Secretary of State Darren Sanders was given a hero’s funeral. The nation mourned the leader in the press and across social media. Tributes were paid on nearly every television station, web site, and print publication.
The truth about his death was never released.
The story given to the world was that he was found unresponsive in the break room of the White House, the result of a massive stroke. It wouldn’t do to have the enemies of the United States knowing that a secret order of killers had managed to breach security and get into the president’s dwelling.
President Dawkins delivered a moving speech during the memorial service. Tears welled in nearly every eye as he praised Sanders for his ambition, tenacity, and the courage to always speak his mind even if the opinion clashed with the most powerful man in the free world.
Sean and Tommy had been invited to the funeral by the president, an invitation no one could turn down, though Sean wasn’t sure why their presence was requested.
He stood toward the back of a huddled mass of people as a priest performed the last rites, motioning his hand over the casket. Sean knew very few of the people in attendance would understand the Latin slipping from the priest’s lips.
Tommy introduced Sean to a new line of weapons he and the other agents in IAA would be using from then on. They were non-lethal, high-tech weapons that could take down enemies as effectively as normal guns, without the need to kill. While Sean knew that the time might come when he might have to take another life, it made him feel better that it didn’t have to be the first option.
He’d begin seeing a therapist the following Monday to work through the feelings he’d had during the events of the previous days. It was only the second time in his life he’d seen a shrink.
Sean squinted his eyes against the bright sunlight. For a funeral, the day was anything but dreary. There wasn’t a cloud in the azure sky above. The blazing yellow sun covered the congregation with a warm blanket of light, cutting away the last remnants of winter.
“Good group of people,” Sean whispered to Tommy. It was the second time he’d made the comment: once here, once at the church where the primary service was held.
“Yeah, you mentioned that.” Tommy breathed, trying not to draw attention to himself.
An older woman in a black dress with a crimson jacket glared at him over her shoulder, giving Tommy her best shushing librarian look.
Tommy’s eyes flicked up to the sky, and the woman turned around. He wanted to punch his friend in the shoulder. Sean had always gotten him in trouble, ever since they were kids.
Some things, it seemed, never changed.
“You just got me in trouble again,” he said, leaning close enough so that only Sean could hear.
Sean’s lips creased to a wide grin. “Sorry.” He fought off a chuckle. Laughing during a somber moment such as this would be against almost every social convention.
He instead focused on the crowd of people hovering around the grave. Most of them were fellow politicians. Sanders, it seemed, didn’t have much family, if any. He had no kids, no wife, and his parents had passed long ago, or so Sean assumed. He did have plenty of coworkers, however, and they’d come out in droves, even his enemies on Capitol Hill. Those, Sean assumed, were there for the public, a little trick to boost their approval ratings to the constituents.
The two friends stayed until the priest finished the last rites, and then they turned away as the casket was lowered into the ground. President Dawkins was near the front of the gathering, standing close to the grave. His security detail was surrounding both him and the property, perpetually on high alert.
Sean and Tommy would talk to Dawkins later, or so Sean thought. They’d become good friends over the years, which was a little crazy to think about; that the president was a personal friend. Not many people throughout American history could say that.
The two were walking back to their car, making their way through the maze of headstones, when Dawkins’s voice surprised them both.
“Fellas?”
Sean and Tommy spun around, both recognizing the commander in chief’s voice.
“Yes, sir?” they said at the same time.
“At ease, soldiers,” Dawkins said with a grin. “It’s me.”
“Sorry. Lot of people around, sir,” Sean said. “Force of habit.”
Dawkins gave an understanding nod. “I have a friend that would like to meet you.”
“A friend?” Tommy asked.
Dawkins’s head bobbed once. “Yes. He’s in that limo over there.” His hand extended and pointed at a long black limousine parked on the edge of the pavement.
Sean frowned. “What’s this about?”
“He’s a good friend of mine, Sean. You can trust him.”
Sean realized his tone had sounded a bit suspicious. It was a total accident. Or maybe he was always like that. “Sorry. Another force of habit.”
“No worries,” Dawkins said with a grin. “I know your car is here, but he’d like to take you for a ride. There’s something he wants to discuss with you. Apparently, it’s pretty important.”
Sean and Tommy continued staring at the limousine, wondering who was behind the dark-tinted windows. Sean shrugged. “Okay, sir. But if we end up with concrete boots at the bottom of the Potomac, I’m going to be irritated with you.”
Dawkins laughed. “You’ll be fine; I assure you.”
The two strolled over to the limo and paused on the edge of the grass. The back door flung open, and they saw a pair of legs in black pants on the other side. An older man with slicked back silver hair and a tanned, smooth face leaned forward.
“Gentlemen? Please, get in.”
Sean’s alarm bells were going off in his head, but he’d been given assurance by the president that all would be fine. Dawkins wouldn’t mislead him.
They climbed into the car, and the driver rushed around to close the door. It slammed shut as Tommy wriggled into the leather seat across from their mysterious host.
“I must say, it is an honor to meet the two of you.” There was no insincerity in the man’s voice. His tone was pleasant, sprinkled with just enough rasp to make him sound more masculine.
“I’m sorry,” Sean said. “What’s your name?”
The man smiled a broad, pleased smile. “My name is Daniel Jacobson.” The car started moving, and soon they were out on the main road.
“What’s this about?” Tommy asked. “Are we in some kind of trouble? You don’t work for the IRS, do you?”
Jacobson’s grin stretched farther. “No. I’m not with the IRS. Are you having some kind of trouble with them?”
Tommy shook his head. “No, but no one really knows they are until they’re told they are.”
Jacobson chuckled. “Very true. No, I’m not with them. I represent another organization.”
Sean’s brow furrowed. “Another government agency?”
“Not exactly.”
He let his answer linger in the cabin for a few seconds before he went on. The driver turned to the left and continued down the next street.
“I’m with an organization you probably know about on some level, though I suspect what you know is what most of the population knows.”
Sean and Tommy both leaned forward a couple of inches. Their interest spiked.
Jacobson went on. “I am the head of the Fraternal Order of Freemasons.”
The two friends frowned and sat back in their seats.
“I thought the grand master of that order was someone else. His name escapes me, but I’ve seen him on television. He did a special on the History Channel once, answering questions about the temple and all that.”
“A ruse,” Jacobson said. “All part of a greater plan. That man, Mark Westmoreland, does play an important role in our organization, but it is an illusion. Smoke and mirrors.”
“Why?” Sean blurted. “You guys up to no good?”
Jacobson’s smile softened, and he shook his head. “Not at all, Sean. Quite the contrary. We’re up to the greatest good of all.”
“And what’s that?”
“Protecting the greatest weapon ever made by man.”
The two guests leaned up again, waiting for him to say it.
“We’re the guardians of the Ark of the Covenant.”
Chills ran through Sean and Tommy. Their skin instantly broke out with goose bumps. The hair on their necks raised.
Jacobson sensed their emotions and thoughts. “I know it’s a lot to take in. Which is why I wanted to bring you here.”
The limo turned into a driveway connected to a gray nondescript building. A garage door opened, and the car pulled inside. Sean looked out the back window as the door closed behind them. They were on the outskirts of the city, close to the river. That was all he knew.
“You’ll be fine, Sean. I know you like to have a grasp on your surroundings in all situations. You’re not in danger. I have something I want you to see.”
Tommy’s hopes vaulted into the stratosphere. “The Ark?”
Jacobson guffawed. “No, unfortunately, that won’t be possible. And quite frankly, it’s for the best.”
The door opened, cutting off his next comment. He stepped out and waited until the other two joined him in the garage.
The vast space stretched at least a hundred feet to the back wall and was at least that wide, capable of holding dozens of cars. Maybe more.
“What is this place?” Tommy wondered.
“This,” Jacobson said with hands out wide, “is where we keep the archives.”
“Archives?”
“Of the order.”
He led the way to the other side of the room where two steps met a door. The driver was already standing there, turning the knob to let them in. The men made their way inside and were greeted by a stunningly bland hallway. The gray walls were dotted with simple brushed metal sconces but featured no pictures or shelves of any kind. For an archive, this place seemed more like the hall of a hospital or an asylum.
Jacobson turned to the right and started walking. His shiny leather shoes tapped on the concrete floor with every step, echoing the sound down the corridor.
“You two are probably wondering why you’re here, yes?” Jacobson asked.
“Yes, sir,” Sean confirmed as he and Tommy hurried to keep up with the man’s long strides. “That’s an understatement.”
They reached an arch in the wall to the left and passed through. On the other side, the next room was just as bland as the first, except the vaulted ceiling was three stories up and there were rows upon rows of books. On the main floor, directly in front of the three men, were a dozen airtight glass vaults. Each had a vent protruding from the top. Inside, more shelves contained books that looked as old as time, along with scrolls, other various artifacts, and some metal boxes.
Jacobson stopped and looked out at the room with a hint of pride in his eyes. “We’ve been keeping the location of the Ark a secret since shortly after it was brought to the New World. It has been safe all this time, until recently, when a threat arose.”
The guests said nothing.
“The Order of Assassins has been after the Ark since their beginning. When the Knights Templar discovered it under the temple in Jerusalem, they knew it would become a target for the enemy. The Assassins came from a long line of jealous men. They believed it was their birthright to possess the Ark, part of a promise given to Abraham’s first son, Ishmael, that God would make of him a great nation. They’ve been trying to not only level the playing field ever since but to dominate it. For thousands of years, there has been a balance to the great conflict between the sons of Abraham. The Ark holds the power to destroy that balance.”
Sean and Tommy listened intensely.
“The Templars,” Jacobson continued, “knew that not even they could possess the Ark. Its power was too great, and they believed in the balance, even if it meant the war between the factions would never end.”
“So,” Tommy finally spoke up, “the Knights Templar became the Freemasons?”
Jacobson flashed what had quickly become a familiar grin. “No, Tommy. The Knights are gone. Their order has all but vanished. Many years ago, one of our order learned of the location of the Ark. He took it upon himself to unearth it and bring it to a place where it could never be found, where it would forever be safe.”
Sean frowned. He and Tommy both had a million questions running through their head.
“Over here,” Jacobson said, with a hint of mischief in his voice. He motioned for the two to follow him to a door off to the side of the vacuous room.
They walked across the expansive floor and entered a small chamber where more books lined the walls. A large, shiny table stood in the center. On the back wall, the shelving stopped, and the surface was bare except for one thing: a painting. It featured the first president of the United States presiding over a ceremony.
“October 13,” Sean whispered. Chills coursed through him. Tommy experienced the same.
“That’s why Lafayette wrote that date in his journal.”
Jacobson confirmed the statement with a nod.
“October 13 was the date the Templars were nearly wiped out in France.”
“And the date,” Tommy added, “that George Washington laid the cornerstone of the White House.”
“Correct,” Jacobson said.
“I don’t know why we didn’t see the connection before.”
Tommy was dazed by the incredible revelation.
“But it makes perfect sense,” Sean said.
“Absolutely,” Jacobson agreed. “Washington knew that, sooner or later, someone would stumble upon the hiding place of the Ark. As elaborate as the Oak Island trap is, someone would eventually figure out how to bypass it.”
“So the Ark was there?”
“Yes. Washington knew it wouldn’t be safe there forever.” Jacobson paused. “But the White House is one of the most secure pieces of property in the world.”
“Except for 1812,” Tommy chimed.
“Yes. The British nearly ruined Washington’s plan, though it is doubtful they had any idea what lay beneath the mansion.”
Sean was almost in a trance. “It makes so much sense now. One nation, literally under God, protected by the most powerful relic of all time.”
“Indeed. Washington believed that the Ark would not only be safe there but that by possessing it the United States would become the most powerful nation in the free world, a light to the rest of the planet. It would seem, for the better part of our young history, that his assessment was correct.”
The room fell into silence. Sean and Tommy kept staring at the painting of the laying of the White House cornerstone.
“A nod to the Templars,” Jacobson said, a heap of admiration in his tone. “He chose that date specifically to honor them.”
“Honor,” Sean said. “Why do you honor us with this knowledge? Aren’t you afraid we’ll go out and tell the world? You’ve kept this secret for so long.”
Jacobson sighed. “No, I’m not worried. You see, you can never leave this place again.”
He waited until sudden fear crept into his guests’ eyes. Then he burst out laughing. “I’m messing with you.”
Tommy and Sean began laughing uneasily.
“I am bestowing this knowledge upon you because you two helped defeat enemies of the order. You defended the Ark against evil. For that, you have earned the right to know the truth. It is the way the Templars would have wanted it. And it is the way I choose.”
Sean and Tommy swallowed hard. There were so many questions they wanted to ask but didn’t know where to start.
“Unfortunately, I have to be going. I’m a very busy man.”
“We can imagine,” Sean said.
“However, I am going to give you one final gift before my driver takes you back to your car.”
“What’s that?”
“You may have one hour here in our archives. Not a second more. Search for anything you desire. I trust that you will take the same care of our records that you have with everything else in the historical realm.”
Jacobson walked out of the room and headed toward the main door, leaving Tommy and Sean with mouths hanging wide open.
“So, you’re just going to leave us here?” Tommy asked.
“For one hour,” Jacobson held up a finger and kept walking without turning back.
He disappeared out of the main chamber.
The two friends kept staring at the door until they were certain he wasn’t going to come back.
Tommy looked across his shoulder at Sean. “Dude, can you believe this? This is incredible!”
Sean shook his head. “No,” he said in a reverent tone, “I can’t.”
Tommy walked out into the big room and spun around, trying to figure out what he wanted to see first. He nearly ran over to one of the giant glass vaults and stared inside at the shelves of volumes, documents from ancient times long forgotten.
Sean stood alone for a moment. He took in the contents of the room with astounded appreciation.
“You okay?” Tommy asked, noticing something was off with his friend.
“Yeah,” Sean said. “I’m good. I just think…I dunno, some things are better left to the imagination.”
Tommy frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, all these secrets kept in this place, protected for centuries by these guys. Honestly, I think they should stay secrets.”
Tommy understood what his friend meant. “The best part of Christmas is not knowing what’s behind the wrapper.”
“Right.”
“And when you try to peek, it’s disrespectful to your parents and to yourself.”
“Right again.”
“So…what do we do?”
Sean flashed his normal, mischievous smirk. There was a glimmer in his eye. “We leave the mysteries that have already been found to those who protect them. And we search for the ones that are still out there.”