The Templar Concordat (33 page)

“Do I get to choose what I look like?”

“Within the limits of bone structure, muscles, and that stuff. But I assure you, you will be a very attractive lady, just not Jean Randolph. You want a boob job, they can do that too. And that cute little frog on your ankle? Say goodbye.”

“How long does it all take?”

“You’re on the street in three months. The surgeries are usually one day affairs. Then you stay at a private clinic a few weeks, then a place like this, visiting the doctors once a week, for the rest of the healing time.”

“Have you had it done?”

“Me? No. Haven’t had the need.”

“Would you do it?”

“To save my life? In a heartbeat. But to be honest with you, it would frighten me.” Marie curled her legs under her on the couch and pulled the robe tighter around her. “Hey, millions of women all over the world dream of this. Hollywood stars. Billionaires. Face lifts, nose jobs, liposuction, wrinkles. Most of them end up looking like hell. But not you, not with us. You’ll end up looking great.”

She had wanted more excitement in her life, Jean thought, but this was getting ridiculous. “And when I’m all healed up and can walk the streets in safety, what do I do then? Clerk at a bookstore? Work at the Kruger?”

“The Kruger? Good God, no,” she lied easily. “Believe me, that’s not who we work for. Let’s say that’s my day job. But we could get you something just as good, with background, life history, all the proper documents. In other words, a new life. A very good life. I mean it. Not just something to keep you alive, but something challenging that would make life good.”

Jean jabbed the fire a few more times until she had the glowing logs positioned perfectly. “Ok. What’s the deal with you and Callahan? Is there something there? You know? Besides whatever you people do?”

“Callahan?” Marie looked down into her mug. “To tell you the truth, I’ve been tempted. But… well, I don’t think he’s interested.”

“He’s gay? Married?”

“Callahan? Gay? God, no. Not married either. He was once, but I’m not sure what happened. I mean… I… I don’t think he’s interested in me.”

“I don’t know,” Jean poked the fire again. “I’ve seen him looking. Can’t say what he’s thinking… just seems to appreciate what he sees.” She gave Marie a sideways look. “Is he the guy you were trying to fix me up with in London?”

“Yeah. That’s him.”

“Damn. I wish you had. Like I said, the available pool of men is mighty shallow. Can’t let one like that get away.”

Vatican - Wednesday, April 15

Father Girard leaned an elbow on the bar and pointed to his companion’s empty glass. First rule of press relations, Girard thought, beer for the Americans and Germans, wine for French and Italians, and anything for the British.

 “Are you really going on the record to say the treaty doesn’t exist?” asked the CNN producer.

“Of course I’m not,” scoffed Girard. “All good Jesuits learn you can’t prove a negative, at least not very easily. Look, we’ve combed through all our records, and they go way back, and haven’t found a thing. We’ve turned the Vatican upside-down. We have absolutely no known mention of this treaty anywhere in the academic literature. Nobody else has been able to find anything on it. Our enemies haven’t found anything. In fact, the only mention of it is the recent stories in the Arab newspapers.”

“Doesn’t prove it doesn’t exist,” insisted the producer.

“Right. It doesn’t. Go find it then.” Girard laughed.  “See if you can find a Unicorn while you’re at it.”

“But you’re not going to deny it?”

“I’m going to tell the truth, and the truth is we never heard of it, and neither has anybody else. There’s not much more to say.”

“But the University of Cairo says it’s real.”

“Yeah, they do. So go ask them about it, because nobody else knows anything.”

Vatican spokesman Father Jacques Girard today told CNN International the Holy See had no knowledge of the Treaty of Tuscany, reported to be an 1189 agreement between the Vatican and the European kings to eliminate Islam from the world.

John Kendell has been following the story in Giza. John?

Thank you, Peter. We’re here at the huge University of Cairo, here in Giza, Egypt, one of the largest universities in the world with over 200,000 students. Last week researchers announced the discovery of a long-lost treaty between the Vatican Popes and the three most powerful kings of Europe… just prior to the Third Crusade… in the year 1189, Peter. If true, it raises troubling questions about the role of organized Christianity and the Vatican in its struggle to achieve world domination.

Peter, we interviewed Professor Hosni Zahid earlier this morning…

CNN: What can you tell us about this Treaty of Tuscany, Professor Zahid?

Zahid: Well, it is an extraordinary find, the kind of thing we seldom find anymore, and it provides an interesting perspective on the relations between the European and Arab worlds.

CNN: What is the most striking thing about the treaty?

Zahid: Simply put, the treaty binds all Christians to work for Christian domination and the elimination of Islam as a competing faith. I realize that is a harsh assessment, and those were harsh times. But that’s what it says.

CNN: Have you seen this treaty?

Zahid: Oh, yes. I have examined it.

CNN: And you consider it to be authentic?

Zahid: Oh, yes.

CNN: Where is the treaty now, Professor?

Zahid: It is in a safe place, a very safe place.

CNN: Can you tell us where that is?

Zahid: No, Not at this point. Not yet.

CNN: When will we be able to see this treaty?

Zahid: We must first be absolutely certain of what we have, so there isn’t the slightest doubt of its authenticity. None at all.  We owe that to all the peoples of the world.

So, there we have it, Peter. The University of Cairo is claiming the treaty is in their possession, the Vatican denies any knowledge of it, and we are all waiting to see it.

This is John Kendell in Giza.

Vatican - Friday, April 17

“Eminence?” Agretti’s secretary hung back in the door to his office.

“What is it, Antonio? Speak up.”

“I have a man in the outer office, Eminence, a large man with white hair and a broken nose. He says he has a long-standing appointment with you. You have nothing on your schedule, and he refuses to give his name.”

Agretti didn’t need this. That’s why he had a secretary. “Well, call security and get rid of him. Do I have to do everything myself?”

“Yes, Eminence…” The secretary hesitated.

“What? What is it?” Now Agretti was angry. The new Pope, the Conclave that had ended in disaster for him, a horrid treaty, and now the survival of the Church was on his shoulders alone. He didn’t need these petty interruptions.

“He said this was confirmation of his appointment, Eminence. I… I’ve really never seen anyone so frightening.” The secretary passed an envelope sealed with red wax. Agretti saw the Templar Cross embossed in the red wax, ran a finger over the seal, and dropped it on the desk.

“Where is he now, Antonio?”

“Standing in my office.”

Agretti slit the envelope without breaking the seal, and removed a single white card embossed on one side with the red Templar Cross. The other side had a simple handwritten message, “Concordat of Nocera.”

So, they were back, he thought. It had been twenty years since he had convinced the last Pope to rebuke these apostates and heretics, and now they were back. That damned Concordat. He stood up, smoothed his cassock and centered the pectoral cross. What more could go wrong?

“Please send him in, Antonio, and make sure I am not disturbed. That means even if the Pope calls, I’m not here.”

“The Pope?

“Now, Antonio, now.”

Agretti’s practiced eye studied the man when he entered, assessing strengths, weaknesses, motivations, and opportunities, looking for the slight advantage that might give him the edge he needed.  This one was relaxed, stood six-foot-three, maybe two hundred pounds, flat stomach, broken nose, scar extending up through one eye and into a shock of snow-white hair, and the thick rough hands of a dock worker. He wore a pin-striped suit and a red tie with a very small pattern of Templar Crosses. Very clever.

Agretti stood with his hands clasped behind his portly frame and willed himself to ignore the much taller man’s extended hand. The man stared and left his hand extended. Agretti hesitated, reached out and clasped it. Damn.

“Good morning, Cardinal Agretti. I am the Chief Marshall of the Knights Templar. I am here to see Pope Dominic under the terms of the Concordat of Nocera.” He spoke in English, gave a slight bow from the waist in the Prussian style, then straightened to his full height. German, thought Agretti, definitely German.

“Yes, yes…” said Agretti, trying to recover. “You want to see the Pope, but I presume you appreciate his schedule is a nightmare now. Perhaps next week some time?”

The Templar looked down on him and gave a hint of a smile. “I hope you realize, Cardinal, that my visit to you is a courtesy not required under the Concordat.  We are quite capable of arranging our own meeting with the Pope. It might be easier if you were present, easier for the Pope. It’s become a tradition. But we don’t require it if you don’t.”

This one was just as arrogant as the last Templar twenty years ago. Agretti felt control slipping.

“And just what did you want to discuss with the Holy Father?” asked Agretti.

“Thank you for your time, Cardinal.” The Templar turned and grasped the doorknob.

“Wait. Wait.” Agretti put up a hand. “I can arrange a meeting for the three of us. This evening.”

The Templar handed Agretti a card. “Tonight will be good. Here is my number. Anytime tonight. Let me know.”

*     *     *

Agretti felt out of his depth for the first time in many years. The Mexican Pope and the German Templar circled each other like gladiators in the Coliseum, each taking the measure of the other, and each looking for a fight or a friendship. My God, thought Agretti, they are the same. At the core of their beings, they were both predators. Who is our Pope?

After the introductions, the Pope gestured for the Templar to have a seat at the cheap Formica table he had installed in his office “to get some real work done.”

The table horrified Agretti. The office of had been fine-tuned over hundreds of years.  Furniture, art, leaded glass, and sculpture from Europe’s masters spoke to the majesty of God’s representative on Earth. And now a cheap table, two laptop computers, a tangle of cables, and six orange chairs sat on its priceless carpet.

The Templar walked around the table and took a chair in the middle. The Pope sat opposite him. Equals? Agretti didn’t know where to sit, since neither of the other two paid him the least bit of attention. He started to sit next to the Pope, but stopped when the Pope pointed to a chair at the head of the table. That was all wrong and an obvious violation of protocol, but he did as he was told.

Agretti’s eyes darted from one man to the other. A great deal was happening in their silent exchange, but he was shut out of it. Each man wore a slight smile and a mildly amused expression. He didn’t know if they would leap at each other’s throats or clasp hands across the table.

The visitor wore a light-weight blue jacket, gray slacks and no tie, very different from the three-piece suit he had worn this morning, but probably appropriate for a 10:00 pm clandestine meeting. But the Pope defied all Agretti’s expectations with blue jeans, a common laborer’s light blue work shirt, and black cowboy boots. Cowboy boots?

The Pope broke the silence. “Would you care for something to drink? Whatever you want. It seems we have everything here.”

“Thank you, a glass of water would be fine.”

“Carlos!” His assistant rushed in. “Water for me and my guest, and whatever Cardinal Agretti wants.”

The silent dialog resumed until Carlos returned with the drinks.

“Carlos, this gentleman is under our protection. Mexican rules.”

Mexican rules? Protection? Carlos immediately left, went to his own office, took a 9mm Beretta from a drawer, chambered a round, and stuck it in his cassock under his belt. Then he moved a chair in front of the Pope’s door, waved the guards back twenty feet, and sat.

 “So, we have business, very old business, I understand,” said the Pope. “Cardinal Agretti,” he nodded down the table, “has explained the Concordat of Nocera to me, I have read it myself, and have inspected the endorsements of various Popes and Templar Masters. Now I would like you to explain it to me.”

The Marshall simply and deliberately moved through the details of the Concordat and its history. He stressed that each Pope and Templar Master had the opportunity to forge an alliance, and if they do it remains in effect for the duration of the Pope’s reign. If either party declines, there is no alliance, and they revert to simple nonaggression.