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

by David S. Brody

  Ellis smirked. “Our artifact? Did you by chance get permission from the landowner to keep it?” He waited a few seconds. “I thought not. In any event, there are no rules here, Cameron. One of our agents is dead. It’s my job to find out who did it.”

  “So what’s your offer?” Smoot asked.

  “Like I said, we just want to question Boonie. You can lawyer him up all you want—but we need to bring someone in to show we are making progress on this case.”

  “And then what?”

  “Well, then he tells us who helped him make the bomb and we arrest him.” Ellis smiled at Clarisse. “Or her.”

  “And if we won’t let you back in?”

  Ellis shrugged “Then we’re back to square one, I suppose. In this area of the country I believe they call it a Mexican stand-off.”

  “What about the golden chest?” Smoot asked.

  “It’s in a van a few miles away. As soon as we have Boonie, you get the chest.”

  Smoot turned from the table. “I need to talk to Boonie and call my lawyer.”

  Cam waited at the picnic table with Ellis Kincaid for Smoot’s response. His leg throbbing, Cam had sat when Smoot left. He hated the idea of making small talk with the agent, but his curiosity won out. “Do you think he’ll accept the deal?”

  Ellis rolled his eyes. “Of course not.”

  Jerk that he was, Ellis didn’t give a reason for his answer, instead forcing Cam to grovel. “Why not?”

  “No way will he give up Boonie. What kind of message would that send to his followers?”

  So what game was Ellis playing? “Then why are we here?”

  “Because once he rejects our first deal he’ll want to show his good faith by accepting my second offer.”

  “Which is?”

  Ellis smiled but did not respond.

  Forty-five minutes passed and the sun was now low on the horizon. Willum trudged back to the picnic area, Clarisse close behind. Cam stood. “Sorry,” Willum said, “no deal.”

  “You know that means you’ll be harboring a fugitive, right?” Ellis said.

  Willum nodded.

  Ellis sighed. “Look, Willum, you have to give me something here. Something I can take back to the trigger-happy yahoos just looking for an excuse to go all Rambo on you. I need you to make some show of good faith.”

  “I understand. But I’m not giving up Boonie.”

  Clarisse didn’t know what game this oddball federal agent was playing, but whatever it was he was pretty good at it. He had sent her a text message a couple of hours earlier reading, simply, “Play along. You’ll understand.” She didn’t understand, and didn’t trust him, but she also knew enough to keep an open mind.

  So when Agent Kincaid accused Boonie of making the bomb, Clarisse went along with it as a tidy solution to this mess: Willum would avoid arrest and the feds would have their man. More importantly, nobody would blow their compound into a million pieces.

  Now the game had reached stage two. Still Clarisse had no idea of the rules. But somehow Kincaid must have known Willum would never give up Boonie. She took a deep breath and eyed the three men standing around the picnic table. “How about the fuel cell, Willum?” she said.

  “The fuel cell?”

  “Yes. The prototype.” She leaned in closer. Now that it turned out even Thorne was not totally trustworthy, her counsel would be even more valued. “You said the Defense Department has been trying for years to get you to help them build the next generation fuel cell. Well, you’ve done it. You have it, they want it. Why not play the card?”

  Kincaid caught her eye and nodded almost imperceptibly. “What does that have to do with anything?” Kincaid asked.

  Willum sighed and rubbed his hand through his hair. “You know, Clarisse, that’s not a bad idea.” He turned to the agent. “I wouldn’t expect you to know anything about this, but tell your boss to tell his boss that I’ve invented the next-generation fuel cell. And I’m willing to trade it for Boonie’s freedom.”

  “Why would that be enough to back off a murder investigation?” Kincaid asked, though Clarisse sensed he was just playing dumb.

  “Well, there are people in your government who would wipe out a whole neighborhood to get this technology. They would probably think one corpse is a damn good deal.”

  Cam interjected. “And you need to return the ark also.”

  Kincaid nodded. “So the deal is we get this fuel cell and you get the ark.”

  “And you need to stand down,” Willum said. “And Boonie walks.”

  Kincaid nodded again. “Basically we’ll need to make believe this whole bomb thing never happened.” He stared into the distance. “I’ll need your help on this. We’ll send a doctor in to question Boonie. The doctor will conclude he’s not capable of understanding right versus wrong and recommend no charges be brought. We’ll write a big check to the deceased’s family and this whole thing will go away.”

  Willum looked to Cam. He seemed to be weighing whether to trust him or not. “You’re a lawyer, what do you think?”

  “Assuming we can trust him to do what he says?” Cam asked.

  “Yes, assuming that,” Willum responded. “I’m not giving them the fuel cell until the end.”

  “Well, then, it should work. There are plenty of cases of defendants let go because of low intelligence.”

  Kincaid looked back and forth from Cam to Willum to make sure they were finished talking. “Okay,” he said. “But first I need to sell my bosses on this magic fuel cell of yours.” He looked at Willum. “I sure hope you’re right about this.”

  The sun had not yet begun to brighten the eastern sky. But Clarisse was playing a dangerous game here with the federal agent, and she needed to know if she was still winning.

  She dabbed some perfume on her neck and wrists, grabbed a couple of cold Coronas from the fridge and radioed to Willum. “Where are you?”

  “Parking lot, near the guard house.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yes, quiet.”

  “Thirsty?”

  “You buying?”

  She found him leaning against the Land Cruiser. Did he suspect her of anything duplicitous? She approached, came perhaps a half-step closer than was necessary. “Howdy Cowboy.”

  He smiled. His eyes shone bright in the moonlight, even with the dark circles underneath. He mimicked doffing his hat. “Ma’am.” Willum had risen to the occasion, as she knew he would; command suited him. He just needed a kick in the ass sometimes. And maybe also a reward.

  Had Moses similarly risen to the occasion to exercise his authority over the ancient Israelites? If they could somehow end this current standoff, and just wait for the inevitable collapse, there was nothing to prevent Willum from eventually becoming a Moses of his own. Willum might be a reluctant savior, but then again so too was Moses at the beginning. Willum would lead if necessary. Especially if his people insisted on it.

  “Here’s your beer.” She leaned closer and nibbled his ear. “And is this car unlocked?”

  Twenty minutes later she kissed him a final time and let herself out. Adjusting her shorts, she peered in and smiled. “Not a bad way to start the day.”

  He grinned back at her as she closed the door. Men were easy. Even those destined for greatness. Give them beer and sex, and they were happy.

  Cam, Amanda and Astarte were supposed to fly back to Boston today, but Amanda knew there was little chance of getting Cam on a plane with so much still unresolved. Instead they were meeting Georgia for Sunday brunch in the hotel restaurant.

  “Your man Ellis nicked our chest,” Amanda said as Georgia approached the table with a cup of coffee.

  She flopped into a chair. “And a good morning to you also.”

  Amanda clenched her jaw, glanced to make sure Astarte was out of earshot getting some fruit. “You promised you could control him. Cameron almost died finding that chest.”

  Georgia smacked the table, the silverware clattering against the pla
tes. “Don’t you think I know that? Do you think I like feeling powerless?”

  “But you said you could control him,” Amanda repeated. Cam rested his hand on her arm.

  Georgia blew over the lip of her cup, her hand shaking. “Obviously I was wrong. Ellis seems to be answering to someone over my head.” She sighed. “I’ve been trying to figure out his game but I’m not getting anywhere.” She paused. “I’m sorry to have dragged you all into this.”

  Astarte joined them, ending the conversation. They ate in silence for a few seconds. The television above the bar was tuned into Meet the Press. A picture of the bearded Willum, steely-eyed and carrying a rifle, flashed on the screen while the director of the FBI answered questions about the standoff.

  Georgia glanced at the screen and straightened herself. “Well. Looks like we’re the story of the week.” She turned away from the television. “You know, I’m surprised the White House is even considering the deal Ellis brokered.”

  “The White House?” Cam asked. It was hard to stay mad at the woman—it wasn’t her fault control of this mission had been taken away from her.

  She nodded. “Yes. Apparently they are calling the shots on this now.”

  “Why are you surprised?” Amanda asked, a bit calmer.

  “A federal agent is dead. Usually that doesn’t leave much room for negotiation.” Georgia sipped her coffee. “That fuel cell must be pretty important.”

  “When do you think we’ll hear something?” Cam asked.

  “The way this works is that these Sunday morning shows are a way to take the nation’s pulse. The President and his advisors will sit around this afternoon and the spin-masters will help him decide what the next step is.” Cam knew that for decades Georgia had been a political operative—a perfect cover for a CIA agent. When she earned a promotion to deputy director and left the field, she no longer needed the cover. But she still possessed keen political instincts. “Based on the tone of these questions, and some of the demonstrations around the country, my guess is the White House is going to want to end this quickly—one way or another. The last thing they’ll want is for this to drag out and turn into a daily watch like the Iran hostage crisis. That was death from a thousand small cuts for Carter. So I would expect a call this afternoon.”

  They ate in silence for a few seconds until Georgia spoke again. “I want to hear more about this ark you found. Tell me why you think it’s a replica and not the original?”

  Amanda deferred to Cam. “There’s an old Christian battle cry, In Hoc Signo Vinces, carved on the side of the ark. The ancient Israelites didn’t speak Latin, so there are only two choices: Either some Christians added the inscription to the original Ark, or this ark is a replica of the original.”

  Georgia nodded. “And you think it is unlikely any Christians would have defaced the original Ark.”

  “It would have been unthinkable,” Amanda said. “It was the most holy object in the Old Testament.”

  “Well, could it have been defaced by some other group, someone not Jewish or Christian, someone who wouldn’t have viewed the Ark as holy?”

  “No,” Amanda said. “The In Hoc slogan is a Christian one.”

  Cam turned his laptop screen toward Georgia. “You’ve seen the Newport Tower, right?”

  THE NEWPORT TOWER, NEWPORT, RI

  Georgia nodded.

  “And you know we think the Templars probably built it?” There were a number of architectural, astronomical, historical and allegorical connections between the round, arched Rhode Island tower and the medieval Templars. Cam and Amanda had spent the past couple of years documenting these connections. “Well, about a mile away, along the shore, someone found this boulder after a massive storm.”

  THE IN HOC SIGNO VINCES STONE, NEWPORT, RI

  Georgia leaned closer to the screen. “Does it say In Hoc Signo Vinces?”

  Cam nodded. “Yes. It’s only uncovered for about twenty minutes per day at low tide; it had probably been buried for decades if not longer. We think when it was carved, maybe six or seven hundred years ago, the water levels were lower and it would have been more visible.”

  “This is on the shore where ancient travelers would have landed when visiting Newport,” Amanda said.

  Georgia nodded. “Okay, I’m convinced. So your ark is a replica, with this In Hoc slogan carved onto it by some Christian group. I’m not surprised—I know some historians believe there are a bunch of copies of the Ark spread around Europe. But I still don’t understand why it’s here in Arizona.”

  Amanda responded. “I’ve been thinking about it and here’s what I’ve come up with. Like you said, there are probably quite a few replicas of the original Ark. Maybe the original was taken to Ethiopia, or maybe it was destroyed, or maybe it simply stopped functioning. But the high priests who were trained to guard and watch over the Ark—these were the descendants of Aaron, called the Levites—must also have known its secrets and how to build a new one. So when some of these high priests ended up in France after the fall of Jerusalem, they probably built themselves a new ark.”

  Cam interjected. “And they would have incorporated the same technology as the original and used it the same way—as a way to produce the white powder of gold. The Jews of Europe were always rumored to have secret knowledge of alchemy.”

  Amanda put her finger to her mouth. “I’m confused. Does the white powder fuel the Ark, or does the Ark produce the white powder?”

  “Good question. I think it’s both, sort of like the chicken and the egg. The original process of turning the gold or heavy metals into white powder was done at the smelting workshop at Serabit el Khadim. Then, once they had the powder, it powered the Ark, turned it into a fuel cell. The fuel cell could in turn be used to produce more of the white powder without having to go all the way back to Serabit el Khadim.”

  Amanda nodded. “So when the French Jews decided to come to America, they brought the duplicate ark with them. That must have been sometime after the fourth century, because that’s when the In Hoc Signo Vinces battle cry was first used by Constantine.”

  “But why come to Arizona?” Georgia asked.

  Cam responded. “Probably for the same reason pioneers came here and to California in the 1800s—there’s gold in them there hills. And silver too.”

  “And perhaps also because of the soil,” Amanda added. “I don’t think just any soil can be used to make the mfkzt. I think they needed a specific desert soil. One rich with heavy metals.”

  “So how did our man rough Hurech end up with the replica ark?”

  Amanda continued. “I’m guessing the Templars came looking for their long-lost ancestors. Remember, the Templars and the Calalus settlers—the people who made the Tucson lead artifacts—were all part of the same lineage, the French Merovingians. But by the time Hurech and his mates got here their ancestors had been wiped out by the native Toltecs. That was around AD 900, right Cam?”

  “Yes, 895. So it was probably three hundred years later that Hurech came looking for them. And somehow he found the ark.”

  “Perhaps one of the reasons they came was because the knowledge of how to build the Ark had been lost,” Amanda said. “During the Dark Ages much of the accumulated knowledge of Western society was wiped away. Perhaps the ark we found was the last prototype.”

  Cam interjected again. “Ralph de Sudeley.”

  “What about him?” Amanda said.

  “We were wondering why he was in the Catskills. What if the ark that he found in Jordan didn’t work? It was too old, or it got damaged somehow—he’s just found an amazing weapon or tool or power source but he can’t even turn the damn thing on. But he heard rumors that the Calalus folks had crossed the ocean with a duplicate ark a few hundred years earlier. So maybe he and his buddies come across the pond themselves trying to track them. They scout around the east coast, but of course they’re thousands of miles away.”

  Amanda nodded. “I like it. It makes sense.” And there was even more
to it than that. “And it helps explain rough Hurech returning a generation later—de Sudeley and Hurech lived close by to one another in the English Midlands, so Hurech would have been a natural ally. The Templars sent a second group over to try to find the Calalus settlers. This time they sent them into the Gulf of Mexico rather than to the New England coast. Bingo. But Hurech never made it home.”

  Georgia nodded. “It sounds like a lot of people have been looking for this ark before you.” She lowered her voice so Astarte couldn’t hear. “I’m sorry Ellis stole it from you. I’ve tried a couple of times to have him removed from this case, but for some reason somebody high up wants him involved.”

  Georgia’s phone rang, interrupting their conversation. A half-minute later she hung up. “Well, maybe I was too quick to judge Ellis. Your ark is on its way here. Ellis says it’s a show of good faith.” She glanced around the dining room and smiled. “I’m assuming you don’t want it delivered to your room.”

  Later that afternoon a couple of guys wheeled a dolly out of the back of a moving van and delivered a thousand-year-old, gold-covered, two-hundred-pound, radioactive artifact. Somehow Ellis had found a large lead box to encase the ark, which more than doubled the relic’s weight. It also sealed the radiation in, as Amanda’s Geiger counter confirmed. After a long conversation between Georgia and the hotel manager, it was finally agreed that the ark would be stored in a locked storage shed located in the rear of the hotel parking lot.

  “So what next?” Amanda asked.

  “At some point we need to get this out to Willum’s compound. After all, it’s his. But for now I’d like to finish examining it. Who knows what other markings we’ll find.” Cam had hosed down their Hazmat suits and tested them with the Geiger counter to make sure they were free of radiation. “Any interest in getting back into your bunny suit?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You sure know how to show a girl a good time.”

  Georgia agreed to take Astarte to see a movie, and a half-hour later Cam and Amanda drove the rental SUV to the rear of the lot, crouched behind the vehicle and stepped into their Hazmat suits a second time.