Harker awoke to the sound of laughter coming from outside the Mercedes Benz. Jerking forward anxiously in those first few disorientating seconds between slumber and consciousness, he slammed his forehead against the back of the front passenger seat’s headrest.
‘Welcome to Civitavecchia,’ the Templar offered warmly, eyeing him in the rear-view mirror. ‘I trust you slept well?’
‘Yes, thank you,’ Harker replied, rubbing at his temple before glancing over at Carter, who was still out cold and emitting a long-drawn-out snore with each breath.
‘I was tempted to wake you a few minutes ago,’ the Templar explained, ‘but you looked like you really needed the rest.’
‘I did,’ Harker replied before turning his attention to the yachts moored up on the twinkling blue waters. ‘Civitavecchia? So we’re on the west coast?’
‘We certainly are,’ the Templar confirmed as he brought the Mercedes to a halt at the impressive entrance to the town’s main port. ‘Superb vacation spot, if you ever find the time.’
‘I wish,’ Harker replied longingly. He had never been to this maritime town situated about eighty kilometres outside Rome, but had always wanted to visit it. The main harbour had been constructed by the Roman emperor Trajan in the early second century for defence and trade purposes, but in the modern era it had become a centre for cruise ships as well. The town had seen massive bombing raids during the Second World War, and much rebuilding had taken place in the aftermath. Thankfully the famed Maschio tower overlooking the port, which had been built in part by none other than Michelangelo himself, survived the bombings, and as Harker exited the Mercedes to stretch his legs he gazed upon the impressive stone fort with reverence. This building had been the reason for he’d wanted to visit Civitavecchia in the first place, although unfortunately that sightseeing trip would have to wait for another time.
‘If you head down the main gangway, there’s a boat already waiting for you,’ the Templar directed after winding down the passenger door window. ‘It’s the Excelsior. You can’t miss it.’
‘You’re not coming?’
The Templar gestured over his shoulder to Carter, still sprawled out on the back seat and continuing to snore loudly. ‘I think your friend needed more sleep than you did. Don’t worry, I’ll find a parking spot and then bring him along to join you if and when he wakes up.’
Harker was grateful and nodded. ‘Thank you,’ he said as the Templar gave him a friendly salute and proceeded to drive off into a large parking area on the opposite side of the road.
The harbour’s edge was in the shape of a semicircle, providing protection from the Adriatic waves, and gigantic cruise and container ships lined its inner wall, unloading their goods and passengers. But one vessel stood out immediately, not because of its size but rather the opposite. The name Excelsior gleamed in gold and, although striking, it paled in comparison to its much larger brothers and sisters. The 73-foot super-yacht contained three decks, with black-tinted windows wrapped around each level and graced with an open area at the bow. What this contained was impossible to tell from where Harker stood, but he guessed a small swimming pool in view of the private craft’s lavish size.
‘Wow,’ Harker muttered as he approached the awesome vessel, and noticed a man in a white shirt, shorts and plimsolls waving at him from the foot of the gangplank.
‘Professor Harker,’ he called out, briskly making his way over. ‘Pleasure to meet you. I’m Jeffrey Hawkins, the captain.’
‘Nice to meet you, Captain. I have an invitation from Tri—’
Hawkins silenced him with a gesture and waved him towards the gangplank. ‘No need to mention his name, sir. He’s expecting you.’
This comment seemed a bit cloak-and-dagger but Harker obliged, and followed Captain Hawkins up the plank and onto the first level of the ship. If the exterior was impressive the interior was unbelievable. With an open bar and thick white carpet, it looked like the VIP room of a top-end nightclub, complete with a glossy wooden dance floor. The wall panelling was a combination of expensive rosewood and gilt, which gave the whole room a classical yet modern feel, and two darkened-glass double doors led out to a narrow seven-metre bathing pool beyond.
‘Nice,’ Harker commented, seriously impressed.
‘She’s one of a kind,’ Captain Hawkins replied proudly before pointing to a compact spiral staircase over in the corner. ‘Mr Brulet is waiting for you on the top floor. Please, go on up.’
Harker left the captain and made his way up the staircase, past the second floor and onwards to the top level. As he got closer, he could hear what sounded like a heated argument going on.
He paused at the top step and, instead of making his way directly inside, he hovered at the open doorway and saw a man sitting with his back to him being berated by a red-haired gentlemen smartly dressed in a dark-blue Armani suit and black tie.
‘…that’s not the point. We’ve been doing this for far too long to change now, and your brother would have agreed with me,’ the speaker argued aggressively. He had a twitch in his eye that fluttered at the end of each of his sentences. ‘We need to press our advantage and ensure our security as we have done so far! Not to do so would be a breach of our sworn oath, and I’m not the only one who thinks it…’
The red-haired man fell silent as he caught sight of Harker hovering in the stairwell. He glared at him challengingly as the other man, sensing a new presence, turned around.
‘Alex Harker,’ Tristan Brulet, wearing a pair of dark, thinly rimmed sunglasses, proclaimed with a smile. ‘Please join us.’ He gestured with his hand outstretched.
‘It’s good to see you, Tristan,’ Harker said, making his way over to shake Brulet’s hand and feeling glad to have been acknowledged rather than made to feel like an eavesdropper.
‘My apologies, but we were just in the middle of discussing something.’ The Grand Master shook Harker’s hand firmly.
‘Do you want me to wait downstairs?’ Harker asked, already preparing to retreat towards the open doorway.
‘No, not at all,’ Brulet insisted, turning to introduce the red-haired man. ‘This is William Havers, and don’t let his disposition fool you. He’s a good friend.’
The kind mention appeared to soothe some of Havers’s hostility and he shook Harker’s hand with only a grimace. ‘I know who you are, Professor Harker.’
‘Please, call me Alex,’ Harker replied, wanting to at least try and break the ice.
‘Very well…Alex.’
There was an awkward pause before Brulet placed his hand on Havers’s shoulder. ‘Let’s discuss that matter another time, shall we?’
Havers emitted a growl of displeasure, then he forced his way past Harker, brushing shoulders with him lightly, and headed down the spiral steps to the second floor.
‘Try not to judge him from this encounter alone,’ Brulet requested. ‘He is a good man but he has a lot on his mind at the moment.’
‘I can see that.’
Harker’s sharp observation had Brulet shaking his head. ‘Take a seat and I will tell you all about it. You are a Templar and so you have a right to know.’
Brulet motioned to a green three-seater sofa pressed up against the wall, then waited for Harker to settle before taking a seat next to him. ‘A lot has happened since we last met, and that discussion you may have overheard is just a part of it.’
‘How so?’ Harker asked, still struggling to find a comfortable spot on the extremely slippery shiny leather sofa.
‘Now that the Magi are no longer a threat, there has been a difference of opinion within the Templar Council as to how we proceed,’ Brulet explained, also taking a moment to steady himself on the awkward seat. ‘Some – myself included – believe that the Templars need to create a new role for ourselves, focusing on our associated charitable and humanitarian organizations around the world. We may have begun as protectors of the Catholic Church but, as you know, over the years that role as guardian has evolved to encompass all religions. Our ranks are made up of people from every race and creed, and for centuries we have sought to serve humanity as a whole. In such a precarious and diverse modern world, I see that role as now being more important than ever. Unfortunately’ – Brulet glanced towards the doorway – ‘not everyone sees it that way, and many, Mr Havers included, feel that the Templars’ role as a “protectorate” is needed now more than ever.’
‘Sounds like the end of the cold war?’
‘Something like that, yes,’ Brulet sighed. ‘You gear up your entire apparatus and all your assets to maintain and whittle away the power of your enemy and then, when you finally succeed, what is there left to do?’
‘Find another enemy?’
‘Exactly.’ Brulet groaned. ‘Human beings are by their very nature a tribal species, with the potential for both good and bad, but with the very concept of religion being eroded in a world increasingly dependent on science and technology, there are those who are already looking to draw up new battle lines.’
Brulet’s answer was a curious one but Harker got the gist of it. ‘You mean how religion instils in people who the good guys and the bad guys are?’
‘Yes,’ Brulet replied. ‘There is now a mindset, especially in the Western world, that human beings are born with an instilled sense of morality, which is a misguided notion. It is the old “nature over nurture” argument: are we born as empty vessels who are taught to act a certain way, or do our genes dictate what we become?’
‘It’s a conundrum, yes,’ Harker agreed, finding this philosophical discussion a bit much, considering he had only just woken up after the long car trip, ‘but you could argue that culture and society can shape those young minds just as well as religion does.’
‘True,’ Brulet said, ‘but you only need to look at the overused but accurate example of the Nazis to show how dangerous that can be. Teach young minds a particular ideology, no matter how despicable, and they will add to it and defend it with their dying breath, because we are all of us a product of external influence. And social norms will change far quicker without a basic set of morals in place. Every person on the planet is essentially brainwashed in some way, and we are all shaped by our experiences, but the only question that matters is are we brainwashed to be good or bad? Religion has always been the mechanism by which this was accomplished, and it has caused as much division as it has harmony. But still it’s the best system we have. If you never teach a young child that murder is wrong, then how would that child ever know that the act of murder was wrong in the first place…and so a cycle begins. They pass it on then to their children, and so on and so on.’
‘I see your problem,’ Harker replied, noting how Brulet possessed the same open mind as his late brother and previous Grand Master of the Knights Templar with a view to the bigger picture.
‘The Knights Templar have fought the Magi and all their terrible, narcissistic ideals for two thousand years, always debating whether our role was to defeat them utterly or merely contain them and thereby balance the scales, as it were. But our principles have always been guided by religious ideals, which I will admit were at first Catholic but over the years have broadened to encompass shared values from all religions – meaning that the Templars now act as a protectorate for all devout people. Templars have passed on this duty of protection from one generation to the next but, with such protection from the Magi not required any more, a new debate now rages as to our purpose.’
‘You’re talking about changing the very nature of the Templars?’ Harker suggested, fully understanding now what Brulet had been alluding to.
‘Exactly. Do we remain a wholly bipartisan organization and stick to the religious guidelines that developed into what the Templars are today, or do we become one that seeks to actively hunt down and destroy those whom society deems unfit?’
Brulet frowned, shaking his head uneasily at the thought of such a choice. ‘For that is something that could easily change well-intentioned idealism into dangerous fanaticism – and the line between those two concepts is remarkably thin.’
‘What would it mean in practice?’
‘The first path would mean putting every resource we have into our charitable organizations and assuming a new role, with our vast network of political and business contacts, in shaping a fairer world and thereby helping oppressed countries to become fair and free societies through peaceful means.’
‘You mean pull the strings from the shadows?’
‘Come now, Alex.’ Brulet shrugged. ‘On a planet filled with over seven billion people, no single person pulls the strings. There are some powerful players out there, of course, but no one could ever possess the kind of control that so many Internet conspiracy theorists would have you believe. But, yes, we would aim to do so from a distance.’
‘And the second way?’
Brulet slumped back in his seat. ‘The second way is to actively go after those who do not share the ideal of a fair and free world: terrorists on all sides of the religious spectrum as well as politicians and leaders who oppose it.’
Brulet’s mentioning of such a path made Harker’s blood run cold. ‘That’s a dangerous road to go down, Tristan,’ he said, leaning forward attentively. ‘The Templars would essentially become a group of assassins and death squads. Don’t take me for being naive, though. I know that some measure of force will always be needed to create a truly peaceful world, but long-lasting peace is rarely created down the barrel of a gun. In the short term, yes, but not the kind of lasting world society you’re talking about.’
‘Wise words,’ Brulet remarked. He now removed his glasses, wincing in the daylight as he stared at Harker with those uniquely cross-shaped pupils of his. ‘But, as of now, the Knights Templar have a captain but no course to chart, and there are those who question their new leader’s ability to create one.’
Up until that point Harker had assumed that Brulet’s position was unassailable, but as the Grand Master continued it became apparent how transformed the secretive organization had become since the Magi’s demise.
‘There are many within the Council who believe, as I do, that the more measured and peaceful approach is not only better suited to the Templars, but also simply the right thing to do… However there are others, Mr Havers included, who believe we should take what they term a more proactive role.’
‘Proactive!’ Harker exploded, almost shouting the word. ‘It’s a bit more than proactive. It could be a route to selective murder on a vast scale.’
‘I agree with you.’ Brulet raised a calming hand. ‘But if faced with a situation, let us say a man is about to kill someone with a knife right in front of you and let us also say that the victim is not a popular individual, even hated by some, do you allow it to happen or do you attempt to grab the knife and plunge it into the attacker, thus preventing the intended murder from ever happening?’
‘I’d wrestle it from his hands and then put him in jail for the rest of his life.’
‘It’s a fair point, but what if that very act of imprisonment serves only to give the offender martyr status, and others then seek to go after the original victim as revenge? As a consequence of not killing the attacker right there and then, many further acts of violence might follow.’
There were obvious holes in Brulet’s theory and it was clear to Harker that, among the similarities he and his late brother had shared, arguing effectively was not one of them. But he nevertheless remained quiet and allowed the Grand Master to finish.
‘This is the lens through which many of the Templars and their Council view things, and their opposition to my more “peaceful” approach is, I am afraid to say, gaining in strength.’
Harker had always seen the Templars as a beacon of strength and purity, irreproachable in their thinking and their ability to discern the black and white in a world awash with grey. But he now detected, as was the case with every other mortal being, a chink in their armour, and it made him nervous. Brulet obviously was just a man trying to do the right thing – for himself and for those who followed him. The very thought that the Templars, who Harker had always seen as a rock of incorruptibility, could waver in their mandate made him feel uneasy, and suddenly he realized how crucial Sebastien Brulet’s leadership had been. Tristan was undoubtedly a strong and worthy Grand Master, but did the man actually have what was needed during such a crucial moment in Templar history? Of that Harker was unsure, but only time would tell.
‘Anyway,’ Brulet said, putting his sunglasses back on and then energetically jumping to his feet and making his way over to the drinks cabinet. ‘Enough of my problems. Drink?’
‘Vodka and Red Bull, thank you,’ Harker replied, ‘and I wouldn’t say no to a double.’
‘Having a bad day, are you?’ Brulet suggested, clearly happy to move on from his own issues, and with a smile he pulled a litre bottle of Russian standard vodka from its silver holder.
‘I’ve had better,’ Harker admitted despondently, ‘and I’ve been trying to get hold of John Shroder for the past twenty-four hours.’
‘That’s odd, as I’ve not heard from him either, and we only found you thanks to one of the security men on the Vatican gate.’ Brulet looked thoughtful as he began to mix their drinks. ‘I wouldn’t take it as a slight, though, given those recent terrorist attacks on British soil. I suspect both MI5 and MI6 are pretty busy at the moment.’
Harker didn’t reply but instead settled himself deeper into the green sofa. As he watched Brulet pour a generous serving of vodka into each crystal glass he found himself thinking about this man’s deceased brother Sebastian. The two men looked so similar with that shared condition of Waardenburg syndrome, which caused such a distinct, almost silvery-grey skin tone and strikingly white hair. The brothers even moved in the same way, with that fluid cat-like gait one usually only sees when a feline is on the prowl while hunting prey, but apart from the uniquely shaped irises, that is where the similarities stopped. It was difficult to pinpoint, but Tristan seemed far more like a free-spirited playboy, not in the traditional sense but rather in the way in which he seemed far more willing to take a gamble on the unknown – and, of course, his love of anything exquisite such as this impressive yacht. Sebastien had seemed far more conservative and – how could one put it? – more salt of the earth.
‘This yacht is a far more lavish thing than anything my brother would ever have favoured, wouldn’t you agree?’ Brulet said out of the blue, surprising Harker from his thoughts. ‘That is what you were thinking, wasn’t it?’
Harker sat expressionless and silent until Brulet moved over to him and placed the double vodka with Red Bull in his hands. ‘How did you know that?’ he replied finally, as Tristan sat back down beside him and placed his own drink on the glass coffee table in front of them.
‘The window to a man’s soul is not just the eyes, Alex, but his facial expressions – or, to put it correctly, micro expressions.’ Brulet smiled, revealing a set of perfect white teeth. ‘Psychics and clairvoyants have been aware of that for centuries.’
Brulet’s answer had Harker realizing another trait the two brothers shared…instinct. ‘Well, this is indeed a remarkable yacht, Tristan,’ he managed.
‘It certainly is.’ Brulet took a sip of his own drink. ‘But unfortunately it’s not mine.’
‘Rented?’
‘No, borrowed actually,’ Brulet continued. ‘Sebastien did so love aeroplanes. I would say he spent half his life in one, either in the air or parked up at an airport. It made him feel secure, I think, whereas I cannot stand them.’
‘Not a fan, huh?’
‘Anything but, I’m afraid. It’s only trains or boats for me.’
Brulet leant forward and lowered his sunglasses to reveal those highly distinctive eyes. The condition of coloboma had left both brothers with malformed pupils, each one in the shape of a cross. It was a genetic abnormality that had been passed down from one generation to the next and, as Sebastian had told it, the reason his family line were long seen as such important figureheads within the Order of the Knights Templar. Whether there anything godly about such an inheritance was something Harker had never really considered, but one thing was for sure: they were fascinating to see.
‘So I heard you ended up in a Berlin police station the other day?’
The question took Harker by surprise, though it should not have. The Templars always had an uncanny knack of knowing about one’s comings and goings. ‘Your information is impeccable, as always, Tristan… But did you hear why?’
Brulet was already shaking his head. ‘The details we received were sketchy at best, but apparently you were involved in an attempted murder or something.’
Harker could feel himself flush as Tristan eyed him curiously. There was no easy way to explain the bizarre events that had occurred during the past few days, so he thought it best to start at the beginning. ‘I was giving an archaeology lecture in Cambridge when this man who identified himself as Lucas—’
Suddenly Harker’s iPhone began to vibrate and, with an understanding look from Brulet, he retrieved it from his pocket and answered it.
‘Alex!’ Chloe Stanton called out in a quivering voice and, before Harker could answer, hers was quickly replaced by the familiar crusty voice of ‘God’.
‘Say hi to her,’ ‘God’ demanded, ‘and remain calm. We don’t want to alert anyone else to our private conversation, do we?’
‘Hi,’ Harker managed causally.
‘Good. Now I don’t want any outbursts from your end, because what I have to tell you might be a little upsetting,’ ‘God’ continued with a tinge of enjoyment in his tone. ‘There is a man standing before me with a knife held to Dr Stanton’s throat, and if you do not do exactly as you are told, he will cut her from ear to ear.’ ‘God’ emitted a sarcastic snigger. ‘So just keep your mouth shut and listen.’