The Templar Agenda

by John Paul Davis

  ‘I can’t believe this,’ she said to both. ‘If this is true…’

  ‘I can’t quite believe it myself, Ms. Leoni. We knew there had to be a connection between the recent murders, but nothing prepared me for this. It was only yesterday that Diana Devére allowed me to see the contents of Mikael Devére’s safe. Even she doesn’t know what I know. Just imagine, within this little hidden safe in Mauritius was written proof that the former President of France was merely a puppet in a scripted master plan perpetuated by financiers, businessmen, members of the common media, even academics. Imagine if people knew? Imagine if people knew that this legendary brotherhood who, according to the history books, ceased to exist in the Middle Ages was actually still carrying out the greatest conspiracy of all time.’

  Gabrielle adjusted herself in her bed. Without realising it she had been leaning on Mike’s right arm for several minutes.

  ‘But how?’ she asked weakly. ‘Who on earth would join such a society? How could anyone learn about what has been done and enter willingly?’

  Mark shook his head. ‘Firstly, I think you need to understand the immense influence of this order. The Templars were among the first people in history to voyage to the far reaches of the planet. Mike told me about this Prince Zichmni, which, if true, he was at least partly responsible for their survival. Members of their order crossed the Atlantic at a time when many people in Europe still believed the world to be flat. They have transformed the world’s banking network and practically invented the idea of a multinational corporation. They have shaped man’s destiny in the USA, brought down the Kings of France and even to this day they have successfully brought about many of the key outcomes of history.

  ‘Secondly, from what we can gather from Devére, no man is introduced to this immediately. And most importantly they are not given a choice.’

  ‘You mean they’re threatened?’

  ‘I don’t think it’s quite like that. You see, you’ve clearly heard of the Rite of Larmenius.’

  Gabrielle nodded.

  Mark: ‘The Rite of Larmenius is an appendant body of the Freemasons, an organisation apparently formed by a combination of fleeing Knights Templar and members of the ancient rite of Stonemasonry. When the Templars were outlawed they collaborated with the Stonemasons as it allowed them to travel easily across borders. The modern day Rite of Larmenius is a society for the immensely rich. Businessmen, politicians, academics, even royalty are tempted into becoming members of this very exclusive club. Yet even 99% of their members probably don’t know the true nature. The Rite of Larmenius itself is for the most senior Masons and the criteria for membership incredibly strict. Its members participate in meetings that are otherwise private from the rest of the world, including an annual three-week conference in the Alps. All members are invited to be part of the wider order, but only a minority of them we understand to be Templars. The Rite of Larmenius itself has less than a few hundred. Once a member has been introduced to their ways there is no way out. Members are forbidden from discussing anything that goes on within their walls with the outside world. None who have tried have ever survived.’

  ‘So the Freemasons are the Knights Templar?’ Gabrielle asked. ‘You have got to be kidding me!’

  Mark shook his head. ‘The Masons are not the Templars: the Rite of Larmenius are the Templars’ feeder group. Many can join the order and pay the subscription. Only a select few are invited to see the real society.’

  Gabrielle looked desperately at Mark. ‘How do you know all this?’

  Mark unzipped his jacket and removed a lengthy document from his top pocket. He shuffled the papers and passed them to Gabrielle. There were twelve or thirteen pages in total.

  She adjusted her position in her bed and unfolded the pages. She scanned the early content quickly, detecting several sheets of printed font.

  ‘What is this?’

  ‘Answers to many questions,’ Mark replied. ‘What you hold is the fourteenth and last chapter of Mikael Devére’s upcoming autobiography: a personal insight into the activities of the Rite of Larmenius and the secret order of the Knights Templar through the eyes of one of its own members.’

  Gabrielle nodded. The look of despondency that dominated her eyes satisfied Mark that she had understood. Gabrielle looked briefly at Mike before breaking away. Her eyes concentrated on the pages before her.

  Finally she started to read.

  ‘Don’t you think grand-père wears well, my love?’ Yvette said to her daughter, Stephanie, as she held her in her arms. Stephanie, cuddling a small teddy won at the fair less than a week earlier, looked me in the eye and giggled. How is it, I have often wondered, that a heart so consumed in shade can be returned to the sun through the mystery of a child’s laugh. How many hearts that once bore such sorrow did return through that divine friend of joy?

  It was ten o’clock in the morning on the first day of November. As usual, I sat in my favourite chair, looking through the window at the fading greenery. Three days earlier my family’s visit had been a quiet, more sombre affair. The chest pains that had forced me to cancel my trip to England and brought me back to hospital were fortunately benign, in truth little more than a reminder, Mother Nature is watching.

  Being President of France, three days in an infirmary was never likely to go unnoticed. My setback had already caused speculation in the press. Over the coming days I read what seemed like thousands of articles. Most put the pains down to stress, the pinnacle of a series of failings that had taken its toll on my ageing body. Over forty years in the political sphere had taught me to understand the merciless tenacity of the angry press, though the months of April and May, in particular, were to me the most upsetting. A series of anonymous letters had been sent to a magistrate alleging serious misdemeanours involving four senior advisers. The press spoke of events as a second Clearstream scandal. As a man of senior age I was old enough to remember the first one, though never could I have imagined another: and so close to people in my own administration.

  In truth, I did not know whether the pains were a blessing or a hindrance. Two terms as President of France had already surpassed my ambitions, ambitions that went back to my schooling. Yvette asked me to retire. Knowing my stubborn ways she showed little surprise when I declined, but love is a powerful thing. Holding my granddaughter and looking out across the dying autumn setting I felt a sense of poetic realisation and my heart was touched by many remembrances long since forgotten. How strange it is the softest breeze, the falling of leaves, the smile of a loved one can arouse such humility; can whispers of old voices inspire the sorrowed heart.

  Announcement of my intention to retire was made on Canal+ less than three days after my decision was final. Contrary to common belief, the interview was pre-recorded. The recording that went to air was not the first, nor the second, nor even the tenth. Had I gone to air without so much as a second chance I fear I would have failed to speak for sorrow.

  The two days following the election was both the busiest and quietest I had experienced. It was now early April and again I sat in my favourite chair. The view this time was not of a dying autumn but a garden in young spring. As I turned away from my little paradise, I watched with both sadness and joy as the young man who was my successor entered his new realm. I knew that providence was with him. While my autumn had turned to winter, his spring was only now beginning. With my time as president now a memory, it was time to thaw out the frost. For me, a new spring was also just beginning.

  Unlike six months before, the company I kept was not family. Sitting beside me in my living room were seven men whose friendship and counsel had been central both to my life and time in power. Each man was revered in his profession as something of the miraculous, and such status was not without foundation. Like me, they watched the birth of the new era with expectation. The expressions on their faces were of complete focus. Not once did the room light up with humour, nor even casual curiosity. They knew as I did that the events that were soon to
take place would go on to shape a nation, and, in turn, the rest of the world. For over twelve years I had witnessed and taken on the events of my time, while others merely watched. For someone living outside the sphere of political complexity the importance of these men cannot be understood.

  Nor did I understand when I was first brought into this very selective sphere.

  This is the last chapter of my life.

  To those who know me only as leader of Free France this is my admission.

  For those who know me well this, alas, is my confession.

  For those I love most, I ask not for you to understand.

  Only your forgiveness.

  I was twenty-five years of age when I completed my studies of the DEA’s degree at the Institut d’Études Politiques de Paris and the École Nationale d’Administration. Following in the footsteps of my grandfather, and inspired by my hero Charles de Gaulle, I entered my first job, excluding six months on a coal-transporter following my baccalauréat, as a civil servant. Growing up in the inner city area of Marseille as one of five children of my father, a painter and decorator, and my mother, a nurse, I had never been blessed with much money. Higher education was far from a certainty, but after achieving the necessary grades I was accepted onto a course in Paris studying Politics and made do working in a restaurant in my leisure hours, forsaking the pleasures of university life for the employment that would keep me there. In what little spare time I had I found myself engrossed in the subject and I became actively involved in student politics. At the age of twenty-two I made my first step into the political arena when I joined the French Communist movement, participating in meetings that took place in a former prison cell.

  After graduating from ENA in 1964 I initially trained in the civil service at the Court of Auditors but this held very little for me. Working in the service resembled little more than a lightless vacuum withering my youthful ambitions into a premature stagnation.

  Then in the summer of 1970 fate intervened when my superior at the Court of Auditors took me along to a gathering in Rouen whose attendees included the future President, Manu Ricard. Although it was still eighteen months before his election, Ricard was already being hailed as something of a colossus among politicians, the man who could lead France to true greatness. I must admit there was a certain presence about him that was seldom seen in any other in attendance; any other I would ever meet for that matter. In many ways Ricard was revered for his ability to keep the common touch and this was evident from the very start. While few were granted the privilege that I was that night, I found my intriguing nature got the better of me and Ricard responded to me with kind humour. From that moment my university ambitions were rekindled and after three years of determination I was appointed chief of personal staff for the Prime Minister, Jean Papin.

  A short time into my new role I began to work quite closely with the then Minister of Relations with Parliament, Alain Michalak. Nearing his seventieth year, Michalak was looking forward to the birth of his first grandchild yet still finding the energy and enthusiasm for serving his country. Despite being almost forty years my senior, our connection was instant – heightened I cannot deny by my father’s past friendship with the man from their time fighting the Nazis. Over the next three years our professional relationship led to firm friendship and this I carried throughout the next decade.

  I resigned the post when Papin retired and decided the time was right for a new chapter in my life. For years I had worked on the fringes of the political sphere: now I wanted to see the real thing. Following Papin’s advice, I ran for election in the National Assembly and was successful. Within four years I was awarded my first high-profile role as the Minister of the Interior and my ambitions began to grow. For the first time I was empowered. My emerging friendship with the President had grown steadily over the last decade and since my election he spoke to me regularly regarding many subjects. My invitations to the gatherings he attended became rapidly more frequent and men I had never met knew my name and spoke to me as if I were an old friend. As time went by my reputation grew and, largely through Michalak and our President Ricard, so did my list of contacts.

  Among my privileges, the number of these gatherings I was made welcome to increased including a bizarre endorsement by Michalak for membership in that body, the Masons. Following his recommendation, I was inducted as an apprentice in 1983 and after only a few meetings, I had already passed to the third degree. Although I must admit with hindsight that my progression was undoubtedly planned, my fascination with the order led to increased dedication and within two years I found myself a member of five of its appendant bodies. There, my dedication to the craft intensified. In the early days perhaps as many as five evenings a week were spent attending meetings of this order. Sadly this nearly saw the failure of my marriage.

  By 1988 dedication brought further reward when I was put forward once again by Michalak to a further appendant body of the organisation, the Rite of Larmenius. What I understood to be a ten-year waiting list was achieved in what seemed to be a matter of weeks: in retrospect I realise this had been in planning years in advance. I had heard many acquaintances, some Masons some not, speak of the Rite of Larmenius but despite my experience of its sister orders I could never have understood its true nature.

  In the spring of 1989 I attended my first meeting and early in 1990 I was invited to my first ‘gathering’ in the Swiss Alps. I had heard various reports of what goes on at a ‘gathering’ in my early days but only now did I begin to understand the true nature of this peculiar event. I was initiated in the usual style before witnessing its curious opening ceremony. Soon after, I was introduced to many of the society’s members.

  While I understand from its history the Rite of Larmenius was created by American-Swiss Masons in the early 1700s, mainly for writers and inventors, its members now seem to be high-ranking politicians, businessmen, academics, major military personnel, bankers, CEOs of oil companies and even high ranked members of the media. Although most were Swiss or American, I was introduced to what seemed like hundreds of high-ranking officials from the world’s top professions.

  Yet while the members of the society conducted themselves with privacy, behind the elegant walls of its various lodges and the high security of the 3,000-acre Alpine retreat I began to see the real picture. Over the three weeks that the ‘gathering’ took place, meetings were frequent; the subject matter usually in keeping with that between directors of a large multinational company. Business was clearly ongoing, and continued to do so throughout my visit. In 1992, thanks to the support of many of the order’s members, including Ricard, I was put forward to replace the outgoing Patrice Toulalan as Prime Minister. If only I knew then what I knew now...

  Over the next six years I attended many of these gatherings, all of which were attended by Michalak and Ricard. During that time the faces generally remained the same and the conversations likewise. Businesses expanded and new ones were created as the logistics of many major companies, if not every major industry, was discussed within its walls. Ricard’s death in 1998 had left a void and Michalak’s influence extended. The faces at the meetings began to change and soon I was to learn why.

  As Ricard’s death was within 12 months of a general election, the proceedings were brought forward. With no obvious successor for the greatest President France had seen since the Republic, and backed by Michalak and many other friends and acquaintances I had made within the Rite of Larmenius, I was put forward. My success was a landslide and for this now I was hailed. After more than twenty years in the shadow of Ricard, I emerged. Some even dubbed me the new Saviour. And for this now I was revered.

  Following my election there was another ‘gathering’ in Switzerland. Only four months into my first term, the mood surrounding me was different to any I had ever witnessed. Strangers spoke to me with an air of great respect and friendship; tycoons patted my back, kissed me on both cheeks, and told me I was doing a great job. Strangers in suits at faraway
tables raised their brandy glasses and cigars to me as I passed, as if I was their hero. The smiles were broader and the praise unanimous. I was now walking in the footsteps of Ricard but that itself was worthy of respect. And that now came in large quantities.

  Ten days into the ceremony of 1999 I was introduced to a man of considerable esteem. I had seen his face only once before but I had met his father many times, although I was only vaguely aware of his background. To the wider world he is a smartly dressed bearded man and the successor to his father as CEO of one of the largest banks in the world. His reputation was one of the miraculous among the banking world, notably in America, and as I was later to learn such a reputation was not without foundation. He spoke with an air of integrity and, just like Ricard, possessed great inner strength. But then again very few present did not.

  Over the coming days I was introduced to four others: one of whom a cabinet minister from Britain, another a businessman from Germany, the others academics from Scotland and Canada. All were included in this gentleman’s sphere and I was later introduced to another of similar background: he was a retired oil magnate of legendary success. While the bearded man had very few equals, these men were among the few.

  Months later, I received a surprise invitation, along with Michalak, to the man’s large estate in Newport, Rhode Island. This lavish mansion, overlooking the Atlantic Ocean, was fittingly located on the same stretch as The Breakers, that esteemed bit of paradise on the long stretch of coast once owned by that famous family, the Vanderbilts.

  Yet while Breakers lay dormant, this paradise, fittingly known as Redwood for the countless trees of that nature growing in the garden, was still active, yet away from prying eyes. As with the gatherings in Switzerland, the Rite of Larmenius emblem dominated a sign outside his house and a Star-Spangled Banner waved softly in the breeze that summer’s day.

  Inside there were very few surprises. Priceless art hung from the walls as if one were touring the Louvre. Its furnishings of art and artefacts from all corners of the globe and history was, in every way imaginable, in keeping with his reputation as an art lover, history lover, philanthropist and idealist. If there was such a thing as idealism then Redwood was all this.