The Templar Agenda

by John Paul Davis

  At just after ten-thirty, Randy Lewis advanced cautiously through the doorway of level five and headed toward the far end of the car park. He followed the markings to the end of the nearest row of parked cars and turned left at a minor crossroad, heading towards the exit ramp approximately two hundred metres away. Although the car park was clean and well lit, he was nervous, a rarity for him. The sound of silence, interrupted by the occasional gust of wind, was unsettling. Although the hour was late he was surprised how quiet it was. The five-star hotel had a reputation for its fine facilities and Charlotte was vibrant at night.

  The slamming of a car door caught him slightly unaware. Pausing momentarily, he gazed across the car park but failed to find a source. For the briefest of seconds he continued to monitor the area close to the exit, for now deserted and devoid of any movement. As the seconds passed he noticed a smartly dressed married couple walking in the direction of the hotel entrance.

  The situation felt threatening, strangely threatening. The adequate lighting caused shadows, providing pillars and posts with random silhouettes, shooting out in various directions. In the distance the sound of engines and brakes against tyres caused a sharp screeching sound, echoing momentarily before fading.

  He tightened his jacket slightly. The sooner this was over the better.

  At the end of the stretch he reached another minor crossroad. In front of him he saw ramps leading to the floors above and below, whereas to his left and right the parking bays continued. At first he looked to his left: another endless selection of parking bays were filled with motors. To the right, the road continued to the far wall where the parking bays were largely unused.

  Heading to the right, he walked across the unused bays in the direction of two pillars in close proximity to the wall. The area was darker in comparison. Fragments of glass covered parts of the floor, attributed to the broken wall light that was still to be replaced. On first inspection the area seemed deserted, yet it had one strange feature.

  Puffs of smoke were spiralling upwards from behind the farthest pillar.

  Clenching his briefcase tightly in his right hand, Lewis continued in the direction of the pillar. He looked over his shoulder, satisfied he was otherwise alone. The command was quite explicit that he should not encourage any extra interest. Based on the accountant’s erratic behaviour earlier that day Lewis simply put it down to senseless paranoia, yet he was well aware that seven men had recently been murdered. However remote the chances: he knew anything was possible.

  Behind the pillar, a figure was shuffling uncomfortably. Unsurprisingly, the figure was a man, recognisable even in the poor light as Ged Fairbanks. He was dressed in a raincoat and held a black umbrella. A black briefcase was resting at an angle against the nearest pillar and a cigarette was present in his other hand. He walked back and forth, seemingly oblivious to the wider world. Not for the first time his expression was one of concern.

  ‘Ged,’ he said. ‘I got your text.’

  Fairbanks did not respond. He monitored Lewis for the briefest of seconds before peering at the floor. He inhaled on his cigarette and exhaled lengthily: smoke invaded Lewis’s nostrils, a sickening reminder of the awkward visit to GPLA earlier that day.

  Silence followed, broken by the sound of doors closing. Seconds later the sound was followed by the revving of an engine. Over one hundred metres away car headlamps shone brightly, briefly causing shadows across the pillar before disappearing as the car changed direction. Lewis watched the lights: they belonged to a modern sedan, heading down to the floor below.

  He returned his attention to the accountant before turning away, a reflex against the smoke.

  ‘Ged, what’s this all about? Why the hell did you bring me here?’

  Fairbanks exhaled vigorously and made lengthy eye contact for the first time. His green eyes seemed somehow lost in the bad light and his facial expression was in keeping. He flicked some ash away with two quick movements of the finger and cleared his throat by coughing.

  ‘You ask a lotta questions, Randy,’ he said, the cigarette causing a red glow in the darkness. He exhaled smoke and gazed intently at Lewis. ‘It don’t do well to ask too many questions.’

  Lewis looked at his friend with a bemused expression. ‘What in God’s name are you talking about, Ged?’

  ‘You have to be mighty careful, Randy, asking a lotta questions and all. You never know who might be listening.’

  Fairbanks exhaled for the final time and threw his cigarette to the floor. He stamped it out with his foot and cleared his throat without covering his mouth. For the first time Lewis noticed a stench of whiskey on his breath.

  ‘Have you been drinking?’

  The accountant exhaled clean air. ‘Look, we haven’t got much time,’ he said. He bent down with difficulty, almost stumbling, and picked up his briefcase. He opened both locks one after the other and removed the content. It was a large document, in keeping with an audit. He handed it to Lewis.

  ‘Ever since GPLA started auditing Leoni et Cie people have been asking questions. Nathan Walls asked a lotta questions. Martin Snow asked a lotta questions. Jermaine Llewellyn asked a lotta questions. They didn’t die from no heart attacks, Randy.’

  Lewis nodded, his facial expression stern. He opened his own briefcase, previously empty, and slid the document inside. When finished, Fairbanks handed him a flash drive fitting a USB connection.

  ‘What is it?’ Lewis asked.

  ‘It’s a PDF of the same document.’

  Lewis nodded. He placed it carefully in an inside pocket.

  ‘Ged, come on. We’ve been friends a long time. What’s this all about?’

  Ged fired up another cigarette and exhaled immediately. ‘People have been following me, Randy. Ever since they got Walls they’ve been watching us like owls. These guys never sleep.’

  ‘Guys. Which guys?’

  Ged exhaled on his cigarette. ‘You know I’m Rite of Larmenius?’

  Lewis nodded.

  Fairbanks smoked and exhaled slightly louder than before. ‘Just read the goddamn document, Randy; everything you need is there.’

  Fairbanks looked at his watch.

  ‘We didn’t have this conversation, Randy. Now go. Leave. Don’t look back.’

  The accountant looked nervously across the car park and satisfied himself they were still alone. Without saying another word, Lewis walked with uncertainty back in the direction of the exit.

  He thought about what Jacobs had said about him never being wrong about a hunch.

  Only this time he hoped he was wrong.

  45

  Gabrielle looked blankly at the list. Had she misread it? Was this a hoax? This surely could not be true.

  She felt her hands shaking. Her lips wobbled and her eyes started to water. For the first time her facial expression let her down: a façade of control and confidence that had earlier baffled Mark had now given way to one of anxiety.

  Mike had seen it all before. Strangely in the circumstances he wondered what she was like when things were normal. Perhaps this was normal. What did it even mean to be normal? Could things ever be normal again after this?

  Gabrielle looked up at Mark. ‘This doesn’t make any sense.’

  ‘Well perhaps I can help you there,’ he said. ‘Over the years Starvel has grown into the largest conglomerate in the world, yet despite this it has also been at the centre of countless, shall we say, irregularities?’

  ‘I know where you’re going with this.’

  ‘I really don’t think so. In 1994 a night watchman at Starvel was suspended when he blew the whistle on the bank after he stumbled on then CEO, Horatio Velis, another former Templar, and other Starvel employees burning documents, most of which supposedly dated back decades. In 1996 Horatio Velis personally failed to extend credit to the Swiss airways firm Glospar, which resulted in them having to ground their planes. Eventually they went out of business, a massive boost for one of his key buddies who is now, coincidentally, a m
ajor supporter of Danny D’Amato in his bid to become the next President of the USA. In 1997 the First Bank of America sued after three of their key employees left for Starvel, claiming Starvel attempted to steal clients and trade secrets, coincidentally an accusation that came around the time that Deputy Chairman, Richard West, also according to media speculation a member of the Rite of Larmenius, was found hanging from a bridge in Seattle. In 1998 three directors were accused of accountancy scandal after Starvel’s accounts were boosted by over $25 billion. Since Louis Velis took over in 1998, they were refused the right to take over countless banks, including, you may remember, Leoni et Cie, by Randy Lewis and the Federal Reserve due to accounting irregularities and monopoly fears. Nevertheless, that did not stop them from merging Louis Velis’s own companies with that of his father’s, forming the biggest conglomerate in history. In 2002 they were fined over $50 million by the Feds after it emerged they had been transferring funds illegally from a Federal Reserve account at Starvel AG to an unregulated offshore account in the Dominican Republic and there is a similar report for using IMF funds in the same way. At least five of their former employees have faced jail time after operating without a licence, tax evasion, bank fraud and money laundering. In 2005 two of their guys were done for insider dealing. Even last year the Feds made a formal request to travel to a Starvel base in Switzerland investigating a multimillion-dollar tax evasion scheme involving several banks including Starvel. They’ve been accused of marketing tax evasion strategies to their richest clients: most of which are believed to be Rite of Larmenius members, and even in the last eighteen months they were fined $500 million by the Feds for conspiracy to defraud. Going back donkeys’ years, Starvel has been associated with trouble and even to this day whispers still exist of their connections with the Rite of Larmenius. These men are among the wealthiest on the planet. And guess what?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Hidden inside the safe in Gullet’s casino were five receipts for $4 million from unpublished numbered Starvel accounts. Five days after receiving the last he hires a Jeep in Mauritius. That night Devére is murdered.’

  Gabrielle’s head hurt – a hard throbbing sensation made a million times worse as she remembered the man’s past presence in her home. Strangely it all made sense.

  ‘Velis was one of my dad’s best friends.’

  Mark grimaced. ‘I know.’

  ‘He was at the funeral. He’s stayed at the château. They even talked about going into business together. Velis talked about making a takeover of Leoni et Cie. My dad said he was one of the greatest men he’d ever met.’

  ‘There’s no doubting the man is gifted. But he’s also a ruthless cold-blooded murderer,’ Mark leaned in closer. ‘Gabrielle, this man murdered your father.’

  Gabrielle’s face withered. Mike put his hand around her but she shied away. She attempted to recover, but failed. Stray tears fell down her face.

  ‘Listen to me. I know this is hard for you to understand, perhaps impossible, but you have to face facts. Your father…’

  ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘This can’t be. My dad even attended his daughter’s wedding. He even…oh, my God.’

  Gabrielle’s facial expression changed to one of horror. Standing silently in the open doorway was Rachel.

  Ludovic Gullet waited patiently behind the wheel of his dark sedan, parked to avoid attention. He waited until the newest arrival was completely out of sight before leaving the car.

  Gabrielle wrapped the covers around herself tightly. The room somehow seemed colder than before and outside the clear blue sky had turned to twilight. Streetlights began to flicker in the distance like small stars lining the city and basking it in a soft halo stretching to the sky.

  Gabrielle stared at the door, her heart pounding. Rachel stood quietly, her face a picture of genuine concern. Yet she was distant.

  ‘I just heard what happened,’ Rachel said, walking slowly towards the bed. ‘I came straight from Boston as soon as I heard. How are you?’

  Gabrielle unwrapped her naked legs and eased herself out of bed. Mike noticed and quickly got to his feet.

  Gabrielle shook her head. ‘Oh, God no.’

  Mike grabbed Gabrielle’s arm. ‘Gabrielle, wait, it’s okay.’

  ‘Gullet was waiting for us. He knew exactly where we were,’ she said, her head still shaking. ‘They knew we were there.’

  Rachel put her hand to her mouth and tears began to trickle down her face.

  ‘Gabrielle, relax. It’s okay, we’ve been through this.’

  ‘Louis Velis a traitor. This is Louis Velis’s wife.’

  Inside the lush hotel room a lone desk lamp offered the only light for Vatican banker Randy Lewis as he turned another page of the lengthy document. In front of him, countless sheets with various dates and titles, mostly dating back to the late 1990s, were scattered untidily. Official stamps in the top right corners, often referring to something unimportant never to be seen again after being archived in a warehouse somewhere in the middle of nowhere, gave the impression of respectability and the numbers at this point added up.

  He turned the page and started to scan the text. He was not sure what he was looking for but he had a good idea. If it existed, it would be where he was looking.

  After scanning the final line of the first paragraph he placed it on the side and sipped his coffee, now starting to cool after twenty minutes. Nothing had presented itself.

  At least not yet.

  A cold awkward hush descended on the room. Gabrielle stood rigidly, her face merely centimetres away from Rachel. Her face was red: a combination of fatigue and anger. For the first time in hours she was standing and a sudden onset of nausea hit her. The room seemed to spin around her, making it a struggle to keep her balance.

  Suddenly she was aware that she was being held back. She could hear Mike barking her name loudly in her ear. She looked at Mike then Mark. Finally she looked once more at Rachel.

  ‘Mark has already spoken to Rachel,’ Mike said. ‘It was the first thing he did. I had no idea.’

  Gabrielle looked at Rachel then Mark.

  Mark nodded. ‘As soon as I found out about Velis, I tried to locate you. Learning that Velis’s former wife was your best friend, my first intention was to question her.’

  Mark inhaled and exhaled deeply.

  ‘At first I did consider the possibility that Velis had been using his former wife to keep an eye on you, or worse…’ he broke eye contact and smiled at Rachel. ‘However, after speaking with Ms. Flores, I am satisfied that she is completely innocent of everything that has gone on and is in no way involved with her estranged husband.’

  Rachel’s eyes flooded with tears, ruining her makeup and forming a messy, sticky substance that flowed down her pretty face. Almost immediately Gabrielle’s mood changed. Anger finally relented and her eyes began to fill up again. Releasing herself from their grip she opened her arms and squeezed Rachel tightly.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Rachel said. ‘Markus told me everything.’

  Mike and Mark looked at each other awkwardly as Rachel and Gabrielle mumbled words, overlain with the sound of crying yet clearly understandable to both ladies. They cried for several minutes until finally Gabrielle returned to her bed and covered herself in blanket.

  Mike sat back down, his hands placed to his mouth in deep contemplation. Mark wandered towards the door and said something to Gregore. The casually dressed Vatican agent walked away and Mark closed the door behind him.

  ‘I always knew there was something,’ Rachel said eventually. ‘The four years we were actually together were littered with irregularities. Some nights he’d stay up all night in his study. And there were business trips he made without warning, secret bank accounts that made no sense. I assumed he was just having an affair.’

  Mike scratched his head, nearly laughing but controlling himself. No matter how hard he tried the reality of the situation refused to sink in.

  ‘I understand you once work
ed for Starvel?’ Mike asked.

  Rachel nodded. ‘It’s how we met,’ she said after blowing her nose. ‘I was twenty-two. I wanted to make it as a marine biologist but my parents kept on at me to get a real job, you know?’

  Mike nodded.

  ‘So I got in with Starvel AG, at the bottom. Then after a while I met Louis.’

  ‘And he never said anything about his activities? Nothing about the Rite of Larmenius?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. He was very unpredictable. Loved his privacy. We had three places: one in Manhattan, one in Zürich and the summerhouse at Rhode Island. That place gave me the creeps,’ she said shaking slightly. ‘It’s one of the oldest houses in New England. There were rooms he never let me in. He was particularly possessive about the basement.’

  Mike nodded once more. ‘Why did you split up?’

  She forced a laugh. ‘I wanted to leave him for so long but I was so afraid. Eventually he got bored of me. I got millions in the divorce.’

  ‘Less than half his stuff I bet.’

  Rachel nodded, forcing a smile. ‘I’ve never had to work since.’

  Mike smiled sympathetically and put his hand to his chin. Small amounts of stubble had returned after two days without shaving. He looked at Mark, raising his eyebrows. Then Gabrielle spoke.

  ‘I just can’t believe these guys knew we were there. How did they know?’

  Suddenly the room fell silent. She looked on with annoyance as Mark and Mike exchanged further glances. Gabrielle smelt a conspiracy.

  ‘What? You know something. What is it?’

  Mike grimaced. ‘Look, there’s no easy way to say this.’