The Templar legacy

FORTY
11:05 AM

STEPHANIE POURED HERSELF A CUP OF HOT COFFEE AND OFFERED more to Geoffrey, but the younger man refused.

"We're allowed but one cup a day," he made clear.

She sat at the kitchen table. "Is your entire life governed by Rule?"

"It's our way."

"I thought secrecy was important to the brotherhood, too. Why do you speak of it so openly?"

"My master, who now resides with the Lord, told me to be honest with you."

She was perplexed. "How did your master know me?"

"He followed your husband's research closely. That was long before my time at the abbey, but the master told me of it. He and your husband spoke on several occasions. The master was your husband's confessor."

The information shocked her. "Lars made contact with the Templars?"

"Actually, the Templars contacted him. My master approached your husband, but if your husband knew that he was of the Templars, he never revealed it. Perhaps he thought saying it might end the contact. But surely he knew."

"Your master sounds like a curious man."

The younger man's face brightened. "He was a wise man who tried to do good for our Order."

She recalled his defense of Mark hours earlier. "Did my son help with that endeavor?"

"That's why he was chosen seneschal."

"And the fact that he was Lars Nelle's son had nothing to do with that choice?"

"On that, madame, I cannot speak. I only learned who the seneschal was a few hours ago. Here, in this house. So I don't know."

"You know nothing of each other?"

"Very little, and some of us struggle with that. Others revel in the privacy. But we spend our lives together, close as in a prison. Too much familiarity could become a problem. So we're barred by Rule from any intimacy with our fellows. We keep to ourselves, our silence enforced through the service of God."

"Sounds difficult."

"It's the life we choose. This adventure, though." He shook his head. "My master told me I'd discover many new things. He was right."

She sipped more coffee. "Your master was sure that you and I would meet?"

"He sent the journal hoping you'd come. He also sent a letter to Ernst Scoville, which included pages from the journal that related to you. He hoped that would bring you two together. He knew Scoville once didn't care for you-he learned that from your husband. But he realized your resources are great. So he wanted the two of you, together with the seneschal and myself, to find the Great Devise."

She recalled that term and its explanation from earlier. "Does your Order truly believe that there's more to the story of Christ-things the world doesn't know?"

"I have, as yet, not achieved a sufficient level of training to answer your question. Many decades of service are required before I'll be privy to what the Order actually knows. But death, at least to me and from what I have been taught so far, seems a clear finality. Many thousands of brothers died on the battlefields of the Holy Land. Not one of them ever rose and walked away."

"The Catholic Church would call what you just said heresy."

"The Church is an institution created by men and governed by men. Whatever more is made of that institution is also the creation of man."

She decided to tempt fate. "What am I supposed to do, Geoffrey?"

"Help your son."

"How?"

"He must complete what his father started. Raymond de Roquefort cannot be allowed to find the Great Devise. The master was emphatic on this point. That's why he planned ahead. Why I was trained."

"Mark detests me."

"He loves you."

"How would you know that?"

"My master told me."

"He would have no way of knowing that."

"My master knew all." Geoffrey reached into his trouser pocket and withdrew a sealed envelope. "I was told to give this to you when I thought appropriate." He handed her the crinkled packet, then stood from the table. "The seneschal and Mr. Malone have gone to the church. I'll leave you alone."

She appreciated the gesture. No telling what emotions the message might stir, so she waited until Geoffrey had withdrawn to the den, then opened the envelope.

Mrs. Nelle, you and I are strangers, yet I feel I know much about you, all from Lars, who told me what troubled his soul. Your son was different. He kept his torment inside, sharing precious little. On a few occasions I managed to learn some, but his emotions were not as transparent as his father's. Perhaps he inherited that trait from you? And I do not mean to be flippant. What is surely happening at the moment is serious. Raymond de Roquefort is a dangerous man. He is driven by a blindness that has, through the centuries, affected many of our Order. His is a single-mindedness that clouds his vision. Your son fought him for leadership and lost. Unfortunately, Mark does not possess the resolve needed to complete his battles. Starting them seems easy, continuing them even easier, but resolving them has proven difficult. His battles with you. His battles with de Roquefort. His battles with his conscience. All challenge him. I thought that joining the two of you together could prove decisive for you both. Again, I do not know you, but I believe I understand you. Your husband is dead and so much was left unresolved. Perhaps this quest will finally answer all your questions. I offer this advice. Trust your son, forget about the past, think only of the future. That could go a long way to providing peace. My Order is unique among all Christendom. Our beliefs are different, and that is because of what the original brothers learned and passed on. Does that make us less Christian? Or more Christian? Neither, in my opinion. Finding the Great Devise will answer many questions, but I fear that it will raise many more. It will be to you and your son to decide what is best if and when that critical time comes, and hopefully it will, for I have faith in you both. A resurrection has occurred. A second chance has been offered. The dead have risen and now walk again among you. Make good use of that miracle, but a warning: Free your mind from the prejudices in which it has grown comfortable. Open yourself to conceptions more vast, and reason by more certain methods. For only then will you succeed. May the Lord be with you.

A tear streaked down her cheek. A strange feeling, crying. One she could not remember since childhood. She was highly educated and possessed the experience that decades of working in the top levels of the intelligence business offered. Her career had been spent handling one difficult situation after another. She'd made life-and-death decisions many times. But none of that applied here. She'd somehow left the world of good and bad, right and wrong, black and white, and entered a realm where her innermost thoughts were not only known, but actually understood. This master, a man to whom she'd never spoken a word, seemed to precisely comprehend her pain.

But he was right.

Mark's return was a resurrection. A glorious miracle with endless possibilities.

"Do the words sadden you?"

She looked up. Geoffrey stood in the doorway. She swiped the tears away. "In one way. But in another they bring happiness."

"The master was like that. He knew both joy and pain. Much pain, though, in his final days."

"How did he die?"

"Cancer took him two nights ago."

"You miss him?"

"I was raised alone, without the benefit of family. Monks and nuns taught me about life. They were good to me, but none ever loved me. So hard to grow up without the love of a parent."

The admission struck her heart.

"The master showed me great kindness, perhaps even love, but most of all he placed his trust in me."

"Then don't fail him."

"I won't."

She motioned with the paper. "Is this mine to keep?"

He nodded. "I was only the deliveryman."

She grabbed hold of herself. "Why did Mark and Cotton go to the church?"

"I sensed that the seneschal wanted to talk to Mr. Malone."

She stood from the chair. "Perhaps we, too, should-"

A knock came at the front door. She tensed as her gaze darted to the unlocked latch. Cotton and Mark would have simply walked in. She saw Geoffrey likewise come alert and a gun appeared in his hand. She stepped toward the door and peered through the glass.

A familiar face stared back.

Royce Claridon.