The Solomon Key (23 page)

“I have no idea,” Scott promised.

“The priest must have told you.”

“He was blown up before he got the chance.”

A twinge of emotion flashed across his face, but he hid it by firing another question at him. “Then why keep it? Why risk your life, your cover?”

He waved a finger. “That’s a misunderstanding. I don’t care what that thing is. When they came after it, they came after a friend of mine.”

And then Mr. Smith realized that he was looking at a player who didn’t even know what the object of the game was. “Do you
want
to know?” he asked.

Scott shrugged. “I guess it would be nice to know why everyone’s trying to kill me.”

“Did you read the priest’s books?” he asked.

“Only one of them.”

“Then you only have part of the story.”

“Are you going to tell me what it is or not?” Though he said he didn’t care, the truth was that he
needed
to know, know what Edward died for and what Cindy was dying for.

“We’ll get to that. First, let me tell you what it is that I am trying to prevent from taking place.”

“Okay.”

He looked into his eyes. “My Zionist brothers are planning on taking back by force what God has taken from them in judgment.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the annihilation of the Muslim presence in Israel. I’m talking about plans to destroy the Dome of the Rock. An operation to wipe Mecca off the map.”

That would certainly change the world.

Scott leaned back. “And by doing this, you think they’re playing right into the hands of the New World Order.”

“The Elite have no love for my Land. They wish to destroy us along with the Muslims. The nations will see it as a necessary act to bring peace to a world that has never known it. The dawn of the New Age. Besides that, my religion forbids us to take anything by force. As I said, the Messiah will come and sort all of this out Himself.”

“And what does the ring have to do with all this?” Scott asked, thoroughly confused.

Mr. Smith smiled and looked at his watch.

PART III

UNTOLD SECRETS

The governments of the present day have to deal not merely with other governments, with emperors, kings and ministers, but also with the secret societies which have everywhere their unscrupulous agents, and can at the last moment upset all the governments’ plans.

—Benjamin Disraeli, Prime Minister of England, 1876

T
heir hooves sounded like thunder, beating the ground mercilessly in a frantic stampede toward the coast. And yet the lead rider swore that he could hear his own heart pounding above the shaking earth below him, anxiety and fear chasing all color from his sweat-stained face. Pivoting in his saddle, he stole a nervous glance behind him. It was hard to see through the darkness, but he could tell that all four of his brothers were keeping up. He turned back just in time to avoid a low hanging branch aimed for his skull. The moon was the only thing keeping the forest from disappearing into oblivion, what they were doing suicidal. They had little choice however. They were being followed.

Hunted.

Their only hope was to reach one of the eighteen ships about to embark for Scotland from the port of La Rochelle at midnight. Even despite the articles the knights had in their possession, the ships could not risk waiting for them. And finding another means out of the country would be impossible with the King’s men baring down on them. So, the five knights pushed the beasts harder, yelling, kicking, and urging them to run faster through the invisible forest.

As they galloped onward, approaching the countryside, there was much to occupy their minds. The very future of the Order was hanging in the balance, resting heavily upon their weary shoulders. The contents of their cargo had come directly from the hands of Grand Master Jacques de Molay — sacred objects that only a handful of men within the Order’s inner circle even knew about.

Again the lead rider turned his head to look behind him, but this time what he saw made his eyes bulge in their sockets.

Torchlight. In the distance, through the trees. The King’s men were gaining on them.

Without thinking, he sat up straight in the saddle and began gesturing to his brothers.

He never saw the branches that cracked his ribs and threw him off his horse. The only thing he did see, painfully rolling onto his back, were the hooves coming down on his head.

But it didn’t matter to his brothers; they continued on without even looking back, their fallen comrade not the one charged with the articles’ safekeeping.

They burst out of the forest and into the open country, streaking through moonlit fields of grass. The noises from the magnificent beasts carrying them — the air exploding from their nostrils, the loud rhythmic pattern of their feet charging over the soft ground — were the only sounds accompanying the thumping pulse hammering their eardrums.

Everything they had achieved over the last hundred and eighty-nine years was suddenly on the verge of extinction. The wealth, all the power… King Philip IV was no longer going to allow his reign to remain buried in their debt, and the charges of blasphemy that were being made provided him with a convenient excuse to outlaw the Order and free himself from its control. That the charges were true was inconsequential to everyone. The Pope would have seen that such confessions were tortured out of them regardless of the truth. Incidentally, however, the Pope and the King would learn that Gnostic teachings, coupled with Arabic influence, corrupted the Order and had brought it into contact with something… sinister. Or perhaps they would find it to be the other way around, that something sinister had brought them under the corrupting influence of their Arab neighbors…

They could see the water ahead, the moon reflecting off its surface, but the King’s men were too close. They would never make it without alerting the King to the location of the ships’ escape. Someone had to make a sacrifice if the Order was to survive, if the Grand Master’s will was to be fulfilled.

Slowing to a trot, the knights began circling around each other, their watchful eyes waiting for the sight of torchlight.

“I will stay and fight them off,” said one through a thick red beard.

Another knight nodded and pulled his sword out of its sheath. “As will I.”

The one with the red beard addressed the other two. “When you get to the ships, tell them immediately that Philip’s plans for Friday have been confirmed. Tell them the Grand Master himself promised protection under Bishop Lamberton, and that the Order ought to find favor in the eyes of Robert the Bruce.”

The two other knights, one of which had the objects on his person, didn’t respond. Instead, they pulled on the reigns, turning away from their brothers without a word, and took off toward the coast, kicking their horses desperately with their heels.

Red Beard and his sole companion watched them gallop to the seacoast and disappear into the night.

“Do you think they will make it?”

“If I can help it.”

There was silence for a second, the knowledge that their deaths were just moments away striking a sudden contrast against their recent hopes of escape and long lives spent living in Scotland… or perhaps somewhere even further away.

“The ring de Molay gave him… do you think it was the same one worn by de Payens?”

Red Beard looked at him impatiently. “Of course it is.”

“And the scroll?”

He didn’t answer, just turned his horse away from the seacoast and back into the field — toward the torchlight that had just broken the horizon.

The two Templar Knights stood little chance against the vast number of French soldiers, but the little resistance they gave did allow for the escape of the eighteen ships and their cargo — the secret treasures from beneath the Temple Mount in Jerusalem found by the Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ and of the Temple of Solomon almost two hundred years ago.

25

T
he President of New America was sitting in the Oval Office, waiting for the call. Waiting for instructions. The Prime Minister of Israel needed to speak with him in person, and though he wished more than anything to avoid such a meeting, the powers that be were insisting upon it. Unfortunately, as much as he hated the man (and his country), Israel was in fact the centerpiece to their whole scheme. They needed them. And yet, some of the very men the President answered to were Jews — Political Zionists.

Spinning in his chair, he stared at the phone as another flash of dread swept through him. He had woken up with a bad feeling about this day, and the sensation hadn’t yet subsided. He just wanted to get this over with. There was no doubt the fat man would be angry. He had wanted the ring and his men out of the country before the next phase went into effect, and that hadn’t happened. Now it would be harder for his death squads to pursue the ring without detection.

But that was the whole point. The Puppet Masters didn’t want Israel to have the ring. And thus the President’s confusion. Was it possible that the Prime Minister didn’t know about the NASA hoax? Had he been kept in the dark about their plans for the Middle East? Because if the Prime Minister was hoping that some Jewish national interest was going to be realized at the end of all this, he was being gravely misled. And though the President enjoyed this hypothesis, the old goat left out of the loop and headed for destruction, it would only make his conversation with him more awkward. Especially if he’d discovered the CIA’s recent attempts at securing the thing — another mystery that haunted the President, for it wasn’t every day that both NAU Intelligence and the CIA (which were still in the process of being brought under the same roof) were so easily embarrassed. At first he thought it must have been Mossad, that the PM was trying to get the ring for himself. But that didn’t add up. And judging from the comments made to the Secretary of State about the incident in Vermont, it seemed more plausible that there was another sect of Jews going after the ring. But could they really be that good? And who was Jack Cavanaugh? The President sighed. It didn’t matter who he was. They had a plan for him.

He tried turning his thoughts away from the silence, toward the more pressing issues at hand — like last night and what it meant for the future. He ran through a mental checklist, rehearsing to himself all the Executive Orders he would be putting into effect on national TV later on in the evening. Even the older Executive Orders like the 10990s and 11921 that had been left in place during the Transition, though modified appropriately, would be put to use. The state of emergency would allow for the NAU takeover of everything, and all of the stubborn remains of the former Republic would be eradicated once and for all.

The New Age was indeed here, illuminating his horizon.

A noise sounded from the desk’s built-in speaker.

Startled, the President reached for the flashing light on the touchtable. It was the call he had been waiting for, the one signaling the beginning of a dreadful confrontation with the Prime Minister. A three dimensional image of a man abruptly appeared sitting atop the desk before him.

After receiving the report, he stood and left the Oval Office, the Secret Service trailing him down the hall.

As he stepped out of the White House and into the sunlight, his Secret Service detail surrounded him while touching their ears and talking into electronic instruments too small to be seen. He straightened his tie while watching a black convoy of cars pull up to him. The Prime Minister was in one of them, waiting for him. He swore under his breath and tried faking a smile.

An agent walked over to one of the cars and opened the back door for him. This was not going to be the most pleasant moment of his day. He slid into the car, and the agent shut the door.

They were alone in the back seat of the limo and facing each other, the barrier between them and the driver soundproof. No one outside the need-to-know was aware that the Prime Minister was even in the car. The President was simply making his scheduled trip to a nearby site that was affected by the previous night’s acts of terrorism. Once they arrived and the President exited the limo, it would immediately take the Prime Minister to some secret location and a waiting jet.

“Hello,” said the Prime Minister.

“Hi,” he answered in a gravelly tone.

“Thank you for speaking with me.” He was well aware of the President’s hatred for both him and his people — there was no love lost for the US or the newly formed NAU on his end either — but in this case, their interests were the same. He just hoped he could get the racist egomaniac to see it.

“What do you want?” the President asked.

“I want the head of your Secretary of State.” He took a sip of something in a glass. “I told him that I would take care of the ring. I assume you got the message. Why then did you not tell me this was happening last night?”

The President stared at him. “I guess you’re on a need to know basis.”

His face flushed red with anger, and he took another sip. “I want that ring, and I do not care what they say about it.”

A raised eyebrow. “Are you going rogue on the Group, Prime Minister?”

He smiled mischievously as the car started moving.

“Besides,” continued the President, “what good would it possibly do you without the other pieces?”

Waving a hand of dismissal, the Prime Minister answered, “That does not concern you, but I am here to tell you of something that does.”

He leaned back. “And what is that?”
You fat piece of trash.
He hoped that hadn’t slipped out.

“We have been betrayed.”

Because the President thought of himself as being the blessed child of the New World Order, he found the statement rather ridiculous. “
We
?” he asked.

The Prime Minister shook his head. “You cocky bastard. What I wouldn’t give to see you crucified.”