6,99 €
Mehr erfahren.
- Herausgeber: J. Robert Kennedy
- Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
- Sprache: Englisch
"A little bit of Jack Bauer and Indiana Jones!"USA TODAY and BARNES & NOBLE #1 BESTSELLING AUTHOR • “A MASTER STORYTELLER” • OVER 800,000 BOOKS SOLD • OVER 3,000 FIVE STAR REVIEWSARE EIGHT CENTURIES OF DUTY AND HONOR ABOUT TO COME TO AN END?The True Cross, revered by Christianity as that upon which Jesus Christ was crucified, was lost to the Muslims led by Saladin during the Battle of Hattin on July 4th, 1187 AD.Or was it?Join Archaeology Professor James Acton and his wife Laura Palmer, as they are thrust into the middle of a bitter conflict between what remains of the Knights Templar, torn apart over an oath sworn 800 years ago, an oath that may destroy them once and for all, taking Acton and Laura with them.BUY YOUR COPY TODAY to enjoy the latest action-packed James Acton Thriller, and find out why so many readers that have fallen for this exhilarating series from USA TODAY bestselling author J. Robert Kennedy, who has been compared to Patterson, Clancy, Brown, Cussler, and Rollins.About the James Acton Thrillers:"If you want fast and furious, if you can cope with a high body count, most of all if you like to be hugely entertained, then you can't do much better than J. Robert Kennedy."Though this book is part of the James Acton Thrillers series, it is written as a standalone novel and can be enjoyed without having read any of the previous installments."James Acton: A little bit of Jack Bauer and Indiana Jones!"The James Acton Thrillers series and its spin-offs, the Special Agent Dylan Kane Thrillers and the Delta Force Unleashed Thrillers, have over 3000 Five-Star reviews and have sold over 800,000 copies. If you love non-stop action and intrigue with a healthy dose of humor, try James Acton today!Available James Acton Thrillers:The Protocol, Brass Monkey, Broken Dove, The Templar's Relic, Flags of Sin, The Arab Fall, The Circle of Eight, The Venice Code, Pompeii's Ghosts, Amazon Burning, The Riddle, Blood Relics, Sins of the Titanic, Saint Peter's Soldiers, The Thirteenth Legion, Raging Sun, Wages of Sin, Wrath of the Gods, The Templar's Revenge
Das E-Book können Sie in Legimi-Apps oder einer beliebigen App lesen, die das folgende Format unterstützen:
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017
The Templar's Revenge
A James Acton Thriller
by
J. Robert Kennedy
From the Back Cover
ARE EIGHT CENTURIES OF DUTY AND HONOR ABOUT TO COME TO AN END?
The True Cross, revered by Christianity as that upon which Jesus Christ was crucified, was lost to the Muslims led by Saladin during the Battle of Hattin on July 4th, 1187 AD.
Or was it?
Join Archaeology Professor James Acton and his wife Laura Palmer, as they are thrust into the middle of a bitter conflict between what remains of the Knights Templar, torn apart over an oath sworn 800 years ago, an oath that may destroy them once and for all, taking Acton and Laura with them.
About the James Acton Thrillers
"James Acton: A little bit of Jack Bauer and Indiana Jones!"
Though this book is part of the James Acton Thrillers series, it is written as a standalone novel and can be enjoyed without having read any of the previous installments.
About J. Robert Kennedy
With over 800,000 books sold and over 3000 five-star reviews, USA Today bestselling author J. Robert Kennedy has been ranked by Amazon as the #1 Bestselling Action Adventure novelist based upon combined sales. He is the author of over thirty international bestsellers including the smash hit James Acton Thrillers. He lives with his wife and daughter and writes full-time.
"A master storyteller." — Betty Richard
"A writer who tells what we are thinking but sometimes afraid to say." — Bruce Ford
"Kennedy kicks ass in this genre." — David Mavity
"One of the best writers today." — Johnny Olsen
"If you want fast and furious, if you can cope with a high body count, most of all if you like to be hugely entertained, then you can't do much better than J Robert Kennedy." — Amazon Vine Voice Reviewer
Get 5 Free eBooks!
Get the J. Robert Kennedy Starter Library by joining The Insider's Club and be notified when new books are released!
Find out more at www.jrobertkennedy.com.
Follow me on Facebook, BookBub, GoodReads and Twitter.
Books by J. Robert Kennedy
The James Acton Thrillers
The Protocol Brass Monkey Broken Dove The Templar's Relic Flags of Sin The Arab Fall The Circle of Eight The Venice Code Pompeii's Ghosts Amazon Burning The Riddle Blood Relics Sins of the Titanic Saint Peter's Soldiers The Thirteenth Legion Raging Sun Wages of Sin Wrath of the Gods The Templar's Revenge
The Special Agent Dylan Kane Thrillers
Rogue Operator Containment Failure Cold Warriors Death to America Black Widow The Agenda Retribution
The Delta Force Unleashed Thrillers
Payback
Table of Contents
Get 5 Free eBooks!
Table of Contents
Beginning
Preface
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
Acknowledgements
Don't Miss Out!
Thank You!
About the Author
Also by the Author
“Saladin ordered that they should be beheaded, choosing to have them dead rather than in prison. With him was a whole band of scholars and Sufis and a certain number of devout men and ascetics, each begged to be allowed to kill one of them, and drew his sword and rolled back his sleeve. Saladin, his face joyful, was sitting on his dais, the unbelievers showed black despair.”
Imad ed-Din Saladin’s secretary, on the execution of captured Templar Knights Circa 1187
“Non nobis, Domine, non nobis, sed Nomini tuo da gloriam.”
“Not unto us, O Lord, not unto us, but unto thy Name give glory.”
Preface
Around 1119 AD, nine men traveled to the Holy Land as part of the First Crusade. Led by a nobleman, Hugues de Payens, they approached King Baldwin II of the Kingdom of Jerusalem, and received permission to form their order, the Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ and of the Temple of Solomon. Their headquarters was established at the Temple Mount, and for almost two centuries, they fulfilled their duty to protect pilgrims on their journey to the Holy Land, and much more.
From humble beginnings, these nine founded what would become a force of over 20,000, with over 2,000 knights. Their power and influence stretched from the Holy Land to Christendom, their accumulated wealth enough to rival kings. The first international bankers, they held vast amounts of real estate, and were answerable only to the Pope.
All of which would lead to their betrayal.
And downfall.
But as skilled warriors and tacticians, with such wealth at their disposal, could such a group truly be destroyed?
Would those who survived the purge, truly lay down their arms while those who had betrayed them continued on, unpunished?
After eight centuries, this group continues to fascinate, leaving millions still to question what became of the Knights Templar.
1
Saint-Pierre-la-Mer, France Present Day
Simone Chartrand gripped the wheel tightly with both hands. He had trained for these situations, yet had never been in one before. It was exhilarating and terrifying at the same time, and though part of him enjoyed the adrenaline rush, he would trade it all for the leisurely drive to the chateau originally planned.
But it would appear Pierre Ridefort, his employer’s son, had other plans for his passengers.
“Weapons?”
He glanced in his rearview mirror at his passengers, two professors his employer had flown over for a purpose he wasn’t privy to. “I’ve got a Glock in my shoulder holster, spare mags in the glove compartment.”
“Can we call someone?” asked the woman.
Chartrand shook his head. “I’ve already tried, but I’m getting no answer. It’s as if the lines are down.”
“No cellphones at the chateau?”
“No, Monsieur Ridefort always considered them insecure. In fact, he has jammers so they can’t be used on the grounds.”
Archaeology Professor James Acton’s eyes narrowed. “A little paranoid, isn’t he?”
“With good reason, evidently,” said his wife, Archaeology Professor Laura Palmer.
Chartrand pressed on the accelerator, taking the next corner hard, as he tried to put more distance between them and the vehicle following them. “Sorry about that.”
Acton collected himself in the back seat. “Don’t apologize. Just get us to the chateau.”
Chartrand gasped as he saw something ahead. He reached forward and hit the cruise control as a loud bang preceded the splintering of the windshield.
And the end of his life.
2
Outside Hattin, Kingdom of Jerusalem July 4, 1187 AD
Raymond glanced over his shoulder at his master and friend, the grief on the man’s face matching his own. It was a massacre. There was no other word to describe it. They had marched into battle against the forces of Sultan Salah ad-Din, commonly known among the Christian population as Saladin, 20,000 strong, including 1500 knights on horseback.
And they were no more.
Saladin’s forces were larger in number, but that wasn’t why they had lost. His master, Sir Guy of Ridefort, had been privy to the disastrous planning sessions by their leaders, leaders so filled with distrust of each other, that those ultimately in charge did the opposite of what their political rivals recommended, seemingly even if it were obvious the advice was correct.
And it had led to their downfall.
Almost every man was dead or dying, and now a long line of their brothers, their fellow soldiers, all devout members of the Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ and of the Temple of Solomon, all members of the Knights Templar, were being shown no quarter. While the nobles had been shown mercy, for kings did not kill kings, the local converts to Christianity were slaughtered, and the European Christians that had survived, prepared for sale in the slave markets.
But the Templar and Hospitaller Knights were beheaded one by one, as Saladin watched on from an elevated platform, smiling and laughing with his court. Eager leaders of their blasphemous Muslim religion stood in line for the opportunity to behead one of these brave men, proving to Raymond they were the bloodthirsty savages his clergy had warned him of. He couldn’t imagine a Christian clergyman eagerly beheading an infidel, yet here, hidden among the rock-strewn hills, he and Sir Guy watched the depravity enthusiastically endorsed and participated in, by men who claimed to hold their god above all else.
What god would want innocent men who had surrendered, to be slaughtered?
He had heard it told that the Muslims worshiped the same god as he did, yet he found that impossible to believe. But if they did, they had corrupted His teachings, as had the Jews who had once overrun this land and murdered his Lord, Jesus Christ.
A tear rolled down his cheek as he saw the venerated True Cross hoisted over the heads of the cheering mob of soldiers, their shouts of Allahu Akbar echoing between the hills that had hemmed in the Crusader army, ultimately dooming it.
“We must do something, your honor.”
Sir Guy tore his eyes away from the torturous sight below to look at his sergeant. “And what would you propose we do? Rush down there and take on thirty-thousand men, just the two of us?”
“But it’s the True Cross! Those heathens will destroy it!”
“Which is why we must keep our heads. We are but two, with no hope of retrieving it. If there is ever any hope of rescuing that upon which our Savior sacrificed Himself for our sins, then we must know what they do with it.”
“But what if they destroy it here, today?”
Sir Guy shook his head. “No, I don’t think Saladin will do that. He will destroy it for his people to see, to prove their victory over us to those he needs to sustain his armies. He will take it to a city and destroy it publicly. We must determine where that is, and where in that city he is holding it. Only then can we act.”
“But we are still only two.”
Sir Guy reached out and grabbed Raymond’s shoulder with a smile. “You are mistaken, my friend. We are at least three.” His eyes turned to the Heavens. “We have God on our side, and with Him, nothing can stop us.”
Raymond nodded, not saying anything, instead turning to watch another of their friends beheaded by the horde below.
If God is on our side, who was on theirs that could defeat us so soundly?
3
Saint-Pierre-la-Mer, France Four years ago
Jacques Ridefort sat on his couch, watching the horrifying events unfold at the Vatican, tens of thousands of Muslims having charged the gates of the holy city, overwhelming the small, mostly symbolic force. What had already been a stressful situation for him and his son was now even more so. The loss of the Vatican was an unfathomable occurrence, yet here it was, on his television screen, playing out for the world to see.
It wouldn’t last.
The Italian government was already promising swift action, with many nations already pledging troops. Some commentators were calling for the army to kill everyone in sight, others calling for calm.
He feared who would win the day.
But these calamitous events weren’t his primary concern. It was the discovery of the crypt holding four Templar Knights that had led to the discovery of a scroll containing a passage from the Koran that occupied his thoughts. It wasn’t the Koranic fragment that concerned him—he couldn’t care less, his opinion on Islam one of disdain. It was the bodies of the knights themselves. For they were family, and with their discovery, they were no longer at peace, and someone, perhaps someone of importance, would eventually wonder why they were there.
And that was something he wasn’t certain the world was ready to know.
“They’ve identified them!”
He looked up as his son, Pierre, barely twenty, rushed into the room, holding up his iPad. “It’s on the BBC website.”
Jacques frowned. “So soon?” He sighed. “Well, if our documents are accurate, then the sarcophagi were engraved with their names, so I guess we shouldn’t be surprised.”
“Oh, I think you will be.”
Jacques’ eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“They’ve identified them as Sir John of Ridefort, Rodney of Ridefort, and get this.” There was a dramatic pause. “Hugues de Payens and Godfrey de Saint-Omer.”
Jacques’ jaw dropped slightly as he leaned forward. “They don’t know about the nameplates!”
Pierre shook his head. “Evidently. But why would they get two right, and two wrong?”
Jacques chewed his cheek for a moment. “I don’t know. But this does complicate things.”
“Does it? They’ve desecrated the bodies of our ancestors, whether they have their names right or not. We need to do something!”
Jacques stared at his son. “And what would you have us do? Reveal ourselves to the world, and risk that which we have protected for so long?”
His son sighed, dropping into a chair across from his father. “Why not? What our family has done for eight centuries is, well, cool! We’re actually Templars. Who else can say that? Why shouldn’t we go public with who we are, and what we do? It’s not like we have to tell everyone where the artifact is. But shouldn’t we get some credit for what we’ve done? For what we’ve sacrificed?”
His father shook his head. The boy was impetuous, obsessed with things his generation seemed uniquely cursed with. Instant gratification, recognition without effort, fame, fortune, adulation. It made him fear for the future of what remained of the Order. Jacques was the current Grand Master of the Knights Templar, his family carrying on the traditions in their own small way, handed down for almost 800 years in anonymity, hidden from the world. As far as he could tell from reading the journals of those who had come before him, none had ever questioned their duty, though he was certain those accounts were whitewashed to a point. All boys had their problems, though over time, they became men, eventually realized what that meant, and became responsible adults.
But this generation was different.
His son showed no signs of maturing, instead growing increasingly obsessed with the fact he was a Templar, and how “cool” that was, how important that was, and how it entitled him to a glory that was being denied him unfairly.
But he was young.
And he should have another twenty years before it would be his turn to lead.
Should.
Yet he wouldn’t. Jacques was dying. Pancreatic cancer. He had perhaps a year or two left, unless the aggressive treatment he was undergoing worked, and even then, the chances of him being alive in five years were slim to none. That meant Pierre would be taking over.
It was terrifying.
Should he go public, that which they had protected for so long might be lost to zealots hell-bent on possessing it, or worse, on destroying it. And that had to be his focus, not concerns over whether his ancestors were treated with respect, now that they had been discovered.
“Well?”
He gazed at his son, still staring at him impatiently. He hadn’t told him about the cancer, and his son was so self-absorbed, he hadn’t noticed that his father was wasting away before his eyes. He frowned. “We must protect it at all costs, and cannot risk public disclosure, not now.” He returned his attention to the television screen. “For now, we need to ensure the dignity of our ancestors is preserved.”
His son growled in frustration. “And how are we supposed to do that?”
Jacques pointed at the screen, footage playing from earlier of a hasty helicopter evacuation from the university where the bodies had been taken, showing a man and a woman escaping just in time, a man and woman he recognized from the inquiry after the events in London a year ago.
Professors James Acton and Laura Palmer.
“Perhaps they can help us.”
Pierre peered at the screen. “Who are they?”
“Two professors brought in by the Vatican, if we are to believe the news.” Jacques sighed. “But I think we will have to wait for things to calm down.”
4
Damascus, Ayyubid Sultanate August 1, 1187 AD
Raymond stood at the rear of the gathered crowd, his fist pumping the air in sync with those around him, though his lips were sealed with a frown, his face stained with tears.
For it was a gut-wrenching sight.
The True Cross, a spear lancing its top, was paraded upside down through the crowd, while the filth spat at it and threw their sandals, with Saladin, standing on a platform at the head of the Citadel, grinning as the holiest of relics was desecrated. His religious leaders and advisors flanked him, praising their cursed Allah, giddy with their recent success, and Saladin’s own audacious display, dragging the True Cross behind his horse as he entered the city.
Saladin silenced the crowd with a raised hand, and spoke to the masses, his words repeated by others so those in the back could hear.
And what Raymond heard enraged him.
He reached for his sword, hidden under the traditional robes of the Bedouin they had disguised themselves as, but felt a steadying hand on his wrist. He glanced over at Sir Guy, who gently shook his head, his eyes imploring him for calm. Raymond sighed, returning his attention to the speech that had those surrounding them in near rapture.
These infidels worshiped this man as if he were a messiah, and it was clear to Raymond that Saladin relished in their adoration. And as he droned on about their great victory, and those yet to come, Raymond tuned him out, instead focusing on the True Cross as it continued to be disrespected, before Saladin’s guards finally seized it and carried it inside the building, perhaps the last time mortals would ever see it.
For if his understanding of Arabic was accurate, and it was, tomorrow, it was to be burned.
5
St. Paul’s University St. Paul, Maryland Present Day
“With this memorial, we honor their memories, and the contributions they made to the world in which they thrived for too short a time. I know I, for one, shall never forget any of them, for they touched my life in ways they could never know. I know those of you who were here at the time will remember Robbie Andrews. He was a brilliant student, but also a funny guy.”
Professor James Acton smiled at the thought of his protégé, desperately clinging to the happy memories of those days, rather than giving into the horror. “You could never get those darned earphones off his head, always listening to his iPod wherever he went.”
“I can’t live without my tunes!” shouted someone from the gathered crowd of friends and family, of students and faculty current and old, eliciting urgently needed laughs.
Acton tossed his head back, jabbing a finger in the direction of the comment. “That’s exactly what he would always say. In fact, he said that very thing to me moments before he died.” Acton’s voice grew subdued, and his chest ached as he sucked in a deep breath and held it, his wife, Professor Laura Palmer, stepping forward and squeezing his hand. He nodded at her with a slight smile, tears filling his eyes.
“Robbie was the bravest boy I ever met. He sacrificed—” Acton gripped the podium, and his best friend and boss, Dean Gregory Milton, stepped up beside him, gripping Acton’s shoulder. “He sacrificed himself to try and save me. And he succeeded. Thanks to his heroic actions, I was able to survive.” A tear rolled down his cheek, and his chin dropped to his chest as he battled his survivor’s guilt, something he thought he had put long behind him.
He looked at Robbie’s parents, sitting in the front row, both with tears running down their cheeks. He stared out at the crowd, surprised to see he wasn’t alone in his grief as he saw face after face in anguish, some he recognized, many he didn’t.
St. Paul’s was a small university, a tight-knit university, and the massacre that had taken his entire archaeological team had affected it deeply. Though few of the students that attended the school today were here at the time, all had heard the stories, and some now worked the very dig site in Peru where his students had perished—massacred by men he now considered friends, all members of America’s elite Delta Force.
They had been manipulated by a corrupt President, fed false intel naming him and his students as terrorists, then sent in to execute them, all in an attempt to recover an archaeological artifact they had found. A crystal skull. He shivered at the thought, then smiled as he remembered young Robbie had done the same when holding it. He drew in a quick breath then sighed.
“Sometimes I miss the old days when men weren’t supposed to cry.” He wiped his cheeks clean as some in the audience chuckled. Laura handed him a bright pink handkerchief. Acton held it up for the audience to see. “A manly choice.” He dried his cheeks and handed it back as the chuckles turned into outright laughter, the crowd desperate for relief.
“So, that’s enough of my reminiscing. We’re not here to dwell on the events of that day, but to celebrate their lives, and the legacy they left behind. That’s why I was so thrilled to find out about this memorial in their honor, and I am touched that so many turned out today to remember them. Thank you, and God bless.”
He stepped back, and the crowd rose from their seats, a roaring ovation ensuing as those gathered fed off of each other’s energy, desperate to dispel the negative emotions so many were feeling. Acton exchanged handshakes with those gathered on stage, then stepped down to pay his respects to the relatives in the front row. It was a whirlwind of tears and laughter, each parent and loved one with a story to tell, a memory to share, all of which Acton at once rejoiced and mourned in. It was painful yet cathartic, emotions he had suppressed for years returning to the surface, though with the benefit of time to temper them.
He exchanged a final hug with Robbie’s mother when he spotted four men in suits walking away from him. Four men that appeared very familiar, all well-built, one large and black, one short and Asian, one with a shaved head, the last with civilian hair and a dangerous, confident bearing.
Atlas, Niner, Red, and Dawson.
All members of the Delta Force unit he now considered his friends.
And responsible for the massacre now commemorated.
“Excuse me for a moment.” He gently pushed through the crowd, Laura noticing.
“What is it?”
He said nothing, but raised his hand, pointing over the crowd toward the four men who were approaching a black SUV. Acton finally freed himself of the crowd, breaking out into a jog as a key fob was held out and pressed, the lights on the SUV flashing, the alarm chirping.
“Hey, guys!”
All four turned, smiles spreading on their faces as Acton came to a halt in front of them. “Leaving without saying hello?”
Command Sergeant Major Burt “Big Dog” Dawson extended a hand and Acton shook it, the others doing the same, Sergeant Carl “Niner” Sung pushing Acton aside as he rushed toward Laura and picked her up in a bear hug.
“How’s my favorite British archaeology professor?”
She laughed, pushing him away as regular hugs were exchanged with the others. “That’s rather specific, isn’t it?”
“Hey, I know a lot of professors, and I love them all.”
Laura turned to Dawson. “I’m surprised to see you guys here.”
Dawson nodded, his face becoming grim. “You weren’t supposed to see us.”
Acton gestured toward the massive Atlas. “He’s kind of hard to miss.”
Niner smacked Sergeant Leon “Atlas” James’ shoulder. “I told you we should have left Hulk back at the hotel.”
Atlas dropped his chin, smacking his fists together at the knuckles. “Atlas sad.”
Acton chuckled at the Hulk imitation. “Well, we saw you. I assume you’re here for the memorial and not to see us?”
Dawson smiled slightly. “Professor, at least one of us has been here every year to pay our respects. We all lost that day, and in the days that followed, but none more than your students.” He stared over Acton’s shoulder at the newly erected monument. “I intend to be here every year that I’m able.”
Acton’s head bobbed slowly. “I understand.” He paused, staring at each of them. “You guys know I don’t blame you.”
Laura took Acton’s arm, her eyes filled with tears. “None of us do. You were lied to. We know that.”
Dawson grunted. “True, and that does make it easier, but I killed those students, and I’ll have to live with that.”
Niner shook his head. “We killed those students, and I shot the guards. It doesn’t matter who pulled the trigger, we were all there.”
Atlas’ impossibly deep voice rumbled in agreement. “The tiny man is right. We’re a team, but I know BD’ll never let us share in the blame.”
Dawson gave Atlas an appreciative look when his phone rang. He answered it. “On our way.” He shoved the phone back in his pocket. “We’ve gotta go.” He quickly shook Acton’s hand then gave Laura a hug.
“Say hi to Maggie for me.”
Dawson smiled. “Will do.”
Goodbyes were exchanged with the others, then they piled into their SUV. Dawson put the window down. “Try to stay out of trouble, Professors. We won’t be able to help you this time.”
Acton laughed, placing a hand on his chest. “What, us get into trouble?”
Niner laughed. “Doc, that golden horseshoe up your ass is tipped the wrong way.” He pulled from the curb and Acton waved at their friends as they drove away. Milton walked up to them.
“Is that who I think it was?”
Acton nodded. “You should have said hi.”
Milton frowned, absentmindedly rubbing his back. “I’m not sure I’d be as forgiving as you two have been.”
Acton smiled slightly. He understood his friend’s reluctance. One of the men from Bravo Team, who Dawson led, had shot Milton twice, leaving him for dead. He had survived, but had been wheelchair bound for over a year. He could now walk again, though still had problems with endurance.
But he was walking.
“Back to my place for some drinks?”
Acton exchanged a glance with Laura who grinned. “Absolutely! But don’t forget, we’ve got an early flight in the morning.”
Milton paused for a moment. “Wait, I remember, just give me a second.”
Acton winked at Laura. “It must suck getting old.”
Milton faux glared at him. “I’m what, four years older than you?”
“Yeah, but most of those years have been behind a desk.” Acton reached out and rubbed Milton’s protruding stomach then poked it. Milton tried a poor imitation of the Pillsbury Doughboy. Acton gave him a look. “Never do that again.”
Milton laughed. “Trust me, that sounded far better in my head.” He snapped his fingers. “South of France. Someone claims to know who your four Templars are that were found under the Vatican.”
Laura patted him on the cheek, delivering her congratulations as though Milton were a baby. “There’s the good boy! I knew you’d remember!”
Milton frowned. “Did I mention it was BYOB?”
Acton shrugged. “No problem.” He tilted his head lazily toward Laura. “Don’t worry. He’ll have forgotten by the time we get there.”
6
Damascus, Ayyubid Sultanate August 1, 1187 AD
Raymond inched forward, his torch bright but still, little air moving in the tunnels underneath Damascus. Built for the most part centuries ago by the Romans, these tunnels moved water from the Barada River throughout the city and beyond, irrigating the fertile lands surrounding the burgeoning population.
And it stank.
Though the water flowed, centuries of creatures great and small had made their way inside, living and dying within the confined walls. It was overwhelming, and on any other day, Raymond may have complained, though not today. Not tonight. Tonight, he and his master, Sir Guy, led a small force on a mission perhaps more critical than any of them had undertaken before.
A mission to rescue the True Cross.
Saladin had promised to burn it publicly tomorrow, leaving tonight their only chance. After witnessing the desecration by the gathered hordes celebrating Saladin’s victory, they had retreated to the safety of a secret Templar residence, finding only eight men able to fight, another half a dozen who had escaped the slaughter, too sick to help, despite their willingness. They chose five, leaving the others to execute the rest of Sir Guy’s plan, a plan at once foolhardy and brilliant in its simplicity.
The problem with it, was that it required everything—everything—to go right.
But this was the True Cross, and surely, with God on their side, they would prevail.
And so far, they had.
The tunnels were a forgotten feature of the ancient city, something that just was, like the streets under one’s feet. They had always been there, and always would be, and few paid them any mind.
Which meant they were unguarded.
Gaining entry had been easy, and one of their guides knew them like the back of his hand, this the easiest way to move about as a Christian in a Muslim-controlled city. Yet these tunnels would only get them so far. Once inside the Citadel, they had no idea what to expect.
Their guide, Gerard, raised a hand, bringing them to a halt. Raymond’s heart pounded from the excitement of what was to come, and the stifling stench and oppressive humidity that made breathing difficult in their heavy armor. Gerard pointed up, and Raymond stepped forward carefully, peering at an access point above them. Sir Guy hooked a rope ladder to the bars that covered the hole, then pulled himself up. Raymond positioned himself underneath, gripping his master’s boots as Sir Guy stood on his shoulders, balancing himself.
