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

by David S. Brody

  “Probably not,” she replied. “Especially because your chest doesn’t seem to have the angels on the top. Or at least the drawing doesn’t show it. But we just wanted to fill you in on our research.”

  Occasionally they passed a dusty pick-up truck or SUV coming the other way. Each time Willum pulled off to the shoulder, lifted his hat and allowed the vehicles to pass. “This is their land. We’re just visitors.”

  About twenty minutes into the bumpy ride a black pick-up angled toward them on an intersecting road. Two men rode in it, both wearing sunglasses and cowboy hats like Willum. The driver, his left elbow resting on the window, raised his arm in a half-wave as they passed. It was the sunburn that first caught Cam’s attention—a red area framed a white blotch on the man’s wrist, as if he had been out in the sun wearing a wristwatch and the skin around the watch burned. A local rancher would not have a sunburned arm in February. But a federal agent who flew in yesterday and sat in the sun while waiting to check into his hotel room would. Sloppy.

  Cam pulled out his phone and texted Georgia, careful that Willum couldn’t read the message. “I just made your agents. Black Dodge Ram 1500. Tell them to back off. Willum’s not stupid.” Cam hadn’t gotten a good look at the man in the passenger seat, but the red hair peaking out from beneath his hat and the fact the man kept his head turned made Cam guess it was Ellis Kincaid. Hopefully so—Cam owed him some payback. Not that embarrassing him in front of his cohorts would make them even close to even. Once the message transmitted, Cam deleted it from the sent folder just in case Smoot ever accessed his phone.

  Smoot veered off the rutted road and angled toward a pair of jagged peaks. “That peak on the right is where we’re going” He drove off-road for another five minutes, the Land Cruiser bouncing along, before he stopped in a pasture-like area at the foot of a rocky incline. “We walk from here.” He gestured toward a path they had passed a few hundred yards back. “We’ll follow the streambed.” Moisture from the stream made the area bordering it alive with growth—from the distance the path looked like a green ribbon running up the mountainside.

  “Not a big deal,” Cam said, “but why not just park at the bottom of the path?”

  Smoot nodded. “I did that the first time I came here, but I couldn’t see the Land Cruiser from the cave and I got lost on the way down. I was lucky I had a key fob that made the horn go off—it was almost dark by the time I staggered back to the car.”

  Maybe that made sense for the first time. But by now Smoot should know the way down. “That the only reason?”

  Smoot stared at Cam for a few seconds and smiled. “Very perceptive, Mr. Thorne. You’re right. I parked the car in an open area so I could see it from the cave at the top. I don’t trust the feds to not sneak over and hide a listening device in it.”

  Cam sized up the hike. Not a huge mountain, but fairly steep especially near the top. If it were a ski trail it would be a medium-length black diamond. The landscape was varied, with desert ferns, cacti, wildflowers and a few scraggly trees pushing their way through the rocky soil. Smoot pulled three walking sticks out of the back of the SUV. “They help, especially on the hike back down. Plus, I like to poke mine ahead of me just to make sure I don’t step on a rattler.”

  “Based on that, I’m happy to march in the rear of the pack,” Amanda said.

  They applied sunscreen, put on their packs and gulped some water. “The more we can drink now, the less we’ll have to carry with us,” Smoot said. “The dry heat makes you feel like you’re not sweating, but what is really happening is it’s evaporating before you can feel it. It’ll climb into the eighties soon and we’re all wearing thick jeans.” He smiled. “And one of us is forty pounds overweight. We’re going to sweat.”

  They hiked in silence for the first few minutes. “So why don’t you practice law anymore?” Smoot asked as they settled into their climb up the rocky incline.

  Cam knew the question was meant to draw him out, to help Smoot get a feel for him. Which was fine. “Long story.”

  “It’s an hour-and-a-half climb,” Smoot smiled.

  “Okay, as long as you don’t mind me gasping for breath once in a while.” The peak rose to over six thousand feet, which put them at the elevation of Denver; Cam already noticed the air was thinning. “When I got out of law school I took a job at a big firm in Boston. That was in 1999. I was doing okay, working my way up the partnership track. Then in 2005 our firm took a case helping the state Attorney General sue the company that was overseeing a massive construction project—the main highway going through Boston was being torn down and rebuilt underground. The cost ballooned from, like, two billion dollars to sixteen billion.”

  “The Big Dig,” Smoot said. “I remember that.”

  “Even I heard about it in London,” Amanda said.

  “I actually helped bring the case in—one of the guys at the Attorney General’s office was an old friend of mine from law school. It was a pretty big deal for me, a really big client for an associate to bring in. Anyway, we were suing the company because they did such a shitty job managing the project. It was a fascinating case, involving all sorts of unique legal questions. Plus it was high profile. The partner in charge was a guy name Chas Hansen, one of the firm’s big rainmakers and an ex-quarterback from Dartmouth. Big guy, square-jawed, but also really bright. Juries ate him up. You know the type—women want him, men want to be like him.”

  “Just like you, honey.” Amanda grinned.

  “Yes, thanks for that.” The trail steepened and they climbed single file, Cam in the middle. On either side of the narrow, rocky incline cacti and other needle-pointed plants clawed at them as they ascended. Cam was glad they had worn leather gloves, even in the heat.

  Before Cam could continue his story Willum stopped and picked something up from the trail. He turned and showed them a tattered book. “It’s a Bible, written in Spanish. Probably dropped by some illegals sneaking across the border.” He scanned the mountainside. “Hopefully this book was the only casualty.” He placed the Bible in his pack, wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt, swigged some water and smiled. “Reminds me of a joke. A cowboy lost his Bible in the desert. A couple of months later a cow wanders over with a book in its mouth. The cowboy takes the book—it’s his lost Bible. ‘What a miracle; praise the Lord!’ the cowboy exclaims. ‘Not really,’ says the cow. ‘Your name is on the inside cover.’”

  Cam and Amanda laughed, Willum chuckled to himself, and the three of them turned back up the trail. “Continue your story, Mr. Thorne.”

  The burly man was sweating through his shirt and breathing heavily; he was probably happy to let Cam do the talking. “So I did most of the research and case management and strategizing for the Big Dig case. This went on for a couple of years and Chas Hansen and I got really close; he took me under his wing and I spent a lot of time with him and his family. But in the meantime the economy tanked and the firm announced they wouldn’t be making any new partners for the next year. Plus they elected a new managing partner, a guy named Rolando. He and I never got along—one year at our Christmas party I saw him make a drunken pass at one of the firm’s secretaries; I think he was always worried I would blackmail him or something. Anyway, at about the same time I got a call from a buddy who worked at a law firm in New York. They were opening a satellite office in Boston and needed someone to chair the litigation department. One thing led to another and the New York firm offered me the job along with a promotion to partner and a pretty big raise.”

  “I never heard this part of the story,” Amanda said.

  Cam shrugged. “So I was pretty psyched. This was a big deal for me professionally. So the first thing I did was go tell Chas Hansen. I expected him to be happy for me—he knew Rolando didn’t like me and it would be tough for me to make partner. But instead he laid a guilt trip on me about being a team player, how he needed me on the Big Dig case, how it would be hard for him to train a new associate to help him. Well, I told him my first
preference had always been to stay put, but not if it was a dead end for me. He told me to wait, walked out of the office and came back a half hour later. ‘I just spoke to Rolando,’ he said. ‘I told him if you weren’t made partner next year I’d quit the firm. I’ve got your back, buddy.’”

  “So you stayed?” Smoot asked.

  “I stayed. Even though it was less money and no guarantee about making partner. About three months later I got an email from Rolando. He was pulling me off the Big Dig case and putting me on a case where the firm was defending the Boston Archdiocese in a bunch of priest sex abuse cases. I wanted nothing to do with that—my best friend growing up committed suicide after being abused by a priest.”

  Amanda touched his arm. “So what happened next?”

  “I went to see Chas Hansen, of course. He was pissed that Rolando pulled me off the case—he hadn’t known. And he promised he’d make it right. But when push came to shove he just caved. I think he was afraid to stand up to Rolando—he had a good thing going and didn’t want to risk it. Turns out he had a strong jaw but a weak spine.”

  “What happened to having your back?” Amanda asked.

  “I think in the end having a corner office and having a fat bonus and having a ski chalet in Vermont was more important than having my back.”

  “And that’s when you went to the press,” Amanda said.

  “That was a few months later. It was bad enough representing these priests who abused kids, but the partner in charge was a real scumbag. He kept trying to demonize the victims. Finally I got sick of it and leaked some internal memos to the press.”

  Smoot turned and looked at Cam. “I’m sorry to hear about that. It doesn’t sound like Chas Hansen was a bad guy. Just a bad friend.”

  Cam nodded. “That’s a good way to put it.”

  “Mind if I tell another joke?” Smoot asked.

  “Please do.”

  He stopped and faced them. “What do you throw to a drowning lawyer?”

  Cam shrugged.

  Smoot smiled. “His partners.” He stared at Cam. “I’m glad to see you’re a different kind of lawyer, Mr. Thorne.” He resumed the hike. “So, did you get disbarred?”

  “No, but I was suspended for a few months. After that I went to work for my uncle’s firm out in the suburbs.” Cam smiled. “I still do real estate closings and stuff for him when I’m not out looking for Templar treasure.”

  Smoot glanced back over his shoulder and returned the smile. “Well, I’ll make sure we find the treasure chest soon. I wouldn’t want to keep you away from anything really important.”

  Of course Amanda was curious to see the rune stone. But more so she wanted to study Willum Smoot. As Cam had told the story of his ill-fated law career and Willum listened, Amanda observed their host.

  He listened more than he spoke, which Amanda’s grandfather had always told her was a good way to go through life. “God gave you two ears and one mouth; employ them in that proportion.” He also seemed to have a good sense of appropriate behavior, which Amanda had always thought was one of the best tests of a person—the cowboy and lawyer jokes were cliché but at least they were appropriate for the occasion. And his commentary on Chas Hansen—that he was not a bad guy, just a bad friend—was both insightful and spot on. But more telling was his seeming concern about the illegal immigrants and the care he showed in placing the Bible in his pack rather than discarding it on the trail. Often the little gestures spoke more loudly than the grand ones. As for his paranoia with worrying the Land Cruiser might be bugged, well, maybe the paranoia was justified—Cam had whispered that he had spotted Georgia’s men tracking them. And at least Willum had been honest about it.

  They hiked in silence now, the ridge line only a hundred feet ahead, angling to the right. The late-morning sun beat on them and the cool desert morning had turned to a warm desert day. Amanda knew to keep her skin shaded from the sun, but she wondered about Willum. “Willum, do you want some sunscreen? I notice you already have a burn.”

  He turned. “It’s actually not a burn. It’s a rash. Not sure what brought it on but it seems to be getting better.” He looked back up the trail. “Once we reach the ridge line, we circle back toward the left again. We actually go back down a bit, to a saddle between the two peaks.”

  “So you said you dug up the body,” Cam said.

  “Yeah,” he shrugged. “I’m not too proud of that, but really how could I not?”

  “I guess you could have called the authorities,” Cam responded. Amanda knew he was just testing Willum; no way would Cam have trusted the so-called experts with this type of find.

  Willum smiled. “I think we both know how that would have gone.”

  They followed the ridge line before descending into the saddle between the two peaks. “Was there anything else in the cave?” Cam asked.

  “Actually, yes.” Willum pointed. “The cave’s up there. You can see for yourselves.”

  To their right the rocky cliff-face of the peak rose up another few hundred feet; to the left the mountain fell steeply to the brownish-green valley perhaps a thousand feet below. “Straight that way,” Willum said, “is Mexico. Maybe 20 miles.”

  “So the cave faces due south?” Cam asked.

  “Yes. Exactly.”

  “Hmm,” Cam responded. “That may not be a coincidence.”

  Another twenty strides and Willum stopped. “Here we are.”

  Cam crouched in front of a flat, orange-tinted, coffee-table-sized boulder that sat just outside the opening to the cave. He ran his fingers across the blackened runes carved into the stone. “Can you translate this for me again?” Cam asked. Willum had sent it by email but Cam wanted the exact translation again.

  “Sure.” Smoot read from a piece of paper he pulled from his pocket.

  The body of rough Hurech lays here.

  He enjoyed merriment.

  The secret is near rough Hurech’s body.

  Fame and glory await.

  The body turns to dust and goes to Eden’s temple.

  While Cam examined the inscription Amanda clicked on her flashlight and approached the cave.

  “Hold on one second,” Willum said. “Sometimes there are mountain lions or other animals in these caves. Let’s at least give them an easy way out.” He shined his light in and tossed a rock against the back wall as he gently pulled Amanda aside. The stone echoed but roused no hidden animal. “Coast is clear. Just be careful of snakes—if they’re in here they’ll be sleeping. But they’ll wake up if you step on them.”

  Amanda entered the cave, which approximated the size of a one-car garage with an arched entryway. “Look on your right,” Willum said. “There are more carvings.” Four runic letters, each four inches tall, had been carved neatly on the wall of the cave. Willum approached. “Those four letters match the first four letters of the inscription on the boulder outside.”

  “Really?” Amanda pondered this. And the cave faced due south. “What do the first four letters say?”

  “It’s the guy’s name, Hurech,” Willum responded.

  She glanced at the cave opening. The midday sun did not penetrate the cave, being too high in the sky. But it was late February, two months later than the winter solstice. “I wonder.” She took her cell phone out of her pocket—she had downloaded an astronomy app which allowed the phone, when in camera mode, to project the path of the sun across the horizon at any given date of the year. She entered December 21, held the phone up against the runic inscription on the cave wall, pointed it out the cave opening and waited for the program to project the path of the sun. After a few seconds a blue arc-shaped line appeared across the top of the camera display. “Bloody perfect,” she whispered. At high noon on December 21 the sun, moving across the horizon, passed just below the top of the cave opening, shining its beam into the cave and illuminating the ‘Hurech’ inscription carved on the wall. Only once per year, on the winter solstice, would the sun be low enough in the sky to shine on the inscriptio
n.

  “What?” Willum asked.

  Amanda ignored him and instead called Cam over and showed him the display. “What do you think, Cam?”

  MUSTANG MOUNTAIN CAVE ENTRANCE WINTER SOLSTICE SUN PATH PROJECTION

  He grinned. “It’s exactly what the Templars would do. It’s a perfect allegory.” Cam turned to Willum, “I think it’s safe to say the Templars were here.”

  “I don’t get it,” Willum said.

  Amanda turned. “Okay. In ancient times the days before the winter solstice were the most frightening time of the year—the sun was dropping lower and lower in the sky and the days getting shorter and shorter, not to mention colder and colder. If the sun continued its descent, life would end. The people truly feared this. But by the twenty-fifth or so of December they would have been able to ascertain that the days were getting longer again, that the sun was ascending. That’s what the original Christmas celebration was for—the earth had been saved, or reborn, for another year.” She paused. “Life would go on.”

  “I get that, but what does it have to do with Hurech?” Willum asked.

  “The Templars observed many of the ancient pagan rituals, which really were just a way to worship Mother Earth, or what some people call the Sacred Feminine. You may recall Cameron discussing this in his lecture.”

  “Okay.”

  “That’s what we have here. Hurech’s mates wanted Hurech to go to heaven. To be reborn. The sun shining on his name on the winter solstice is a way for the fallen Knight to be reborn, just like the earth.” She bowed her head. “It’s really quite a beautiful allegory.”

  Willum stared off at the horizon before shifting his gaze to the runic letters on the cave wall. “I guess I was smart to bring you guys up here.”

  Ellis chuckled at his reflection in the hotel bathroom mirror as he washed his face. Thorne had spotted him in the pick-up truck out in the desert. Of course he had—Ellis had wanted him to. If he hadn’t, he would have made a point of covering or dying his red hair. But Ellis wanted Thorne to think he was smarter than the agent, to give him confidence he was not in over his head. Maybe even make him over-confident.