Powdered Gold: Templars and the American Ark of the Covenant (Templars in America Series Book 3)

by David S. Brody

  “Look,” Ellis said, “I like your idea of using Thorne to get to Smoot. It’s a good plan. But it’s only going to work if Thorne is all in.” And it was precisely because Georgia told him Thorne would be hesitant to help that Ellis had thought to prepare the little swimming hole for Thorne—he and his fiancée had been out skating pretty much every weekend this winter, so it was a safe bet he’d be on the lake that day as well. It wasn’t an ideal plan, and it was a bit clumsier than Ellis would have preferred, but out in the field no plan was perfect. Or even close to it. “Well, the way to get someone to be all in is to find a way for them to convince themselves that what they are doing is really important. If Thorne agreed to do this just as a favor to you, he wouldn’t be fully committed. But now look what’s happened: He felt the numbing cold.” What Ellis wanted to say was, Thorne spent time in the dark, icy dungeon, but that sounded too much like something out of a Hitchcock movie. Aloud, he continued. “Thorne knows at a core, base level what the stakes are. Plus he despises me, but is considering looking past that to do the right thing. Classic cognitive dissonance—he’ll convince himself that if he’s willing to work with assholes like me, it must be really important. Bottom line: If he does this now, he’ll do it right.”

  “And if he doesn’t? If he decides he’d rather not deal with lunatics?”

  “Then he wasn’t the right person for the job in the first place, was he?”

  Amanda snuggled into the far corner of the couch. “So you’re still considering it.”

  Cam shifted so that he could look at her. Her pale skin had flushed from the day on the lake, and her green eyes shone in the yellow glow of the fire. She was chewing on her bottom lip, a sure sign she was concerned.

  “Well, yeah. Considering.”

  Amanda nodded silently.

  “Georgia didn’t know anything about that guy.”

  “So she says.”

  “You don’t believe her?”

  She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “I don’t know, Cam. How many times do we have to get … ambushed … by her colleagues before we accept that maybe she’s just not trustworthy?”

  “No.” Cam shook his head. “No, I don’t believe that. We’ve been through too much with her. She’s proven herself time and again.” He softened his voice. “But if you feel really strongly about it I won’t do it.” He understood her concern. Once they decided to take on the job of parenting Astarte, they forfeited the right to do stupid and dangerous things.

  “I appreciate that, but that doesn’t seem fair either.” She sighed. “And part of me is really quite curious.”

  Cam brightened. “Me too. If it was just about getting Georgia her information I wouldn’t be so tempted, but if there’s even the possibility that a Templar treasure is hidden out there, well,” he fixed his eyes on her, “we have to look for it. Don’t we?” Their research had shown that the Templars traveled to North America in the centuries before Columbus—Amanda and he had always suspected one of the things they were doing was hiding their treasures from the Church.

  Amanda rubbed her hands over her face. “Oh, bloody hell.”

  “So yes?” Cam grinned. “Yes, you agree?”

  She smirked. “I agree we should sleep on it and discuss it more tomorrow.” She paused. “I suppose the only other way to learn the truth is to sneak into the Vatican archives, which would probably be even more dangerous.”

  Cam smiled. “I used to fantasize about sneaking into the Vatican archives.”

  Amanda leaned forward and rubbed his thigh. “That’s some fantasy.”

  He smiled. “I don’t have the kind of fantasies other guys have.” He leaned in and kissed her. “For that I have you.”

  Willum rolled to a stop along the curb in front of a sprawling, stucco-coated ranch home on a quiet side street in Scottsdale. A new BMW convertible sat in the driveway. His ex-wife lived pretty good on his dime.

  In the fading daylight he strolled to the front door and rang the bell.

  The door opened a crack, the chain still latched. His ex-wife’s voice, tight and tense, squeezed through the crack. He was just as happy not to have to look at her face. “What are you doing here?”

  Shit. “Taking Gregory to the ballgame.”

  “You didn’t get the papers?”

  He fought to control his voice. “What papers?”

  “The court papers.”

  “No.” He had been dodging the sheriff for weeks, figuring it had to do with the building code crap.

  “Well, that’s not my problem.” She steeled her voice. “I don’t want you seeing Gregory.”

  “You don’t get to make that decision.”

  “No. But the judge does. And he did. Now leave or I’m going to call the police.”

  Astarte’s comment about him being too heavy for Venus to pull still ringing in his ears, Cam woke up at the first hint of sunlight the next day, found his running shoes in the back of his closet, bundled up, put Venus on a leash, and charged into the gray morning chill before he could talk himself out of it. As a diabetic since childhood, he knew staying fit was almost as important as eating healthy. It took the better part of a mile of gasping and wheezing before his breathing turned regular and he settled into a steady pace. He kept to the side roads, running down the middle of them so Venus could avoid the pockets of rock salt which had mostly been kicked to the sides by the traffic.

  As he ran, he allowed his mind to drift, bouncing from thought to thought like an AM radio scanning through the talk shows. Not surprisingly, his thoughts settled on Georgia’s visit and her request. Military service was something of a tradition in Cam’s family, though he had never served. He had wanted to enlist after 9/11, but his diabetes disqualified him. He was approaching forty—this might be the only chance to serve his country. It wasn’t exactly an armed conflict, but there was something … honorable … about the thought of putting himself in harm’s way to serve his country.

  And of course he was curious. Was it really possible a Templar treasure was hidden someplace in the deserts of the southwest? Smoot must have had some reason to think so. And the Las Lunas Decalogue Stone and Grand Canyon mystery and the Tucson lead artifacts and Smoot’s rune stone seemed to confirm that something had been going on there in the centuries before Europeans were believed to have first arrived in North America….

  He liked to joke to Amanda that he refused to die until he had figured out the truth behind the hidden history of America, the stuff buried beneath a mountain of mistake-filled history textbooks written by a cadre of myopic academics. Uncovering this truth had become his passion. Amanda would understand it because she understood him. And because she shared that passion herself.

  He sprinted the final fifty yards, stopping where Georgia’s car had been parked the day before. The car was gone, but the journey which it portended was soon to begin.

  Amanda sat at the kitchen table with a cup of tea and a sliced apple, glancing through the newspaper while Cam and Venus walked Astarte to the bus stop. He had showered after his run and, his face still flush, threw on a fleece jacket. Astarte—she of boundless energy—had waited impatiently for him, anxious to get to the bus stop to help build a snow fort before the bus arrived. Snow rarely fell in England, and Amanda had been wary of relocating to Westford and facing the winters. But Cam and now Astarte had taught her to welcome the season, embracing the cold and snow and diving into a full range of winter recreation. Today, however, her thoughts were on desert sand, not New England snow.

  Just before he left, Cam had kissed her quickly and said, “I thought about it on my run. I want to do this Arizona thing.”

  She had spent the last twenty minutes stewing. She waited until he removed his jacket. “I’m not sure about Arizona.”

  He gave her a puzzled look. “Okay, why?”

  Amanda tried to modulate her voice, tried not to sound shrill. She knew she was not being totally rational—but that was only making her more frustrated. “It’s
just that I thought we were going to sleep on it and then talk about it.”

  “Okay.” He paused. “I’m listening.”

  “Well, with Astarte and everything….”

  He sat down across from her at the table and waited for her to look up at him. “If you don’t want me to go, just say so. But please also tell me why.”

  “Of course I want you to go, Cam. This is what you do.” Actually, it was what they did. Or used to do.

  “So what’s your hesitancy? Do you think it’s too dangerous?”

  “That’s partly it.” But Cam could take care of himself, and Georgia had proved in the past that she would do her best to ensure he wasn’t in too much danger. “It’s just, well, we’ve always done this research together.” Why should he get to jump on a plane for a new adventure while she stayed home with Astarte? Was this what married life would be like for them? Hadn’t they agreed to raise Astarte together? They were supposed to be partners, sharing their lives together. She didn’t want to be selfish, but it was how she felt.

  He nodded. “Yeah…”

  “And now you’re going off alone. And I’m stuck here.”

  He raised an eyebrow, paused and chuckled. “Who said anything about leaving you here? Don’t you want to come?”

  “Of course I want to come.”

  “Well of course I expected you would. And Astarte also; I assume she’ll want to come. She’s nine—who cares if she misses a week of school?”

  She took his hand and sighed. “I was worried you were going to go alone.”

  “Um, I don’t think Georgia would be too happy with that. I think she wants the ‘A’ team.”

  “Well, she asked you.”

  “Only because I’m the one Willum thinks is the Templar expert. He reached out to me, not you.”

  She smiled. “You’re right. I guess I was feeling a bit sorry for myself. Maybe unappreciated.”

  “Yeah, it was very inconsiderate of that Ellis fellow not to drop you in the lake also.”

  Later that afternoon they reached Georgia on her cell. Again sitting at their kitchen table, Cam put her on speaker.

  “Of course I want Amanda’s help.” Georgia chuckled. “I’m not sure I’ve ever been accused of being sexist before.”

  “Sorry, Georgia,” Amanda said.

  “Don’t worry, honey. I’ve seen you in action. I’d take you over most of the men in the Agency. I just didn’t think, with Astarte and all, that you’d be available.”

  Amanda responded. They wanted to get some concessions from Georgia before agreeing. “We’re not sure either one of us is available. First of all, you’d said it’d be safe—but this Ellis guy almost drowned Cam in our own back yard. Can you get rid of him?”

  Georgia grunted. “I wish I could. But don’t worry about Ellis. I’ll rip his pretty hair out if he tries a stunt like that again.”

  They had discussed the Ellis situation already, and had expected Georgia’s hands would be tied. It was not a deal-killer for them.

  “Okay,” Amanda said, “putting Ellis aside for the moment. Smoot met me, and he even met Astarte. How realistic would it be for Cameron to move into the compound and leave his fiancée and child in a hotel?”

  “The way I see this working is that you go out there and Cam takes Smoot up on his offer to see the rune stone. One thing leads to another, and hopefully eventually Cam gets invited back to the compound. But Cam can’t show up with his bags packed. Smoot would never believe it.”

  Cam and Amanda glanced at each other and nodded. Seemed reasonable.

  “So what next?” Cam asked.

  “You’ll need an excuse to go back to Arizona, first off,” Georgia said.

  “That’s easy. Smoot already sent me an email over the weekend with pictures and more info on the rune stone. I can tell him something about it resonated or made me think it was connected to the Templars.”

  “Perfect. Even better that he contacted you first.”

  Amanda spoke. “It’s still going to be hard to justify flying across the country again just to look at the rune stone.”

  “I agree,” Georgia said. “What if I could arrange an invitation for you to speak at a Masonic lodge out there? Maybe someone heard your first lecture and invited you back. Then you could hook up with Smoot.”

  “Guys, you’re making this too complicated,” Cam said. “As far as Smoot knows, we never left Arizona. We don’t need an excuse to go back. I’ll email him now—we can get on a plane tomorrow and I’ll call him when we land.”

  “Hmm,” Georgia murmured. “That might work. You can tell him you went to New Mexico, which you did, and then came back to Tucson. And I can make sure you get the same rental car just in case he made a note of the license plate.”

  “At some point,” Amanda said, “he’ll be expecting us to return home.”

  “But you can make up some excuse to extend your stay when we get to that point.” Georgia exhaled. “So it’s agreed. Book your flights and hotel, and I’ll make sure you get reimbursed. I’ll meet you out there.”

  “Great,” Amanda said. “You can watch Astarte while Cam and I go out for a nice dinner.”

  Willum had spent most of Sunday evening and night in some dive bar on the outskirts of Phoenix, alternately shooting tequila and pool. He lost a few hundred bucks at the table, blew another few hundred on booze, and was probably lucky not to get rolled for his watch and wallet. At midnight he at least had the good sense to call Boonie to come get him and take him home. The last thing he remembered was crying himself to sleep.

  And all he wanted to do was take his boy to see a ballgame.

  A little before noon he rolled out of bed and staggered into the shower before forcing down a glass of juice and a dry bagel. He left a message for his lawyer, not that he had much hope of overturning the judge’s order—the feds seemed to have the judge in their back pocket. Now what? He could mope around all day, but that wouldn’t help him see Gregory.

  He turned on his computer. He had sent the email to Thorne on Saturday night. No reply yesterday. Willum stared at the screen, feeling a bit like a teenager waiting by the phone for some girl to call. Ding. Thorne’s email flashed him a greeting.

  Clarisse stuck her head in as Willum finished reading the message. “It smells like a distillery in here.”

  “Yeah, tough night.”

  “You okay?”

  He shrugged. “No. But listen to this, from Cam Thorne: ‘The connection between Hurech and Staffordshire is intriguing. There is a heavy Templar presence in that region. And the fact that Hurech is from the village of Kinver is even more intriguing—the rock houses in Kinver are remarkably similar to the Anasazi cliff dwellings I’ve been seeing here in the Southwest. Is this just a coincidence, or is there some kind of other connection between Hurech’s village of Kinver and the Arizona area? I, for one, don’t believe in coincidences.’”

  Willum turned the laptop toward her. “So look at these images. The first one is a rock house from this Kinver village in England, and the second an Anasazi cliff house. As far as I know, these are the only two places in the world that have rock houses like this.”

  KINVER ROCK HOUSE, STAFFORDSHIRE, ENGLAND

  ANASAZI CLIFF HOUSE, MESA VERDE, COLORADO

  “Wow, they’re pretty similar,” Clarisse said.

  “More important, Thorne thinks so. He’s interested in visiting the rune stone site on Wednesday.” At least it would keep his mind off of the Gregory situation.

  “Excellent.” She smiled. “You can thank me later. Corona Light. Ice cold. With nachos.”

  While Cam booked flights and did a couple of loads of laundry, Amanda busied herself researching the lost Templar treasure. What was it? A better question might be, what wasn’t it? Curled up in an oversized chair looking out over the lake, the midday sun reflecting off the frozen surface as clouds of snow swirled in the wind, she surfed the internet on her laptop, jotting down possibilities on a legal pad:

  go
ld and silver (lots of it)

  lost gospels telling the “true” story of Jesus and the early Church

  the Ark of the Covenant

  the Holy Grail (whatever that was)

  the Philosopher’s Stone (turns lead into gold)

  She sat back. Which of these might fit in a golden chest in Arizona? Gold and silver obviously would, though it would seem that the Templars would have had scores of these chests, not just one; perhaps they spread them out, stashing them in remote corners of the world. A lost gospel would fit inside the chest, but why such a large chest for a book or codex? The Ark of the Covenant would fit inside a large chest—but why put a golden chest inside a golden chest? For kicks she searched for images of the Ark to see how large it was. Dozens of images appeared, most of them showing not only the golden Ark but the long poles used to carry the holy relic.

  ARK OF THE COVENANT

  Something about the image rang a bell.

  She unfolded her legs and stood. “Cam,” she yelled. “You down in the basement?”

  “Coming up.”

  She met him at the top of the stairs, her laptop open. “This look familiar at all?”

  “Sure. Ark of the Covenant.”

  “What about the poles.”

  He nodded. “I see where you’re going with this. Same kind of poles as on Willum’s golden chest.”

  “Spot on.”

  He shrugged. “My guess is that’s the way people used to carry heavy objects.”

  “Well what about this. Do you remember what the Ark did in the Indiana Jones movie?” She hoped he wouldn’t laugh at her.

  “It zapped the Nazis with some creepy energy bolt.”

  “Again, sound familiar?”

  “Okay … You’re thinking Willum’s chest zapped one of the prospectors.”