Gold of the Knights Templar

by Preston W Child

Talbot sighed.

  “You put me in a difficult situation, Miller, you see,” he said in a low tone, “my client believes when the merchandise has transferred from their hands to you, it shouldn’t come back. They don’t want it back, Miller. They want their money. You owe them now, and it’s been 48 hours already. I can’t take the painting back—”

  “I can’t buy a fake painting, get me the original, Talbot, then we can deal.”

  “You see my clients, they’ll not be happy, when they are not happy, they send rough guys to get what theirs. You don’t want that, do you?”

  “I don’t care, Talbot.”

  Talbot exhaled. He walked backward toward his entourage; someone opened the door for him.

  “I can’t help you, Miller, and neither can agent Smith standing beside you,” he said, “they’ll come for the money. You have to pay, it’s out of my hands now.”

  Miller and Diggs watched the vehicles leave.

  —

  “Should we expect trouble?” Diggs asked.

  Frank Miller shrugged, “what do you think?”

  “It's on then.”

  Diggs pulled two big guns from straps hidden in his jacket; Miller called the German driver Ethan. He came around in minutes.

  Miller tapped the driver’s headrest.

  “Take us back to the hotel.”

  As the Ferrari turned the onto Rue de L'Acerie, a motorbike tried to cut them off. Ethan barely missed it. The rider brought out a semiautomatic and sprayed the front of the car, sparks flew.

  “Shit!” Miller screamed.

  Diggs asked the driver to bring the windows down. But as Diggs tried to shoot the rider in front, another motorbike came from behind. Diggs quickly ducked back into the car. He looked back and saw two bikers, aiming. Diggs pulled Miller down, he shouted at Ethan, “drive faster!”

  Ethan gunned the Ferrari. He tried to avoid the bike in front of them. Diggs jumps in the passenger seat, eyes like red coals he snapped, “get in the back, my friend.”

  Ethan babbled in French, “Tu ne peux pas faire ça!!”

  “I can do whatever I goddamn want, now get the fuck in the back and let me utilize!”

  Ethan squeezed his huge frame over to the back. He was mumbling something about his car and this stranger that’s going to wreck it. More shots came and shut him up. He and Miller ducked into the floor.

  Diggs pumped the gas. He hit the guy in front before he could fire at the car. The biker tumbled off the bike and crashed into the windshield. The glass cracked.

  Ethan screamed, “ma voiture! ma voiture!!”

  More shots pelted the car at the back, and a jeep just joined the fray. Semiautomatics were coming out of everywhere. Diggs stepped on the break, and the motorbike in the left caught the tailgate, Diggs stepped on the gas again and dragged the motorbike. They heard screams as the rider tried to get off, then a final crash as he went under.

  They went past Miller’s hotel. Sirens wailed in the distance.

  “Let’s cut this show, shall we?”

  Diggs sped into an alley, and the car screeched to a stop in a cloud of dust and spilled trashcans. He stepped out with his guns aimed at the entrance of the alley. The bike came in first. The rider brought his gun up but was too late.

  Diggs shot him and the bike from under him. The biker flipped into the air as the motorcycle crashed into the side of the building. Diggs jumped in the car again.

  He looked in the scared eyes of Ethan, “I’m sorry, but I’m about to wreck this car, my apologies.”

  Diggs out the gear in reverse. He gunned the engine. The Ferrari shot backward and out into the first jeep that came along. The crash was enormous. The Jeep tumbled away into the road, pedestrians scrambled for cover.

  Cops were still a long way off, so Diggs turned it up some more. He went to the overturned Jeep. Two guys were struggling out of the car; Diggs shut them. He picked a cellphone that had fallen out of the car and went back to the Ferrari.

  “Take us out of here,” Miller said.

  Diggs found an alley along Rue Glesener and parked the car in it. Ethan stood in front of the car, hands on his head, horrified by the damage to his car. Miller told him to come to his hotel the next day.

  “The damages,” he said in broken French, “Je payerai.”

  A small crowd was gathering already; Miller and Diggs walked away. They caught a taxi Diggs' hotel.

  —

  Miami.

  There was a gym around the corner that just opened some months before. Olivia ran in the early morning and then went in there to work out and take karate lessons from an Asian named Roy.

  Olivia suffered from the same syndrome most Americans labor under. That all Asians are Chinese. Roy at the gym, the Sensei who taught karate at the gym, told her he was from Okinawa.

  "Well, you all look alike to me."

  "Okinawans look different," he smiled.

  Olivia was sweating from the aerobic routine. She walked off the dojo, done for the day. Her Karategi was wet from so much perspiration. She changed and started back to her place.

  As she neared the avenue where she would turn a corner and go up to her street, she noticed a black van following slowly on the other side of the road. She looked in the storefronts, the van was reflected in the glass. She slowed down her pace.

  The van continued to roll along. The sun reflected off the windshield so that she could not see the driver behind the wheel.

  If not the face, then let me get a look at the plates.

  Come on, come on, she urged.

  The van suddenly picked up speed and drove away. Olivia ran after the van. There were no plates on it.

  —

  "Tom, I think I'm being followed."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yeah."

  She recounted what happened earlier that afternoon.

  "It's happening all over again, Tom."

  "Stay in, I'll get some guys to come over, alright."

  Olivia said it was okay. She waited in her apartment. The living room had remained as it was when Olivia moved in— empty. She refused to furnish, making for the lack of a table and a chair. And a flowerpot that Andrew Gilmore sent from Rome a month ago. That made her smile. A priest had gone from being a total stranger to his brother.

  An hour after, Miller called.

  "Hey, are you okay?" he asked.

  Olivia considered whether it was okay to tell Miller the truth. Then she said, "its begun again, Frank."

  "What'd you mean?"

  "They are following me now, I saw a van this afternoon."

  Miller listened. He chuckled and said, "They tried to kill us too."

  "Us?"

  "Diggs is with me," he said softly, "he flew into Luxembourg yesterday. You remember Paul Talbot, the CIA chief in Rome?"

  "Yes, I do, what about him?"

  "He works for the seller."

  "Damn!"

  "Yeah, my sentiments as well, they have me on their radar now. I'm flying out of here first thing tomorrow. Be seeing you in Miami."

  Olivia went to her window when she heard the familiar sound of sheriff Tom Garcia's car in the street. A squad car was parked behind his old jeep; two cops stepped out of it. Minutes later, they knocked on her door.

  Miller directed the two cops to secure the apartment.

  "This cops will watch your apartment tonight, Ramirez and Fuentes," Tom said.

  Olivia pulled him close, "you didn't have to do this, please just send them off, I can take care of myself."

  "Come on, Olivia, listen to yourself. Don't make me look bad in Betty's eyes. She made me do this," Tom complained, "she said of you're not gonna move in with us, then I gotta protect you here."

  "Still, you didn't have to—"

  "Shut up, Olivia, no karate kick's as fast a bullet, remember that."

  —

  The cops, officer Luke and Devitt, checked the apartment.

  Olivia thought it was a needless formality.

&nb
sp; Devitt had a cleft on his lips and eyes that looked like they'd go to sleep anytime. He seemed interested in why Olivia lived alone and if she ever had friends over.

  The two men hung around the hallway for a while. Olivia heard Luke, the more subdued cop tell his partner he'd like to smoke a little bit. Devitt suggested they go down into the street then.

  Olivia ran to the window.

  Luke leaned against the car across the street and smoked. The cigarette looked longer than most she'd seen, and since she didn't smoke, she could not tell what brand it was.

  Devitt was probably in the car. It was late in the night, and the street was getting deserted. She heard TV noises in the apartment across hers. A light went off in a room there, some kid whine about watching more cartoons and the mother reminding him —or her— it was a school day, next day.

  Olivia charged into her room and got a Nike bag, blue, with two white stripes going around it. She stuffed it with two changes of clothes. She put her laptop on it and then put running shoes on top of that.

  She checked on the cops again.

  Luke was lighting another cigarette again with the butt of the last one. Devitt's voice was an indistinguishable murmur.

  Olivia wore dark clothes. She slung her bag around her; she checked the hallway for lurking bodies. There was the florescent in the ceiling doing its job, the grey walls, and the dark stairs. She went down quietly, her thighs bore her weight with all the strength of martial training.

  She didn't go out through the street door. There was an emergency exit on the opposite end of the street door. She tried the lock, and it gave.

  The alley contained enough illumination for her to see the hulking metal of the dumpster, the grey building opposite hers, and the littered floor. An escaping rodent toppled a lost Styrofoam cup. She counted to ten before stepping into the alley.

  The back of the cop car was tuned to her. Luke was laughing at something Devitt may have said. He was still smoking; she saw Devitt's head through the windshield. His feet were up the dash.

  Olivia started down the street and hoped to find Edward Byrne in his place.

  —

  Olivia had discovered, to her dismay, that Edward Byrne was three younger than she was. She had called off their budding relationship as quickly as she can. Edward had moped around for some days.

  His place was small. His bedroom door was open, and Olivia could see the picture of a rock and roll band plastered over his bed. They were seated in his living room. It was almost empty there, as well.

  "You ran from cops protecting you?"

  "They're not protecting me, they're just doing their job."

  Olivia started making herself comfortable on the couch. She spread a sheet that Edward tossed her up to her chin and pouted at him.

  "You sure you don't wanna sleep in the bed instead, I mean, I don't mind the couch."

  "No, it's okay, it's just tonight, Eddy."

  Edward shrugged uncertainly. He was still hurt about their early, unprovoked breakup. He had liked Olivia even more as the days of their short-lived relationship came to an abrupt end.

  Olivia tried to close her eyes when Edward was gone. Flashes of Ted Cooper's bleeding body, and the officer who shot him running away, won't let her.

  She couldn't even trust his people, what a shame.

  —

  The murmur of her cellphone's vibration woke her. Disoriented, she wiped her face. The clock on the wall came into focus, it said the time was almost 5 am.

  "Hello."

  "You've gotta have a good explanation for skipping without telling me."

  It was from Tom Garcia. And he was mad.

  "I'm sorry, Tom."

  "Better get down here, though."

  "What's happening?"

  Tom barked orders to someone. He came back on sounding out of breath, "your apartment was broken into last night."

  "Shit."

  Olivia sat up. She started packing her things.

  Edward was awake too. His face was puffy, his hair scattered all over his head.

  "Where're you going?"

  "I have to get to my place now."

  He looked at the wall clock too, "it's four in the morning, Olivia."

  "It's five."

  She laced her running shoes.

  "Still it's too early," Edward followed her to the door, "are you gonna be okay?"

  "Yeah."

  Olivia kissed him on the cheek, patted the other one, and left.

  —

  The lock was twisted. Her clothes were all over the floor, her bed torn and small library vandalized.

  The cops, Luke and Devitt, stared at her mutinously. Tom and another cop were checking out the street below through the kitchen window.

  Olivia joined the men at the window. Some of her pieces of stuff were down there; clothes, papers, undies.

  Olivia felt her an odd calmness at seeing her clothes in the alley down, among the trash cans. It could have been her down there, likely very dead.

  "I understand you don't feel safe right now, Olivia, but you could have given me a heads up."

  "They were looking for the painting, Tom," she said, "you understand I'm not safe here—"

  Sheriff Tom pulled her into the hallway. Luke and Devitt were still obviously mad at her. Devitt searched for prints on the sides of the door, Luke nursed a cigarette stick.

  "You have to consider that the boys stayed up for you, you can just sneak off," Tom said severely, "it makes them look bad on the job."

  "I'm sorry, but the last time a mutual friend put their lives in the hands of some of these men, he got killed."

  Tom gave her a sideways glance, "that hurts."

  She sighed, rolled her eyes, and said, "I'm sorry, sheriff, won't happen again."

  Tom Garcia looked at his cops working. Steve Martinez had been one of his best men, he trusted the man with his own life. The Templars got to Steve. They had turned him against the people that he had sworn to protect. Anyone of these men, he thought, could be the next Steve.

  Tom conferred with the two cops, they threw Olivia curious glances. Olivia tried to ignore them and went into her bedroom to clean and put it in order. Devitt knocked at the door.

  "You need a hand?"

  Olivia smiled, "I'm sorry about last night, I freaked out."

  Luke joined them. He twirled his cigarette stick between his fingers.

  "It's alright, we're good," said Devitt, he looked at Luke, "right, buddy?"

  "Sure," said Devitt.

  "We understand you are having a hard time trusting the police, we get that all the time. Bad eggs give the group a bad name, you know. But you can trust my buddy here and me."

  "Hey, can I smoke?" asked Luke.

  "Come on, man."

  The cops turned to the sheriff.

  "You can't smoke in here, have some respect," Tom Garcia said.

  They put Olivia's place in order. The cops left thirty minutes later. Tom Garcia hung around a little more to talk about his marriage with her. Then they spoke of the new case. Olivia made coffee. She had hers with hot, strong, black with rolls while Tom took the coffee with cream.

  "I'm going to need you on this one again."

  "How?"

  Tom looked her straight in the eyes and said, "I imagine that soon, this case is about to spiral into something phenomenal."

  "Like Rome."

  "Yeah, like Rome."

  They contemplated Rome, Peter Williams, and the Templars. The men whom she shared that adventure with— Frank Miller, Anabia Nassif, Liam Murphy, and Victor Borodin. He had kept in contact with these men awhile after. Lawrence Diggs had called one night to ask her what she was up to.

  Now since when Gabriel Capaldi died, she had called Frank Miller. So she agreed with the sheriff on this note. Looked like an adventure was in the works.

  Olivia jumped from the couch and ran into her bedroom.

  "What the hell is going on with you?" Tom asked befuddled.

  O
livia came back into the large living room with her forehead screwed, her face on the screen of her cellphone.

  "We need to find out if Tami Capaldi is safe," she said rapidly, "if the painting is not here, where'd you think they're gonna go next?"

  "Oh, God."

  —

  In order not to alarm the woman, Olivia rang her up.

  "She seemed okay," said Olivia to the sheriff after she hung up.

  Olivia thought at that moment that the widow needed protection more than Olivia did. But she didn't mention it.

  "Need help with tonight?"

  "No, I don't think they'd come back again," she frowned, "you think?"

  Tom took a long look at her before she said, "you make sure you call if you have any trouble."

  She said she would.

  —

  On second thought, and about the late evening, Olivia Newton reasoned that Edward Byrne's place was fifteen minutes from Tami Capaldi's home. If she had trouble, it was easier to get to her from Byrne's than from hers.

  "Hey, Eddy, how about having me over again tonight?"

  "Er…tonight?"

  "You have plans?" Olivia felt hot crawl of embarrassment, she didn't know why, "I mean if you're having someone over, it's okay—"

  "Yes, it's alright if you wanna come over, great if you come."

  Olivia went over like the previous night. She checked the street for anything that seemed out of place or anyone. The cars parked down there were the same ones he'd known, the same ones that Olivia saw every time. There were no homeless people around here that much, so she didn't see anyone lounging on the sidewalks when she left by the back.

  Edward seemed to be okay with her presence. Although he watched her strangely until he turned in too.

  At around midnight, Olivia's phone rang.

  It was Tami Capaldi, her panicked voice as incoherent at first. Olivia heard a noise in the background.

  "Can you calm down, Tami, and tell me slowly, what's going on?"

  "Okay, I think the house is on fire, there's smoke coming from the wing with Gabby's paintings."

  "Oh shit, call the fire service right now!"

  Edward was instantly beside her by the couch. Olivia said to him, "I gotta use your car!"

  Edward quickly put a dress on, she took the keys and was running down the stairs.

  "What're you doing?"

  "I'm driving you."