The Templar Agenda

by John Paul Davis

  He looked at her once more. She looked lost, not physically but inside. Her eyes, normally shining with enthusiasm, were now empty and dim, colour somehow faded from each iris. It reminded him of the day of her father’s funeral.

  ‘It’s okay.’ Mike said.

  ‘The Swiss Guard were here to protect from outsiders,’ she said, her attention still on the car park. ‘Nothing was said about protecting from inside.’

  Another sip of the flavourless coffee.

  ‘I thought I was gonna die.’

  ‘They don’t let anyone join the Swiss Guard. I know all of them. Believe me none of them are capable of…that.’

  ‘And how would you know,’ she replied emphatically, colour returning to her eyes but without warmth or optimism. When he looked into her eyes he could see something had changed inside her. He knew the day he met her that she was still living a childhood: an extended lease of innocence and pampering that could only happen to a spoiled daughter of a rich man, or a member of the nobility. Yet that had been lost in the blink of an eye at the hands of an impostor dressed as a Swiss Guard.

  ‘I’m sorry. It’s not your fault.’

  Mike grimaced. ‘That’s okay. You’re right, I don’t know, not for sure. All I saw was the back of him. Just call it a hunch.’

  Silence followed. He glanced out of the window. The BMW was still outside.

  ‘Did you see his face?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. He wore a balaclava the whole time.’

  Mike nodded. A cold, sober thought emerged in his mind. What if he was wrong? He doubted himself, his friends. Surely none would be capable of such monstrosity.

  ‘Someone wanted your father dead,’ Mike said. ‘Someone clearly wants you dead as well. Now perhaps we’re looking at this the wrong way. Now maybe this has nothing to do with banking.’

  Gabrielle looked at him with surprise. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The oberst showed me something. He said the Rite of Larmenius had killed before, most recently two people connected to Banco Ambrosiano in the 1980s: two bankers to be precise. Both were Italian; both killed without explanation and the killer never brought to justice.’

  Mike looked out of the window. Suddenly it dawned on him. The driver of the BMW hadn’t moved.

  His attitude changed instantly. ‘We should leave.’

  ‘I haven’t finished my shit cuppa…’

  Suddenly a chilling sensation overcame her. She looked at the car park, then at Mike.

  ‘Maybe he’s just checking the map or making a call.’

  ‘That’s what worries me,’ he said. ‘Come on.’

  Mike stood nonchalantly and headed towards the counter, putting on his jacket as he walked. He passed some euros to the bald-headed Italian behind the counter and whispered something in his ear. Gabrielle saw him heading towards the outside toilets at the end of the corridor. He looked back at her and she in turn looked at the BMW through the window. Tinted glass gave nothing away.

  Gabrielle rose from her seat and moved slowly away from the booth. She looked to Mike, not for reassurance but to know where to follow. She followed Mike down the corridor towards the fire escape. He pushed firmly on the metal bar in the middle of the door and opened it loudly. Now outside, Gabrielle’s Lotus was directly in front of him, parked three empty bays from a diesel Volkswagen. Mike had deliberately parked it out of sight from the main road.

  Once inside he switched on the ignition and the engine sprang into life. He pressed down gently on the accelerator and edged towards the road, waiting for the traffic to clear. Within seconds the café was out of sight.

  He exhaled loudly, hoping his precaution was simply an overreaction. Checking his mirrors, he accelerated to forty-five miles per hour before taking his foot off the pedal. As far as he could tell no one was following them.

  For several minutes neither of them spoke. Although it was unclear whether there was even a threat Gabrielle chose to assume the worst. The possibility overwhelmed her, causing a tight claustrophobic sensation to engulf her chest. For several seconds, perhaps ten and each one an eternity, she felt as though she was going to pass out. She searched for the button that opened the electric window.

  The revving of the Lotus was overwhelmed by the sound of blustery air. Gabrielle leaned her head over the door and inhaled gratefully, closing her eyes as a reflex against the gale. The unpleasant sensation, a mixture of the sickly coffee and nervousness slowly left her and was instead replaced by the harsh sensation of fresh air blowing in her eyes and filling her lungs. After several seconds she closed the window.

  ‘How did you know?’ she asked.

  Mike glanced in the rear-view mirror. Nothing.

  ‘I didn’t,’ he said. ‘I just don’t like taking chances.’

  ‘You don’t say.’

  ‘I live longer that way.’

  ‘Well lucky you.’

  An awkward pause followed. Mike maintained his concentration, eyes on the road, then the rear-view mirror. Still no one was following. Nothing. Relief.

  Gabrielle bent down and reached for a bottle of mineral water that was rattling beneath the seat. The un-chilled flavour was unpleasant but she drank for several seconds, intent on ridding her mouth of the taste of her recent coffee.

  Mike looked over. ‘It’s gonna be alright.’

  Gabrielle swallowed and replaced the cap on the water bottle. ‘What do you know? You know nothing about me.’

  Mike straightened up as he decelerated into the bend. ‘Fair enough,’ he replied. ‘But you’re not the first person to have to deal with this…’

  ‘There you go again…’

  ‘I’m just saying…’

  ‘Well don’t!’

  He checked the rear-view mirror once more and was satisfied there was no immediate danger.

  Several hundred metres behind, the BMW followed. A single bleep made its sound intermittently, marking their position on the tracker. As far as he could tell they were unaware of his presence.

  For over twenty minutes the ride continued in silence. The Swiss Guard drove quickly. The light touch of the accelerator felt like the weight of a feather against his foot, making it difficult to avoid breaking the speed limit on the deserted road. Although he loved driving sports cars, for Mike the tense atmosphere coupled with the long drive was becoming a chore. His eyelids felt heavy after a night of little sleep guarding Gabrielle. If luck were to hold they would arrive before nightfall.

  For Gabrielle the journey dragged by even more infuriatingly. She sat with her eyes closed, her rigid body leaning back against the headrest. In her dazed state her nostrils gave little sense to the pleasant smell of the new leather seats.

  Despite her eyes being closed she was in no mood to relax. Every time she tried her mind continued to linger on her ordeal the previous day. The last thing she wanted was another night away from the château: particularly having to share a room. She was aware that he had stayed with her that night at the Vatican but she barely paid his presence attention. She wasn’t in the mood for company.

  From time to time a refreshing breeze blew across her face from the air conditioner. The moderate temperature felt perfect on her face. The electronic display suggested it was 17° Celsius, at least eight degrees warmer than the temperature outside the car. She opened her eyes fully and looked at Mike, his hands adjusting the fan level. He asked her if it was okay for her and she replied that it was. She looked at him and offered a smile.

  At that moment her mind began to wander. For the first time she remembered the way she felt before entering the Sistine Chapel. After everything that had happened it seemed like a long time ago. She thought about yesterday, before the attack. Then she thought about the way he charged through the doors. She smiled inside but her face remained neutral.

  ‘You saved my life.’

  Mike looked at her, his expression suggesting surprise. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘If it hadn’t been for you…’

 
; Mike laughed, slightly hesitantly. ‘Look, Ms. Leoni, with all due respect…’

  For several seconds he remained lost for words. She looked directly at him, her expression warmer than before. He wanted to know what she was thinking but her expression gave nothing away. He paused momentarily to look at the road and then at her. He forced a smile.

  ‘It’s what I’m here for.’

  She smiled to herself, allowing her mind to wander once again. Maybe if things had been different. She wondered how things would be if they were meeting for the first time, under normal circumstances.

  He looked American, yet definitely Swiss complexion. Short dark hair, slight rough rugged stubble, about one day without a shave that seemed somewhat more appealing than usual. His skin was rough but not in a bad way. His rippling muscles were not the biggest but nicely toned, perhaps capable of benching his bodyweight. If he were a wrestler he’d be a middleweight. He looked like a football player, perhaps one who played for Roma or Lazio.

  He was handsome but that alone was never enough. It was the way he came for her. Perhaps it was the look of determination in his eyes. Or maybe it was the way he threw the tables aside to get to her assailant. Or the way he held her after scaring off the attacker.

  Despite the wealth she had always been starved of love. In the eyes of most she was like a Hollywood actress: completely unattainable. She was beautiful, and she knew it. She knew men were afraid of her, perhaps too afraid. In many ways that was a problem. She knew he was afraid of her, but she liked that. Men always loved her.

  Did he love her? Maybe, she thought. She liked the way she could use her sexuality as a tool. It had always worked for her. She had her heart broken once, by a banker, and vowed that she would never do so again. She hated bankers. She hated cocky men.

  Coming from a family of ancient lineage, her one regret was that she hadn’t been alive in the distant past. Then maybe she could have married a real knight in shining armour. He was like a knight. Better yet, a stable boy who had risen to a knight. He would have made a good stable boy. She tilted her hair to the left and smiled

  ‘Didn’t you say your dad worked on a farm?’

  Mike looked at her, perplexed. ‘Nope. He was a sheriff just outside of Macon.’

  ‘Were you close to your father?’

  Mike shook his head. ‘Not really,’ he said without interest. ‘Why?’

  ‘No reason. I’ve never asked about your family.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m interested.’

  ‘Really? Why?’

  ‘Just am is all,’ she said coyly. She smiled at him as she shuffled in her seat for comfort. ‘What made you become a Swiss Guard?’

  He shrugged. ‘I dunno. I guess it was always my dream.’

  ‘Uh huh. And you weren’t close to your dad.’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘He was never there to protect you?’

  He looked back confused.

  ‘Or maybe it was not you who needed protecting.’

  He took his eyes away from the road, his concentration momentarily lost.

  ‘What?’

  She shook her head. ‘Nothing. You were saying about the Rite of Larmenius?’

  Mike looked at her blankly.

  ‘Before we left. You were saying something.’

  Mike shook his head, thoughts returning to the road. He considered the question.

  ‘Right. Yeah. Oberst told me that the Rite of Larmenius could be responsible for over two thousand deaths since the Second World War. Most recently they are alleged to have been involved in the killings of two bankers connected to Banco Ambrosiano.’

  ‘Was this before or after Calvi and Soisson were murdered?’ Gabrielle asked.

  ‘Before, I think, but only just. I think what with all the attention that happened after with P2 most people forgot all about them.’

  Gabrielle nodded. ‘Right. And you were going to tell me that you don’t think they wanted me or my dad dead because of anything to do with banking.’

  He felt stupid but still managed to force a laugh. ‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ he said shaking his head. ‘The first diary was found in a Leoni et Cie safe deposit box registered to Mikael Devére right?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Right. We also know that it was Mikael Devére who provided Mark with the tipoff regarding the murders.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘So presumably not only did Devére know about the Rite of Larmenius being involved in the deaths of your father and the other five but he also knew something about Zichmni and the continuation of the Templars.’

  ‘Assuming he could read the text.’

  ‘Right. And you were attacked when reading a manuscript that just so happens to have been lost for God knows how long. And, better still, judging from the fact that the first diary was also once located in the Vatican someone must have retrieved it.’

  ‘So you think they wanted the manuscript and nothing else?’

  Mike paused in contemplation. ‘I think it’s possible. Surely if this was banking related they’d have attacked you before you sold your shares.’

  ‘So what about Jermaine Llewellyn? Cardinal Faukes? Your major in the Swiss Guard, the other ones?’

  Mike bit his lip. The more he thought about it the less convinced he felt.

  ‘I don’t know. But what I do think is that someone wants proof of a Templar survival to remain secret. Let’s face it the Vatican Secret Archives are as difficult to break into as a Leoni et Cie vault. Yet you find this book that even the Fila hadn’t earmarked.’

  Gabrielle was confused. ‘The what?’

  Mike looked at Gabrielle, briefly taking his eyes from the road. ‘The Fila.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘That’s what they call Marcelos. The Fila. As in the Fila Brasileiro.’

  Gabrielle’s face broadened into a smile. ‘You mean the guard dog?’

  ‘Yeah. He’s Brazilian.’

  Gabrielle laughed hysterically. Her facial expression changed: everything about her changed. She laughed for several seconds.

  ‘Oh, my God. That’s so funny.’

  Mike looked at her and laughed, not at the joke but at her. Tears streamed down her cheeks but they were happy.

  She laughed for several seconds.

  ‘Oh, my God,’ she said again, wiping her eyes. ‘I can just imagine him digging a hole for his bone and guarding it.’ She laughed again. ‘That’s funny.’

  A brief pause followed as she regained her composure. Mike shook his head, failing to hide his smile.

  She poked him in the arm. ‘Oh, man. You’re funny.’

  A brief pause followed, a pleasant one. She looked at him, her face returning to normal.

  ‘You were saying?’

  Mike braked around a corner. As the road straightened out of the bend he began to accelerate. He looked at her again, confused.

  ‘You were saying, before?’

  ‘Right, so you find this manuscript that must have been in the archives for over one hundred and fifty years yet it had never been catalogued. You find it after receiving a clue from the first Zeno diary that we now know had also been in the Vatican collection. Then after finding this second diary, you were nearly killed. Devére must have been aware of the first one and it stands to reason your father also knew. How else would the key and the account details have found their way into your own safe deposit box?’

  ‘So you think this has nothing to do with banking?’

  ‘I’m not saying that, I’m just saying perhaps this stems deeper. No one really knows what’s in the Vatican, and let’s face it no one really knows what’s hidden in the vaults of any of the major Swiss banks.’

  ‘I’m a little old for believing in monsters in the closet, Mikael.’

  ‘I didn’t mean that. I meant, like…’ he shook his head, leaving his sentence incomplete. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Secrets?’

  ‘Well, maybe.’


  Gabrielle shuffled in her seat as she considered a response. ‘And you think the Rite of Larmenius or whoever they are want it to be kept hidden?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t even know what you were looking for. But even Commissario Pessotto was impressed by the symbol in the manuscript.’

  Gabrielle nodded, silently considering the possibilities. Somehow talking about it made her feel better. The spine tingling sensation of adrenaline mixed with anticipation enthralled her and more importantly distracted her from the troubling events of the day before. She tilted her head away from Mike and slowly closed her eyes.

  The hotel was located in the Canton of Ticino and less than ten miles north of the City of Bellinzona. The building was secluded, situated just off E35 and commanded outstanding views of the mountains and the famous Castelgrande, the largest of the city’s three famous castles.

  Gabrielle had been asleep for over two hours by the time they arrived. Mike woke her after parking the car before opening the passenger side door to help her to her feet. She yawned heavily, her body momentarily disorientated by the drive. Time and location was strange to her.

  She looked with interest at the surrounding area. The City of Bellinzona glowed in the near distance against the darkening sky. She recognised the city immediately: its famous walls instantly familiar from their position on top of a hill. Finally she turned to survey the hotel. The building was painted white and relatively modern in appearance, perhaps no more than twenty years old. The logo was displayed above electronic doors leading to a carpeted atrium.