The Last Templar Page 31

  He gave her a small nod. “Hey.”

  She stood at the edge of the hill, taking in the stillness around them for a few moments before settling down on the rock beside him. “Look, I’m…I’m sorry. I know these discussions can get pretty uncomfortable.”

  Reilly shrugged. “If anything, it’s disappointing.”

  She looked at him uncertainly.

  “I mean, you really don’t get it,” he continued. “You’re taking something that’s unique, something that’s incredibly special, and reducing it to its crudest form.”

  “You want me to ignore the evidence?”

  “No, but seeing them in that light, poring over every detail, makes you miss the whole point. The thing you don’t understand is that it’s not about scientific evidence. It shouldn’t be. It’s not about facts or about analyzing and rationalizing. It’s about feeling. It’s an inspiration, a way of life, a connection”—he opened his arms expansively—“to all this.” He looked at her intently for a moment, then asked, “Isn’t there anything you believe in?”

  “What I believe in doesn’t matter.”

  “It does to me,” he insisted sharply. “Seriously, I’d like to know. Don’t you believe in any of it?”

  She glanced away, looking down at Vance who, despite the impenetrable darkness, seemed to have his eyes settled on them both. “I guess the easy answer is that I’m in Jefferson’s camp on this.”

  “Jefferson?”

  Tess nodded. “Thomas Jefferson also had problems believing what was in the Bible. Although he considered Jesus’s ethical system to be the finest the world had ever seen, he became convinced that in trying to make His teachings more appealing to the pagans, His words and His story had been manipulated. So he decided to take a closer look at the Bible, and stripped out everything he considered untrue, in an attempt to dig out Jesus’s true words from, as he put it, ‘the rubbish in which it is buried.’ The man in the book he came up with, The Life and Morals of Jesus of Nazareth, wasn’t anything like the divine being in the New Testament: in Jefferson’s Bible, there was no virgin birth, no miracles, and no resurrection. Just a man.”

  She looked into Reilly’s eyes, searching for common ground. “Don’t get me wrong, Sean. I believe that Jesus was a great man, one of the most important people who ever lived, an inspirational human being who said a lot of great things. I think His vision of a selfless society where everybody trusts and helps one another is a wonderful one. He inspired a lot of good…He still does. Even Gandhi, who wasn’t a Christian, always said he was acting in the spirit of Jesus Christ. I mean, clearly, Jesus was an exceptional man, no question—but then, so were Socrates and Confucius. And I agree with you that His teachings about love and fellowship should be the basis of human relations—we should be so lucky. But was He divine? Maybe you could say He had some kind of divine vision or prophetic illumination, but I don’t buy the miraculous stuff and I definitely don’t buy the control freaks who pretend they’re God’s exclusive representatives on earth. I’m pretty sure Jesus didn’t intend His revolution to become what it is today, and I can’t imagine He would have liked His teachings to become the dogmatic and oppressive faith that grew up in His name. I mean, He was a freedom fighter who despised authority. How ironic is that?”

  “The world’s a big place,” Reilly replied. “The Church today is what men have made it over the centuries. It’s an organization, because it has to be to make it work. And organizations need a power structure—how else could its message survive and spread?”

  “But look at how ridiculous it’s become,” she countered. “Have you ever watched one of those TV evangelists? It’s become a Vegas act, a parade of brainwashing jokers. They’ll guarantee you a place in heaven in exchange for a check. How sad is that? Church attendance numbers are way down, people are turning to all kinds of alternatives, from yoga to Kabbalah to all kinds of New Age books and groups for some kind of spiritual uplift, simply because the Church is so out of touch with modern life, with what people really need today—”

  “Of course it is,” Reilly interjected as he stood up, “but that’s because we’re moving too fast. It was very relevant for almost two thousand years. It’s only in the last few decades that that’s changed, at a time when we’ve been evolving at a staggering pace, and yes, the Church hasn’t kept pace and it’s a big problem. But it doesn’t mean we should dump the whole thing and move on to…what exactly?”

  Tess screwed up her face. “I don’t know. But maybe we don’t need a heavenly bribe or the fear of hell and damnation to make us behave decently. Maybe it would be healthier if people started believing in themselves instead.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  She stared into his eyes. They were earnest, but calm. “I do. And I also know I’d much rather have my daughter grow up in a world where people aren’t deceived by some historical hoax, where they’re free to believe in whatever they choose to believe in, based on fact, not on myth.” She looked away and shrugged. “It doesn’t matter anyway. Not until we find the wreck and see what’s in that box.”

  “That’s not really up to us, is it?”

  It took a moment for her to answer, and when she did, her voice was incredulous. “What do you mean?”

  “I came here to find Vance and bring him back. Whatever’s out there…it’s not my concern.” As the words tumbled out of his mouth, he knew he wasn’t being entirely honest. He smothered the thought.

  “So you’re just going to walk away?” she blurted, clambering angrily to her feet.

  “Come on, Tess. What do you expect me to do? Put New York on hold for a few weeks while I go wreck diving with you?”

  Her green eyes were boring into him with indignation. “I can’t believe you’re saying this. Damn it, Sean. You know what they’ll do if they find out where it is?”

  “Who?”

  “The Vatican,” she exclaimed. “If they get their hands on the astrolabe and find the wreck, that’s the last anyone will ever hear about it. They’ll make sure it disappears again, and not just for seven hundred years, but forever.”

  “It’s their call.” His voice was distant. “Sometimes, some things are better left alone.”

  “You can’t do that,” she insisted.

  “What do you want me to do?” he fired back. “Help you dredge something from the bottom of the ocean and hold it up proudly for everyone to choke on? He’s made no bones about what he’s after,” he said, jabbing an angry finger toward Vance. “He wants to bring down the Church. Do you really expect me to help you do that?”

  “No, of course not. But a billion people out there might be living a lie. Doesn’t that bother you? Don’t you owe them the truth?”

  “Maybe we should ask them first,” he replied.

  He thought that she was about to press her point further, but then she just shook her head, her expression one of acute disappointment.

  “Don’t you want to know?” she finally asked.

  Reilly held her gaze for an uncomfortable moment before turning away, and said nothing. He needed time to think this through.

  Tess nodded, then looked down toward the clearing where they’d left Vance. After a pregnant silence, she said, “I…I need to drink something,” and headed down the ridge toward the shimmering stream.

  He watched her disappear into the shadows.

  A HURRICANE OF CONFUSED thoughts battered Tess’s mind as she stumbled down to the clearing where they had parked the pickup truck.

  She knelt down by the stream and cupped her hands to sip the cool water and saw that they were trembling. She shut her eyes and breathed in the crisp night air, desperately trying to slow her racing heartbeat and calm herself, but it was no use.

  That’s not really up to us, is it? Reilly’s words had hounded her all the way down from the rocky perch, and they weren’t letting go.

  She glanced up at the craggy ridge and could just about make out Reilly’s distant figure, silhouetted against the
night sky. She busily reran his take on the momentous crossroads they were now facing over and over in her mind. Given all that had happened, all the bloodshed and the unanswered questions, she knew his decision to take Vance back to New York was probably the sensible one.

  But she wasn’t sure she could accept it. Not given what was at stake. She flicked a look at Vance. He was sitting exactly how they’d left him, his back to the pickup, his hands tied. From the merest glint of moonlight reflecting in his eyes, she could tell he was watching her.

  And that’s when it hit her.

  A disturbing, reckless notion that sliced straight through the havoc that was raging inside her and came rushing out.

  And hard as she tried, she couldn’t shake the thought away.

  REILLY KNEW SHE WAS RIGHT. She had gone straight to the doubt he had felt earlier, listening to Vance. Of course, he wanted to know. More than that, he needed to know. But regardless of his conflicted feelings, he had to go by the book. It was how he did things, and besides, he didn’t really have much of a choice. It hadn’t been an idle remark when he’d said that they couldn’t go after the wreck themselves. How could they? He was an agent of the FBI, not a deep-sea diver. His priority was to bring Vance—and the astrolabe—back to New York.

  But he knew perfectly well what the end result of that would be.

  He looked out into the night and saw Tess’s face again, the disappointment he had seen in her eyes, and he was painfully aware that he was just as disappointed. He had no idea what might have developed between them, given time, but right now it looked as if any relationship they might have had was foundering on the rock of his faith.

  And that was when he heard the sudden sound of an engine.

  Not in the distance.

  Close.

  Startled, he glanced down and saw the pickup moving off.

  His hand went instinctively to his pocket before he realized he didn’t have one. He was still in his wet suit. He flashed back to when he’d tucked away the truck’s keys under its passenger seat, remembering that Tess was next to him when he did that.

  And with a reeling horror, he knew.

  “Tess!” he hollered, as he scrambled down the slope, kicking up debris, losing his balance, and tumbling awkwardly in the darkness. By the time he reached the clearing, the pickup was already a fast-receding dust cloud way up the trail.

  Tess and Vance were gone.

  Furiously angry with himself for allowing it to happen, his eyes darted around, desperate to latch onto something that could overturn this disaster. He quickly found a small piece of paper sticking out from under some food provisions and camping gear that had been left for him, close to where the pickup had been parked.

  He picked it up. He immediately recognized Tess’s handwriting:

  Sean,

  People deserve to know the truth.

  I hope you can understand that—

  and that you’ll forgive me…

  I’ll send for help as soon as I can.

  T.

  Chapter 70

  Reilly woke up in a daze, his mind bristling with raw emotions. He still couldn’t believe Tess had left with Vance. Much as he tried to rationalize it, it still galled him—more than galled, it ate away at his every fiber. He was angry at being duped, at being left there in the middle of nowhere. He was stunned by her decision to leave, even more so at her having gone off with Vance. He was bewildered by her temerity and concerned about her putting herself in danger—yet again. And, much as he tried to suppress it, he couldn’t help feeling his pride had taken a pretty big hit too.

  Straightening up, he felt the chirping of birds and the blinding morning glare assaulting his senses. It had taken him forever to fall asleep in the sleeping bag that had been left for him, his exhaustion finally overwhelming his anger into submission late in the night. Squinting, he checked his watch and saw that he’d been out for barely four hours.

  It didn’t matter. He had to get moving.

  He drank from the stream, feeling the welcome effects of the cold mountain water. The tightness in his stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten in almost twenty-four hours, and he quickly polished off some bread and an orange. At least they’d thought of that. He felt his body slowly come alive, and, as his head cleared, angry thoughts and images flooded his consciousness.

  He took in the landscape around him. There was no noticeable wind and, apart from the birdsong, which had now subsided, everything was deathly still. He decided he would follow the trail back to the dam and to Okan’s office, where he’d probably be able to contact Federal Plaza—not a call he was looking forward to.

  He had barely started the long trek back when he heard a distant sound. It was an engine. His heart skipped a beat as he imagined it was the pickup, but he quickly realized the sound wasn’t that of a road vehicle. It was the throaty chatter of a helicopter, the beating of its blades echoing against the hills and growing more audible by the second.

  And then he saw it, recognizing the familiar silhouette slicing across the valley. It was a Bell UH-1Y, a recent incarnation of the iconic workhorse of countless wars. Skimming the trees on the opposite ridge, it suddenly banked and was now headed straight toward him. He knew he’d been spotted. He felt his muscles tighten as he quickly ran through the possibilities of who could be on board: either Tess had done what she’d said she would do and alerted the authorities to his presence, or the shooters from the lake had found him. He sensed it was more likely to be the latter. He scanned the immediate surroundings, his mind coolly seeking out the most strategic points, but he decided against taking cover. They were armed and he wasn’t and, besides, he didn’t have what they were after. More to the point, he was tired and angry. He just didn’t feel like running.

  He watched the helicopter circle overhead and saw the markings on its tail, a circular red and white bull’s-eye–like insignia. He relaxed a little, realizing it was a Turkish air force chopper. It dropped down onto the clearing, kicking up a blinding cloud of sand and spray. Covering his eyes with his hand, Reilly approached it hesitantly. Its door slid open and through the shroud of dust, he saw a small figure moving lithely toward him over the rough ground. As he got closer, he could see that the man wore khaki cargo pants and a dark Windbreaker and sported sunglasses. The man was almost within touching distance before Reilly recognized De Angelis.

  “What are you doing here?” Reilly’s eyes were darting around, taking in the helicopter, trying to make sense of the apparition. A dying gust from the rotor wash flicked back De Angelis’s Windbreaker, and Reilly glimpsed a holstered Glock handgun under it. Momentarily stunned, he looked into the cabin, where he spotted the sniper rifle by the feet of a man who sat huddled there, lighting up a cigarette with the insouciance of a bored tour guide. Two other men, soldiers in Turkish military fatigues, sat across from him.

  Conflicting thoughts flooded his mind as he scrutinized the monsignor. He pointed at the chopper. “What is this? What the hell’s going on?”

  De Angelis just stood there, impassive. As he took off his shades, Reilly noticed that the monsignor’s eyes looked different. They held none of the self-effacing kindness that the priest had exuded in New York. The grimy spectacles he had always worn there had somehow concealed a menace that was now radiating unmistakably from him.

  “Calm down.”

  “Don’t tell me to calm down,” Reilly burst out. “I don’t believe this. You damn near got us all killed. Who the hell are you and where do you come off taking potshots at us? Those men back there are dead—”

  “I don’t care,” De Angelis snapped, interrupting him. “Vance needs to be stopped. At any cost. His men were armed, they had to be taken out.”

  Reilly’s mind was reeling in disbelief. “And what have you got planned for him?” he fired back. “You gonna burn him at the stake? What, are you lost in a time warp or something? The days of the Inquisition are over, Father. Assuming that’s what you really are.” He pointed at the s
niper rifle by Plunkett’s feet. “Is that standard issue in the Vatican these days?”

  De Angelis fixed him with an unwavering glare. “My orders don’t just come from the Vatican.”

  Reilly took in the army helicopter, the soldiers in it, and the civilian sitting with a sniper rifle by his feet. He had seen that cold, impervious look before. His mind raced through the events since the armed incursion into the Met, and suddenly the pieces fell into place.

  “Langley,” he blurted out as he shook his head, staggered. “You’re a goddamn spook, aren’t you? This whole thing…” His voice trailed off before coming back assuredly. “Waldron, Petrovic…The horsemen in New York. It wasn’t Vance. It was you all along, wasn’t it?” He suddenly lunged forward, grabbing De Angelis and pushing him back with a hard shove. He moved in, reaching for the priest’s throat. “You’ve been—”

  He didn’t have time to finish the sentence. The monsignor reacted with lightning reflexes, deflecting Reilly’s hands while grabbing one of his arms and twisting it in one fluid, agonizingly painful move, bringing him down to his knees.

  “I don’t have time for this,” he rasped, as he held Reilly at bay for a moment before flinging him off onto the ground. Reilly spat out the dirt in his mouth as the pain in his arm throbbed. The monsignor took a couple of steps, circling around the fallen agent. “Where are they? What happened here?”

  Reilly slowly pushed himself back onto his feet. He caught a glimpse of the man in the chopper, who was looking on with a mocking grin on his face. He felt a fury rising from deep within. If he had been wondering about the extent of the monsignor’s personal involvement in the murders in New York, that little demonstration of the man’s physical prowess quickly dispelled any doubts he might have had. He had seen it before; the man had hands that could kill.

  He dusted himself before staring at De Angelis. “So what are you exactly?” he asked bitterly. “A man of God with a gun, or a gunman who’s found God?”

  De Angelis remained impassive. “I didn’t have you down for a cynic.”