The Templar's Revenge (A James Acton Thriller, #19) (James Acton Thrillers)

by J. Robert Kennedy

  Jacques smiled. “Finally, someone is paying attention.” He gave Acton a look that left him feeling thoroughly admonished. Acton opened his mouth to protest then stopped himself. He smiled, realizing how one of his students must feel when he busted them for not listening.

  He had been so distracted by what had happened on their way here, and the claim this man was a Templar Knight, that he had completely ignored the most important claim. “I apologize, Mr. Ridefort. May we see it?”

  “It is why you are here.” He beckoned his attendant to continue on, and their journey resumed.

  Acton gestured toward an elevator. “I see you’ve installed some upgrades.”

  “We don’t carry swords anymore, either.”

  Acton chuckled. “No, I suppose you don’t.” He nodded toward the chair. “May I ask what is, ahh…”

  “Wrong with me?”

  Acton blushed. “Sorry.”

  “I have pancreatic cancer, and will be dead within weeks, if not days. That is why I finally gave you the proof you were asking for. Your ignoring me could no longer be tolerated.”

  Acton was about to apologize again when he decided against it. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He was contacted every day by some quack, and Jacques Ridefort had seemed no different. Until he finally provided the proof referred to. If he had done so three years ago, this meeting likely would have occurred that much sooner. He was not about to be made to feel guilty over something he was not responsible for, no matter how ill the man might now be.

  “Well, I’m here now. Your home suggests your family has connections to what were once the Templars, and the fact you share the last name of several people buried under the Vatican and confirmed to be from the Order, suggests your ancestors very likely were Templars.”

  “Assuming it is your real name,” said Laura, Acton happy to see he wasn’t the only one not sure of what to make of the situation.

  “I see why you two got married. You’re both skeptics.”

  “We’re both realists who’ve seen too many con artists in our day,” replied Laura. “We’ll need more proof than a driver’s license and some old suits of armor with Templar crosses.”

  Jacques chuckled. “I’ll give you more than that.” He smiled as they entered a large room, a roaring fire off to the left with chairs and couches in a semicircle in front. “Ahh, here we are. Vincent, if you would.”

  The attendant, Vincent, bowed slightly, and headed for the opposite end of the room. He tipped a pedestal with a bust of what appeared to be the last Grand Master of the Templars, Jacques de Molay, and there was a clicking sound. He righted the pedestal, then stepped over to the wall and pushed, a portion of a wall-to-wall bookcase swinging inward, revealing a hidden doorway.

  Laura looked at Acton excitedly, and they followed Jacques into the hidden room, Acton still skeptical, though if they were being led on, the hoax was one of the best he had encountered. Laura gasped first, and when Acton rounded the bend in the narrow passageway, he did as well.

  Before them was what could best be described as a treasure room, overflowing with a large amount of gold and jewels, along with precious artifacts and art, but standing in the center of it all was an object so distinctive, so awe-inspiring, Acton barely took notice of the trove surrounding him. He instinctively made the sign of the cross as goosebumps rushed across his body, his heart slamming, his ears pounding, as his eyes devoured the holiest of artifacts he could imagine.

  It was the True Cross.

  He recognized it from period paintings and drawings, there little doubt this was it. It could be a replica, and whether the aged piece of wood embedded among the gold and jewels was the actual cross Jesus himself was crucified upon, there may be no way to tell. Yet his gut instinct told him this was, at a minimum, the cross carried at the head of the Crusader armies for almost two centuries, and if it were, no one had set eyes upon it for over 800 years.

  “How?” was all he could manage, already circling it with Laura, taking it in from all sides, lights on the floor and ceiling all focused on it, giving it a radiant glow that made it appear even more holy than it might otherwise.

  “My family, along with a small contingent, stole it back from Saladin’s forces shortly after it was captured. It was a daring mission, and most of those who participated died, but nonetheless, my ancestors were successful. Under the blessings of the Grand Master, and of the Pope, my family was tasked with protecting it, and decided returning the True Cross to the leaders of the day would merely put it at risk once again. In time, it was decided that it couldn’t be returned until three generations of peace had passed in either the Holy Land, or in Rome.”

  Laura glanced at Jacques. “I doubt you’ll ever see that in the Holy Land. But Rome has been at peace for some time, arguably since the end of World War Two. That would be three generations, wouldn’t it?”

  Jacques smiled and Acton stopped his examination, turning to him. “That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?”

  “It is now, though it wasn’t when I first contacted you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The four bodies you found were the first three protectors of the True Cross, and their trusted sergeant, Raymond, who was adopted into our family just before he died. When the Templars were betrayed, the promise given to us by the Vatican, to bury our honored dead on their hallowed grounds, was terminated, and the tomb sealed—the tomb they stumbled upon a few years ago, and that you were brought in to examine.”

  Acton nodded. “That matches with what we found, three generations of the same family, the last of which was entombed just before the Templars were arrested. So your intention was to make sure we knew who they really were?”

  “Exactly. They deserved that honor, at least. And I had hoped to entreat the Vatican, through you, to have them returned to their final resting place, and left in peace and dignity.”

  Acton pursed his lips. “I can respect that. But there’s one thing I don’t understand.”

  “What is that?”

  “Why the fake nameplates?”

  22

  Hyères, Kingdom of Arles

  1240 AD

  Raymond smiled as Sir Gervais entered, the new baby he had heard born only minutes before, cradled in his arms. And wrapped in blue.

  “A son?”

  Sir Gervais smiled, nodding. Raymond pushed up on his elbows, and his squire rushed forward, propping him up with pillows. “Let me see the boy.”

  Sir Gervais sat on the edge of the bed, a bed that had been Raymond’s home for far too many months as of late. He was dying. He had held on these last few weeks in the hopes he would see his master’s child born, the grandson of his late master Sir John, and the great-grandson of the man who had saved him from a life of destitution and probably crime, Sir Guy of Ridefort. He was past his due, but he had survived long enough to see the next generation born, the boy who would carry on their mission given to them by the Grand Master, and blessed by the popes themselves.

  Peace had never won out in the Holy Land, and the kingdoms of Europe, including the Holy See, were ones gripped in intrigue and political machinations that ensured instability. The True Cross would remain hidden away, protected for generations to come, by this family, a family driven by duty and honor, and by inherent goodness.

  Sir Guy had found him in a ditch, beaten and left for dead by ruffians offended by his audacity at asking for a bite of bread. Sir Guy had his squire nurse him back to health as they traveled on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. During the course of this journey, where Sir Guy restored his health and taught him the ways of a knight, he learned of the Templars, and what it meant to devote oneself to one’s God and His holy warriors.

  By the time they reached Jerusalem, he had not only pledged his loyalty to his savior on the roadside, but to his Lord Savior, and His army on Earth, the Knights Templar. And during the two years of travel, he had made a friend, a friend he missed to this day.

  Raymond leaned forwa
rd, staring at the bundle of pink skin, eyes squeezed shut, chubby cheeks a shiny, healthy red. “Tell me his name.”

  Sir Gervais smiled. “We named him after the greatest man we know, and the truest friend a family could ever have.”

  Raymond reached out and rubbed a bony finger against the little man’s cheek. “The name, my boy, the name!” He smiled as the baby squirmed.

  “Raymond.”

  Raymond froze, then stared at Sir Gervais. “Master?”

  “We named him after you.”

  Raymond’s chest ached, and his eyes glistened. There could be no greater honor than for nobility to name a child after a mere servant. Though they were brothers in arms, three generations of Ridefort fighting by his side, he never could have dreamed of such an honor bestowed upon a man found in a ditch and delivered into the hands of God all those years ago.

  He had never asked for anything from this family, and they nothing from him. This young baby’s progenitors, Sir Guy, Sir John, and now Sir Gervais, had been true friends, and had treated him like family. And now, so near death, he knew he had a legacy that would be handed down through the generations, the name Raymond of Ridefort to never be forgotten.

  A tear escaped, rolling down his cheek as he beamed at his master, then at the boy. “You honor me, Sir. And you humble me.”

  Sir Gervais reached out and squeezed Raymond’s shoulder. “You honor us with your service all these years. You have been my ever-faithful servant and companion these years, and I know from the stories of others, that you were there for my father and grandfather. I can think of no greater tribute to all you have given us, than to invite you officially into our family, with the birth of our son, and your godchild.”

  Raymond closed his eyes, the tears flowing freely now, as he pictured the men of this family he had been as close to as brothers, who despite their position always treated him as an equal, and who now, with the words of their descendant, were kin. “God put me in your grandfather’s path that day, so many years ago. I dread to think what my life would be, had he not stopped to inquire of my wellbeing.” He opened his eyes and reached out, taking the hand of Sir Gervais. “Your father and grandfather would have been very proud of you, as I know your son will be of you.” Raymond leaned back in his bed, a smile on his face, tears staining his cheeks, his breath shallow and slow.

  It is time.

  He opened his eyes, smiled at the baby, then looked at Sir Gervais. “Goodbye, my friend.”

  Sir Gervais’ chest heaved, and he forced a smile as tears filled his eyes. “Rest my friend. You will be with my father and grandfather, with your family, soon.”

  23

  Saint-Pierre-la-Mer, France

  Present Day

  Pierre Ridefort stood at the rear of their vehicle, grabbing at his long hair, an impressive string of curses erupting from his mouth.

  “What now?” asked his friend, Albert. “They’re meeting right now about it, aren’t they? Is it too late?”

  Pierre looked at him then threw his hands in the air, more curses spat at the night. “Of course it’s too late!”

  Schmidt inspected the bandage he had just finished applying to his man’s calf, someone from the car getting off a lucky shot. “It is not too late.”

  Pierre glared at him. “How the hell do you figure that?”

  “This was not the original plan. This was an attempt to avoid having to execute the original. It failed because that damned car kept going after we shot the driver. If it hadn’t, we would have succeeded.”

  “But we’ve lost the element of surprise. We’ll never succeed.”

  Schmidt agreed. “Not with your original plan, but with my modified one, we will.”

  “What modified plan?”

  “I bring in more men, and we take the chateau by force.”

  Pierre stared at him. “But that means killing everyone.”

  “Probably. At least a significant portion of them.”

  “But they’re family!”

  “Yes, they are. The question is what is more important to you? Them, or this thing you’re trying to retrieve.”

  Pierre thought for a moment. The True Cross was the ultimate goal. And with his father dead, those who stood by him would automatically swear their loyalty to him.

  If only the bastard would die!

  But now, with his hand played, his father knew he was willing to kill to possess it, which meant he would likely take action tonight to see it returned to the Vatican. And once that happened, his family’s duty would be finished, and his dreams of righteous glory and respect would be forever lost. His future son and grandson would never share in the honor his father and grandfather had enjoyed.

  No, his father had to be stopped, and it had to be now. And the only way of accomplishing that feat would be by letting Schmidt’s men loose on his own family, a family that had betrayed him by supporting his father.

  “The Ridefort family’s duty for eight centuries has been clear. My father is delusional, and so are those that follow him. If they die in our attempt, then so be it. There will be others to replace them in time, but if we delay any longer, our time will be up, and my family’s legacy will be lost forever.”

  Schmidt stared at him. “So what are you saying?”

  Pierre met his gaze. “I’m saying, do whatever it takes to get me inside.”

  Schmidt smiled. “I thought you might say that.” He pulled out his cellphone and sent a text message, a helicopter in the distance quickly becoming louder. Within minutes, the sound was overwhelming, a spotlight shining down on them. Schmidt waved.

  “Who is that?”

  Schmidt turned to Pierre. “Reinforcements. We’ll discuss the bill later.”

  24

  Rome, The Papal States

  August 5, 1307

  Sir Raymond of Ridefort made the sign of the cross as the sarcophagus was sealed, his father, Sir Gervais, now consigned to the ages inside this tomb on the holiest of grounds, under the very walls of the Vatican. He slowly rounded the other three sarcophagi containing his great-grandfather, Sir Guy, his grandfather, Sir John, and humble sergeant and friend, kinsmen thanks to his father, and a godfather he had never known, Raymond of Ridefort.

  Four souls, who had served their Order faithfully for three generations, who had sacrificed everything in the protection of the True Cross, buried with honor.

  And one day he would be here beside them, his own days numbered.

  He smiled at his son and grandson, standing at his side. “One day you will bury me here, and your sons will bury you. And perhaps someday, God willing, our family’s burden will end, peace will reign, and our charge can be safely returned to the purview of man.”

  The next two generations bowed slightly, saying nothing. Sir Raymond turned and left the tomb, his son and grandson following, two priests sealing the door behind them. They mounted the stairs and wound their way through the corridors, arriving at the offices of Pope Clement V, the priest who managed his affairs rising and opening the doors.

  “Sir Raymond of Ridefort, Your Holiness.”

  Sir Raymond entered and bowed, Pope Clement rising from his desk, another man, previously unnoticed, turning in his chair in front of the Pontiff.

  “Sir Raymond of Ridefort, may I present Sir Lambert, here on behalf of King Philip of France.”

  Sir Lambert rose, and the men exchanged greetings before Sir Raymond turned to the Pope. “Our business here is done, and my family thanks you once again for the continued honor bestowed upon us.”

  Sir Lambert squeezed his chin, tugging on his beard. “Yes, we have been speaking of this…honor.”

  Sir Raymond barely suppressed his shock, this a secret handed down for generations, and to his knowledge, known only to his family, the Grand Master of the Knights Templar, and the sitting pope. No others were to know. He stared at the Pope, seeking some indication as to what should be said. The Pope avoided his gaze, instead returning to his chair. Sir Lambert sat, but Sir R
aymond remained standing, his son and grandson flanking him.

  “Yes, we have been. I feel it is time that your burden be lifted, and the True Cross handed over to the Holy See. We are better equipped to protect it.”

  Sir Raymond’s chest pounded and his fists clenched tightly. “But, Your Holiness, three generations of peace have not yet occurred. The oath has not been fulfilled.”

  The Pontiff dismissed his statement with a flick of the wrist. “Three generations was never something I agreed to, and from my understanding, was something the Templars came up with themselves. Who are you, my servants, to tell me what I as leader of the Holy See must adhere to?” He stared at Sir Raymond. “You will reveal to me, right now, where the True Cross is hidden.”

  Sir Raymond shook his head, jabbing a finger at Sir Lambert. “These are the words of the French King, not of the Holy See. They are the words of a debtor delivered by a snake to be spoken by you.” He turned on Sir Lambert. “Do you think me the fool, sir? Your king owes the Templars a great sum of money for his foolishness against England and Flanders. His debts are due, and he has no means to repay them. He is merely trying to drive a wedge between the Templars and the Holy See to escape his obligations.”

  He stared at Pope Clement. “And you, sir, are playing into King Philip’s hands. The Templars have protected the True Cross for over a century, and we will continue to do so until three generations of peace have been enjoyed by those who call the Holy Land or Rome their home. My oath is to God and His Son, our Lord Jesus Christ. It is not to any man, and it is certainly not to the King of France.”

  He spun on his heel and marched for the door, Sir Lambert leaping to his feet. A sword pulled from its scabbard and Sir Raymond spun, gripping his own yet not drawing, his son and grandson doing the same. “You would dare draw a sword in this sacred place? You would dare shed blood on this holy ground, the very ground where Saint Peter himself is buried? You call yourself a Christian, sir? I call you a coward and a heathen, and I would spit on the ground before you if it wouldn’t be a desecration.” He jabbed a finger at him. “Never shall the Templars yield the True Cross while men the likes of you and King Philip hold sway over the Holy See!”