Gold of the Knights Templar

by Preston W Child

  "That's a fake, you know," Dean Anson said quickly.

  He took a seat and asked the visitors to do the same; Olivia opened her bag and fetched the half copy. She went to the painting on the wall and compared it. It was true. It was a reproduced copy, the brush strokes said that much. But whoever did it was genius.

  Dean filled his pipe and lighted it, pungent white smoke rose from his face. His balding forehead shone with health. His hair was very black and combed back; he regarded Olivia with small blue eyes.

  "The only way you are getting into Shugborough Hall is if you pretend to be what you truly are, yes."

  Olivia looked at the man, she sat beside Anabia.

  "How?" she asked.

  "An order calling themselves the protectors are waiting to gun you down as we speak, you could never hope to get out of there alive."

  "Because the treasure is real?" Miller posed.

  Anson glanced at the billionaire. He frowned and freed his mouth the burden of the pipe, "if anyone told you differently, I'm afraid they have you thoroughly deceived."

  "Well, then, tell us how to get a look at the tombstone in the cemetery."

  Anson turned his attention back to Olivia, "only you can do it. But you'll have to disguise yourself, only then can you get near enough to see the clues. And it has to be perfect."

  Olivia nodded, "I'll do it."

  —

  Shugborough Hall, 9:00 am.

  She drove a rented Fiat to Shugborough Hall; she wore a red jacket and trousers. A badge hung from the flap of the jacket. It bore the name of Jackie Olson from BBC Africa, and she was making a documentary video of England's old homes and their family cemeteries.

  The guards at the open entrance weren't exactly enchanted by the pretty blonde lady from Wales. They'd like for her to stay off the cemetery. They carried m16s and rifles with mounted scopes. Two of them led her to the massive doors of the hall.

  The valet was enchanted by the blonde lady, he made a particular joke about American women.

  She told him she was from Wales.

  "Oh, really now? You looked very much like an American."

  She followed him through a large hall. There were more pillars finished in marble, the floor as well; they came into a smaller hall like a living room.

  The valet waved a chair.

  "Please sit, I shall fetch Lord Valon of the house of Shugborough in a minute."

  Olivia picked a magazine off the collection on the table. She had refused the temptation to go to the large shelf of books near the wall. The less that Olivia relaxed, the better for her. She was surprised they didn't check her bag, even though Dean Anson had said this was unlikely.

  The valet had taken a cursory look at her fake badge. It seemed like they got visits like this from time to time. She was reading a National Geographic when a shadow appears at the door.

  "And where is your crew?"

  Olivia jumped. She looked up at the face of a man in his fifties, green piercing eyes, brown hair swept back in a baton style. His clothing was old English style, very conservative though the color green was somewhat gaudy, it complemented the eyes well.

  "My crew?" her heart started pumping fast.

  "Yes, cameramen and sound? The others have this crowd following them with different kinds of rigs and all."

  She stretched a skinny hand. Olivia took it with a smile. Oh, Jesus, she exhaled.

  The man bent forward to look at the badge.

  The valet said, "Miss Jackie Olson, Lord Valon of the house of Shugborough," and he promptly made himself scarce.

  "How may I be of help to the BBC today?"

  "Well, I'm coming to an end in a series of a new documentary about England, and it's cemeteries. I saved the best for last," she smiled winsomely, "I love the story behind the cemetery here—"

  Olivia opened her bag and brought out a Dictaphone. It was an old one provided by Dean Anson. When the man told Olivia what he had in mind, that Olivia would have to pretend to be a journalist for BBC, she had thought the idea preposterous.

  "—I have here a few facts that I'd like to have down pat. I need verification for them if you don't mind, Lord Valon."

  His Lordship said he was quite content to help.

  "Can you tell me about the Templars, I'd like to know who they were. Are they the same as the Freemasons?"

  Lord Valon launched into a brief explanation. It lasted a couple of minutes.

  "I'd like to take pictures, do you mind?"

  "Od course not."

  The weather was good outside. Lord Valon commented on how it's been this way for a week, clement weather such as never occurred in years. "Perhaps we should expect more good things to come from the century. Have you anything to say about Brexit?"

  "The weather over Europe looks good, why leave?"

  The man smiled appreciatively, "well said."

  Lord Valon said the most notable spots of Shugborough Hall were the gardens. Olivia said she thought it would be delightful for readers to read about the monument.

  "Is it okay if we go around there?"

  "Oh, yes."

  They went around the arc or hedges in front of the main field and out into the gardens. The air smelled fresh and filled with birdsong. If the circumstances were different, Olivia figured she'd have loved to visit the place and have a nicer time.

  "There are several monuments built by past Lords and Knights—"

  "You mean Knights Templar, right?"

  "Yes, I do."

  "The subject of the Knights has intrigued many readers years, sir. Perhaps I could come around here another time and do a whole series on the monuments."

  "We'll be glad if you did that."

  Olivia whipped out her camera. Dean Anson had provided the camera too. It was a powerful Hasselblad that Olivia had only seen in ads. She took pictures of everything the Lord pointed out for her interest.

  They came around an especially overgrown part of the garden. It was when Olivia saw the monument that she realized the vegetation had been deliberately allowed to run uncontrollably.

  Olivia raised her camera to her face, her eyes looked through the eyes piece, but all she saw was yellow flesh —Lord Valon had blocked the lens with his palm.

  She brought her camera down slowly.

  Lord Valon was looking at the monument with a certain sentimental pout around his mouth. His face had gone paler than normal. He sighed.

  "I would rather you didn't take a photo of this one, Miss Olson."

  "Why," she asked quietly.

  "This very monument has brought so much sorrow to Shugborough Hall for decades. And even in the recent past—" he broke off.

  "I understand your reason, Lord Valon. Perhaps I could take a photo from so far a distance that readers may not see the words on it?"

  "It isn't the words on it that make it so awful, it is it's past and what it stood for. But do as you say, go back about a meter to make the words obscure."

  "Gladly," said Olivia.

  —

  Olivia drove out to Hixon. She parked in the Hixon Fish Bar. Olivia bought fish and chips and stepped out. She walked three meters up the street and stopped in front of the Five and Dime shop. A young lad would take the signal of her presence and call a number. Someone would be coming to take possession of the Fiat.

  She walked into the Five and Dime shop and gave the boy the film roll from the camera. Then she waited in the lobby while the boy developed the photos in a secret lab outback.

  Twenty minutes after, Olivia was riding a taxi back to Haywood, in her bag were four copies of freshly mint, high definition photos.

  The house where she left the team was on a side-street in Hixon. The apartments in this part of Staffordshire were tightly packed so that alleys were only less than five feet apart. One's shoulders could rub against the rough stones of the walls. She considered going up the back, through the alley.

  But what if an ambush was waiting there?

  Dean Anson had instru
cted her that when she came back from her mission at Shugborough Hall, she find the car she drove into town, parked in front of the house. This would be her signal that all was clear.

  The car was parked there.

  Hemmed in between a blue van, Orion Deliveries were written on its side and a black mini Cooper.

  She still had disguise on, thank God, she thought.

  Olivia kept up a lazy pace behind a couple. They appeared to be tourists on a morning walk with their dog. She crossed to the other side of the road at the head of the street. Then, she circled back down the road.

  She went through the alley and around the back. The door there was open. Olivia quickly grabbed her Colt.

  She pushed the door open slowly; her heart stopped beating for a second. Panic gripped her throat.

  Oh, God, please God.

  The apartment had been turned upside down. The team was missing.

  —

  Be calm, Olivia.

  She went back the way she came. The apartment had been sacked, yes. But it hadn't been done while the team was there. Whoever plundered the apartment was looking for her and the painting, or just trying to kill them all.

  Olivia had searched the place for any sign of shooting. There was none.

  She walked slinked into a clothes store. She bought new clothes, a hat, and sunshades and paid cash; she went into the dressing room out back and changed.

  When Olivia came out, she asked the young girl with the ponytail if she could go out through the back of the store.

  "My ex-husband, he is waiting in the street," Olivia gave her a wry little smile, "you know, he wants me back?"

  "Are you American?"

  "No, I'm Australian."

  The pointed to a green door, EXIT was written on it.

  Olivia came out on a back street with little stir. She walked down and was shocked to see the van that had been in front of Anson's house. The blue van with Orion Deliveries written with white paint on the sides. A couple was standing by a lamppost, kissing slowly.

  Olivia's crossed the road and went into a café.

  A man in white jumpsuits opened the door, looked up and down the street, and stepped out. He wore a black baseball cap, his hair was brown, and he was huge. From this distance, his face looked like a dolphin's.

  He was met by another guy dressed like him. This one was chunky, built like a wrestler. The two men talked briefly. They walked up and down the street and cast furtive glances at the back of Anson's apartment. They got into the truck, and the truck rolled down the street.

  She took down the license plate of the vehicle.

  She ordered iced tea. She stared at the cup, despair hung over the air around her. The café was a small one. Three bar stools were arranged at the counter, and she counted six tables and four chairs each on both sides.

  The doorbell jingled as a man in a broad hat walked in. He went to the counter and got a cup of iced tea too. He took the chair opposite Olivia. He wore sunglasses.

  "Did you find it?"

  "Diggs?"

  Olivia almost spilled her tea. Diggs wore a fake black beard and tattoos on his neck. That was why Olivia didn't recognize him.

  "Anson is missing," he said under his breath. "He was gone for longer than he said he would so, we skipped the place. Those guys you saw came just as we left and tossed the place up."

  "I got photos."

  "They any good?"

  "Let's find out."

  The team was waiting in a warehouse Hixon. Diggs said it was an old equipment store for the CIA. Now it was vacant except for empty crates stacked on each other and scaffolds again the wall. Glass windows let the afternoon in misty showers of sunlight. It was damp and spacious.

  "What are we looking at?" asked Liam.

  Anabia said, "a photo of an old monument?"

  "Yeah, I know genius, but what are we looking for?"

  Olivia said. "The letters are supposed to be codes, location, a name, or anything. Come on, guys. We are looking at not working for the rest of our lives again."

  "Uhuh, I like the sound of that," said Liam.

  Borodin sniggered, "except Frank here who is already a billionaire."

  Laughter followed. Olivia loved the sound of it. But she could not deny how tough chances were getting by the minute. They have gone from being shot at by assassins to finding a clue they can't read. It was some progress, nonetheless.

  "These aren't random letters," Anabia said thoughtfully. "The people in the painting, their gestures, perhaps their clothing too. Everything in this photo or the painting must be the clue. Not just the letters."

  Olivia looked at him and asked, "what do you mean?"

  Miller said, "all the literature there is on the painting always points to the letters alone. This angle is interesting."

  "Consider this. Anabia continued. "Why do you have the painting duplicated on canvas and also the monument—?"

  "And on the tombstone too," Borodin added.

  They all looked at him. Olivia asked him, "you know about the tombstone?"

  "In the church of San Lorenzo, yes. You know about that, right?"

  Olivia said she did, suddenly piqued and exhausted at the same time.

  Anabia went on. "We have to consider the possibility that those alphabets are the first letters of words, or names and these men, and that woman —why do we have three men and one woman? And want is that place, isn't that a monument too?"

  Everyone leaned closer. Olivia, for the first time, saw the monument. The thought that the monument in the painting could be real, and still exists somewhere intrigued her.

  "The trees, what sort trees are those?" she asked.

  Heads turned to Anabia Nassif.

  "What? I don't know. I'm a biologist, not a botanist?"

  "Yeah, for a moment there, I realized you aren't so genius," Liam said, "I'd say it looks like a fern."

  "No, it isn't," Miller disagreed, "and even if it was. That terrain must have changed too much to look the same."

  "For all we know, there's a MacDonald on that place now or highway 165," said Liam.

  The group quieted. Liam went over to the far wall and fetched a couple of crates. He and Anabia sat on it. Olivia noted that the two men seem to have bonded weirdly. They can't stand each other, but they'd take a bullet for each other.

  "Anyone want coffee?" Olivia asked.

  "Iced tea!" they chorused.

  —

  The woman was not working alone. Detective Blake Camden was perusing the reports from forensic. There were five separate prints around the Anson ancestral home. Five distinct copies left the place and went down the hill into the Hamlet below.

  There were other prints. The people in pursuit of the woman and her friends; the neighbors hadn't heard anything in the Hamlet. Neither had they seen anything. All those shooting and not one person heard a thing.

  Dimwitted, lying numpties!

  He was driving through Shugborough, and he stopped at the Shug and Bar. He went in and had a word with the bartender who said he hadn't seen anything, nor heard anything.

  "Not directly, that is," said the bartender.

  "Yeh, how about indirectly?"

  The bartender rubbed his wet hands with a dirty dishcloth, shifty eyes scanned the tables. The jukebox was playing some heavy metal music that Blake deemed inappropriate for the clientele of potato farmers and workers from the battery factory out in the Hixon.

  "Some men came in here to drink, they were asking about Dean Anson, they wanted to know where he lived. I told them by Shugborough Hall."

  "They drink anything?"

  "Yes, beer," said the bartender, obviously afraid for he continued to talk low, "except the woman—"

  "The woman?"

  "She was sitting right over there with another guy, but they were together, everyone knew that."

  "What do you mean by everyone?"

  "The townsfolks, we knew what they came for, they were here for that damned treasure."
/>   Blake frowned. He started to make the connections in his head; he looked across the room at the door. Almost opposite this pub was the Shugborough Hall itself, and it's a famed monument. He recalled hearing something about some old treasure. But he'd thought it was mere folklore.

  "The Knights Templars Gold," said the bartender finally.

  "Can you describe the men who were with the woman?"

  The bartender described Miller and Diggs.

  —

  Anabia had been pouring over the painting all evening. He would turn the painting this way and that, comparing it with the photos of the monument. The answer to some of the puzzle lay in the photo of the monument. But he was having a hard time figuring what it was because a photo never quite compared to observing the object with one's eyes.

  Miller was pacing. Dean Anson still hadn't shown up at his apartment. Miller and Diggs had gone back there to watch for an hour. They had also gone in with hopes that he might be back.

  And Dean Anson was only one of the worries he had. Bud Chapman was waiting out there in Essex county. The earlier they solved the puzzle here, the better. Much worse was the fact that they didn't know yet what to look for.

  "We have to go back there."

  Miller looked at Anabia, "go back where?"

  "To Shugborough Hall, to the monument."

  The others came over —Olivia, from making notes in her book, and the other men, from playing cards.

  "Why do you wanna go back?" Olivia asked.

  "Look at all these grasses and flowers over the monument," Anabia said. "What if this is the same monument in the painting, but it's all covered up? What if the garden in Shugborough is all a façade to hide what it truly is, the original monument in the painting?"

  A tense quiet followed Anabia's exposition; Olivia felt her pulse quicken. She gave the photos a closer look. She recalled how large the monument was, and she admitted it was possible what Anabia said.

  "But that didn't mean the treasure is buried there, does it?" Liam asked the group.

  They stared at him with the same wide-eyed hope.

  "It makes sense," Liam said, "that's why they have these protectors, this Knights of Shugborough to protect the place. Look at all the firepower they brought to us. There's got to be something in there they don't want the world to see. That treasure is in there."