The Templar Concordat (31 page)

 He stared at her, but Jean said nothing.

“We can offer you a very good life,” he continued. “And I can assure you that if you exhibited same level of professionalism and dedication you have shown through your career, you would be a valuable asset and your lifestyle would reflect that.”

He stood up and pushed the chair under the table. When he left, the inner door remained open, and she felt a breeze from the open outer door.

He stuck his head back in the room. “You’re free to go, Jean. This is when you make your decision. But remember what I said. If you choose to join us, and then betray us, we will definitely hunt you down and kill you. Nobody can protect you from us.” He shrugged. “Nothing personal, it’s that way for all of us.”

Switzerland - Friday, April 10

“You’re now Louise Koch. I don’t know where they get these names.” Callahan handed Jean a Swiss passport and a three-page biography detailing her new identity. “You’re Swiss. Memorize the details. When we arrive, you’ll learn more about who you are. For now, let’s just get to Zurich.”

He laid one thousand euros, two credit cards, and a cell phone on the table. “In case you were wondering, if you take off, that passport will appear on a terrorist alert list, and you’ll be behind bars as soon as you use it. Same with the credit cards.”

She picked up the phone and flicked it open. “And this?”

“The worst mistake you can make now would be to call someone… anyone… and anyone means anyone… and let them know you are alright. No exceptions, not even the exceptions you know are Ok. Calling anyone betrays us, and you know how that ends.”

“You give me all this, but I can’t use it?” she asked.

“Hell, everyone has a phone. But if you’re going to cross us, we may as well get that out of the way. It’s more efficient that way. Like I said, it’s nothing personal, just the rules we all play by.”

“And you still won’t tell me who you are?”

“Nope. Not yet. Have faith, child.” He laughed and stuffed things into his own bag.

 “And I’m Sean Callahan. I can tell you that. American, if you hadn’t guessed it. You can use my name in public. No problem there. But, I’ll be calling you Louise, Louise Koch. Poor Jean Randolph died in a tragic fire. So sad.”

*     *     *

Callahan leaned a hand on the railing of the deck that ran around the Swiss chalet and pointed down the valley. “The village is about three miles. A bus leaves about seven in the morning, and again around two in the afternoon. The village is the end of the line, and anyone can show you where to get the bus.”

“You sound like you want me to run.”

“Not at all. But I do want you to understand your situation. You’re not a prisoner.” He waved his arm toward the snowy mountain peaks that surrounded them. “Beautiful place, isn’t it? Think what it would cost to rent. Great hiking. Running is superb. There’s a trout stream back behind the house.”

“What about the guy with the gun?’ Jean jerked her head back toward the house.

“He’s here to protect you, not guard you.” Callahan turned to the open door to the house and shouted, “Klaus!”

Klaus appeared immediately. “Yes, Sir.”

“Klaus, Louise is confused regarding your duties. Will you please tell her your mission?”

“Certainly.” He faced Jean. “My primary orders are to keep you alive, to protect you. Beyond that, I am an excellent cook, can guide you all around these mountains, and am charged with providing whatever assistance I can. I am also explicitly forbidden to prevent you from leaving.”

“Who do you work for, Klaus?” Jean asked.

Klaus grinned. “Ah, let’s just say I report to Callahan.”

“So, what am I supposed to do here, Callahan?”

He leaned both elbows on the railing and stared at the mountains. “You’re going to forge a copy of the Treaty of Tuscany.”

That damn treaty again, she thought, always the treaty. But that’s why she was still alive. “And why do you want that?”

“You’ll be working with a team far more qualified than I am, and they will fill you in. For now, we have to get everything you will need. We can do whatever you want. Klaus can take you to Zurich. Or if you want to make a list, I can pass it to someone who will get what you need. Anything. Whatever it is, you will have it.”

“You have the parchment?” she asked. Without it, she would be worthless to them. “The Twelfth Century parchment? Without that, laser spectrography would expose it as a hoax.”

“Yes. We have the paper you tore from the bottom of that treaty.”

“I see. I could use some help. I’ll need lots of supplies, and someone who understands calligraphy, art, or these kinds of manuscripts and their production would be helpful.” She paused. “Klaus just doesn’t seem the type.”

“Ha, never under estimate Klaus. He’s a graduate mechanical engineer. I’m not sure how he drew this assignment. But, you’re right, he knows no more about Twelfth Century manuscripts than I do. But he can build anything.”

Switzerland - Saturday, April 11

Jean saw Callahan’s car coming up the dusty gravel road to the chalet, laid her book on the deck table, and went into the house to put on some coffee. These people had a good point about her chances without their help. So, for now at least, her only reasonable chance was with them, whoever they were.

“Callahan’s coming up the road, Klaus,” she called.

Klaus came from the back of the house, wiping his hands on a dirty rag. “Thermostat should work now,” he said. “Might make things a bit warmer at night.” He walked to the front windows and saw Callahan’s car with another following it about a quarter-mile back.

“Jean, go to the safe room until I give you the Ok.”

She knew better than to argue, and quickly locked herself in the safe room.

Klaus grabbed a carbine and a belt of loaded magazines from a cabinet and repositioned himself by the side door until Callahan parked and got out of the car. “Who’s following you?” Klaus shouted.

“A friend,” said Callahan. He looked around for Jean. “One of us. You don’t need the rifle.” He nodded to Klaus’s carbine.

“Standard procedure,” said Klaus. “I’ll go get Jean from the safe room.” Callahan just nodded and turned to wait for the other car.

When Jean came out on the porch, she greeted Callahan, looked at his companion coming up the steps, and froze. Marie Curtis? What was she doing here? Be calm, girl, she told herself. This is your life you’re playing for.

“Marie? They got you, too?”

Marie smiled. “Hello, Jean. How are you? No, they didn’t get me. You see, I’m one of them.”

Jean looked from Callahan to Marie. “You two are in this together? In London? At the British Museum? This whole time?”

Marie shrugged. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. But you asked for help. Paper, pens, ink, medieval history, paleographics, and help? Well, I’m the help.”

“Who are you working for?”

Marie looked at Callahan who shook his head. “I guess that’s your answer, Jean.”

Jean didn’t have many cards in her hand, so she had to play them well. Ok, so let the games begin.

“Fine with me, Marie. So what are we really doing here? You have to know more than Callahan, so let’s just get it done.”

“Spoken like a true professional,” said Marie. “Let’s get started.”

*     *     *

 “If you want me to do the Treaty of Tuscany, there’s a lot of stuff we need that you just can’t get in the local art supply store. You can’t get it anywhere. You make it or go get it yourself.”

“Stuff like what?” asked Callahan.

“Stuff like goose quills from the left wing… because I’m right-handed. Oak apple and gum Arabic for ink, natural cinnabar for red dye from Spain, azurite for blue, malachite for green. Gold leaf for gilding the papal insignia at the top of the page, a nearly vertical writing desk to keep the quill at a ninety degree angle to the page so the ink won’t run. I mean, this isn’t just whipping off a page from your pocket notebook.”

Jean tried to think like a medieval scribe assembling his tools.

“Then we have to make all our ingredients and test them to be sure they will pass a modern analysis as coming from 1189.”

Callahan rubbed his chin. “Where did you get all this stuff before?”

“I made it with a great deal of effort over the years. Lots of effort, and lots of years. And I stored it all in my flat in London.” She glared at Callahan and Marie. “Until somebody burned the place down.” Now she folded her arms across her chest. “Any idea who would do a thing like that?”

“Take your pick,” snapped Callahan. “It was either your ink or your ass. In fact, it still is. So, if you’re too goddamned sensitive to work with us, now’s the time to let us know.”

“Good point, good point,” said Jean, back pedaling furiously. “Look, you people seem to have pretty good resources. Suppose I make a list of everything we need, a detailed list, and give it to you. Can you get people to the Pyrenees, the Levant, and the Italian Alps to do the collecting?”

“Just make the list,” said Callahan. “We’ll take care of it. Chemists, botanists, naturalists, goldsmiths, poets, priests, soldiers, artists, and bums. Whatever. Just make the list.”

Jean looked at Marie with a question in her eyes.

“He means it,” Marie said. “All of it. Make the list. And we can run all the tests on samples of ink and dye to make sure they generate medieval origins.”

“You’re really serious, aren’t you?”

Marie turned on her. “If you haven’t figured that out yet, we might have made a big mistake, Jean. You also need to make a list of the equipment needed to process the materials. I don’t know… beakers, Bunsen burners, stills, ovens… whatever.”

“Look, Jean,” Callahan glared at her. “You’re either on board or you’re not. Your choice, not ours. Choose. We’re not going to play temperamental artist here.”

Marie grabbed a laptop and stood up, “Come on, Jean, let’s make a pot of tea and go out on the porch. We’ll enter it all in the laptop so we can send it off.” She looked back at Callahan. “And it’ll let us get away from this grouch.”

As they left the room, Marie winked over her shoulder. Good cop, bad cop. Hell of a woman, thought Callahan.

Vatican - Monday, April 13

And this just in to CNN International… University of Cairo officials… in Egypt… have announced the recent discovery of the Treaty of Tuscany, an 1189 treaty between the Vatican and the kings of England, France, and Germany. Sources tell us this treaty calls for the virtual elimination of Islam as a world religion, and the forced conversion of Muslims to Christianity.

We have no official word yet on how or where the treaty was found, but sources tell us it was unearthed during the recent excavations under the Vatican for a new parking lot. This same project recently unearthed a completely unknown network of burial chambers.

Remarkably, sources tell us that even though this treaty is over eight hundred years old, it may be binding on all Catholics… possibly all Christians… because of the nature of the Catholic doctrine of infallibility. This says what the Pope binds under the doctrine of infallibility can never be wrong, and can never be changed.

Father Carlos Perez brought the Pope a tray with his usual breakfast, two raw eggs, two apples, two oranges, two bananas, one cup of grapes, and half a cup of almonds.

“What news today, Carlos?” Pedro Sanchez, now Pope Dominic I, still wore his T-shirt and running shorts from his run around the papal gardens. He tipped his chair back on two legs and shook his head.

“I’ve made my own breakfast since I was five years old,” he waved a hand at the tray Carlos held, “now it’s coming in on a silver platter. Cardinal Agretti told me the other day I was upsetting precedent by refusing to utilize the papal dressers… like I can’t dress myself, either. And I can’t even run outside the Vatican walls because too many people want to shoot me.”

Carlos smiled. “Goes with the job, boss… er Holiness.”

“And I’m not sure about everyone calling me Holiness, either. I’ve been Pope what, a week? How do they know I’m holy? Maybe after a few weeks they’ll start calling me Your Shitiness.”

Carlos laughed. “Haven’t heard that one… yet. But the Conclave said you’re holy. That’s why they elected you Pope instead of Cardinal Agretti.”

The first Mexican Pope surprised the whole world, with most commentators saying it was in direct response to the bombing of St. Peter’s.  Some said the Church was finally taking a leadership role in the struggle against radical Islam, while others worried it sent the wrong message to the moderate elements in the Muslim world. In any case, Vatican Secretary of State Cardinal Agretti, a solid backer of the last Pope’s conciliatory stance, was firmly rejected in favor of the man who had faced down the Mexican drug cartels.

“Where are the papers?” The Pope looked around.  “And get a computer with an Internet connection in here. This is nuts.” The Pope rose and went toward the door.