Search: A Novel of Forbidden History (24 page)

She put a hand on Willem’s arm. “Don’t you see, Willem? The First Gods brought one of our twelve lines to each temple site—so his analysis must have picked up a unique MacCleirigh gene. I think David’s found long-lost cousins of ours. Five, six, maybe even more times removed. Because when a MacCleirigh line left a temple site, some of their offspring must have stayed behind. That means their genetic legacy is still there
today.
”

“It
sounds
reasonable . . .”

“But?”

Willem put a large hand over hers. “What I’m about to say isn’t blasphemy. You have to believe that. Hear me out.”

“It’s all right. I mean, about the Secret. I know it’s been lost, but—”

He interrupted her. “This is something different. Something else that’s missing. From the written
Traditions
.”

Jess withdrew her hand. “What about them?”

“For a long time now, Florian and I have . . . had . . . been working on a different way to read some of the passages. When that second temple was discovered in Peru”—Willem paused, choosing his words with great care—“it was strong confirmation for what we were looking at.”

When Jess said nothing, Willem forged on. “Some of us have come to believe that the First Gods walked among twelve
different
families.”

Jess didn’t understand.

“Jess, the twelve lines of the MacCleirighs today are
modern
branches that broke off from the
single
MacCleirigh line in the past fifteen hundred years. We don’t know who the other eleven families were or what happened to them.”

His words dropped into the well of silence in the empty church, and their ripples swept Jess into an unknown sea.

“You’ve seen the sun map in the Shrine?” he asked.

Jess nodded, mute with bewilderment.

“Then you also know the First Gods walked among us almost nine
thousand years ago. That’s a huge gap in our records—seventy-five hundred years. A lot could happen over that much time. A lot
did.
Eleven other original families were most likely lost along the way.
”
He looked toward the photo of his lost love. “Or maybe they’re still out there, still hiding like we are, following traditions of their own.”

“But our
Traditions
—”

Willem’s voice was solid with conviction. “
Nothing
I’m saying contradicts them at all. The First Gods did arise from us and walked among us. They scattered humanity on the Twelve Winds, built the Twelve Temples around the world, gave us their gifts, guided the birth of civilization.

“But of those twelve original families, only one remains, Jess. Ours. The MacCleirighs. Yet even the
Traditions
say we’ll never know what actual names the First Gods gave us, because names themselves are transitory. We do know that MacCleirigh
is
one of the oldest names from our part of the world, so it’s as good as any.”

“Does anyone else know about this?”

“Of course. Florian and I, we told the others what we were thinking, the areas we were investigating. All Su-Lin requested was that we restrict knowledge of our speculation and our findings to the other defenders. Until we could be sure.”

“I thought all defenders were equal.”

“That’s why the table’s round.”

“So how can Su-Lin tell you what to do?”

Willem seemed surprised by the question. “She’s in charge of the money.”

Jess was surprised in turn. It was something she’d never considered before. The MacCleirighs, at Florian’s level—and, by extension, hers—were independent of any monetary system. Jess had always taken it for granted that she’d be provided with everything she needed: tuition, travel expenses, a limitless Foundation ATM card . . .

“It’s a considerable undertaking to send fifteen archaeologists into India for six months,” Willem said. “To mount an expedition such as that, even we have paperwork to fill out. And there’s always more to do than the resources available.”

“And Su-Lin decides how the resources are allocated?”

Willem shrugged. “Su-Lin. Andrew. One of the others. Control rotates among us all. If I weren’t in the field so much, I’d even get a turn. Su-Lin’s based in Zurich these days, so she’s the final arbiter.”

Something else Florian didn’t tell me,
Jess thought.

Willem put a hand on her shoulder. “Back to you and your ‘assignment.’ Do you see now why this researcher of yours might not be detecting
MacCleirigh descendants in India or Peru or Polynesia? Because, if Florian and I are correct, then the MacCleirighs are descendants of a single line associated with a single temple. Probably somewhere in Northern Europe.”

“Then what
is
he detecting?”

“Without knowing more, I couldn’t guess.”

“There’s another possibility, you know. You could be wrong.”

Willem grinned. “Now you sound like Florian.” His grin faded. “So what’ve you decided to do? With this David Weir.”

“I’m not sure yet. I guess I need to get a new chief of security first.”

“What’s wrong with LaSalle?”

Jess stared at him, startled. “Willem, they tried to kill me again last night. Dom was shot . . . wounded . . .”

“Who tried to kill you?”

“Ironwood’s people. At least that’s what Su-Lin thinks.”

“You used the word ‘again.’ ”

“The first time was in the Barrens. The Canadian Territories. I was at a pipeline site. You haven’t heard any of this?”

Willem’s face was tight as he made her go through all the details. By the time she’d finished recounting the attack on the warehouse lab, his incredulity had been replaced by open anger.

“You have only four bodyguards around this church,” he said. “They didn’t even see me.”

“They probably recognized you. I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. You should have a full detail outside. Three armored vehicles. It’s outrageous Su-Lin allowed this.” A strange look crossed Willem’s face. “You did tell her of this new attack?”

“Of course. Dom’s in the hospital. I told her everything. Except about David. I told her my first talk with him was inconclusive but that I’d be following up.”

Willem’s face clouded with concern.

“What’s wrong now?” Jess asked.

“It makes sense that I didn’t hear anything about last night. They could be trying to get word to me in Iceland. But for no one to have told me about what happened in Canada—Jessie, that’s almost a month ago. Any time there’s an attempt on a defender’s life, we
all
have to know. For our own safety.”

“But . . . Su-Lin knew. I had helicopters following me in Zurich. Decoys.”

Willem shook his head. “That’s standard for any of us there. Something’s
wrong.” His eyes flicked to the side, caught by some movement at the back of the church.

Reverend Enright was waving a hand at them, walking toward them. “Mr. Tasman?”

Willem got to his feet. “Whatever you find out from this David Weir, tell me first. Not Su-Lin.”

“Willem, what’s going on? What’s wrong?”

“We’re all supposed to know
everything
. The Twelve Restored. No secrets.” His eyes locked on hers. “Su-Lin’s holding something back.”

Any solace that St. Paul’s had offered Jess evaporated.

“Don’t trust her,” Willem said.

“What happened?”

Such a simple question. Such a complicated set of answers, none of them good.

Su-Lin Rodrigues, Defender of São Paulo, considered the image on the small video conference screen on her desk. The huge window behind the Defender of New York was flooded with daylight. Andrew McCleary’s forty-fifth-floor view of Manhattan would be impressive today. Here in Zurich, her office had no windows. Only carbon-fiber-augmented, blast-proof walls. Individual defenders on their own, as Andrew was in New York, were well guarded, so elaborate security measures weren’t often needed. The MacCleirigh Foundation building, however, made a tempting target for the Family’s enemies.

“You said our associate in the Ironwood organization wouldn’t fail a second time.”

For that, at least, there was a straightforward explanation.

“He didn’t. He subcontracted the assignment.”

“We should have handled this ourselves.”

Su-Lin preferred to have Andrew’s cooperation but, if necessary, she was prepared to act on her own. Even in the best of times the Family was a fragile construct. If a schism among the twelve defenders were even suspected, it was all but certain the Family would splinter into opposing factions. That, inevitably, would lead to the revelation of its existence and the collapse of the Foundation.

“There’s no need to panic, Andrew. You and I eliminated Florian without direct involvement, and—”

He interrupted.
“But we needed to be rid of them both! Jessica is just as dangerous to us as Florian ever was. You know what will happen if more temples are found.”

He was right. For generations the MacCleirigh Foundation had thrived because its members supported it with devout zeal and no thought of personal reward. The Foundation’s steadily accumulating wealth and influence were simply regarded as secular by-products of the Family’s holy
mission, set by the First Gods themselves: to defend the First Gods’ Secret until their return.

For generations that status quo existed undisturbed, and the flock in turn became gullible and easily led because, in truth, the Twelve Restored were no longer defending some mythical Secret. They were defending the Foundation’s assets. Then the first temple had been found, and what once had been myth became reality. Many within the Family now believed the discovery heralded the imminent return of the First Gods and the completion of the Family’s mission.

To Su-Lin and her closest ally, Andrew, it heralded the potential end of the Foundation itself and, more importantly, control of the MacCleirigh billions.

“No more temples
will
be found, Andrew. At least, none that’ll last long enough for the Family to examine.”

“What about Havi Atoll?”

“The demolition team is on-site. It’ll be dealt with by the end of the week.”

“And if Ironwood finds another?”

“Then our associate will inform us, and we’ll take care of that one, as well.” Su-Lin was losing patience. With the current state of the world economy, managing the Foundation’s holdings deserved her ongoing attention more than Andrew did. Four displays beside the video conference screen streamed disappointing data from New York, the NASDAQ, Toronto, and the Bolsa de Valores de São Paulo. It was another bad day. She was needed elsewhere.

“Focus on the positive aspect of this, Andrew. As long as we destroy the temples whenever and wherever they’re found, the Foundation remains safe.”

“Only if no one else finds out what we’ve done.”

“How could they?”

“A third attempt on Jessica can’t help but raise suspicion.”

“There’s always confinement.”

“That’s no longer an option.”

Su-Lin’s voice sharpened. “Is there something you haven’t told me?”

“Willem’s in Boston. He was at the memorial. He spoke with Jessica.”

“Why didn’t your people stop him?”

“They never saw him. My source was the memorial officiant. She called the firm to inquire about Florian’s regular donations—if they’d be continuing.”

Su-Lin shut off her financial displays. As a team, Willem and Florian had represented a real and present danger to the Foundation’s security.
Given Florian’s penchant for fieldwork in remote and often dangerous areas, she’d been the less troublesome of the two to eliminate. Her death while on expedition had raised no questions. Her rebellious successor should just as easily have been terminated during a violent protest against a Canadian pipeline, with her death a regrettable coincidence. Instead, with Jessica still alive and Willem now in contact with her, it was as if nothing had changed: The Foundation was still in peril.

“We have to assume they told each other everything.”

“About his and Florian’s theories, the attempts on her life, yes, of course. But as yet they have no reason to suspect our involvement.”

“Unless we do something foolish and confine Jessica to the Shop.”

“I agree. Willem would ask too many questions.”

“No more half measures, then.”

“No more subcontracting.”

“I’ll send someone I can trust. To bring her back to Zurich.”

“How does that help?”

“Her plane won’t make it.”

“Expensive, but . . . for the best. And Willem?”

“Use your firm’s people to find him. No Family involvement.”

“And once they’ve found him?”

“We have to know if he’s talked to anyone else. Especially Emil or Victoria. They’d be vulnerable to his theories.”

“Knowing Willem, finding that out could be a lengthy affair.”

“For the sake of the Family, cousin, we don’t have a choice.”

“For the sake of the Family . . . What about Ironwood?”

“Not our concern.”

“Even if he keeps finding temples?”

Su-Lin switched on the financial displays. This crisis, like others she’d dealt with before, now had its solution.

“That’s over, Andrew. Our associate tells me that however Ironwood managed to make those discoveries, he won’t be making any more.”

Armed with a 9 mm Glock and a new matte-black, KA-BAR Becker knife, Merrit exited the elevator, prepared to kill.

He felt no more personal responsibility for what was going to happen than would the bullet he’d fire from his gun. Viewed rationally, the target had caused his own death, a marked man the instant he stole from the military and could link Ironwood to his actions.

Merrit nodded to the security guard in the private elevator alcove and continued on his way. He had full access throughout the resort, even here. Most of the fortieth floor in the South Tower of Ironwood’s casino was reserved for whales—those gamblers who could be counted on to regularly lose millions, no matter how troubled the economy. There were twenty-two private suites on this level, each at least eighteen hundred square feet, some larger, with Jacuzzis and lap pools, screening rooms and fireplaces, gourmet kitchens and mirrored ceilings: as many pleasures and distractions as required to keep the whales from migrating along the boardwalk to the Taj Mahal or Caesars.