The Templar Agenda

by John Paul Davis

  Studer fixed both hands behind Mike’s head and headbutted him square in the face. Mike rolled. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of his firearm less than ten metres away. Acting on instinct, he scampered towards the gun and dived, rolled and collected it in his grasp. Studer rolled and regained his feet. He removed a SIG P75 from just above his right ankle and aimed it at Mike. Back on his feet, Mike aimed his weapon at him.

  Deadlock.

  Time seemed to stand still as both men breathed heavily, each maintaining eye contact. Mike’s face itched from Studer’s blood and Studer breathed with discomfort through his bloodied nose. He sniffed noisily and spat on the floor.

  Stan looked at Thierry. Next to him were Mark and Alessandro – his former friends. Between them he saw Gabrielle was also there: the rich bitch. He glared at her with malice and spat, a gesture Gabrielle realised was meant for her. She recognised from his eyes it was he who had tried to kill her that day in the Vatican Library.

  With his options limited, he cocked his weapon and aimed it at Thierry.

  Thierry straightened his posture and looked fiercely at Stan: almost as though he was looking down at him.

  Thierry: ‘You are surrounded, Studer. Don’t be foolish.’

  Stan spat once more and raised the weapon to eye level. He moved his aim slightly left, now directly at Gabrielle. Finally he went for the trigger.

  A loud reverberation filled the air for several seconds before fading to silence. A flock of birds flew in formation towards the north from their positions perched near the ledge causing an ethereal echoing sound from their flapping wings giving way to the sound of a microphone from down below.

  Mike looked at Stan. A volley of bullets had entered Studer’s chest: each a perfect execution from Alessandro. His weapon was still aimed at Stan’s chest. A cold expression crossed his face.

  With the gun still within his grasp, Studer aimed the weapon at Gabrielle, then Mark, then Thierry and finally at Mike. He sought to raise his hand but all strength left him. His arm lowered involuntarily and the SIG P75 hit the hard roof with a crash. He walked three disoriented steps forward, wheezing loudly against the air. In his dazed state he thought he heard the sound of cheering coming from down below.

  He coughed weakly as he attempted to breathe and spat a mixture of saliva and blood. Blood spilled from his nose, chest, and the corner of his mouth. With his balance lost, he staggered forward. After collapsing to his knees, he looked up at Mike with a lost expression in his eyes:

  A mixture of resignation and fury.

  Epilogue

  Westford, Massachusetts

  A solitary figure stood silently beside the grave. It was not a grave in the traditional sense. Its appearance was inconspicuous. To the casual observer this large glacial boulder located just off a main road in the quiet Massachusetts town of Westford, and flanked by a small chain fence, was both uninspiring and forgettable.

  According to most of his colleagues the markings on the boulder were a natural phenomenon brought on by years of weathering. He had always had his doubts. And now at last he had the evidence to prove it.

  Henry Leoni took one last look at the photocopy in his hand and smiled to himself softly. For all those years it had been there, in plain view, but only now did he see it. In his mind’s eye he could clearly make out the presence of the knight in armour engraved on the rock, and the marking of a ship sailing on a starry night on the shield, as the engraving once did in its heyday.

  As he looked to the west he could see the sun was beginning to set over the distant horizon. He felt pleasantly humbled by the feeling. Soon the whole world would be able to see it; see it and recognise it for what it is. For now, at last, he believed that he understood the true significance of the Westford Knight, or the Westford Prince, as he would have called it.

  For it was said by Antonio Zeno that Zichmni was ‘a prince as worthy of immortal memory as any that ever lived, for his great valour and remarkable goodness’.

  Vatican City

  Mikael Frei sipped his coffee slowly and savoured the flavour. It was hardly the good stuff, but he had little reason to complain. He had been drinking plenty of that of late.

  Almost nine weeks had passed since that famous Wednesday. The papers caught wind of a security breach but put it down to an unsubstantiated bomb scare. They had heard it all before.

  The deaths of the remaining Templars received sparse media attention but without connection. The circumstances surrounding Velis remained classified. If the press were accurate nothing had happened. To the wider world he was still alive: better yet, no one even realised any of them had ever lived.

  Mike adjusted his position in his seat and looked across the desk at Thierry. It was late morning and Gabrielle was in conference with the Vatican bankers. The last few weeks had been hectic. Leoni et Cie launched legal proceedings against Starvel AG for money laundering and banking fraud and the case was settled out of court within weeks. Although the new CEO of Starvel, Alfred Velis, was reluctant to pay out $10 billion, the timing was awful. The Federal Reserve, the Securities and Exchange Commission, the Federal Trade Commission, plus the IMF, the WTO, the OECD and the World Bank were gunning for an investigation into Starvel and Starvel AG’s activities and seeing as the FBI were already pushing for answers in the wake of the Rite of Larmenius interrogation, the last thing AG needed was the hassle.

  The terms had been agreed and Leoni et Cie’s performance improved, thanks also to Gabrielle’s decision to increase her stake in the bank following Gilbert de Bois’s next of kin’s wish to sell. Since that time Gabrielle had shown qualities Mike had never witnessed. In recent days she had attended executive meetings with the new trustees of the GREEN Foundation, the Vatican bankers and others from Leoni et Cie. At present Angelo Rogero and Juan Pablo Dominguez were laying out the new structure of Leoni et Cie while discussing potential candidates to replace Lewis, Swanson and Tepilo: Jacobs had agreed to future appointment when her term with the Feds ended, while the cardinals agreed that Giancarlo Riva was innocent of all involvement and would continue on the committee. No one really knew what had become of Tepilo. Officially he had suffered a heart attack and was recovering in a Benedictine Monastery on the outskirts of Leicester. Everyone bought it. After all, it had come from the mouth of the new Camerlengo.

  Mike’s eyes drifted, stopping at one particular photograph on the wall. It was a group photo from about four years ago when Mike was still a korporal. Stan was on the end, standing next to Mike. His face seemed to light up when he was happy. To Mike, Stan had the face of a human snowman. He could never forgive him for what he had done; still it made his heart ache because of it. Despite what had happened, deep down, he still missed his friend.

  ‘Well,’ Thierry said, placing a cup down on the desk. ‘I’m very sorry to be losing you, wachtmeister.’

  Mike nodded and forced a smile. ‘Somehow the old place isn’t quite the same.’

  His eyes drifted again toward the photo and he caught a glimpse of himself. He was not the man he was back then. Heck, he wasn’t the man he was nine weeks ago. The face in the photo was familiar but inside he felt tired, yet at the same time full of life. In many ways the sun had been shining brighter these last nine weeks. Coffee tasted better, dreams seemed more vivid and even the air felt softer. He smiled more, and, despite the hardship, he’d never been happier.

  ‘I still sense something is troubling you,’ Thierry said, peering thoughtfully across the desk.

  Mike shook his head. ‘It’s nothing really, it’s just…’

  Thierry’s features shortened.

  ‘It’s just, well, something you said.’

  ‘Oh?’

  Mike grimaced and laughed simultaneously. ‘That day I first came back, you said that the Swiss Guards might descend from the Knights Templar.’

  Thierry nodded. ‘I’m certain of it.’

  Mike looked at him with a perplexed expression.

  ‘Is that su
ch a bad thing?’

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  Thierry laughed. ‘The original Knights Templar gave considerable service to the Vatican and to God. They risked their lives for little reward and did poor men much good. The original order befriended the Vatican. The Swiss mercenaries since have always given great service to the Vatican and to Christianity. They were selfless and brave and fought only to protect. That’s what religion is all about. That is who we are, no?’

  Mike smiled and nodded simultaneously.

  Fifteen minutes later Mike and Thierry were walking through the Sistine Chapel. The large table was absent, but the room was alive with activity. What seemed like hundreds of cardinals, all dressed in black and red, zucchettos partially covering their heads, bishops and priests were standing around a collection of relics and artefacts as if viewing an exhibition at a museum. There were not only Catholics but also clergy of other Christian denominations.

  And there were not only Christians. Senior Jewish rabbis, figures from Islam, and many other religions looked with interest at the various relics, in particular the Rod of Aaron.

  Cardinal Utaka saw Mike and Thierry enter and walked slowly towards them. He pressed his right hand to Mike’s left shoulder and smiled warmly at him.

  ‘A present from Cardinal Tepilo,’ the new Camerlengo said pointing to the various relics and smiling. ‘Soon pilgrims will be able to see them for themselves. Just imagine what effect it may have on their faith.’

  Mike looked across the chapel, in particular at an elderly rabbi standing next to Cardinal del Rosi and a senior Islamic imam chatting freely while looking at a curious ancient manuscript, unbeknown to him known as the Baphomet. Wide smiles lined each of their bearded faces. Finally he answered.

  ‘I really can’t.’

  Cardinal Utaka smiled once more at Mike and walked away. Mike looked at Thierry and forced a laugh. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Gabrielle standing by the open door with her hands on her hips.

  Thierry caught her eye. ‘Still, each of us has our own way of finding faith,’ the oberst said.

  Mike looked at Gabrielle then Thierry. He nodded and laughed.

  ‘So when is the wedding?’

  Mike looked once more at the door and shook his head. ‘You’d have to ask Ms. Leoni. I just drive the car.’

  Thierry laughed. For several seconds a pleasant silence passed between them.

  ‘Still. I feel this is not goodbye.’

  Mike shook his head. ‘No. I’ll be here rather regularly.’

  ‘What will you do?’

  ‘Since Gabrielle has increased her stake in Leoni et Cie she wants me to be her representative on the board,’ Mike said smiling. ‘My mom always said my degree would come in handy one day.’

  ‘Well, I feel this is good news. Juan Pablo and Angelo will have someone they can trust.’

  Mike forced a smile. Secretly he felt his eyes filling up. For eight years he had been a Swiss Guard. It seemed strange to know he would never return to service, yet also reassuring to know he would not leave altogether.

  ‘And if the Vatican should ever come under fire from Knights Templar?’

  Mike laughed softly. ‘If you don’t recognise me, I’ll be wearing a suit.’

  Mike and Thierry looked at one another in the eye. A smile crossed the oberst’s face, and there seemed to be a strange twinkle in his eye. Both saluted, pausing rigidly for several seconds. Although no words were spoken, in that brief moment Mike saw pride in his commander’s eyes that he had never seen before during his entire service.

  The pair shook hands and Mike left through the open door and walked towards Gabrielle. She was dressed less extravagantly than she used to. Little makeup lined her face and even her hair was styled less flamboyantly. Yet, she looked more beautiful than he had ever seen her.

  ‘What?’ she asked coyly.

  Mike shook his head, still smiling. ‘Nothing. How was your meeting?’

  She pursed her lips thoughtfully. ‘It was fun.’

  Mike’s smile widened as he followed her along the corridor.

  ‘We’ve decided that the Vatican Bank will be responsible for the whole of Leoni et Cie,’ she said as she walked. ‘You can attend the meetings on my behalf but you won’t have to be involved in the business.’

  ‘Yes, Ms. Leoni.’

  She hit him. ‘Don’t be cheeky.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said laughing.

  She smiled at him. ‘I have no interest in the bank. I mean the last thing I need is more money, right?’

  ‘I guess.’

  Gabrielle smiled. ‘Anyway, we spoke about the GREEN Foundation. It turns out that despite the money laundering they were actually quite serious about helping people.’

  Mike raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, well.’

  ‘Seems a shame to let such a good idea go to waste.’

  ‘I’m sure it will make a big difference.’

  ‘Cardinals del Rosi, Utaka, Torres and Atri said they’d help run it. And Cardinal Utaka is going to do the service. Oh, by the way, we’re getting married next week.’

  Mike came to a sudden halt as if Thierry had commanded it.

  ‘What?’ she said, pretending to be hurt.

  ‘Nothing. I just assumed you’d need at least three years to plan it.’

  Gabrielle tried to fight a smile but failed. ‘For your information I don’t need a big wedding. I have everything I need.’

  Mike looked at her curiously, now walking again. ‘Really?’

  ‘For all his faults, Louis Velis was right. I am privileged. I don’t need fancy things. I have you.’

  Mike raised his eyebrows thoughtfully as he quickened his pace. Perhaps the man had left a mark.

  ‘And besides, we have to do it soon,’ Gabrielle said, partially covering her face. ‘Otherwise he might realise I’m having your baby.’

  Mike halted again, even worse than before. A strange feeling overcame him, as though he had received an electric shock.

  ‘You’re what?’

  Gabrielle stopped and put her finger to Mike’s lips. She stepped onto her tiptoes and kissed him softly.

  ‘Love you.’

  From the author

  As I walked, awestruck, across the ancient floors of St. Peter’s Basilica in September 2006 I was blessed with one of those light bulb moments. In what seemed like little more than a moment visions of history and religion, some real some not so, started flashing wildly before me and I was presented with the subject of my first novel. Inside the incredible labyrinth of architecture, art and mystery that makes up the Vatican City, I became trapped, yet another victim of Christianity’s incredible mystique.

  When I first visited Rome I was twenty-one years old, fresh out of uni and all set to travel the world. Over five years later in many ways little has changed. The images are still flashing, only now half a decade of research has run into epic proportions and what began as an idea has developed into a full scale soap opera, its characters long since taken on a life of their own. With every new idea or morsel of information taken on the backdrop has become ever slightly more real, in some cases, perhaps even realistic. The reading list has become so long its books could fill a library on its own, and over time the storylines have become all the more ambitious. The completed tale was the culmination of fiction and history collided. In doing so, the line between history and creation has long since blurred, lost somewhere between the Vatican Archives and the Internet.

  Since completing the book, fate has taken me on a new quest, one that is still just beginning. Over five years researching the mysteries of the Templars and the world at large has taught me one valuable lesson. Its study presents more questions than it does answers. Its outcome has inspired me to write an additional section: one that will hopefully help answer some of these recurring questions and rediscover at least parts of that blurred line. This section is probably for my benefit as much as yours, but for the benefit of the interested reader, I have attempted t
o offer a small window into the unique journey that has taken place inside my mind. It is only a small window, but, an adequate one; mine is only a small mind. The themes that I have chosen are those that I believe to be the most important. I hope you find them as fascinating I did.

  The Facts behind my fiction

  The Swiss Guard

  One of the main themes of the novel is the situation involving Mikael Frei and Gabrielle Leoni. In truth, before my visit to the Vatican I knew little about the Swiss Guard. Having had the opportunity to see so many of them in real life, usually from a distance, I cannot deny that there is something about them that separates this band of mercenaries from the world’s other great military units. Like the guards of Buckingham Palace they may create the illusion of being statues, though in reality behind the calm facades are highly skilled men every bit as formidable as the most deadly terrorist or the most highly trained government official of any of the world’s superpowers.

  Quite simply, the Swiss Guard are brilliant! For those of you who, like me, see personality traits like bravery, loyalty, integrity and valour as being among the most important any human can possess, the aura that surrounds them needs little explaining. For over five hundred years the Swiss Guard have been a model of all these things.

  Yet, while their prestige is both famous and tremendous, the lives of the individuals behind the uniforms are seldom told. Their faces offer little more than a small gap in the curtain into the window of their existence. These dedicated bodyguards are matched in their talents by their unique humility, a trait that adds to their likeability. It is a strange combination of reassurance and sadness that these men have become a source of inspiration for many yet remained in partial anonymity.