Templar Fire

By Jeff E. Gregory

The Templar mission continues where Templar Odyssey leaves off.

Back in 1314, Templar Grand Master Jacques de Molay is facing the fiery pyre of death. As he succumbs to the smoke and flames, his Templar Grand Master legacy is transferred to the next Grand Master, through a mysterious and unknown process.

Only when former U.S. Vice-president Randall James Winthrop III disappears does the Templar fire ignite the hearts of Jason and Tori Gregg, as they are called upon to help save humanity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeff E. Gregory
• Release date: Oct 12, 2013
• ISBN: 9780986949234

Jeff E. Gregory

At 48, my first novel, Reversal of Redemption, based on an actual event, was published here at Smashwords. I have enjoyed a 24+ year career with the Canadian government and I am looking forward to my final 10+ years in government. I am married, with one daughter, and I have discovered writing is just as enjoyable as reading.

Book preview

Foreword

Ah, sweet revenge!

As with many of us, it feels so good to finally get back at someone who has wronged us in some way. Be it financial, romantic, or so much as butting in line, we seem to have this primordial propensity to strike back with more fervour and ardour than that befalling us.

History is chalk-full of vengeful incidents. Most wars are vengeful attacks back and forth until each side has long forgotten the original issue. Vengeance can pit even the most mild-mannered couple against one another in a court of law with the right attorney present. Families have been torn apart with members constantly outdoing each other by inflicting greater harm than they themselves endured. And so it goes on, as, perhaps surprisingly, does the human race.

Templar Fire is an extension of my second novel, Templar Odyssey, and picks up right where TO leaves off. It has taken me more than a year to buckle down and come up with this instalment, as other projects have crept in from the sidelines, most notably my third novel, Waiting for Closure. But now, as I have had ample time to think my way through just how all of this is to play out, I am pleased to report that at the time of writing, Templar Odyssey has been short-listed in a contest for great movie ideas. I can only imagine what that could bring.

So, prepare to sit back and relax; go grab the cocoa from the microwave on your way to your recliner, turn off the cell phone, take the clicker and put on the fireplace, and make sure your e-reader is fully charged, because you’re in for one helluva ride.

Prologue

"March 18, 1314,

"Dearest Robert,

"It has been nearly seven years that I have endured the wrath of Philip, as I and my great friends, Geoffroi de Charney and Godefroi de Gonneville,, as well as Hugues de Peraud, lie in wait for our final judgement at the hands of the cruel and inhumane Philip and his puppet, Clement. I have given great thought about this moment, and how it will be remembered. I can only dream of the salvation that awaits me and the others, as we know these charges are imaginary. It is not long from now that my destiny will play itself out, but I will know at least that my efforts at this time are in the best interest of us all. And so, I, Jacques de Molay, Grand Master and Ultimate Executor of the Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ and of the Temple of Solomon, on this eighteenth day of March, in the year of our Lord, one thousand three hundred and fourteen, do hereby issue the following command:"

He continued reading the letter, a letter with which he was already familiar, all the while remembering their comradery, the ferociousness of allegiance to the Order, and the clandestine meetings of which only they knew. It was most difficult to read again, but then again, he had seen much worse in his life already.

At 40, his rugged face screamed of leadership, sacrifice, and above all else, allegiance. Soon, it would be his sword to carry, knowing full well that at the time he was reading this, his greatest friend he had ever known, was no longer walking the earth. He took a moment to gaze up at the magnificence of Edinburgh Castle, his latest acquisition. It was a brilliant and beautiful day, as the sun shone strongly through the fullness of the green leaves of the large trees that surrounded the bluff. His nephew, Thomas Randolph, had done a great service in capturing this magnificent icon from the clutches of the English. Remembering his coronation at Scone, his eyes welled up as he remembered gazing out at the assembled guests before him, scanning the crowd for the one face he knew would be there. He saw him briefly, donning a disguise only he himself could assemble. If only Edinburgh were in Scottish hands for that, the one moment of eternal glory when he, Robert the I, King of Scotland, could survey his realm, with his great friend, Jacques de Molay standing by his side. He broke down, as he recalled their last moments together.

* * * * *

The messenger had just disappeared around the far corner when the entourage made its presence known. The short, impudent, and unsightly Philip, King of France, and his even more loathed sidekick, Pope Clement V, along with guards, bishops and cardinals, swept down the stone staircase that led to the impoverished and dingy cells of the dungeon of the King’s Court. Sweeping his dark purple velour surcoat cape to one side, Philip sidestepped the rotting carcass of a hunting dog he himself had placed there several weeks ago, a stark reminder for the area’s residents of what was to become of them should they continue to believe they could recant their confessions.

De Molay and the others were not so easily shaken; they held true to their beliefs, and they knew in their hearts that they would be exonerated. Little did anyone realize that Clement had already absolved them six years earlier, a fact Clement kept close to himself, and would be kept hidden away in the Vatican Archives for many centuries to come.

My, my, my, what a beautiful day to die!

The King’s English was impeccable, although French was the language of the day, but it sounded so much better than, De hors, de hors, de hors, c’est le temps pour la mort! Philip sneered at de Molay and the others, all huddled up in one corner of the cell. The others had been dealt with already; these were the last vestiges with whom Philip and Clement had to deal. The dark, dank and decrepit state of their surroundings was well used to by now, but their surroundings were about to be abandoned, forever.

Philip turned to the nearest of the guards, a large mean, long-bearded man who reeked of beer and could barely stand without teetering over. He had pushed his way through the others having appeared out of nowhere. The guard eyed de Molay nervously, as he took out the large key from under his surcoat, and giving it a long twist, unlocked the padlock that held the gates frozen in place from all those years ago. He gave them a mighty pull, and the stubborn rusted gates squawked and squealed, as they finally succumbed to their master’s superhuman strength.

De Molay led the prisoners out from their huddle in the far corner, as Philip watched suspiciously from the hall. De Molay gazed intensely at the guard, as he made his way past. The guard passed him a small rock the size of de Molay’s outstretched hand. As the procession began ascending the stone staircase, de Molay swung his right hand back. De Molay was allowed to lead them in procession, all the while shackled to each of the prisoners, the lot of them formed a human chain, with their captors on their right. Pope Clement the V was the first of those captors in line. De Molay waited for the perfect moment as the granite orb struck hard into the flesh of Clement’s right knee. Clement was not all that well to begin with, but he would never be able to bend his knee again.

The force of the rock was so strong that everyone present heard the shattering of the kneecap, as Clement let out a mournful wail. Philip, being the animal he always was, smacked Clement across the face.

"T’is of their own doing, Clement, remember that!"

De Molay intended to drop the rock over the side of the staircase, where it would land without a sound in a large patch of moss growing along the wall. He smiled to himself, as did the guard on de Molay’s left. It was a bitter-sweet moment that would have to wait, for another moment looming not far off of which they would be both insanely proud.

* * * * *

Any last words before I pronounce my edict?

Philip capped his ear with his bony left hand, expecting to at least hear the words of the great Jacques de Molay. De Molay narrowed his eyes, lifted his chin slightly upwards and grinned slightly.

"The treasure of which you speak is buried in a sarcophagus on an island of a large lake in an unknown land."

What gibberish is that? Philip disdainfully shouted. I have never heard such babble!

De Molay had picked up enough Cree to articulate exactly what Philip had been waiting to hear all these years: the whereabouts of the fabled treasure of the Templars, a treasure so vast that Philip would never want for anything ever again.

Philip sneered at de Molay and asked the others if they too had anything else to say. There was eerie silence from the bound foursome.

The Isle des Juifs in the middle of the Seine was a fitting place for de Molay and the others to bid the world farewell. Segregated and surrounded by flowing water, abundant in mature trees, and within sight of the palace of the most hated monarch in Christendom, the Isle des Juifs would be a constant reminder of all who descended from Philip of the great injustice befallen to de Molay et al. His spirit would not stray far from this sacred spot until the House of Capet was no more.

"I, Philip IV, King of France, do hereby decree, that for these infidels a sentence of death for those bound and once determined to bring down the House of God, through performing of rituals as announced, but not limited to: one - the renouncement and spitting upon the Cross of our Lord; two - the stripping of a man and kissing him on his navel, buttocks and lips; three – informing a man that unnatural lust is lawful; four – a cord worn by an Order inductee was consecrated by wrapping it around the head of a man with a great-flowing beard; and five – that the Order’s priests did not consecrate the Body of our Lord during mass.

"I hereby condemn ye: Jacques de Molay, Grand Master of the Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ and of the Temple of Solomon; Geoffroi de Charney, Master of Normandy; Godefroi, Master of Gonneville; and Hugues de Peraud, Visitor of France, to eternal damnation, and to be burned alive on this eighteenth day of March, in the year of our Lord one thousand three hundred and fourteen. So let it be written, so let it be done!"

Philip gave the signal for the pyre to be lit. The dry brush that surrounded the four caught easily and quickly from the brilliance of Philip’s personal torch. The howls of pain were not long in coming from the other three, as de Molay stared intently at Philip and Clement both.

The large flames shot through the air surrounding the four imprisoned captives, the other three collapsed amid the burning flames, faces and flesh melting away and exposing oozing muscle and exposing raw bone. De Molay mustered all his available strength and managed to eclipse the finals moments Philip and Clement were to enjoy.

"Hear me oh cursed ones, that you shall stand with me before the gates of hell before the year is out!"

Philip cackled at the premise of being cursed from a condemned man.

"Show me a sign of your veracity, oh condemned one," Philip hissed, eyes narrowed and brow furrowed. Clement has sweating profusely and still in the greatest deal of agony he had ever known.

The intense smoke overcame de Molay’s vocal chords, as he gasped and choked, almost immune to the intolerable pain of having his lower limbs consumed by fire. He took his final stance, head held high and looking off in the distance, as the large guard who had unlocked the cell, set the pyre aflame, and had been at the right-hand of Philip since his arrival, was quickly pulling off his faux beard and making his way forlornly back to Scotland. De Molay lowered his head, gave up his ghost, and passed into the next world. His right hand muscles relaxed, as the granite orb dropped into the intense heat of the pyre, rolling down the small embankment to an unsuspecting on-looker. No one, not even the formerly bearded man noticed the small flash of light beneath his own heavy cloak.

Clement’s sandal soon caught fire and scorched his right foot and lower leg, the same leg which was now welded in place, never to bend again, as he and Philip recoiled in abject horror.

Part I

Chapter 1

Vatican City, inside the private apartment of Pope Innocent XIV

His Holiness rose slowly from his work desk; his Cheshire grin indicative of a long-awaited mission drawing to a close. It had taken twelve hundred years, but the Templar treasure was finally secure. Innocent reached out and warmly embraced his Camerlengo, Luigi.

"Thank you, Luigi! From me and all my predecessors, thank you!"

It is indeed an honour to receive such warm and genuine acknowledgment Your Holiness. Truly, this is a monumental occasion for your papacy.

The two began to weep bitterly at the prospect of having finally wrestled away the fabled treasure from the clutches of Jacques de Molay, the treasure Hugues de Payens uncovered on the Temple Mount in the early 1100’s. Now, it was spirited away, deep inside the Vatican Archives never again to see the light of day.

We must celebrate, Luigi. We must use this opportunity to once again celebrate the eradication of those much-maligned Templars. But tell me, what are your thoughts on the treasure?

Luigi smiled and looked upward, stroking his long neck up and down; his greying mane of hair indicative of his advancing age.

"Well, Your Holiness, I would have to conduct extensive research into the authenticity of the objects recovered from America. We may never know if they are truly the real Ark of the Covenant, the original gospels, and the Chalice of Christ, but I do feel..."

He hesitated, as he stroked his neck further.

I do feel that it is more likely than not that de Molay did in fact make it to America and spirited away the treasure for safe-keeping. I would be surprised – very surprised, if that were not the case.

Innocent sat back down at his writing desk, closed his eyes, and let his mind wander for a brief time.

Innocent had been pope for several years now, and at 83, was no longer the valiant power-hungry theologian he had once been. His hands were becoming gnarled with advanced arthritis, his movements much more slowed and methodically thought out; he was aging more quickly than most octogenarians, but none had the responsibility of the Holy See upon their shoulders, as he did. He had won the power struggle to make it to the very apex of the Roman Catholic Church, and with the acquisition of the Templar treasure, his life-long mission was nearing completion. The same could not be said for Luigi.

Luigi was coming full circle in his dedication to Mother Church. He had fought the hard battles in becoming a cardinal, upsetting the natural selection of the Cardinal Bellono, the rightful heir-apparent to the Holy See, yet out-manoeuvered by two relentless and morality-free controllers out to gain control for all the wrong reasons.

Luigi’s climb to Camerlengo began as a dutiful priest in a small parish in central Italy, Languina, following early studies in America where Luigi was schooled in his early life,