Gold of the Knights Templar

by Preston W Child

  The young ruddy face of Nicolas Ramos or Rauf Abdullah especially broke her heart.

  "Do you have a photo of their killer?" Olivia asked.

  "No. No one knows what the killer looks like. He is extremely skilled and careful. He lives no print, no blood, nothing that can be traced. He is a ghost. The agency has never known anything like him."

  Olivia sighed. The thought of being in the presence of such a man intrigued her, and she shuddered.

  What am I becoming?

  Stronger, you are becoming stronger.

  Could such a man who was so focused he left nothing to chance, be a capable lover? She felt drawn to him in a way that was both absurd and perplexing. She pushed the thought our of her mind.

  Olivia, you need a man.

  "Here's what you must do," Bud was talking again. "The first one of the clues begins in Shugborough Hall, as you must know by now. The markings on the tombstone, they are special. Of course, no one knows exactly what they mean, or how to read them and I mean no offense when I say, smarter men have tried to crack the puzzle. Frustrated, many of them left with the conclusion that they are mere alphabets."

  "But they aren't?"

  "Well, let's say nothing is as it seems."

  It was almost afternoon, and the street outside buzzed with the English way of life. Soon it would be evening, and they would have to leave the Haven of the safe house. It weighed upon Olivia's mind —not the event of finding the tomb in Shugborough Hall— that exposure could mean death for her and her friends

  Death follows me, she thought, and the words of a song she had heard months ago dogged her all afternoon.

  Death follows me,

  Dazed, cold,

  I bleed out here alone…

  —

  Bud Chapman drove them in his jaguar about the 6 in the evening when the sun had gone down. The eastern sky was turning a bleached yellow over English houses, and the very English weather was assuming it's bitchy fashion.

  Victor Borodin asked if it was going to rain or snow.

  Liam said it was going to storm.

  "We'd probably get some sleet," Bud Chapman said.

  "Sleet? What the hell does that mean?"

  Olivia told Liam it was when it rained, but you could still go out without a brolly. Chapman quickly explained that a brolly was another word for an umbrella.

  The now-familiar butt of Shugborough appeared minutes later in the dark horizon. Bud Chapman had taken them through a different route. The dirt road they had ridden on the previous day when they got off the main road appeared like an intersection in front of them.

  Bud parked the car beside an empty field. He cut off the lights and turned around.

  "When you come back out, you'll find this car right here," he said, "take it and meet me on the other side of the Essex bridge. I'll be waiting for you. Ask for Dean Anson, he'll help you get into the Shugborough Hall cemetery—"

  The team filed out of the car. Olivia came to the window.

  "You only have to worry about the Shugborough Knights, but they are a soft set, ordinary guards. This is why you need Anson. He'll know what to say to them on your behalf. And you tell him I sent you."

  "Thank you, Mr. Chapman."

  "God speed."

  —

  As the team walked off the highway and on to the street road, Shugborough fields appeared on the right side.

  Liam asked, "is that it?"

  Shugborough Hall looked like a factory in downtown Miami. There was a driveway leading to the main building. It was painted white, the roof was black, low eaves and wood finishing on the body. What looked like a garage on the side. There were no cars around the place, nor were there people around.

  "Where's the cemetery?" someone asked.

  Olivia's eyes searched the grounds for a sign of life. The place was inhabited, or it would be needless to light it up this much.

  "The cemetery is probably around the back," she said.

  The team walked past. There were no fences or gates, no guards. The road curved again up ahead. Folk music floated in the wind. There was a pub around the bend.

  There was more life at the pub than there was in the whole of Shugborough Hall. It looked probable that the occupants of the Hall were here having a good time. A sign hanging from a post outside the bar declared the name, Shug and Bar. Several cars and trucks with mud caked in their tires were in the small parking lot.

  The team split.

  Olivia went in with Liam Murphy on her heels. They took a table close to the door. Miller and Diggs strolled straight to the bar where they ordered a beer.

  The interior of the bar seemed to have been laid up again with beams, it gave it the appearance of a getaway place in the woods. Animal trophies hung on the walls; deer mostly.

  A poster hung on the wood behind the bartender. It said, "Repent or Get What's Coming From The Lord."

  They are religious people in Shugborough. Good, Olivia thought. The song on the juke switched. It was rock, the voice crooned:

  Welcome to the planet

  Welcome to existence

  Everyone's here

  Everyone's here

  Everybody's watching you now

  Everybody waits for you now

  What happens next?

  What happens next?

  Rough farmer faces turned to look at the newcomers. Bearded men with bleary eyes, rough hands raise beer mugs to wet lips. The conversation at the tables dropped gradually till there was just the jukebox in the corner by the kitchen door.

  I dare you to move

  I dare you to move

  I dare you to lift yourself off the floor

  I dare you to move

  I dare you to move

  Like today never happened

  Today never happened before

  The air was getting tight. It was as though some these men knew and expected. Two men in work clothes and boots left their tables, and their beers unfinished. Soon half the pub had walked out. Olivia heard engines start outside. Through the windows, she saw trucks leave.

  Her hands had tightened around the butt of her Colt under the table.

  —

  Miller glanced at Olivia, she nodded.

  He swallowed half his beer and signaled the bald bartender over.

  "Yeah?" the man piped.

  "I'm looking for someone," said Miller, "a man goes by the name of Anson, Dean Anson. You know where I can find him?"

  "Are you 'posed to be a cop or what?"

  Miller hardly understood the twisted English tongue. The man seemed to follow Miller's difficulty, and he rephrased.

  "Are you from out of town?"

  "Yes, I am."

  The man looks across the room at the table where Olivia and the others were seated, struggling to keep a straight face. Olivia was doing fine. Anabia's shirt was dark with sweat on his back. Borodin's mug sat untouched.

  "Everyone knows where old Anson lives is why I asked," the bartender said, "He lives a little way from the Hall, a small house by a red bridge."

  "Shugborough Hall?"

  "Yes, it is. Can't miss it."

  Miller paid for the beers and thanked the bartender again. He and Diggs waited for the others outside. When Olivia and the other men joined him, he asked her, "did they buy it?"

  "Of course, not."

  They walked back down the road towards Shugborough Hall.

  —

  Shugborough still stood quietly, aloof, with pillars on the side that faced west. The grounds were silent. Like the graveyard that Olivia saw when they walked by the property, searching for the bridge.

  The bridge crossed over a brook, a faint red in the ambient light. The stream bubbled along, so they did not hear the grass rustle and branches break in the nearby bush.

  The house where Dean Anson lives was set on what looked like a concrete pedestal. It was painted white and shaped like a Pagoda, with the curved eaves like the ones on houses in China.

  Orchids and c
ommon daisies grew in the large pots on both sides of the house, they also covered the edge of the brook.

  "Are we sure about this?" Anabia whispered, "it doesn't look like anyone's stayed in that house awhile now."

  Olivia walked on the bridge, the metal railing felt glossy and wet. She invited others, and the men joined her. There were no lights in the house. The porch steps were covered in drift sand.

  No, Olivia thought, the team had either been deceived, or Dean Anson doesn't live here.

  "Guys…?"

  It was Anabia Nassif. He was standing by the bridge, his back turned to the house. And he was looking out at the road where two figures stood shrouded in the dark.

  "We have company."

  "Anabia, get off the bridge now!" said Diggs.

  But as the biologist turned to run, they heard a gunshot, and Anabia yelled in pain. He fell amid the daisies; Diggs and Miller were on the move. The two men on the road started shooting at them. Liam and Borodin ducked behind the porch, showered by splinters of wood as bullets tore around the porch.

  "Cover me!" Olivia shouted.

  She was going for Anabia.

  "Olivia, no!" s reamed Miller.

  But she was already running among the hail of bullets pelting around the flowers. More men appeared in the darkness, guns blazing.

  The hits keep coming, Olivia thought as she dragged Anabia into the safety of high grass.

  Anabia was bleeding from the top of his thigh. He was gritting and moaning; Olivia covered him with her body and started shooting into the dark road. Someone out there caught a slug, yelled, and fell heavily on the road.

  Someone yelled from the road, "You and your friends are dead!!"

  "Fuck you, bitches!!" Anabia screamed back, "arrgh, shit, they shot me!"

  "Shut up, Nassif, you're gonna be okay. We gotta move, I'm gonna move you now, okay."

  Olivia dragged him with one hand and continued shooting with the other hand. Diggs had gotten the semiautomatic up and was driving the attackers back. Borodin appeared beside Olivia, he pulled Anabia and carried him over his shoulder, together they ran to the back of the house.

  A truck came up the road carrying more men. Olivia looked back in time to see that they were all dressed in some red uniform. The shooting got more intense as they ran for the back of the house.

  Miller, Diggs, and Borodin stayed back to provide cover. Anabia hung on both Olivia and Liam with his hands over their shoulders. They trudged through a dark field behind the house. Behind the shooting continued.

  When they looked back, Miller and Borodin were catching up.

  "Where's Diggs?" Olivia shouted.

  "Go on, he'll catch up!" said Miller.

  Open field dark with night spread before them. A dirt road appeared in the semi-darkness, and beyond that, a cluster of houses.

  "Houses, oh God, come on guys," Olivia said, breathing hard.

  Anabia was getting heavier on her shoulder. His head lolled from side to side, and he was mumbling incoherently. The shooting had become distant, echoes from a bad dream. When Olivia looked back again, she saw a faint glow of Diggs running down the slope, flashes of gunshots behind him.

  They were approaching a Hamlet. Something caught Olivia's eyes, a light twinkled in the distance.

  "Looks like we are still in the woods, what is that?" asked Liam.

  Miller called from behind, "Olivia slow down."

  The closer they got to the row of houses and the eerie line of dirt road that traversed it, the faster the light blinked. Someone was trying to send a message. Olivia had learned some Morse code in high school at a girl scout camp. But that could have been a century ago for she hardly remembered what the intermittence and delays, short and long durations of light meant anymore.

  "It is Morse code," she said.

  Liam asked her if she knew what it meant. Anabia slumped from their hold as she was about to respond. They hefted the man up. Olivia saw his pale face, and she got a stab in her heart. Anabia had passed out.

  She searched the corner of the houses for that light again. A gut feeling told her they were being invited by someone who wanted to help.

  The shooting stopped suddenly. Olivia turned sharply.

  Diggs was a small figure coming down the slope. Apprehensive, Olivia couldn't take her eyes off him. He didn't look hurt.

  Diggs joined them presently.

  "We gotta keep moving," he said, he took at Anabia, "we don't have much time."

  The team seemed incapable of moving further. Olivia's eyes peeled for any sign of life. That light, the Morse. How she sorely needs it now. Like a beacon, it would lead them to safety.

  "Guys, we have got to keep moving!" Diggs said more urgently.

  Irritated, Liam said, "dude, as you can see, we have no idea which way to go."

  Even the usually resourceful Diggs was out of ideas.

  The light came back again. Whoever was behind the torch had moved closer and now more insistent with the signals. Perhaps, the person too hoped they'd understand the language of light.

  They heard the sound of running feet. Men were coming down the slope after them. Diggs cocked his gun.

  "No, Diggs," Miller placed a hand on the gun.

  The light was coming closer. It got to about two meters from where they stood in the road and went out. A rotund woman was standing before them. It was difficult to see her face in the darkness, but a red scarf was tied around her head, her black jacket belonged to a man, and her pants were baggy. She was barefoot.

  "Follow me," she said and started running so fast for someone of her stature.

  The group rushed after her.

  —

  "You are Olivia Newton, and these fine men are with you, I am Katherine Holland, and I am with you too."

  And with this introduction, the team were ushered into a small apartment. The apartment had only a table, a fireplace, a cupboard, and a small stool by it where a kettle lay steaming hot from its snout. The walls were covered in blue and white wallpaper, and a window had its blinds tied in a knot. A lamp burned inside a groove in the corner of the room. There was no bed, nor a bedroom.

  Katherine was fat, but she didn't waddle. She had cheeks that dimpled, colored when she smiled. Intelligent eyes looked from one member of the team to the other. She served hot tea that had been mixed with some spice. She had them sit on the floor while she sat on the small stool.

  After a bit, she fetched a small first aid box from the cupboard. There was no doubt in Olivia's mind that Katherine wasn't doing this for the first time when she opened the box. She opened Anabia's wound and smiled.

  She felt around the injury. She looked at Olivia, "the bullet missed the femoral artery by an inch, the Lord was with him the whole time."

  The woman went to work. Five minutes after she raised the slug by the light of the lamp.

  There were running feet outside. Olivia jumped, Diggs grabbed his gun.

  "Relax, boys. They won't find you. I got you in a hole now."

  "Who are you?" Olivia asked her.

  Katherine sewed the wound with thread. She glanced at Olivia and chuckled.

  "This is the best part of every encounter, where I have to explain myself and see the eyes light up —in disbelief."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "If I tell you who I am, you would not believe me. No one almost always never does."

  "They?"

  "Yes, you are not the first to come here seeking lost treasure."

  She finished sewing the wound and dabbed the blood with an astringent Olivia had never seen before. It smelled like formalin.

  "Alright, I belong to a small party that believes England is rich enough —and by that, I mean the royal family. It may sound funny to you, but we don't want this treasure anymore. We want it out of our community. We'd like to help you steal it—"

  "What?" said Liam.

  A chuckle went round. Katherine laughed too, "well, that's the first one. You people have hu
mor."

  When they had settled, Olivia said, "we are not stealing it, ma'am."

  "I am Kathy."

  "Kathy, we are not stealing it, like really steal it—"

  Katherine waved her chubby hand in the air, she laughed, it sounded like a baby's whimper, "you Americans, you amaze me. What then did you get shot for?"

  "My brother," Olivia answered, "If I don't get the treasure, my brother's going to be killed. He was kidnapped."

  "By who?"

  Olivia sighed, "I don't know who they are, but it's a long story. We need to find Dean Anson. He lives in the house by Shugborough Hall. We need him to lead us to the cemetery in Shugborough Hall. There's a clue there we need to see."

  The smile had left Katherine's face. She blew air through her lips.

  "Wow, okay, first of all, Dean Anson doesn't live there, his father does."

  "His father?"

  "Yes, his father is buried there, you were sent into a trap."

  "That figures."

  "Dean Anson lives by my house —not this house, my real house. Nothing is as it seems in Shugborough county. And it is on account of that goddamned treasure. The earlier we get it off our hands, the better."

  Miller came near, "you speak like the treasure is here, Kathy."

  "Maybe," she said cryptically.

  "Yeah, maybe."

  "Now, let me take you to Anson."

  —

  6

  Dean Anson was a tall man who wore valet's clothes. He was smoking a pipe and standing in an alley when the team arrived in the shadows with Katherine Holland. The house beside which he stood was much like Shugborough Hall, but smaller.

  "Follow me," he said and disappeared into the shadows.

  They followed behind the man until he stopped by a door. He tapped on it four times, and it creaked open. There was a face there, a woman. She wore a scarf like Katherine's, red; She looked every bit as scared as Olivia and her team.

  They walked a short hallway and up wooden stairs. Lamps hung from the walls and old paintings.

  A different woman was waiting at another door, this one dressed like the others too. She opened the door and ushered them into a well-furnished room.

  Katherine said, "and here my services end, shalom."

  She disappeared down the hall, and the team would not see her again. Olivia was gasped when he saw the paintings on the wall. Life-sized paintings of famous English people, of scenes from wars, and there was a full size of the painting of three men and a woman.