The Templar Agenda

by John Paul Davis

  The merger with Rosco in 2002 was a surprise and one of the first since new American legislation had been passed. Throughout the nineties Starvel and three other banks had failed to acquire them but that had not dissuaded former Starvel director, Gilbert de Bois, from attempting to do the same with his new bank. Leoni et Cie, now the fourth largest bank in Switzerland, was already a success, whereas Rosco was still growing. Since its formation in 1989 under the direction of oil tycoon, Mark Antonio Careca, the bank had grown quickly. Extended lending had led to rapid growth and this concerned the then Chairman of the Fed, Randy Lewis, prior to the merger but such issues were no longer a problem. Leoni et Cie was the bigger bank, but only just. Rosco was still extending its wings. Had the merger not gone through perhaps in four years Rosco may have overtaken Leoni et Cie as the bigger bank.

  By the time the merger had been agreed, Al Leoni was considering retirement and the bank needed a new agenda. At the beginning of his life he was a multimillionaire; at the end he was multiple in dollar billions. And Rosco would ensure continued success for his legacy. They were young but ready to flourish. And they had what Leoni et Cie didn’t have: an established corporate presence in America. Equally, Leoni had what Rosco did not: a firm retail client base in Europe.

  The Feds initially took their time but this was largely due to complications over the new legislation. The Swiss FINMA took less time to decide. They were still only the fourth largest bank in Switzerland. Increased supervision would come as a result of its increased size but that was to be expected. They were still a fraction of the size of the heavyweights.

  Although a merger, Klose noted that it was officially billed as a stock swap. Leoni et Cie purchased every share of Rosco for around $1.9 billion of its own stock and issued approximately 1.9 new Leoni et Cie shares for every old one. Before 2007 the bank had become a $32 billion revenue firm with assets nearing $115 billion, although both numbers had since fallen. The chairmen of both companies, de Bois of Rosco and the late Al Leoni, both became board members with Leoni appointed as chief executive, de Bois as chairman, with the Vatican Bank owning the second highest stake behind Leoni. It remained to be seen how the management styles of de Bois and Leoni would coexist, but they had done so peacefully.

  Even the tree huggers approved. For every customer who converted to online banking, forsaking the paper statements, the cost of the paper was given to the GREEN Foundation, set up by Gilbert de Bois in Boston, aimed at preserving the rain forests.

  And that wasn’t the only good cause. De Bois had set up charities in Africa, Asia and Latin America. It did not bode well to take sides in matters of religion but Leoni et Cie seemed to take Christianity by example. And America and Europe’s Christians responded.

  Yes, this was Al Leoni’s legacy.

  This really was God’s bank.

  Next to Jurgen Klose, the chairman of Leoni et Cie, Gilbert de Bois, sat patiently. His dark hair was combed back smartly, yet not disguising some vague streaks of grey. His green eyes seemed all the more powerful against the backdrop of his rugged face. Supposedly in the media industry image was everything but his seemed less extravagant. What he lacked in extravagance he made up for in success.

  Irving Swanson was present on behalf of the Vatican Bank, as was Cardinal Tepilo on his left. Swanson yawned vigorously. He checked his watch for the umpteenth time in quick succession before strolling across the lavish office toward the coffee dispenser. He removed a cardboard cup from the pile and poured himself a straight black cup of coffee with two sugars, an act of boredom as much as thirst. He blew on it and swallowed.

  ‘Can I get one of them?’ de Bois asked.

  Swanson turned and looked at him. ‘Go fuck yourself, Gile.’

  ‘Will you two please show some decorum,’ Tepilo said getting to his feet. His ageing frame hunched slightly as he addressed the bankers as if he were a headmaster telling off two of his pupils. Swanson looked with malice for several seconds before pouring a warm coffee for de Bois.

  Jurgen Klose adjusted his glasses, his dynamic eyes on de Bois. Over the years he had seen it all before. A mutual dislike was fairly common in banking but he knew their feud had different issues. Childhood rivalries between friends seeing who had the best bike, the best toys, whose father drove the best car was fairly typical. It was not as if de Bois had shagged Swanson’s daughter, and bragged about it all over the Internet. Rather, de Bois’s Ferrari could go faster than Swanson’s Jaguar, de Bois’s château in the Loire Valley had a swimming pool large enough for a football pitch, and Swanson’s toilet smelt of poo.

  Empires crumbled on feuds. Couples bickered, marriages ended, men got shot and dollars lost and the finger was always pointed at the one who was not man enough to handle the pressure. Their rivalry was beneficial in the old days. As directors at Starvel both men oversaw leftfield returns and the shareholders basked in the success. It had been over six years since Swanson had worked for Starvel, ten since de Bois sold his stake to Louis Velis. De Bois was never a banker. But he was a businessman through and through and had his fingers in many pies, mainly media. He sold his stake in Starvel to concentrate on new ventures but Swanson was tired. His wife died from cancer and that hit him hard. His daughter was his rock and his pleasure in life came from babysitting his seven-year-old granddaughter. De Bois remained happily married but he never really spoke of such matters. Only the Vatican could have tempted Swanson back. And five years ago that happened. Past income fed the wallet. But this fed the soul.

  At precisely noon there came a gentle knock at the door. Swanson swallowed his coffee. A lasting burning sensation resonated down his neck, partially concealed by layers of flab that almost resembled a double chin.

  Tepilo answered come in and Gabrielle Leoni entered the room.

  The dynamic of the room changed immediately, all eyes watching her every move. As she entered she saw a large airy room, abundant in wooden furniture mostly containing shelving and books. She smiled as the gracious figure of Cardinal Tepilo stood slowly to greet her. Swanson remained seated, sitting alongside Klose. De Bois stood by a large coffee table and offered his hand.

  ‘Gabrielle, my dear, how are you?’

  ‘Good,’ Gabrielle replied, kissing de Bois on each cheek. She turned to face her great-uncle.

  ‘Gabrielle, my darling,’ Tepilo said, ‘you are quite sure about this? The future of Leoni et Cie does not need to rest on decisions made of hurt.’

  ‘No,’ she replied with a smile. ‘I’m ready. And please don’t get up on my account.’

  Her great-uncle smiled thoughtfully, remaining standing. She smiled at Tepilo before turning to all present in turn. Secretly she was quite disappointed that Cardinal Utaka was not present. Swanson forced a smile from his position on the couch and Gabrielle shone one back. Klose watched with interest. It wasn’t every day he was treated to such a sight.

  ‘Have a seat, my dear,’ the lawyer said to Gabrielle, motioning towards a leather sofa around the large wooden table. Despite the German his English was crisp and without accent. They offered her coffee, she declined; they exchanged pleasantries, and she laughed and smiled; Klose was staring and that pissed her off, but she was used to that. She faked a smile and waited for him to act.

  ‘Now,’ the German said, walking towards the table, clicking the pen in his hand. ‘You’ve seen the contract? You are happy with the terms?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, referring to the estimated $2.39 billion she would receive over the next five years for her share. ‘Yes I am.’

  Klose smiled briefly. ‘Whenever you’re ready.’

  The lawyer laid out the contract before her on the table and offered her the pen. She glanced at it quickly but she had already seen all she needed to see. She would personally see a $33 million golden handshake if profits went as planned over the next year. 31% of her 43% stake would go to the Vatican Bank, leaving her with 12% that she was in no hurry to lose. All profits and liabilities would remain with Leoni et Ci
e PLC, all future profits and liabilities would remain the responsibility of Leoni et Cie PLC, et cetera et cetera.

  Inhaling deeply, Gabrielle signed the contract. Images of her father flashed before her and were gone in an instant. She looked at Cardinal Tepilo and smiled.

  Tepilo took her hand. ‘May the peace of Christ be with you always.’

  Gabrielle smiled briefly at all present before leaving the room. Jurgen Klose signed the document on behalf of Renouf, Anderson and Klose and the cardinal signed it for the Vatican Bank. De Bois signed it as chairman; he’d have signed it a hundred times if he could. Swanson was left till last. De Bois picked up a fountain pen and handed it to his former co-director.

  Swanson looked at Tepilo. ‘You’re making a big mistake, eminence.’

  ‘Irve, come on.’ De Bois said.

  Tepilo looked menacingly at Swanson. ‘Enough of this childish nonsense.’

  De Bois removed a cigar from the inside pocket of his suit and lit it immediately. He looked at Swanson and exhaled in his direction with clear hostility.

  ‘Just sign it, jackass.’

  ‘Now we’ve been over this before,’ the cardinal said. ‘This does nothing positive.’

  ‘Fine, don’t sign it. Like it matters.’

  With a resigned grunt Swanson swept the fine nib across the paper, almost ripping it. He threw the pen on the contract and looked at his former colleague. De Bois broke into a smile. He offered his hand.

  ‘No hard feelings.’

  Swanson declined. ‘Asshole.’

  De Bois exhaled on his cigar, directing smoke roughly in the direction of the cardinal.

  ‘Arrogant, arse,’ the cardinal said, turning to leave.

  De Bois laughed as he turned towards Jurgen Klose. He removed his cigar with his right hand and patted the lawyer’s shoulder.

  ‘Thank you. We are all very grateful.’

  The German raised his eyebrows and left the room, leaving Gilbert de Bois alone. He removed his mobile phone from his trouser pocket and dialled.

  21

  Vatican City

  Gabrielle had visited the Vatican on many occasions throughout her life. Although she was no stranger to the famous buildings, the sheer scale of St. Peter’s Basilica never failed to captivate her. Even though she was not as religious as some of her ancestors, she loved the architecture of the Vatican City and regarded the location as one of her favourites.

  She walked alongside Mike across St. Peter’s Square approaching the basilica. Its giant dome dominated the clear blue sky. It was 8am and the site that would be populated by thousands of pilgrims the next day – as it is every Wednesday when the Pope gives his famous general audience – was empty, delivering a quiet eeriness that made her feel slightly nervous despite the presence of the Swiss Guard walking alongside her.

  They were completely alone, yet she did not feel it. The famous fountains trickled gently, echoing slightly. Across the skyline she noticed the presence of several pairs of eyes looking down, each belonging to the stone faces of the great saints of old, lined up one by one, seemingly watching their every move.

  Twelve days had passed since signing the contract in Zürich. Gilbert de Bois’s unavoidable return to Canada meant the first meeting of the new bank since the takeover would be delayed, forcing them to return briefly to St. Gallen before making the journey to Rome.

  They departed the previous morning. Mike’s intention had been to complete the journey in one day, but that was foiled by the weather, forcing them to find a hotel some thirty kilometres north of the Italian capital. The site he chose was circumspect, a small bed and breakfast in an unspoilt town less than five minutes from the main road. Despite the objections he booked one room with two beds, determined not to allow for the possibility of a surprise attack. There was tension as usual, but different to what Mike was used to. She was despondent, more so. In the circumstances he almost wondered whether she might miss him, whether perhaps Henry Leoni was right.

  Then he dismissed the idea.

  The weather had improved by daybreak, allowing them to return to the Vatican in time for her meeting. Then she would leave and he would stay.

  And what needed to be done would be done.

  They crossed the square, approaching the steps leading to the Maderno façade, passing the famous statues, instantly recognisable as St. Peter and St. Paul. They walked on unimpeded until they reached the security guards. Mike saluted as he approached and explained that he was a Swiss Guard, not that they would have guessed from his blue jeans and black t-shirt. They walked through the metal detector unhindered, catching a piercing stare from a very masculine looking female security guard as they entered the basilica.

  Mike led the way through the open doors, heading through the church in the direction of the main altar. The site was practically deserted, unsurprising given the early hour. A small group of Spanish tourists were heading in the opposite direction, probably towards the square, and a group of early risers on a pilgrimage from San Antonio were standing with stiff necks, gaping in awe at the inside of the dome. Within an hour the site would be heaving with tourists.

  Side by side they walked in silence: strange and awkward in nature. For Gabrielle it was a proud attempt at strength at the end of an association that was, at least in her opinion, ultimately unnecessary.

  For Mike it was bittersweet. Throughout his eight weeks at St. Gallen he couldn’t help replay that first night over and over in his mind. It was impossible not to dislike her after the way she was to him, but the situation was hardly straightforward. He remembered the way she looked, even the way she had looked at him, at least before the suit comment. It was strange. It seemed man was never destined to have it easy with women of unattainable beauty. Never in a million years would he have predicted the weeks that followed. In many ways the strange series of events had brought them close together, possibly in pity or circumstance. He doubted she viewed his being there as obvious friendship.

  For her it was the same. She never admitted it but it was there. A strange connection established not by friendship but purpose: purpose and fear. But that had led to affection and respect. As they made their way past Bernini’s Baldacchino she smiled briefly at Mike.

  They walked slowly, heading in the direction of the main altar. Several lesser altars lined the interior, decorated by sculptures of Popes and other religious figures, portraits of the Apostles and random depictions from the Bible. The altars were largely deserted, whereas those in use were occupied by various priests, mostly alone, carrying out early morning Mass, some assisted by altar boys.

  Several metres above them the early sun radiated brightly through that window of yellow alabaster, illuminating the dove of the Holy Spirit in its centre, penetrating through Bernini’s Gloria and shining on the Cathedra Petri, the Throne of Peter, the chair that was said to have once been used by the first Pope and Apostle of Christ. In the light, the throne, enclosed in bronze casing, emitted a bright angelic image as it stood supported effortlessly by the hands of four doctors of the church, standing proudly on equal sides, illustrating expressions of adoration and joy from their sculpted faces. Gabrielle could not help look up in admiration and awe, not just from religion, but the exquisite calibre of the man who created them.

  On reaching the front of the church Mike stopped to examine his surroundings. There was no sign of Thierry.

  ‘He’s probably in the Chapel of St. Columban. He goes there sometimes to pray.’

  Gabrielle nodded, pausing momentarily before following him back in the direction from which they came. He dragged his suitcase along the floor behind him, causing a loud echoing sound to resonate throughout the church. He turned on reaching the stairs in the middle of the basilica, leading down to the grotto.

  The grotto of the great basilica is located between the former floor levels of the old Constantinian Basilica and the nave of the modern church. The present grotto comprises a labyrinth of chapels and snaking corridors lined by
the sarcophagi of various Popes and ancient doctors of the church, the only physical remains of the ancient basilica that existed between the 4th and 15th centuries.

  Mike led the way down the stairs to the grotto and stopped before the original tomb of Pope John Paul II. A solitary candle burned by the side of the grave, illuminating the white stone slab in a heavy tint of purple through the coloured glass that surrounded the flame. To his left he saw the chapel of St. Peter and directly behind it the tomb of the famous Apostle enclosed by a grated window, solid walls and decorated by ornate paintings. He genuflected reverently before the tombs and Gabrielle did the same. He forced a smile and she flashed one back. A group of nuns, five in total, walked past them, heading away from St. Peter in the direction of St. Longinus. The side chapels were mainly empty and quiet bar a ghostly enunciation of Gregorian chants from one of the distant chapels.

  Mike led the way to the left of the former tomb of John Paul II, passing the Polish Chapel and entered the chapel of St. Columban next on the right. The chapel was pleasant in atmosphere and largely undecorated. Four pews dominated its centre, situated before a stone altar. A green mosaic of Saint Columban and five others decorated the wall behind the altar, reflecting the light brightly as it bounced off the cold stone. In the second pew Thierry sat alone.

  The oberst made the sign of the cross before turning to face Gabrielle and Mike. Mike jumped to salute with military precision and Gabrielle laughed loudly. Thierry smiled at her and raised his hand slowly to salute Mike. To Mike it was obvious he had not come to pray as such. It was probably the only chance he would get that day to have some peace and quiet.