The Last Templar ts-1

by Raymond Khoury

  ***

  Reilly turned to Tess. She hadn't said a word during Vance's diatribe. "What about you? What do you think? Do you agree with all that?"

  Tess's face clouded. She avoided his look, obviously struggling to find the right words. "The historical facts are there, Sean. And we're talking about things that have been widely documented and accepted."

  She hesitated before continuing, "I do believe that the Gospels were initially written to pass on a spiritual message, but that they became something else. They took on a bigger purpose, a political purpose. Jesus lived in an occupied country in a terrible time. The Roman Empire back then was a world of glaring inequalities. There was great poverty for the masses and immense wealth for the select few. It was a time of famines, of sickness and disease. It's easy to imagine how, in that unfair and violent world, the message of Christianity caught on. Its basic premise, that a merciful God asks humans to be merciful to one another, beyond their families and even their communities, was literally revolutionary. It offered its converts, regardless of where they came from, a coherent culture, a sense of equality and of belonging, without asking them to abandon their ethnic ties. It gave them dignity and equality with others, regardless of their status. The hungry knew where they would be fed, the sick and the elderly knew where they would be cared for. It offered everyone an immortal future free from poverty, sickness, and isolation. It brought a new conception of humanity, a message of love, mercy, and community to a world that was rife with cruelty and gripped by a culture of death.

  "I'm not as big an expert on this as he is," Tess continued, as she motioned toward Vance, "but he's right. I've always had a problem with all that supernatural stuff, the divinity of Jesus, the idea of His being the Son of God, born of the Virgin Mary. The uncomfortable truth is that none of it appeared until dozens, even hundreds of years after the Crucifixion, and it only became official Church policy at the Council of Nicaea in the year 325. It was like . . . ," she wavered, "they needed something special, a great hook. And in a time when the supernatural was something most people accepted, then what better than to suggest that the religion you were selling wasn't named for a humble carpenter but for a divine being who could give you the promise of an immortal afterlife?"

  "Come on, Tess," Reilly countered indignantly, "you're making it sound like nothing more than a cynical propaganda campaign. Do you really believe it would have carried as much power, or lasted as long as it has, if it were all based on deception? Of all the preachers and wise men roaming the land at the time, He was the one who moved people to risk their lives to follow His teachings. He was the one who most inspired those around Him, He affected people like no one else had, and they wrote and talked about what they saw."

  "But that's my point," Vance interjected, "there isn't a single first-person account of it. Nothing that can definitively prove it."

  "Or disprove it," Reilly shot back. "But then you're not really considering both sides of the equation, are you?"

  "Well, if the Vatican was so terrified of the Templars' discovery coming out into the open," Vance scoffed, "I think I can guess which way its thinking leans. And if we could only finish what the Templars set out to do," he turned to Tess, beaming with an alarmingly infectious fervor, "it would be the final step in something that's been brewing since the Enlightenment. It wasn't that long ago that people believed that die earth was the center of the universe and the sun revolved around us.

  When Galileo came along and proved that it was the other way around, the Church almost had him burned at the stake. The same thing happened with Darwin. Think about it. Whose word is the 'gospel' truth today?"

  Reilly fell quiet as he weighed the information. It bothered him that everything he had heard, no matter how hard he tried to dismiss it, seemed not just possible, but uncomfortably plausible. After all, there were several major religions vying for adherents all around the planet, all claiming to be the real thing, and they couldn't all be right. He guiltily recognized that he was so ready to dismiss other religions as mass delusions . . . why should the one he happened to believe in be any different?

  "One by one," Vance announced, his eyes locking onto Tess, "these falsehoods, these inventions of the early founders of the Church, they're all crumbling. This would be the final one to fall, nothing more."

  Chapter 69

  Reilly sat alone, perched on a craggy rock face overlooking the clearing where the pickup was parked. He'd watched the sky gradually darken, unveiling countless stars and a moon that was bigger and brighter than any he'd ever seen. The sight was enough to stir the soul of even the most cynical observer, but right now Reilly wasn't in the most inspired of moods.

  Vance's words still rang loudly in his ears. The supernatural elements of the story at the heart of his faith had always sat uncomfortably with his rational, questioning mind, but he hadn't ever really felt the need to subject them to such scrutiny. Vance's disturbing, and, much as he hated to admit it, convincing arguments had opened a can of worms that would be difficult to close.

  The truck was barely visible now, Vance's shadowy form beside it where he'd left him. Reilly couldn't stop running the man's tirade through his mind, looking for the crack that would cause the whole sordid edifice to crumble, but he couldn't find one. Nothing about it was counterintuitive. If anything, it made too much sense.

  A scattering of pebbles behind him snapped him out of his reverie. He turned to see Tess clambering up the ridge to join him.

  "Hey," she said. The full beam that had entranced him was gone, replaced by a troubled expression.

  He gave her a small nod. "Hey."

  She stood at the edge of the hill, taking in the stillness around them for a few moments before settling down on the rock beside him. "Look, I'm . . . I'm sorry. I know these discussions can get pretty uncomfortable."

  Reilly shrugged. "If anything, it's disappointing."

  She looked at him uncertainly.

  "I mean, you really don't get it," he continued. "You're taking something that's unique, something that's incredibly special, and reducing it to its crudest form."

  "You want me to ignore the evidence?"

  "No, but seeing them in that light, poring over every detail, makes you miss the whole point. The thing you don't understand is that it's not about scientific evidence. It shouldn't be. It's not about facts or about analyzing and rationalizing. It's about feeling. It's an inspiration, a way of life, a connection—" he opened his arms expansively, "—to all this." He looked at her intently for a moment, then asked, "Isn't there anything you believe in?"

  "What I believe in doesn't matter."

  "It does to me," he insisted sharply. "Seriously, I'd like to know. Don't you believe in any of it?"

  She glanced away, looking down at Vance who, despite the impenetrable darkness, seemed to have his eyes settled on them both. "I guess the easy answer is that I'm in Jefferson's camp on this."

  "Jefferson?"

  Tess nodded. "Thomas Jefferson also had problems believing what was in the Bible. Although he considered Jesus's ethical system to be the finest the world had ever seen, he became convinced that in trying to make His teachings more appealing to the pagans, His words and His story had been manipulated. So he decided to take a closer look at the Bible, and stripped out everything he considered untrue, in an attempt to dig out Jesus's true words from, as he put it, 'the rubbish in which it is buried.' The man in the book he came up with, The Life and Morals of Jesus of Nazareth, wasn't anything like the divine being in the New Testament: in Jefferson's Bible, there was no virgin birth, no miracles, and no resurrection. Just a man."

  She looked into Reilly's eyes, searching for common ground. "Don't get me wrong, Sean. I believe that Jesus was a great man, one of die most important people who ever lived, an inspirational human being who said a lot of great things. I think His vision of a selfless society where everybody trusts and helps one another is a wonderful one. He inspired a lot of good . . . He still does. Even
Gandhi, who wasn't a Christian, always said he was acting in the spirit of Jesus Christ. I mean, clearly, Jesus was an exceptional man, no question—but then, so were Socrates and Confucius. And I agree with you that His teachings about love and fellowship should be the basis of human relations—we should be so lucky. But was He divine? Maybe you could say He had some kind of divine vision or prophetic illumination, but I don't buy the miraculous stuff and I definitely don't buy the control freaks who pretend they're God's exclusive representatives on earth. I'm pretty sure Jesus didn't intend His revolution to become what it is today, and I can't imagine He would have liked His teachings to become the dogmatic and oppressive faith that grew up in His name. I mean, He was a freedom fighter who despised authority. How ironic is that?"

  "The world's a big place," Reilly replied. "The Church today is what men have made it over the centuries. It's an organization, because it has to be to make it work. And organizations need a power structure—how else could its message survive and spread?"

  "But look at how ridiculous it's become," she countered. "Have you ever watched one of those TV

  evangelists? It's become a Vegas act, a parade of brainwashing jokers. They'll guarantee you a place in heaven in exchange for a check. How sad is that? Church attendance numbers are way down, people are turning to all kinds of alternatives, from yoga to Kabbalah to all kinds of New Age books and groups for some kind of spiritual uplift, simply because the Church is so out of touch with modern life, with what people really need today—"

  "Of course it is," Reilly interjected as he stood up, "but that's because we're moving too fast. It was very relevant for almost two thousand years. It's only in the last few decades that that's changed, at a time when we've been evolving at a staggering pace, and yes, the Church hasn't kept pace and it's a big problem. But it doesn't mean we should dump die whole tiling and move on to . . . what exactly?"

  Tess screwed up her face. "I don't know. But maybe we don't need a heavenly bribe or the fear of hell and damnation to make us behave decently. Maybe it would be healthier if people started believing in themselves instead."

  "Do you really think so?"

  She stared into his eyes. They were earnest, but calm. "I do. And I also know I'd much rather have my daughter grow up in a world where people aren't deceived by some historical hoax, where they're free to believe in whatever they choose to believe in, based on fact, not on myth." She looked away and shrugged. "It doesn't matter anyway. Not until we find the wreck and see what's in that box."

  "That's not really up to us, is it?"

  It took a moment for her to answer, and when she did, her voice was incredulous. "What do you mean?"

  "I came here to find Vance and bring him back. Whatever's out there . . . it's not my concern." As the words tumbled out of his mouth, he knew he wasn't being entirely honest. He smothered the thought.

  "So you're just going to walk away?" she blurted, clambering angrily to her feet.

  "Come on, Tess. What do you expect me to do? Put New York on hold for a few weeks while I go wreck diving with you?"

  Her green eyes were boring into him with indignation. "I can't believe you're saying this. Damn it, Sean. You know what they'll do if they find out where it is?"

  "Who?"

  "The Vatican," she exclaimed. "If they get their hands on the astrolabe and find the wreck, that's the last anyone will ever hear about it. They'll make sure it disappears again, and not just for seven hundred years, but forever."

  "It's their call." His voice was distant. "Sometimes, some things are better left alone."

  "You can't do that," she insisted.

  "What do you want me to do?" he fired back. "Help you dredge something from the bottom of the ocean and hold it up proudly for everyone to choke on? He's made no bones about what he's after,"

  he said, jabbing an angry finger toward Vance. "He wants to bring down the Church. Do you really expect me to help you do that?"

  "No, of course not. But a billion people out there might be living a lie. Doesn't that bother you? Don't you owe them the truth?"

  "Maybe we should ask them first," he replied.

  He thought that she was about to press her point further, but then she just shook her head, her expression one of acute disappointment.

  "Don't you want to know?" she finally asked.

  Reilly held her gaze for an uncomfortable moment before turning away, and said nothing. He needed time to think this through.

  Tess nodded, then looked down toward the clearing where they'd left Vance. After a pregnant silence, she said, "I ... I need to drink something," and headed down the ridge toward the shimmering stream.

  He watched her disappear into the shadows.

  * * *

  A hurricane OF confused thoughts battered Tess's mind as she stumbled down to the clearing where they had parked the pickup truck.

  She knelt down by the stream and cupped her hands to sip the cool water and saw that they were trembling. She shut her eyes and breathed in the crisp night air, desperately trying to slow her racing heartbeat and calm herself, but it was no use.

  That's not really up to us, is it? Reilly's words had hounded her all the way down from the rocky perch, and they weren't letting go.

  She glanced up at the craggy ridge and could just about make out Reilly's distant figure, silhouetted against the night sky. She busily reran his take on the momentous crossroads they were now facing over and over in her mind. Given all that had happened, all the bloodshed and the unanswered questions, she knew his decision to take Vance back to New York was probably the sensible one.

  But she wasn't sure she could accept it. Not given what was at stake. She flicked a look at Vance.

  He was sitting exactly how they'd left him, his back to the pickup, his hands tied. From the merest glint of moonlight reflecting in his eyes, she could tell he was watching her.

  And that's when it hit her.

  A disturbing, reckless notion that sliced straight through the havoc that was raging inside her and came rushing out.

  And hard as she tried, she couldn't shake the thought away.

  Reilly knew she was right. She had gone straight to the doubt he had felt earlier, listening to Vance. Of course, he wanted to know. More than that, he needed to know. But regardless of his conflicted feelings, he had to go by the book. It was how he did things, and besides, he didn't really have much of a choice. It hadn't been an idle remark when he'd said that they couldn't go after the wreck themselves. How could they? He was an agent of the FBI, not a deep-sea diver. His priority was to bring Vance—and the astrolabe—back to New York.

  But he knew perfectly well what the end result of that would be.

  He looked out into the night and saw Tess's face again, the disappointment he had seen in her eyes, and he was painfully aware that he was just as disappointed. He had no idea what might have developed between them, given time, but right now it looked as if any relationship they might have had was foundering on the rock of his faith.

  And that was when he heard the sudden sound of an engine.

  Not in the distance.

  Close.

  Startled, he glanced down and saw the pickup moving off.

  His hand went instinctively to his pocket before he realized he didn't have one. He was still in his wetsuit. He flashed back to when he'd tucked away the truck's keys under its passenger seat, remembering that Tess was next to him when he did that.

  And with a reeling horror, he knew.

  "Tess!" he hollered, as he scrambled down the slope, kicking up debris, losing his balance, and tumbling awkwardly in the darkness. By the time he reached the clearing, the pickup was already a fast-receding dust cloud way up the trail.

  Tess and Vance were gone.

  Furiously angry with himself for allowing it to happen, his eyes darted around, desperate to latch onto something that could overturn this disaster. He quickly found a small piece of paper sticking out from under some food provisions and campin
g gear that had been left for him, close to where the pickup had been parked.

  He picked it up. He immediately recognized Tess's handwriting: Sean,

  People deserve to know the truth. I hope you understand that— and that you'll forgive me . . .

  I'll send for help as soon as I can.

  Chapter 70

  Reilly woke up in a daze, his mind bristling with raw emotions. He still couldn't believe Tess had left with Vance. Much as he tried to rationalize it, it still galled him—more than galled, it ate away at his every fiber. He was angry at being duped, at being left there in the middle of nowhere. He was stunned by her decision to leave, even more so at her having gone off with Vance.

  He was bewildered by her temerity and concerned about her putting herself in danger—yet again.

  And, much as he tried to suppress it, he couldn't help feeling his pride had taken a pretty big hit too.

  Straightening up, he felt the chirping of birds and the blinding morning glare assaulting his senses.

  It had taken him forever to fall asleep in the sleeping bag that had been left for him, his exhaustion finally overwhelming his anger into submission late in the night. Squinting, he checked his watch and saw that he'd been out for barely four hours.

  It didn't matter. He had to get moving.

  He drank from the stream, feeling the welcome effects of the cold mountain water. The tightness in his stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten in almost twenty-four hours, and he quickly polished off some bread and an orange. At least they'd thought of that. He felt his body slowly come alive, and, as his head cleared, angry thoughts and images flooded his consciousness.

  He took in the landscape around him. There was no noticeable wind and, apart from the birdsong, which had now subsided, everything was deathly still. He decided he would follow the trail back to the dam and to Okan's office, where he'd probably be able to contact Federal Plaza— not a call he was looking forward to.