Vance tore his eyes away from Reilly's crucifix and turned to her. "Hughes de Payens. The founder of the Templars. When I was in the south of France, I found out something about him that surprised me."
The French historian's derisive remarks came rushing back to her. "That he was from there, from the Languedoc—and that he was a Cathar?"
Vance's eyebrows shot up and he tilted his head, clearly impressed. "You've done your homework."
"But it doesn't make sense," she countered. "They originally went out there to escort Christian pilgrims."
Vance's smile remained in place, but now there was an edge to his voice. "They went out there on a mission to retrieve something that had been lost for a thousand years, something that had been hidden by the high priests from Titus's legions. What better cover for them—and what better way for them to have access to the site they were interested in— than to claim to be die-hard supporters of the pope and of his ill-conceived Crusade? You see, they weren't about to try and fight the Church blindly—not before amassing enough power and wealth to be able to survive such an impossible challenge. The Vatican had a long history of ruthlessly suppressing any challenge to its one and only true faith—entire villages, women and children massacred by the pope's armies for daring to follow their own beliefs. So they hatched a plan. To bring down the Church, they had to have the weapons—and the influence—to make it happen. And they almost made it. They found what they were looking for. As the Knights Templar, they became hugely powerful militarily and immensely influential. They were very close to coming out of their spiritual closet. What they hadn't counted on was that they—not just the Templars, but all the Christian armies—would be kicked out of the Holy Land before they'd had a chance to launch their attack on the Church. And when that happened, ending with Acre in 1291, they didn't only lose their power base—their castles, their army, their dominant position in Outremer—but they also lost their prize, the weapon that would allow them to blackmail the Vatican for two hundred years, the object that would empower them to fulfill their destiny, when the Falcon Temple sank. And from that point on, it was only a matter of time before they were wiped out." He nodded slightly before framing them with a fervent stare. "Only now, with a bit of luck, we may be in a position to finish their work."
Suddenly, the silence was shattered by a loud and terrifying crack as the head of one of Vance's men suddenly exploded outward, the force of the impact tearing his body back off its feet and throwing him against the ground in a bloody mess.
Chapter 64
Instinctively, Reilly lunged toward Tess, but Vance had already seized her by the waist and was pushing her to safety behind his pickup truck. More bullets whizzed by and exploded around Reilly as he dived for cover behind the Pajero, while instinctively concentrating on trying to isolate the echo of the report to get a handle on where the shooter was. Three shots blasted into their SUV, ripping through the hood and into the engine block and shredding the right front tire while giving him a very rough angle on the sniper's position: somewhere to the south, in the tree line—and hopelessly out of pistol range.
An uneasy silence descended on the forest, and, after a tense moment's respite, Reilly leaned out to survey the damage. The Pajero wasn't going anywhere. He looked over toward the upturned table, where they'd been sitting. The wiry, balding Turk was huddled behind it and looked terrified. Reilly noticed a movement to his side, by the shed, a flash of blue as Rustem emerged with a rifle, another small-caliber weapon, something he probably used for hunting rabbits. The old man stood there, scanning the distant trees, bewildered, looking for a shot. Reilly waved and yelled out to him frantically, but, before the man could react, two more rounds came from the sniper, one ricocheting off the concrete pipes stacked on the ground, the other spinning into the old man's chest, slamming him back against the shed like a rag doll.
From behind his Pajero's tailgate, Reilly saw Vance reaching up to yank open the door of the pickup before pushing Tess in ahead of him and scrambling in behind her. He started up the engine and cranked the car into gear. The wiry Turk managed to clamber onto the Toyota's flatbed just as it swung around and headed for the gate of the compound.
Reilly had no choice. He also had no time to retrieve his Browning from the Pajero. Looking up at the hillside nervously, he decided to risk it. He emerged from behind the SUV and darted after the disappearing pickup.
Two more shots crunched into the side of the Toyota as Reilly caught up with it by the gate and grabbed onto its tailgate. The pickup crashed through the side pole of the gate before lumbering on down the craggy trail. Reilly hung on with pained fingers, his legs dragging on the rough ground, then his left leg slammed against a protruding rock, pain shooting up into his spine like a white-hot spike. Every muscle in his body was ablaze, and he felt he was about to let go.
But he couldn't.
Tess was in the truck. He couldn't lose her. Not here, not now.
He looked up and glimpsed a handle on the inside on the sidewalk He drew on every ounce of strength left inside him and kicked the ground with spinning legs while lunging for the handle with his left hand. His fingers flew off the tailgate and clasped onto it, and he pulled on it, levering himself upward and dragging himself onto the flatbed.
The Turk was lying low against the sidewall, clutching his rifle, peering anxiously over the side. He turned and saw Reilly climb aboard. Alarmed, the man swung the rifle stock at him, but Reilly seized the barrel and thrust it upward, hearing the report and feeling the recoil as the man squeezed the trigger. Reilly spun his legs around and smashed his boot into the Turk's groin before lunging at him. As they struggled, Reilly spotted something and looked over the cab of the pickup. Less than a hundred yards ahead, a beige Land Cruiser was parked across the dirt path, blocking their way. The Turk saw it too, and there was no falloff in the engine's whine. Vance wasn't backing off. Reilly shot a glance through the back window of the cab and his eyes met Tess's. She looked frightened as she reached forward and braced herself against the dashboard.
Reilly and the Turk both grabbed onto the top of the cab as the pickup sloped off the edge of the track, juddered on the rough, rocky soil, and squeezed through between the edge of the hillside and the parked Land Cruiser, ramming the front of the big SUV. It plowed through in an eruption of glass and plastic and raced on.
Reilly glanced back at the Land Cruiser, which looked like it was too heavily damaged to be of any use to the shooter, and then the Turk was pulling on the rifle again, trying to free it from Reilly's grasp. As they struggled, the pickup reached the edge of the dam and bounced onto it without slowing down.
It sped along the concrete roadway that ran across the top of the dam, racing to cross to the other end. Standing now, Reilly punched the Turk repeatedly, finally succeeding in wrenching the rifle loose, only for the man to wrap his arms around Reilly's chest and squeeze hard. Too close to effectively use his knees, Reilly lashed out with his foot, kicking the man on the inside of his right ankle. The man's grip loosened, and Reilly managed to push him off. They were up against the cab now, and Reilly caught a fleeting glimpse of Tess, who was struggling with Vance, urging him to stop. She grabbed hold of the wheel, and the pickup swerved and hit die retaining wall. Reilly lost his grip on the rifle, which slithered along the bed and fell clattering onto the concrete roadway, and saw the Turk's alarmed look as it disappeared in the distance. Panicking, the man lunged recklessly at him. Reacting instinctively, Reilly rolled backward underneath the Turk's rushing body and brought up his feet to throw him over the side of the speeding pickup, which again hit the wall with a resounding crack. The man flew off the truck and went straight over the wall, hurtling down the dry side of the dam, his scream vanishing in the roar of the pickup's motor.
They had reached the end of the dam, and Vance spun the wheel to send the pickup sliding onto the dirt track that Reilly and Tess had followed that morning. As they bumped down the rutted trail, Reilly knew they were now shie
lded from the hilltop where he reckoned the sniper was positioned.
Given the road conditions, Vance was forced to slow down, but there was no need to stop him just yet.
He let him drive on for a few miles before rapping on the top of the cab. The professor nodded his acquiescence and, moments later, the pickup rolled to a halt.
Chapter 65
After reaching in and yanking the keys out of the ignition, Reilly walked around the truck and surveyed the damage. They had gotten off lightly. Apart from some bruising and the throbbing pain in his left leg, all three of them had nothing more than cuts and grazes, and, while the Toyota was heavily dented and pockmarked, he was impressed by how well it had held up.
Vance's door creaked open and the professor and Tess emerged from the truck. Reilly could see that both she and Vance looked badly shaken. He had expected it in Tess, but not in Vance. Was I wrong about him? He studied the man's eyes and saw, mirrored in them, the same uncertainty that was gnawing at him. He's as surprised as I am. He wasn't expecting this. It confirmed something that felt wrong from the moment he'd first laid eyes on the professor, out on the lake. The first shot that had taken out the big Turk henchman had also triggered an alarm inside Reilly's mind.
Vance didn't kill the other horsemen. Someone else is after this thing.
The thought bothered Reilly. This was a complication he would have been happier without.
Although the possibility of an "overseer" had been considered when the dead horsemen started popping up, it had been discounted long ago. Everything seemed to be pointing to Vance eliminating his accomplices; he seemed to be running his own show. The shots at the lake tore right through that theory. Someone else was involved, but who? Who else knew what Vance had been after and, more to the point, was more than willing to murder several people to get to it?
Vance turned to Tess. "The astrolabe . . . ?"
Tess nodded as if emerging from a haze. "It's safe," she assured him. She reached into the cabin and brought the instrument out. Vance stared at it and nodded his head approvingly, then lifted his gaze up at the ridge they'd just scurried down. Reilly watched him quietly contemplate the deserted mountains around them. He thought he spotted resignation in the professor's eyes, but they quickly turned insolent and blazed with unsettling determination.
"What went on back there?" Tess joined Reilly.
He glanced away from the professor. "You okay?" he asked, checking out a small graze on her forehead.
"I'm fine," she winced before looking up at the tree line surrounding them like a huge fence. The mountains were eerily quiet, especially after the fury that had engulfed them minutes earlier. "What the hell's going on? Who do you think is out there?"
Reilly studied the trees. There was no sign of life. "I don't know."
"Oh, I can think of a lot of people who wouldn't want something like this to come out," Vance countered. He turned to face them, a satisfied smirk crossing his lips. "They're obviously getting nervous—which means we must be close."
"I'll feel better once we put a few miles between us." He gestured toward the pickup. "Come on."
He ushered Vance and Tess into the truck.
With Tess squeezed between the two men, Reilly shoved the car into gear and the battered Toyota edged down the slope, its occupants lost in silent contemplation of what lay ahead.
* * *
The second he saw the pickup charge out of the small compound and race down the dirt track, De Angelis regretted putting the Land Cruiser sideways across the dirt path to block any eventual escape. The jarring din of the truck plowing into their car didn't augur well, and now the sight of the big SUV's pulverized right fender and front grille confirmed his worst fears.
He didn't need Plunkett's confirmation to know that the car wasn't going anywhere. He yanked the rear hatch open and rummaged through their gear, retrieving the GPS monitor and angrily flicking it on. The cursor blinked, displaying no movement. The tracker was stationary. De Angelis scowled at the small screen as he recognized the coordinates as those of Rustem's compound and realized that the tracker must still be on the bag in Reilly and Tess's stranded Pajero.
He'd have to find another way of locating them, which wouldn't be easy in this forested, mountainous terrain.
The monsignor discarded the monitor and turned to face the lake, fuming at the turn of events. He knew he couldn't really blame Plunkett for their dismal situation. He realized something else was at work.
Hubris.
He had been too confident.
The sin of pride. Something else for the confessional.
"Their SUV. It's still at the compound. Maybe we can use it." Plunkett was holding the big rifle, edging away from the Land Cruiser, raring to go.
De Angelis didn't move a muscle. He just stood there calmly, staring at the glassy surface of the lake.
"First things first. Hand me the radio."
Chapter 66
Reilly stared back along the track, listening intently. There was no sound other than birdsong, which in the present circumstances felt strangely disconcerting. They'd gone eight or nine miles before the encroaching darkness had forced them to make plans for the night. Reilly had chosen to veer off the dirt road and follow a side trail that brought them to a small clearing by a stream. They'd have to rough it out until daybreak before making a run for the coast.
He was pretty sure that the big Land Cruiser had been crippled by Vance's spirited charge. On foot, whoever had attacked them would still be hours away; in a vehicle, they could at least be heard approaching. As he watched the last glints of sunlight melt away behind the mountains, Reilly hoped the descending darkness would provide them with some measure of cover. There would be no campfires tonight.
He'd left Vance by die side of the pickup, having tied his hands behind his back. The rope was secured to the truck. A quick search of the pickup had uncovered no hidden weapons, providing some basic comforts instead, in the form of a small gas cooker and some canned food. They found no clothes to change into. He and Tess would have to stay in their wetsuits for the time being.
Reilly joined Tess at the water's edge, kneeling down for a much needed drink before settling onto a large rock next to her. His mind was a jumble of concerns and fears, all jostling for attention. He had accomplished what he had set out to do; he just had to bring Vance safely back to the United States to face justice. There was little chance his prisoner could be spirited out of the country quietly. Local crimes had been committed, people had been killed. Reilly thought ahead, irked by the prospect of inevitably messy extradition proceedings with the Turkish authorities. More pressingly, he had to get them all off the mountain and back to the coast safely. Whoever had shot at them was clearly in a shoot-first-and-ask-questions-later frame of mind, while they were unarmed, had no radio, and were out of cell-phone range.
As salient as those concerns were, they quickly took a backseat to the bigger issue that was hounding him. And from the uncertain look on her face, he could see that Tess was gripped by the same concerns.
"I always wondered how Howard Carter must have felt when he found King Tut's tomb," she finally said, somberly.
"I'm guessing he had a better time."
"I'm not so sure. He did have a curse to contend with, remember?" A faint smile crossed her features as she brightened up a bit, momentarily lifting his spirits. But it was still there. That pile of bricks pressing down on the pit of his stomach. It wasn't about to go away, and he couldn't ignore it anymore. He had to understand more clearly what they had gotten themselves into.
Steeling himself, he got up and walked over to Vance. Tess followed, close by. He knelt down by the tied man, checking the rope around his wrists. Vance just stared at him quietly. He seemed oddly at peace with his situation. Reilly frowned inwardly as he debated whether or not to go into it, but decided he couldn't avoid it.
"I need to know something," he ventured tersely. "When you said 'the truth about this fairy tale' . . .<
br />
what were you talking about? What do you think they hid on the Falcon Templet"
Vance lifted his head, his gray eyes piercing with clarity. "I'm not entirely sure, but whatever it is, I suspect it's something that might not be too easy for you to accept."
"Let me worry about that," Reilly shot back.
Vance seemed to consider his words carefully. "The problem is that like most true believers, you've never stopped to think of the difference between faith and fact, the difference between the Jesus Christ of faith and the factual Jesus of history, between truth . . . and fiction."
Reilly was unmoved by the mocking he thought he detected in Vance's tone. "I'm not sure I've ever needed to."
"And yet you're happy to believe everything that's in the Bible, right? I mean, you do believe in all that stuff, don't you? The miracles, the fact that He walked on water, that He cured a blind man . . .
that He came back from the dead?"
"Of course, I do."
A faint smile crossed Vance's lips. "Okay. So let me ask you this. How much do you know about the origin of what you're reading? Do you know who actually wrote the Bible—the one you're familiar with, the New Testament?"
Reilly was far from certain. "You're talking about the gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John?"
"Yes. How did they come about? Let's start with something basic. When they were written, for instance?"
Reilly felt an invisible weight pressing down on him. "I don't know . . . they were His disciples, so I guess shortly after His death?"
Vance glanced at Tess and let out a demeaning chortle. His discomforting gaze settled on Reilly again. "I shouldn't really be surprised, but it's amazing, isn't it? Over a billion people out there, worshipping these writings, accepting every word as God's own wisdom, slaughtering each other over them, and all of it without having die vaguest notion of where these scriptures really come from."
Reilly felt a rising anger. Vance's haughty tone wasn't helping either. "It's the Bible. It's been around long enough ..."
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