Gold of the Knights Templar

by Preston W Child

  "Guys…" she croaked.

  The knob turned again. Diggs had installed two more locks on the door earlier. Wires she didn't understand were attached to the locks. From there, they crawled along the walls to a console on the floor by the couch where Diggs lay.

  "Diggs?"

  Lawrence Diggs wasn't in his place on the couch. Olivia looked around the room, but the former CIA guy was gone. The knob turned a final time and stopped.

  Anytime now, she thought wildly as she picked her gun from where she put it in the floorboard. It was loaded. There were more bullets in her pocket. She crawled to where Miller and Liam lay snoring. The men were tired.

  "Frank? Liam?"

  She looked back at the door. She was going mad with fright since their adventure began. She had not been as scared as she was now.

  "Frank? Liam? Diggs is missing, we have company," she hissed through clattering teeth.

  Frank roused himself, and his alert eyes shot to the spot where Diggs had been. Miller picked his Glock and checked that it was loaded. It was.

  Borodin and Liam were up to. Each man went for his gun; Borodin took a shotgun from Diggs bag.

  "Where's Diggs?" Anabia said as he woke.

  "He's disappeared," said Liam.

  They watched the door and waited.

  The assassin didn't come through the door. The assassin rained on the team through the ceiling in showers of dust and darkness. The Killer's torrents of bullets busted the single lightbulb up there.

  Miller dove in the way as the assassin pointed his gun at Olivia. The bullet hit him in the shoulder. It propelled both of them off the floor and against the wall.

  Olivia screamed.

  Anabia was rooted to the spot, petrified with terror.

  Liam was shooting everywhere, covered in dust, and barely able to see shit. The assassin shot him too, in the thigh, because Liam was in the process of falling.

  Olivia got a look at the man in the semi-darkness that he had created. He wore some kind of black clothing that made him blend in the dark. His face was covered in a mask as well. His movements seem mathematical. The spectral appearance conjured a memory of soldiers dying of a strange plague in an underground facility in the Antarctic.

  All memory of her gun that was lying just by her hand was forgotten.

  Until someone else appeared at the door, guns blazing and body flying into the darkness. It was Diggs.

  Olivia suddenly found her strength. She picked her gun and started shooting at the darkness too. But the assassin was gone.

  —

  "Did you get him?" Miller asked.

  Diggs shook his head, fastened the tourniquet around Miller's upper arm. He checked the window, the street was clear. But lights had come on in the building across the road. The door of the café beside it opened, and a tubby man in flannel shirt and shorts was raising a shotgun in the air.

  Olivia joined Diggs at the window too.

  The assassin had mysteriously vanished, there was no trace of blood which meant it was true, Diggs hadn't gotten the bastard. But how was that even possible, Olivia pondered. The man must be superhuman. Olivia shivered.

  "We are grossly compromised."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "Guys, we need to get out of here," Olivia said.

  She looked at Miller. The billionaire was in bad shape; sweat shone on his forehead.

  Anabia's leg was as bad as Miller's arm. And Anabia was running a fever already. Liam and Diggs carried him as the group went out the back of the house. They hunkered down somewhere down the street behind a building while Diggs sauntered down the alley. It was dirty there and smelly. Liam tried the metal gate, it didn't budge.

  An old Saab with peeling yellow paint and a stainless steel grille turned into the alley. Diggs was behind the wheel.

  "This is the best I could get," he said as the team piled in the back.

  Miller, who sat beside him, put the radio on. The confident voice of a lady reporter chirruped economic reports, Brexit, and the possible takeover of the African economy by China. Miller switched it off; they weren't on the news yet. Good.

  Olivia touched Anabia's face, the man flinched, he opened his eyes and nodded.

  "I feel it going around," he rubbed his stomach, "the bullets going around, like captain Trips."

  Laughter followed this, and Olivia relished in the light mood for a moment.

  "You're not gonna die, man," Borodin said in his most heavy accent.

  As the car came out of the alley, Diggs stopped the vehicle. His hand went slowly to his Glock. His eyes were two pieces of ice in his face.

  "Why are we stopping?" Olivia asked.

  When she looked across the road, she saw a man standing there. It was too far away to see his face correctly. But it wasn't hard to see it was the assassin who had attacked them some hours before.

  He was tall and probably blonde, square jaws and lips so thin it was almost invisible in the sun. His hands were in his pocket, a black guitar case was strapped to his back. But Olivia knew exactly what was in the case isn't a guitar but some hardware for killing. He stared at the car coolly.

  Trembling, Olivia asked, "what are we gonna go?"

  "We'll do nothing," said Miller, "Diggs, let's get out of here."

  The assassin watched them till the car turned the corner and disappeared.

  —

  Detective Blake Camden stormed through the doors of Shugborough Hall. Two guards stamped up the steps after him. They tried to cut his progress off.

  "Lord Valon?"

  "Detective, Lord Valon is not available at this time," the valet said, trying to catch up with Blake's long stride.

  Blake entered the room with the red drapes and library, where Olivia disguised as a BBC researcher, had done a mock interview hours before. Lord Valon was sitting in his high backed chair, a telephone was on the side of his face.

  His hair was still in disarray, his collar was opened, and sweat darkened the white shirt.

  "What is going on," he asked imperially.

  The valet stammered his excuse, but Valon quickly dismissed him and the guards.

  Blake gestured at the departing guards.

  "That's what I'm here to find out, Lord Valon. I'm investigating some murders, and here I find the suspects disguised as BBC reporters in your house, and then you have a man imprisoned in your house. And then this woman and his friends make away with your prisoner, Dean Anson. Is that a pretty clear picture of what's going on?"

  Lord Valon leaned forward and said in his most lordly tone.

  "You don't want to know what's really going in, detective, and if you think you can barge in my house like you did, you're mistaken. Now I suggest you go back to your superiors. I think they'll educate you on the status of this house—"

  Blake cut him, "You're protected, I know. But you're still bound by the Queen's laws. I'm not going back to my superiors. I'm going to your rich benefactors. Perhaps you'd prefer to explain to them why you imprisoned Dean Anson, and what it is you're hiding in those monuments!"

  Lord Valon's face twitched right after it lost all color.

  "This is none of the business of the police!"

  "Oh, we'll see."

  Detective Blake Camden strolled out of the Hall. Lord Valon's valet rushed into the room and found the nobleman pacing.

  "Should we stop him, sir?"

  Valon blazed, "stop him? Are you out of your mind? Let him go, I'll deal with him!"

  —

  Oak Edge, shooting range.

  It was the last place, in Olivia's frightened mind, that the assassin could think of to look for them. The range was a flatbed of green grass, fenced with a broken gate. There was an outhouse, discarded until the next hunting season. Hanging on the grey wall was the head of a deer, cobwebbed and dusty with age. The eyes had gone from deep black to a dull, ashy color.

  The outhouse was one room with wooden camp chairs and a toilet that had since gone out of use.

  Soon
as they entered there, Diggs had gone out to purchase first aid materials and food. Diggs sewed up Anabia's wound and disinfected it. Anabia slipped into a deep sleep soon after.

  Miller said, "we will have transport tomorrow morning to Rome."

  "Well, that's heartwarming news," said Liam.

  Borodin shook his head. "No, I remember almost getting killed in that city, I don't feel nostalgic."

  Olivia looked at the men.

  "This time, it's different," she said with some good cheer, "we just might be the next millionaires."

  Diggs was looking out the small window of the room. Outside, the sky looked downcast. Soon it would begin drizzling. It hadn't rained or shown any sign of the irresponsibility that was customary of English weather.

  The former agent looked like he'd rather be somewhere else at the moment. Maybe a love interest thought Olivia.

  Many men in my life, but none of them mine.

  "Diggs? Penny for your thoughts?"

  He looked at her with those Stony eyes. "We are safe, for now. But I wonder why he didn't kill us."

  "Why we don't have the treasure yet, that's why," said Liam.

  Diggs nodded. He glanced at Frank Miller, "the Financier maybe playing us, have you thought about that?"

  Miller shrugged.

  Olivia said, "but they still have my brother."

  "Do they?"

  Olivia frowned. Diggs icy cold eyes went back to gazing our the field.

  —

  8

  Two days before

  By the second day of his captivity, Andrew Gilmore had the layout of the surrounding of his prison down pat. He did this by counting the steps the guard who came to check him, took.

  The first time he tried, he counted twenty-two, twenty one the second time. Then there was a more distant six, a door opened and shut, east of his position.

  This sequence repeated with little variation. The door was pivotal in Andrew's escape. The door had a lock, the type he had experience with, it was a type of lock only found in Rome.

  Which means I'm still in Rome. Which then means we are in the Vatican.

  Interesting. Andrew Gilmore had studied all the locks in the first years of his service. This information, of course, was one that no one else knew except a few other priests, and his old friend Emilio Batolini.

  Was Emilio behind his latest predicament?

  It seemed plausible. And exactly why Andrew could not wait around for a miracle. The Lord sometimes gave humans the feet and control over water. All they needed to do was get on and walk on water.

  The most difficult challenge was the lock that was in his cell door. The old one had been pulled off and a more modern one fitted.

  He readied himself, with calisthenics.

  When the time came, it would be swift.

  —

  And it was.

  It was night because when the hatch through which the plate of eggs and toast bread was thrown in opened, the guard cast no shadow. And he had a torch. The catacombs of underground Rome lacked electricity.

  The guard, Andrew noticed, would bend his body, to get a glimpse of the prisoner —to make sure he hadn't hung himself or anything. Andrew got a glimpse of his own —the keys dangling from the guard's belt. From the hatch to the keys, he estimated about two feet.

  So, when the guard reached so far in to pick the plate of food, Andrew was waiting.

  He grabbed the guard's hand and pulled it all the way in with such speed it surprised the guard. Andrew's hand shot through the hatch and caught the keys, which he tore off the belt. As he retracted the hand, he stabbed the guard in the neck with the pointy key.

  Five seconds later, the metal door was open. Andrew dumped the guard in the corner of the room after he took on that one's clothing —a black jacket with the American flag in the back and pants one size bigger. He took the guards gun too.

  He went down the damp corridor and turned a corner. Sure enough, he found the door. It had a hatch and a lock. He heard voices behind the door, maybe five or so people. And there was a TV too, soccer was on. The men spoke Italian, which meant they were local hands.

  There was another corridor. It went away into the dark. Andrew followed it and disappeared into the night.

  —

  They drove through back streets, checking the mirror every time to make sure they weren't being followed.

  Staffordshire station was a quarter of a mile from the shooting ground. Getting to it required going through the main town itself. In unfamiliar streets, with little knowledge of shortcuts, every rough-looking face on the street was a target.

  Eyes peeled for an assassin, and a detective on their trail, they stopped for the lights to turn green when they saw the green car of the detective.

  "Shit, he never gives up!" said Liam.

  It appeared that the detective had been following all the time. Since they were at an intersection, it was uncertain which way he was headed exactly. They held their breaths in the Saab and waited for the lights to change.

  The detective's head was small behind the massive wheel of his car. He wasn't looking at the Saab. But he was definitely looking at the lane on the left. The same one that the team waited to go in through.

  Diggs saw this much.

  The lights changes, but the detective broke left faster than Diggs, which was alright. They followed behind the cop.

  "He's on to us, for sure," Liam said, "how the hell does he know?"

  "Dean Anson," Olivia whispered, "the cop must have gotten to him—"

  "And he told him what, that we are looking for treasure, a treasure that's supposed to be lost?"

  Olivia looked at him, "he told him about the train station, of course."

  "But why would Dean do such a thing?"

  They followed silently. Miller rustled a map out of the glove compartment and spread it up on the dashboard. They were on the street called Tipping and headed towards another intersection, on both sides were St Chad's and Greengates Walk.

  The detective's car turned into St Chad's street.

  If they went on and didn't stop, they'd come out on Bridges Street. Diggs went on further. At the end of that street, they saw the green car again, it was going on further as well.

  Ten minutes later, after three more evasive moves, the team came out beside the detective's car on Victoria Street. The train station was now a few meters away. Detective Blake Camden drove into the parking lot, but Diggs drove past almost a mile further down.

  Diggs parked in front of what was called the Stafford station car park. A school bus filled with cheerful children on tour and singing roared past on adjacent Newport Road.

  "We don't all have to go in there," Miller said, "Liam, you are taking the wheels now, if you don't see us in ten minutes, get the hell out. Olivia, Diggs and me are going to the lockers. Let's go see what Dean left for us."

  "Aye, sir," said Liam.

  —

  Detective Blake Camden was nowhere in sight.

  "Should we be worried, Diggs?" whispered Olivia.

  "Definitely, if he's hiding, he's on to us big time."

  The platform was one stretch of steel pavement that fell to the tracks below. On the other side were the ticket office and other admin offices. There was an in and exit gate in the middle of the whole building.

  Olivia, Diggs, and Miller hid on the other side of the building, the traffic on Newport Road hummed behind them.

  Blake looked up and down the platform. Something unusual struck Olivia at that moment.

  "How's he alone," she whispered, "no backup. What if he's not here to arrest us?"

  She looked at Miller and Diggs. Diggs's expression remained passive, but Miller squinted at the detective. Blake checked his watch. Once again, it looked like he was waiting for someone.

  Maybe that someone was them.

  "Or what if he's not here for us?" Diggs asked.

  Miller said he really doubted that.

  "Me too," Olivia agreed. />
  "Olivia, he doesn't know your face, you were disguised when he saw you last time," said Miller.

  "Yes."

  "Good, then let's hope he won't recognize you."

  Diggs chuckled. It was a rare occurrence. "We have to assume that this guy is smart, which means he's done background checks —he knows who we are. The guy knows he's seen our photos from the skirmishes in the Antarctic, in Rome and recently, here in the country. No, we better not take the chance."

  They all looked at the detective again, standing there in a shabby brown jacket, pinstriped trousers, and scuffed shoes. His hair was a sandy brown blowing in the moist air.

  Olivia caught a drop of rain on her cheek. Some splatters hit the side of the building too.

  There was no way around the man, and they were running out of time. She checked to make sure the key was in her pocket. Then she walked down the platform. Behind her, Diggs cocked his gun and followed at a distance, Miller too.

  Olivia stopped in front of a long corridor of lockers. Without looking at the detective, she walked into the narrow corridor. The detective cocked his head to the side, recognizing Olivia.

  "Hey, excuse me?"

  Olivia hadn't carried her gun. Not that she'd have shot a cop. It could come handy in the circumstances. Footfalls behind her, heavy and too close.

  She turned around, "can I help you?"

  "Detective Blake, Staffordshire police station," he showed Olivia the badge in his wallet, "I need to have a word with you."

  Olivia looked at locker number 16, the key dangled in her hand. Diggs walked past the entrance of the corridor without looking. Then Miller came by.

  "What about?"

  "I know who you are, Olivia Newton," Blake said, "I know you didn't kill those people, I'm not here to arrest you. I just need to clear some grey spots in this case. Do you mind telling me what you're looking for in Shugborough Hall?"

  Olivia exhaled.

  She looked at the detective square in the face, "if I'm not under arrest, can I just get my stuff and leave, I really am on a schedule."

  "Why, you have to interview someone for the BBC somewhere?"

  Olivia swallowed.

  Blake said, "impersonation, that's what it's called, but I'd let it pass if you meet me halfway."