he spoke, with just a hint of a German accent. The Vatican had chosen well—the envoy was warm and likeable, the chubby boy at school who was always sharing his candy and helping the other kids with their homework. He spread his hands. “We thank you for your extraordinary efforts. Your research is truly remarkable, as is this discovery.” He continued on for a few more minutes, praising Cam and Amanda as well as Father Jean. “You should also know we are not entirely surprised by your discovery.” He paused. “This revelation was hinted at when the Templars were first put on trial in the early 1300s. One Templar knight in particular taunted the Pope with this information just before his death.”

  “So the Church knew about the bones?” Cam asked.

  “Again, it was hinted at. The Templars were nothing if not resourceful. We had hoped that the bones, and the ancient scrolls recording the story behind them, had been lost to history. But now that they appear to have been found we must face reality. To that end, we would like to take the scroll and the bones back to Rome for further study.”

  Cam nodded. The envoy knew they would never agree to that; he was hoping to negotiate back to some middle ground. Cam didn’t blame him, but the reality was that he and Amanda didn’t trust the Vatican no matter how charming its emissary. He cleared his throat. “I want to make it clear that neither Amanda nor I are anti-Church. We understand how important your works are to millions of people around the world. We do not want to do anything to alienate Catholics from their faith.”

  The emissary bowed. “Thank you, for that. There are some who are passionate in their opposition to the Church for personal or even historic reasons. We are not perfect, but on balance our good works outweigh the harm we do.” He smiled sadly. “Perhaps that was not always the case. But it is so now.”

  Amanda nodded. “And Cameron and I agree with that.” She looked at Cam. “But we also feel that the truth must be paramount. This story must be told.”

  Cam continued. “And because of that we are not comfortable with the scroll and the bones being taken back to Rome.” He didn’t need to insult the envoy by stating the obvious—that the temptation to alter the test results or even destroy the evidence would be too great.

  Father Jean knew his job was to facilitate discussion and eventually compromise. “Perhaps the Vatican could send its experts here to Montreal.” He glanced at the Canadian official who nodded slightly. “Especially as I don’t think the national government would approve of the artifacts leaving our jurisdiction.”

  They went back and forth like this for an hour, Cam trying not to get frustrated by the positions taken by the Vatican representative. The scroll and bones would have a huge impact on the Catholic faith and the Vatican clearly wanted to take steps to mitigate the damage. And Cam was willing to give those concerns due weight. But giving the Vatican a seat at the table was different than letting them call the shots.

  “You must understand,” the envoy said, “we cannot have information like this made public until it has been verified beyond the slightest doubt. What is your expression? We cannot put the toothpaste back in the tube once it is out.”

  “We get that,” Cam said, motioning to include Amanda and Georgia. “We really do. But we fear that your definition of ‘beyond the slightest doubt’ is a standard that no amount of science will ever satisfy. The Vatican will be tempted to bury this forever.” Cam sat up straight in his chair. “Over the past few days we’ve been shot at, locked up, kidnapped, hunted down, beat up … you name it. All because of this scroll. So we think we’ve earned the right to determine its fate. We agreed to meet with you because we agree the Vatican should have a say as to how and even when this information will be revealed. But the question of if it will be revealed is not negotiable. And I think the Vatican needs to acknowledge and accept this before we are going to get anywhere today.”

  Before the envoy could respond Father Jean stood. “I think it is time for a recess.” He smiled at the envoy. “I’m sure the Emissary would like to consult with his superiors.” He turned next to Cam. “Perhaps you and Amanda would join me? I’m sure Georgia would be happy to watch Astarte for a few minutes.”

  “Where to?” Amanda asked.

  He smiled. “Sometimes things must be seen, must be felt. Sometimes words are not enough.” He nodded to Cam. “And of course you may bring the artifacts and scroll with you.”

  Father Jean led them back to the nave of the Basilica. The massive sanctuary was almost full. “This is a funeral,” the priest whispered. “A young boy, Serge, seven years old, died in a tragic accident. He fell through some thin ice and drowned.”

  “Why are we here?” Cam asked.

  The priest focused on a spot high on the altar. “Over the years I have had many doubts about my calling, about the Church. So much wickedness has been done in its name.” He sighed. “The recent sexual abuse incidents are the most troubling. Such wrongdoing, such arrogance, such … evil.” He shook his head. “But then there are days like today when I see how much comfort we offer at times of death. Look around. Observe the mourners. Nothing can make up for the loss of a child, but families are comforted by the thought that their loved one is sitting by the side of Jesus in heaven.” He smiled sadly. “In moments like this I believe strongly in the goodness of the Church.”

  Cam and Amanda sat in a pew not far from the pulpit emblazoned with the Delta of Enoch. Holding hands, they observed. A burly man in the pew in front of them crossed himself and dabbed at his eyes with a tissue. An old woman across the way dropped to her knees and prayed, her hands clasped around rosary beads. A young girl leaned against her father’s leg, wide-eyed at the majesty surrounding her. When the priest declared that young Serge had gone to heaven to be with Jesus, a collective sob erupted within the Basilica, Cam and Amanda included.

  As the service came to a close Father Jean leaned over. “This is a good thing, the succor we give. As I said before, I believe truth is holy. And I believe the Church keeping secrets from its parishioners is wrong. But I also realize that in the real world change takes time.” His eyes were moist as he scanned the crowd of mourners. “So please think long and hard before you do something rash, before you do something that undermines our ability to provide comfort and solace to our flock. Jesus may not have been resurrected, but the idea of him welcoming and caring for little Serge is perhaps the only thing keeping his family from jumping into that frozen lake to join him.”

  The priest clasped his hands in prayer. “It may be true what you say, that the Templars called Jesus the Thief on the Cross. But if you take Jesus from these people it is you who will be stealing something truly irreplaceable.”

  A half-hour later they gather
ed again in the function room of the Basilica. Cam and Amanda had huddled with Astarte and Georgia. They were all in agreement, brought to a compromise position by Father Jean’s heartfelt words. Cam addressed the Vatican envoy. “This is what we are prepared to do. We think it will allow the Vatican to manage the fallout from all this but also ensure that the information is not buried.”

  “Please proceed,” the envoy said, adjusting his pink skull cap.

  Cam outlined their proposal: He and Amanda would maintain custody of the scroll, which would be tested in Boston. The bones would remain in Montreal at the Basilica, with Father Jean overseeing the DNA testing. Astarte’s DNA would also be tested and compared to the bones. “We are nearly certain the scroll will be found to be authentic. And we expect the DNA will show a close genetic connection between Astarte and the bones. The DNA will also likely show the bones belong to a 2,000-year-old Middle Eastern male.” Cam paused. “However, out of respect for the Church, we will agree to wait until Astarte’s eighteenth birthday before making any of this public. At that time we will announce we have found the bones of Jesus and, if she chooses, also introduce Astarte as the Fortieth Princess and lay out her lineage. Here’s the part you’re not going to like: The Vatican will confirm our findings at that time.”

  “Confirm them? Why would we do that?”

  Father Jean responded. “Because it is the truth, Emissary. And the truth must be made holy.”

  The group sat in silence for a few seconds, considering Father Jean’s words.

  Cam continued, his voice lower now. “The delay gives the Vatican ten years to prepare its parishioners for these revelations, to begin to turn the ocean liner. I suggest you adopt Father Jean’s recommendation and begin by acknowledging Jesus’ marriage to Mary Magdalene. But that is up to you.”