The Templar Conspiracy

9

General Angus Scott Matoon sat across from Kate Sinclair in the baronial living room of her immense vineyard estate at Chateau Royale des Pins just outside the town of Aigle, Switzerland. Instead of the red wine bottled at the vineyard, the general sipped from his favorite Wood-ford Reserve Bourbon, a case of which the elder Sinclair always kept on hand especially for him. Matoon was supposedly attending a NATO conference in Brussels, but Belgium was less than an hour away by private jet and Chateau Royale des Pins had its own landing strip. He could have his meeting with the crazy old bitch and be back in Brussels before the evening session began.

The general wasn't at all sure that Kate Sinclair's hare-brained scheme was going to work, but both her connections and her money were good, and he would need them in the near future. The defense industry was going down the toilet with the present wishy-washy administration in power, and there weren't many prime jobs left for an aging and not particularly noteworthy member of the Joint Chiefs. Sinclair had already paid him well for his cooperation and promised him a top security job if things went as planned.

"The name of the terrorist group has been leaked, just as you requested," said the general.

"Excellent," said Sinclair. "The stage is set; now the public has an identifiable bogeyman."

"You really think Holliday will come out of the woodwork?"

"Certainly," said Sinclair. "Despite the foolishness in Washington, at the very least the name al-Salibiyya will let him know the Templars are involved."

The general took a healthy belt of the smoke-and-honey-flavored Bourbon and put the glass down on the coffee table between them. "Look, I don't like this guy any more than you do," said Matoon. "But isn't it sort of like poking a rattlesnake with a stick? Maybe it'd be smarter for us just to whack the guy before he can cause us more trouble."

Sinclair's eyes narrowed. "He was responsible for my daughter's death," the old woman said, her voice full of barely contained fury. "Because of him she felt she'd failed our sacred cause. Because of him our plans for the future were shattered. I do this for her as much as I do it for our great country. Holliday must be found and brought to me before this ends."

The general nodded. He'd heard this rant before. He'd also met Sinclair's daughter, the late Sister Margaret Emily. The redheaded nun had always seemed a few bricks short of a load, and she'd had that faraway look in her eyes he'd seen on guys who'd spent way too much time in a combat zone. The fiasco at the Rex Deus conclave had put her over the edge. He wasn't surprised when she drank herself into a stupor and drove one of the family cars into a brick wall.

"There is also the question of the notebook," said Kate Sinclair, her fury tightly controlled now. The general smiled. Trust Kate Sinclair to reel it in and get back to the practical side of things-namely money.

"The one the monk supposedly gave him?"

"The monk's name was Brother Helder Rodrigues, and the notebook is not supposed, it is very real; that much is fact. It holds the ancient secret of the Templar Knights, the key to their fortune, a fortune that rightfully belongs to the inheritors of the true bloodline of Christ, to Rex Deus, not some half-baked history teacher who stumbled on the secret."

"Your security people found this out?"

"They tracked down a man Holliday talked to in France."

"And?" General Matoon asked, already knowing the answer.

"Let's just say that enhanced interrogation techniques only begin with waterboarding."

"And you think Holliday has it?"

"Or at least knows where it is." The old woman leaned closer. Matoon could see the madness boiling in her eyes. Not for the first time he found himself having second thoughts about his decision to ally himself with the Sinclair cause. It was starting to look like he'd made a deal with the devil, and the devil, it seemed, was right out of her mind.

"So what are you going to do about it?" asked Matoon.

"Breau, our contact in the Bahamas, said they're on their way. They've been through Tritt's place. I think they may be expecting to beard the lion in its den."

"What are you talking about?" General Matoon said warily.

"I have no doubt they'll wind up on our doorstep sooner or later."

"You'll hit them here?"

"Don't be silly, General. As my father always told me, don't piss where you eat." The old woman shook her head, eyes glinting wildly. "I have other plans for our little school teacher."