by Rene Fomby
“Okay, you’re killing me here, Smalls. What did you find out?”
“Well, it turns out the building the museum was housed in was completed in 1305. That’s fourteen years after the Fall of Acre, and just two years before King Philip the Fair sacked the Templar Knights. And get this, the building was called the Ricciardelli Palace.”
“Yeah, so? How does that help?” Harry asked.
“Because in Venice, Ricciardelli Palace translates to Ca’ Ricciardelli. Get it? The C-A-R in the code stands for the first three letters in the name of the Ricciardelli ancestral home!”
“I don’t know. That sounds to me like quite a stretch, Sam …”
“Yeah, but here’s the kicker. At the front entrance to the palace, the original Sir Ricciardelli had a statue installed at the very last moment. A really ugly statue of Jesus as a shepherd, watching over a little lamb. And get this. The name of the statue is ‘Pastor est et Agnus,’ the Shepherd and the Lamb. The Rosslyn code suggested we would find the treasure wherever C-A-R and ‘past’ were located. But the end of the word ‘past’ had been chopped off, because of some missing bricks in the code. The real word all along was ‘pastor’!”
There was silence on the other end of the line while Harry processed this new information. “So what is the connection between Sir Ricciardelli and that librarian guy you told me about?”
“That’s the thing, Harry! We were so stupid. It should have been obvious to me the whole time. The name of the Last Librarian was Sir Richard of Lys. Sir Richard de Lys. Push it all together and Italianize it, and the Last Librarian becomes Sir Ricciardelli! The lost treasure of the Templar Knights has been hiding underneath the Shepherd and the Lamb statue for over seven hundred years!”
93
Akko
With her phone calls and meetings complete and the liquidity crisis at the bank apparently behind her, Sam decided to drop in on Mehmed at the hospital on her way home to Siena and deliver the good news to him in person. Even if it was a bit like traveling from Boston to New York City, by way of Bermuda.
She walked in just as the doctor was finishing up checking on Mehmed’s casts and adjusting his IV drip.
“Sam! What a surprise! I thought you were off in Venice.”
“I was, but I got everything wrapped up there, and thought I owed you a little visit. Particularly since I’m pretty much the gal who put you in here in the first place.” Sam settled sideways on the bed, automatically checking her friend’s bedside monitor to make sure he was still doing well. Which he was, at least as much as she could tell from that little information.
“Nonsense, Sam,” he objected. “Just the wrong place, wrong time. But hey, got any fresh news to tell me? How did the lecture go in Venice?”
“That went very well, Mehmed. But actually, I think you’ll be far more interested in what happened after the lecture.”
Sam quickly briefed him on the details surrounding her discovery of the lost treasure.
“It all makes sense, really, once you know the answer,” Mehmed pointed out excitedly, rubbing his chin. “Sir Richard escaped Acre on a Venetian warship, so of course he would wind up in Venice. And with all the turbulence in the world back then, Venice would absolutely be the safest place to hide the treasure. At the time, it was quite possibly the most cosmopolitan city in Europe, if not the world, so a strange nobleman suddenly showing up with a sack full of gold wouldn’t have been all that out of place. And, once King Philip and the Pope decided to put all of the Templar Knights to the stake, changing his name slightly would help him blend into the background. Lay low until the heat was off, which, in the end, never really happened.”
“Nonetheless, I feel pretty stupid. The answer was just staring me in the face the whole time, and I failed to see it,” she said, shaking her head at the memory.
“Hey, that’s not just on you. We all failed to see it.”
“But you don’t spend every single day of your life being surrounded by the name Ricciardelli,” she explained. “Imagine if your name was Reagan, like the president, and someone kept talking about Reagan this and Reagan that. You wouldn’t immediately think they were talking about space alien weapons, you know?”
“Well, it was a little more complicated than that,” Mehmed suggested. “But the thing is, now that you know, now that you have it all in your possession, what are your planning to do next?”
“That part I’ve pretty much figured out,” she said. “I’ve arranged to turn it all over to the Catholic Church.”
“The Catholic—” Mehmed was stunned. “Of all the—the Catholic Church is the very last place I’d give any of that to. I mean, they’ve been suppressing the truth about their own legitimacy for almost two thousand years! If there’s anything in the Templar treasure that’s embarrassing to them, they’ll simply bury it away in the Vatican Library—or worse—and it’ll never see the light of day.”
“Okay, so don’t make me out to be a complete idiot,” Sam told him. “First of all, I think it was you, mister, who first suggested that religious truth could be dangerous. Every time mankind happens upon some new inconvenient truth, be it climate change or anything else, we always seem to use it as an excuse to divide ourselves, instead of seeking a better understanding of the world we live in. And nowhere is that more apparent than religion. Look at the Christians. The Catholics cross themselves left to right, the Orthodox Christians right to left. Do you think that’s by accident? No. It’s all just a message that says, I’m getting to Heaven and you’re not. And you Muslims are no different. And, for that matter, neither are us Jews. Think about it. What if the earliest records of Christianity established conclusively that there was no Resurrection. How do you think that would go down? Do you think over two billion practicing Christians would just shrug their shoulders over all that and pretend they had never believed any of it in the first place?”
“Fair enough,” Mehmed offered. “But the Catholic Church? How can you ever trust them? And why them?”
“As to your second question, the Vatican is uniquely situated to handle what we found. Three rows of twelve amphorae each, thirty-six in total. All extremely fragile, and, like we discussed at the Templar fortress, all of it requiring very careful handling. We don’t want a bunch of bozo clowns getting their hands on those jars and destroying everything.”
Mehmed rubbed his face again, still not completely convinced. “I’ll buy into the capabilities angle. And moving anything that old is a crap shoot, so the closer you can get it to a proper laboratory, the better. But still, what guarantees do you have that it won’t all just fall into some Catholic black hole, never to be seen again?”
“Again, I’m not stupid,” Sam explained. “I took out several insurance policies on the whole project. First of all, I have my friend Dr. Timothy Hall from Texas handling the initial stabilization of the amphorae, and overseeing the handoff of the jars to the Vatican Guards. Second, I’ve asked—demanded, really—that our other good friend Archie Bennington be placed in charge of the restoration project within the Vatican, so if there’s any attempt to improperly suppress the information stored within the jars, he’ll be there to sound the alarm. And, most importantly, I secured the personal guarantee of the Pope himself that any information contained within the amphorae will be released to the entire world as soon as it is ready, assuming we all agree it should be released.”
Mehmed shot her a warning look. “You mean you got the personal guarantee of a representative of the Pope. That’s not the same thing.”
Sam smiled at that comment. “Mehmed, I may have been born at night, but it wasn’t last night. We all know about the reputation of that band of weasels that hang around the Vatican, sucking up to the Pope while sucking everything else dry. I wouldn’t trust any of those boys with a Confederate three-dollar bill. So the deal was, either show me the Pope, or there’s no deal at all. And that’s the way it was. I got my promise straight from the horse’s mouth, you mig
ht say.”
“You got a personal audience with the Pope?” Mehmed was beyond incredulous, even given everything he had just heard.
“Yeppers. Me, little Samantha Goldberg, daughter of a Jewish dentist from Fort Worth, Texas, met with the Popester himself, just this morning. And, I might add, if you can’t trust the ding-dang Pope when he gives you his word on something, who can you trust, right?”
Mehmed was close to running out of objections as to how all this made no sense. But he had one last argument left. “Okay, I’ll concede you did a great job making sure the information was safe, even inside the Vatican armory. But you just turned over one of the greatest treasures in all of Christendom—all of humanity, actually—so please tell me you got more out of it than just putting Archie in charge?”
“Actually, I did, Mehmed,” Sam assured him. “In exchange for the thirty-six amphorae, the Pope agreed to finance the sale of my tractor company through the Vatican bank. So now my daughter’s future is back on solid ground. Along with, I might add, the futures of all the many thousands of people who work for the Ricciardelli empire. So there’s that. And, on a more personal level, Archie now has his lifelong dream, situated at the very center of research into the Templar fortune and library, wherever that might lead. And, one other thing.” She paused to give him a slow smile. “The Pope agreed to give you a personal recommendation for tenure at the Catholic university of your choice, whenever you’re ready. So, there’s that.”
94
Venice
Timothy Hall had spent the better part of a day preparing the amphorae for shipment. Each jar had been carefully wrapped in plastic to minimize any air exchange, then wrapped again in several layers of padding for protection, After that, each individual jar was placed inside of a wooden crate with a gimbaled and softly sprung bottom to dampen any unnecessary movement or vibrations, and the crates were mounted onto three wooden pallets, twelve per pallet.
When the armored van arrived at the loading dock behind the bank, Hall carefully confirmed the credentials of the Pontifical Swiss Guard soldiers, then signaled for the doors to the dock to be opened briefly for the van to enter. A passenger hopped out of the front seat almost immediately.
“Lovely to meet you,” said Sir Archibald Bennington, shaking Dr. Hall’s offered hand enthusiastically. “I’ve heard so much about your work down in Stabiae. I’ve even been down there to see the site, about a year ago. Fascinating, really. I’m glad to have finally met you in person.”
“Yes, yes, well, it’s nice meeting you as well,” Dr. Hall responded. “Samantha has said so many nice things about you. And it’s clear she has the utmost confidence in you, given what she’s placing in your hands. I only wish I could spare the time to be part of this, myself.” He checked his watch. “But—you’re a bit early. I wasn’t expecting you for another hour.”
“Yes, well, last minute change of plans,” Archie explained. “The Vatican Guards thought it might help to get here early, in case there’s a security leak. You can never be too careful.”
Dr. Hall nodded, seeing the logic behind the strategy immediately. “Right. Well, thankfully, everything is all ready for you. The amphorae are well protected and secured in place on the loading pallets. I brought up my own crew from Stabiae to make sure everything was well protected. The road to the airport is not the smoothest in the world, and I would hate for anything to get broken or jostled about, after having survived for over seven hundred years beneath Sir Richard’s courtyard.”
“I appreciate your attention to detail with all this, Dr. Hall. Everything looks quite tickety-boo,” Archie murmured, turning his focus back to the loading dock, where a forklift was gently lifting up each pallet and moving them into place in the back of the van. Inside, Dr. Hall’s students carefully adjusted the placement of the pallets, before anchoring them in place with straps attached to buckles mounted securely to the walls of the van.
The entire process took almost thirty excruciating minutes, with Hall and his students treating the amphorae as if they were the most precious cargo in the world. Which, in their minds, was absolutely true. Finally, the loading was complete, and Archie signed off on the bill of lading forms provided by the bank, taking formal possession of the amphorae. The back of the armored van was locked down and checked twice by Hall and his students, while Archie jumped back into the front passenger seat for the short ride to the airport. Hall gave the signal to the bank guards operating the overhead door, and in less than a minute the unmarked black van pulled out onto the narrow roadway.
At the same time, many miles away, another unmarked black van pulled out of a garage, headed in the direction of the bank.
95
Siena
Sam read the Facebook post one more time, just to make sure she hadn’t misunderstood what Harry’s girlfriend Annabelle had posted. But no, there wasn’t any way that particular message could ever be misinterpreted. She glanced across the room at Maddie, perched in her own child-sized chair, reading stories on her iPad. Then, checking the time on her watch, Sam picked up her cell phone and called Harry.
“Sammie!” he said excitedly when he finally answered the call. “Two phone calls in two days. What a treat!”
“Yeah, well, when I saw the news, I just couldn’t wait to tell you congratulations. Although I’ll admit, I was a bit surprised to have to find out about it on Facebook.”
“What in the world are you talking about?” Harry asked. “What news?”
“Annabelle’s latest Facebook post. That the two of you are getting married next Valentine’s Day,” Sam explained.
The long silence on the other end of the line led Sam to check her phone to make sure the call was still active. Finally, Harry spoke up, this time in a strangely subdued tone.
“Sam, honestly, that’s the first I’ve heard of it, too. Although that might explain why everyone’s been calling me all evening. I’ve got a big filing due tomorrow in the First Court of Appeals, so I’ve just been letting them all go to voicemail. You being the exception, of course.” Harry paused for a second. “You sure about this, Sam? I mean, Annabelle and I have never discussed this …”
“Check it out for yourself, Hare,” Sam suggested. “Not really any way to interpret it for anything other than what it is.”
She waited patiently while Harry brought up his Facebook feed on his computer. An unknown caller buzzed on her phone, but she decided to ignore it. Finally, Harry came back on the line.
“Crap. You’re right, Sam. No two ways about it. Evidently I’m getting married. Sure wish I’d been asked first, though …”
“Hate to say I told you so, little buddy, but it looks like Annabelle is tired of waiting for you to get around to tying the knot.”
“This has got to be the work of her mother. There’s no way Annabelle would ever pull a stunt like this on her own. She’s way too cautious—”
“So what are you gonna do, Hare?” Sam asked. “I mean, this is all pretty damned public, so pulling it back now is going to be awfully embarrassing for the both of you.”
“Yeah. I know. Look, Sam, I need to chew on this a bit. Let me give you a buzz tomorrow, after I’ve had some time to think. And after I’ve got my filing with the court wrapped up.”
“Sure, not a problem.” Sam’s phone was buzzing again, and this time the caller was Mehmed. “Harry, someone’s apparently in a big hurry to talk to me, so I gotta go. Call me anytime. I’m here for you, buddy. You know that.”
“And me for you, Sam. Talk to you tomorrow.”
Sam missed picking up Mehmed’s call in time, so she buzzed him back. He answered on the first ring.
“Sam! Dr. Hall’s been desperately trying to reach you! Archie Bennington has apparently stolen all of the jars!”
“What?” Sam almost dropped her cell phone. “What do you mean, Archie stole the jars? What the hell happened?” she asked.
“Dr. Hall says Archie showed up an hour early wit
h an armored car from the Vatican, along with several Vatican guards. Archie claimed the time change was for security purposes, in case any information about the exchange leaked out. Anyway, Hall checked their IDs, and everything looked on the up-and-up. Particularly since Archie was with them. They loaded up the amphorae without incident, then signed the manifests and took off for the airport. The problem is, they never showed up there. And just thirty minutes after Archie left, another armored car arrived at the bank, this time with the real Swiss Guards. They said they were told to rendezvous with Archie there to retrieve the jars, exactly one hour after the time Archie originally showed up for the handoff.”
“And there’s no sign of where Bennington might have taken the treasure?” Sam asked.
“No,” Mehmed answered. “He and the armored car just disappeared right into thin air.”
“Hmm, seems to be a pretty common occurrence these days,” Sam mused. “And Archibald Bennington. That’s very disappointing. Of all the people. I would have never thought—”
Mehmed was shocked by how calmly she was taking the news. “Sam! Did you hear me? They’re gone! All the jars, the entire Library of Solomon, he stole them!”
“Yes, and I suppose we should contact the police at some point. If Dr. Hall or the Vatican haven’t done so already.” She moved to the window, staring out at the ripening vineyards spreading out across the hills, and at Barley racing around in circles in the yard just below her, chasing gray squirrels from tree to tree. “All in all, though, I’m sure glad I took out that little insurance policy on them.”
“Insurance? Sam, those jars are priceless. There’s no way money could ever replace what’s inside them.”
