Rainbows End

By Geoff Logan

Sometimes the 1300s come back to haunt us today. Rainbows End asks the question is the past relevant now? Our hero Zarfidi Virtue explores this dimension as he works his way through life's trials. The reader can thus explore this reality with our hero and attempt to answer the same question for themselves. In the end, only the reader can make this decision that always haunts us when the fork in the road asks, which way do I choose to seek the meaning of life?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9798823002479

Geoff Logan

Geoff Logan writes about the end time. This interest comes from his former Scottish ancestors who were Templar Knights of the old tradition. The knights were believed to have been chosen to build the last temple in Jerusalem and the author has spent much of his life researching their exploits. Geoff Logan enjoys travelling and exploring many of the historical places that the Knights Templar lived and played in during the medieval period. This book reflects many of those encounters and the author has attempted to place them in a modern context of today. So that the reader can explore for themselves if any of these truths have a place in the present social setting to help us negotiate the chaos of a future world.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

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G AVIN TATE MADE his way slowly down Trinity Lane towards Wednesday Market in Beverley, England. He, for many years had been a deacon at the local Minster and a leading church figure in the town. Now retired, Tate lived on a small property at the edge of Beverley, growing strawberries and rhubarb as a hobby. Only every now and then did he come into town to buy groceries and distribute his produce to stall holders in Market Cross. And generally, Tate only paid attention to the Beverley Minster every now and then, when something interesting happened at the church. However, on this occasion, the cathedral had now come back very much into his thoughts. So, as he finished his morning shopping, the old deacon made his way to the Minster. After talking to several of the volunteers he knew and wandering around the stone minstrels that the squire, William McBride had constructed in the 1330s, the old man sat down in St Catherine’s Chapel.

For some time, he remained in deep thought that brought him back to the time the deacon helped the Australian, Iva Davies overcome the entrapment of Janina Schafer at St Triduana’s Well in Restalrig, Scotland. At the time, Gavin told Iva he did so to prevent evil from gaining the last remains of the Templar treasure in the Well. However, this was only partly true. For many years, the deacon had been placed at the Beverley Minster by the London templars to report on anyone who came out of nowhere with a special interest in the stone minstrels. Because, the real reason for such an interest was probably to locate and steal the remains of the Templar treasure.

However, Gavin Tate had another purpose for his interest in taking up the offer and remaining in Beverley. One of his ancestors was a Benjamin Cross who lived and worked in the town when William McBride came from Scotland. And Cross who was at the time, a farm supervisor for the Franciscan Monastery near the Minster, became friends of McBride and Edeyrnion the Welshman who later became William’s father- in- law. And although much of William McBride’s history had vanished over time, some of Benjamin Cross’s recollections had survived. The farm supervisor. always kept a diary about the weather and agricultural projects he was working on at the time. And this included many of the people he came in contact with, such as William McBride.

And although some of the writings of Benjamin Cross were now difficult to interpret from that time, some of the tales were amusing and interesting to read, nonetheless. Especially, the references to the Frid stool and the Cauldron of Diwrnach or the Black Madonna that were associated with King Arthur of Camelot fame. Still, hidden amongst the more obvious stories of the age were references to lesser-known identities with tales perhaps to tell of their own. And the one that caught Gavin Tate’s eye when reading the old manuscripts was a certain Madam Ermengarde Gleiberg. The woman had a French Belgium origin and provided William McBride with a great deal of information about the Templar’s time in Jerusalem during the crusades. And more importantly, what should be done to build the third and last temple on the city mount at the end time.

It was this issue that intrigued the old deacon over the years.

‘How did she know such information,’ he often asked himself. ‘Especially, when Madam Gleiberg was not known to be part of the Templar inner sanctum in Paris with access to this form of privileged information.’

‘And then again,’ he asked himself. ‘Why did the woman bother to give such information to William McBride in the first place?’

It took some digging and cross referencing of Benjamin Cross’s inclinations in his writings that provided some clues. At the time of the Scottish crusaders led journey to the Holy Land in 1329, they called into Bruges on the Flemish coast to recruit mercenaries to join the venture. Here, the templar knights, Sir Robert and Walter Logan who were charged with the task of returning Arthur’s black statue to the new Jerusalem, met Madam Gleiberg. And over this period, one thing led to another, and the lady and Sir Walter had an encounter of the personal kind. Then, when Sir Walter and Robert Logan were killed at the Battle of Teba in Spain during 1330, Ermengarde subsequently gave birth to a baby girl. When William McBride returned home from Andalusia and settled in Beverley, she asked William and his wife, Catrin to raise the child.

Eventually, Ermengarde left the service of noble families in Europe and started a merchant business of her own. This became financially very successful and led to an arrangement over the following years between herself and Willian McBride. Madam Gleiberg sold the former squires horse ware goods from his shop in Beverley to those in the Mediterranean and North Africa. And in return, William sold her jewelry and pottery from the Middle East and Africa to locals. And naturally, when she came to talk business with the former squire, Ermengarde was able to catch up with the progress of her daughter at the family farm in neighboring, Walkington. However, when Benjamin Cross died of old age, the writings naturally stopped, and the story of the child went cold from then onwards.

And although the stories that Ermengarde told William McBride of the end time in Jerusalem could be put down as old wife’s tales that entertained people around the lounge room fireplace on cold Sunday afternoons. The old deacon now had second thoughts about such an easy dismissal. Because, according to the Cross manuscripts, Ermengarde had told William that a tunnel existed from the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem, under the city to the Temple Mount where the original remains of Solomon’s temple could be found. And the Templar crusaders often used the tunnel to pray under the Dome of the Rock for the eventual return of the Christian end time place of worship. And according to Madam Gleiberg, if any Christian found the place again, they could then claim to be an initiator of the beginning of the countdown to the great tribulation and the second coming, so expected by the templars.

And as Gavin Tate sat watching his TV over the last month or two, this seemed a possibility. Especially, as restoration work had commenced on renovating Christ’s tomb in the Holy Sepulcher at Jerusalem. And in the process of doing so, a tunnel system had indeed been found underneath the tomb structure that possibly led to other parts of the city.

‘Could Madam Gleiberg have been right after all,’ he said to himself. ‘And will it ever be possible to find the source of her knowledge by modern day templars under the Jerusalem platform mount again?’

Then, after more reflection, the old deacon finally left the chapel in the hope that the heavens someday might shine more light on the Beverley Minster. And lay bare any last secrets that it holds for the initiated who will make their way to Jerusalem at the end time.

While this was happening, another man sat in his office in Tel Aviv looking at the bag of pomegranates he had just bought. Would he try to eat one now or leave it until this evening at home. And as Kazimir Volkov contemplated his decision, the phone rang. It was his longtime friend and colleague, the French woman, Elisabeth Corday.

‘Are you up for a pastry and coffee ….. when you come up next to Jerusalem?’ she asked.

Kazimir said that would be great as he would be in town on Thursday, next week. He had not spoken to her for a couple of weeks and wondered how she was getting on.

‘Excellent,’ she replied. ‘Let’s go for lunch time at the café in the Three Arches Hotel, along King David Street.’

As he sat back in his office, Kaz, as most people called him was glad that Elizabeth seemed to be in such good spirits. She had come to Israel some years ago because the place called to her for some reason. The exact cause was not clear to the young lady as if she was searching for someone or something. Kaz thought Elizabeth was an intelligent woman and so offered her a job with his organization. And this proved to be a good move. Quick witted and an eye for detail, Elizabeth showed an ability to pull threads together and make decisions on the run. In the end, she became a supervisor for Kaz’s fund raising activities in Israel. And as they both travelled the length and breadth of the country; Elizabeth became fascinated by all the archeological sites that were being excavated across the landscape.

And this gained her attention to the point of wondering if this was a career path to follow in the future. Eventually, Elizabeth left Tel Aviv for Paris again, where she decided to study a degree in surveying. With a skill in understanding how numbers worked together and could aid precise measurement, the young lady brought these skills eventually to the systematic mapping of archeological sites. However, the young lady was not without her problems. Often in her sleep, she heard voices and eventually experienced nightmares of ancient knights being burnt at the stake and pleading for Elizabeth to seek justice for them.

This she discussed with Kaz as a friend and trusted colleague. Unfortunately, the Russian was not versed in the psychological know how of personal therapy. So, he turned to his longtime friend, the umbrella man for assistance. Sadly, the Englishman had deteriorated in health over recent years and of little help to the Russian. So, Kaz contacted Iva Davies instead, who he knew from the old cold war days in East Germany. The miner had long since retired himself, sold his house in Kalgoorlie and now worked a small property outside Margaret River in Western Australia.

Iva Davies was surprised to hear from the Russian after all this time but enjoyed talking about the old days in the communist, GDR. Regarding the young lady, the former miner said her dreams could be related to the execution of many Knights Templars in Europe around 1307. However, this may be just speculation and more proof was needed to make any such claims. He suggested, the woman be persuaded to return to the Holy Land and placed in a space that encouraged the unconscious to release more information when confronted with familiar past realities. Iva said the psychiatrist, C G Jung would often use association technics to trigger whatever was being stuck in the mind, to eventually be released. Once this was done, then psychological therapy could help the young lady put the pieces together in a way that may greatly improve her emotional life.

Kaz took the former miner’s advice and persuaded Elizabeth to work on the excavation site of the City of David in the Kidron Valley on the south side of the old Jerusalem walls. And this allowed him to keep an eye on her over the coming weeks and months ahead.

At the same time, Zarfidi Virtue was working on railway station designs for the Mandarah metro in Perth. This was a job that paid good wages and allowed the not so young man now, to enjoy the challenge of a new type of architectural experience. However, Zarfidi was still as restless as ever, even though he had put the adventure at Teba and other parts of Europe to one side for the present. Over the past few years, the architect believed much of his efforts in finding the burial place of the last Iman of Islam was a waste of time. Things seemed to move along just as before in the world as if these minor details played no part in shaping the future along with anything else. To the point that Zarfidi felt even if the Iranians came to know about such matters, it would most likely have no impact on radical Shi’ite thinking anymore. Especially, as terrorism seemed to be the main form of attack that the Islamic Republic employed now days to take its revenge on the rest of human society. So, the architect just ambled along watching time pass by in this part of the country.

It was only sometime later that Zarfidi witnessed the surprised election of Donald Trump as President of the United States over Hilary Clinton in 2016. And just before that event, the outgoing President, Obama had signed an agreement to lift sanctions against Iran. And as a result, there was little need for Ahmad al Hasan’s information on the atomic weapons program from now on as the Islamic Republic had agreed to only use nuclear power for peaceful purposes. However, Trump had other ideas. He was making noises about overturning the agreement. And this made the architect wonder to himself.

‘Is this a trickster moment that Jung talked about …… one that shifts the thinking of certain groups towards a different path …… and in doing so ……. changes the goal posts in the end game.’

So, it was of little surprise that Zarfidi received a phone call one day from his old London templar contact, Lucas Martires in Switzerland. They had not talked for several years, and the conversation centered around previous events. Eventually, the curator said.

‘Unfortunately, we now have a problem?’

Zarfidi responded with

‘I assumed you did not call just to inquire about my health.’

‘Sadly, no,’ commented Martires. ‘Our informant, Hasan on the atomic program has been in touch. He tells us the musician, Carlos Celtas has been tracked down on the Costa del Sol by Iranian agents and followed to his place of hiding in Torremolinos, nearby.

‘And why are you telling me this?’ asked the architect.

‘Because, the Iranian said you would want to know,’ came the reply.

‘And do we have any proof that Hasan is talking about the real Carlos Celtas,’ commented Zarfidi.

‘He tells us,’ noted the curator. ‘That after you told him that the burial place of the last Iman was at Tomar in Portugal, he paid informers in the town to report anything of interest. So, when you came to Tomar for the musician the last time, Carlos became known to them before both of you disappeared again.’

This information unsettled the architect. If Manuela had lied to him about the musicians escape at Teba castle and he was indeed still alive, then, under interrogation from the Iranians, Carlos would eventually spill the beans. And the Iranians would come to know that the real burial place of the last Iman was at Teba, Spain and not Tomar. And the chances of locating such a burial site was much easier to find at Teba than Tomar, Portugal. Because, the old isolated fortress in southern Spain, in the middle of nowhere was defenseless in comparison to Tomar, surrounded by urban police and a military presence. And Zarfidi knew this former Moor site with its history of an old Moslem empire, would explode the Islamic fever for a return to previous occupied lands in southern Europe, resulting in terrible bloodshed with Christianity in the region.

So, the architect asked.

‘What do you want me to do?’

The curator thought for a while before replying.

‘Whatever we do, might not be the right way to go. However, perhaps a rescue operation is the best we could undertake in the circumstances. The Iranian tells us that he can hold off his forces for a while and this may just give us enough time to get your friend away from such danger.’

Zarfidi said he needed to think about the possibilities a little more and would contact the curator in a couple of days with his decision. However, when he put the phone down the architect was not very happy. The Iranian had always attempted to harm him in the past and wondered why anything had changed now. And this reluctance would serve the architect well in the meantime. Off course, Ahmad al Hasan had made up the story of the musician for his own purpose. Hasan had come to make his mark in Tehran society in recent years. And the security agent that found the burial place of the last Iman at Tomar castle, had won loyalty in Iranian Shi’ite circles and looked to be rewarded for his efforts. Especially, as someone who spent a good deal of time in North Korea on very boring assignments. Now, a diplomatic post in Tokyo would be a most pleasant end to his career.

However, there was still one sticking point to this scenario. The presence of the Australian, no matter how far away, still posed a threat. Zarfidi Virtue could undo at any time Hasan’s Tomar story of the last Iman. The Iranian suspected there was more to the architect’s movements in the past and possibly where the Iman truly lay. And this hurdle needed to be eliminated to protect Hasan’s own future security interests with the Tehran regime. And this meant, the only way to deal with it was to eliminate the Australian for good. So, the story of the musician came to light and the trap in Torremolinos was set. Still, the only thing that could persuade the architect to go was a reassurance from the curator that support would be provided by the templars on the Costa del Sol.

So, when he rang back, Martires assured him they would have mercenaries on the ground to help at his call. With this in place, Zarfidi replied.

‘Let’s do it.’

And it wasn’t that the architect wanted to restart the end time story and finish it for good. The reason was more basic. The Iranian had caused him a good deal of grief in the past and Zarfidi just wanted to seek a sense of revenge for this personal anger. He thought if he could finally get the upper hand one last time, then that satisfaction would erase the punishment of days gone by. And so, retribution became center stage on the next step forward.

The morning was surprisingly cool in Jerusalem for that time of year as Kaz made his way to the Three Arches Hotel. All dressed in white, the hotel looked more like a 1920s town hall than a place of residence. However, the gardens out the front certainly complimented the arch brickwork that enabled a visitor to feel as if they could relax in this atmosphere. And certainly, very different from the King David Hotel opposite that always seemed to be busy with vehicles coming backwards and forwards in the adjacent car parks.

The Russian found a place to sit at the far end of the café and waited for the French woman to arrive. As he did so, his memory drifted back to the days in East Germany, during the cold war when Kaz helped the Australian Iva Davies escape to West Berlin. The umbrella man had asked the Russian to help his courier from falling into the clutches of the East German Stasi police at the time. So, Kaz impersonated a KGB officer at Friedrichstrasse station, the checkpoint between East and West Berlin. After completing the task successfully, the Russian felt pleased with his performance. It was only after crossing the station fore court and heading towards Friedrichstraube that Kaz noticed a woman in the shadows of a building, clapping her hands together as if applauding an effort well done.

For a moment, the Russian thought he was being made fun of by a German who resented the Soviet presence in the German Democratic Republic or GDR. Especially, ex-Nazi’s and other nationalist elements still left in Germany. So, Kaz went over to remonstrate with the woman. And just as he was about to question her, she said.

‘Nicely done, Comrade Volkov ….. nicely done indeed.’

The use of his name caught the Russian off guard.

‘You certainly know your stuff, comrade ….. however, I am sure the KGB in Moscow would not be amused by your antics, just now.’

Kaz knew he was in possible trouble over this revelation but was not sure what to do about it and could only ask the question.

‘You certainly seem to know a lot about me ….. how come?’

‘I do,’ came the reply. ‘So, just follow me. And comrade ….. rest easy ….. I won’t tell on you ….. at least for now.’

With that the woman walked off towards Georgenstraube with the Russian following. A little later they came to a bar and went inside. The place was nearly deserted, except for a few regulars who were only looking into their beers as time drifted by. Most smoked and the cigarette smell drifted up to the ceiling and then to the few wooden tables at the back. The smoke created a slight hazy effect in the bar and seemed to provide a sense of seclusion for those who wanted to escape from the prying eyes of the outside world. The woman wore a fur coat and hat and looked to be in her 60s. When they sat down, she called out to the bar tender.

‘Two glasses and a bottle of Vodka, over here.’

For a while the woman just looked at the Russian without saying anything. Kaz could see she was no easy push over and her eyes told of someone who had been around a long time and knew the ropes on the other side of life.

‘Someone, not to taken lightly,’ he said to himself.

Finally, she commented.

‘Let’s not beat about the bush, Mr Volkov. I know who you are ….. one of the Leningrad crowd that wants to push the current elite out of their seat of power in Moscow. And replace the rather rigid Soviet system with one that favors a more collective approach centered around the Duma and parliamentary rule. A nice thought, but it will never happen.’

‘Well …. If you have figured it all out ….. why bother talking to me?’ asked the rather annoyed Russian.

‘Because, I need you do something for me,’ she replied.

‘And why should I want to do that?’ Kaz asked.

‘Listen comrade,’ the woman said very straight forwardly. ‘I can have you arrested and thrown in jail by the Stasi in less than an hour. However, I don’t wish to twist your arm and blackmail you to my cause. I only want to do business with someone who is willing to do so out of a common interest and most importantly, a person I can rely on.’

‘You said a common interest ….. and what that might be?’ asked Kaz in a hopeful manner.

‘All in good time, comrade …… however, first I need to know your cooperation is genuine.’

‘And how am I supposed to do that?’ queried the frustrated Russian.

‘Go home and talk to your colleagues …. and ask what their advice is on this matter. And to help you make that decision ….. give your friends this information. Tell them I have known the Tampliers from Danilov Monastery with their red, white, yellow and black rosettes they hold in their hands.’

With that the lady got up to leave and spoke.

‘Finish the rest of the vodka, comrade …… and here are my contact details.’

And as Kaz watched her leave, he was shaken out of his recollections by the arrival of Elizabeth at the café table.

‘Sorry, for being so late,’ she said. ‘A tourist group came late to the dig and it took more time than I thought dealing with their questions.’

Kaz replied that there was no problem and they talked for some time about things in general. Eventually, the two came around to her health.

‘I am much better now …… and fortunately the nightmares have subsided. Still, they do drift in every now and then when I let my guard down.’

‘And is that an ongoing problem for you,’ queried her friend.

‘Occasionally,’ she replied rather hesitantly. ‘However, I do have to ask you one thing?’

Kaz replied, ‘go ahead.’

A little nervously Elizabeth continued.

‘I know this sounds rather strange ….. however, a voice sometimes says to me in the dead of night. Seek out the man of colours …. yes ….. the man of colours. Do you know who that person might be?’

Her friend thought for a minute or two before saying.

‘That is something unknown to me ….. however, I have a colleague in Australia that might know something …. I will contact him and keep you posted.’

The conversation then went on to other topics until they finally parted for the day. As Kaz walked back to his hotel, the only person he could think of asking again was Iva Davies. However, that was not the only thing worrying him on the day. The German woman in the fur coat kept intruding into his thoughts and he wondered if there was a connection between all of these issues that were now pushing for his attention. For a while nothing came to mind until he remembered the follow up to the GDR story.

On his return to Moscow, Kaz consulted his colleagues. They were of the opinion that this could be a trap of some kind to pull the Leningrad group out into the open by their Kremlin opponents. However, they were also intrigued by the woman’s reference to the Russian templars. After much discussion they decided the best approach was to play along for the time being and Kaz to find out as much as possible from the East German woman. So, the Russian visited East Berlin several times to see what was being proposed.

The East German woman wanted Kaz to inform her of the movements of the sandy haired Russian KGB officer in the Kremlin and any of his activities directed towards the GDR. And in return, as she sat on several security committees in the East German parliament, the woman would tell Kaz’s group of any policy changes that were coming up in the Soviet Union known to the GDR, so his group could not get caught out by their opponents. And this arrangement worked well for both sides over the years.

During this time, the Russian learnt the woman’s name was Ellen Rometsch. And sometimes when they talked together, he gained the impression she knew who the umbrella man was and the interest the English templars had in Each Germany. Now, he wondered after all these years, if the woman had some hidden connection to the activities of Iva Davies in the past and if this led to a link, however small to his friend, Elizabeth Corday. Never-the-less, the more he thought about it, the more the threads seemed to be preposterous. Still, they would not go away and the only way to solve such a dilemma was to ask Iva Davies himself.

When they talked again on the phone, the former miner told Kaz the possibility could exist, although he had no direct proof of such a hand behind the scenes. However, Iva did say he wondered at the time, how his friend Peter Maueraberger was able to always keep one step ahead of the Stasi without being caught. Then, when he mentioned, the ‘man of colours’, Iva Davies went quiet for a while before saying.

‘We did have a person working for us several years ago who was referred to occasionally in those terms ….. however, the relationship has long been terminated. And he does not work for the templars anymore.’

Kaz asked why.

‘Because, he was trusted with the care of one of our associates ….. who happened to be my daughter. And his neglect led to her untimely death.’

The Russian expressed his regrets and asked what the former agent was now doing.

‘I believe he is working in the State we live in ….. however, I have not spoken to him for years,’ commented the former miner.

While he thought for a moment, Iva Davies asked.

‘And why are you so interested in him, anyway?’

Kaz then told the former miner about Elizabeth. Iva finally replied at the other end by saying.

‘It may be possible that we are talking about someone completely different. However, you can make up your own judgement on this one ….. because, you have met him already.’

This surprised the Russian as he asked for clarification.

‘His name is Zarfidi Virtue ….. and he is the one you helped get away from the Iranians in Istanbul several years ago,’ came the reply.

Kaz said he did remember now and wondered if Zarfidi would be interested in meeting Elizabeth sometime in the future.

Iva replied that he did not know and was not sure if he wanted to make contact with the architect again.

‘I am still upset by the past and may not wish to bring up such unpleasantness again.’

The Russian said he understood and would leave it with the miner for further thought.

‘Let me know if you have a change of heart on this one,’ the Russian concluded.

When he put the phone down, Kaz was now in two minds. When he spoke to Zarfidi in Istanbul, the Australian seemed to have a good knowledge of the tasks ahead and the Russian felt the young man knew more than he was telling. And this was probably because the architect had talked to the umbrella man at various times, previously. So, if the umbrella man had confided important templar knowledge to the young man, the Londoner must have felt it was worth the risk. Meaning, Zarfidi Virtue may indeed be potentially a ‘man of colours.’ Someone in the future who would eventually show his full rainbow of talent, even though Iva Davies may not think so right now. Thus, leaving the Russian to only find a way to make the former miner more cooperative. And this led to just one choice to take.

Kaz knew from his days in the GDR, the connection Ellen Rometsch had with her daughter, Arabella Maueraberger and her relationship in turn with Iva Davies. So, he put a call into the that part of old East Berlin.

CHAPTER 2

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A S HE PREPARED to leave again for Spain, Zarfidi was not that surprised by his eagerness to go. Life in Perth had become repetitious and tiresome, and he needed a challenge to boost his interest in things once more. Although, revenge on the Iranian was a driving force, another factor also played in the back of his mind. And this was good old fashioned, guilt. Because, if Carlos the musician was indeed still alive, then the remorse of leaving him behind in Teba, would be finally confronted. And the tension that stayed with Zarfidi until this day, may be resolved in the affirmative and give him a chance to start life afresh, again.

So, as he arrived at Malaga airport, he felt buoyed about the possibilities. The curator had booked the Australian into the Royal Al- Andalus Hotel just above the beach in Torremolinos. He was to wait there until his templar bodyguards contacted to offer protection. The hotel was unremarkable and seemed like most of the other hotels in the area that looked over the black sands of the Mediterranean. A large pool was in the center of the seven-story complex with an outdoor bar that catered for tourists during the day. Mostly English and Germans frequented the place and so one could always catch the flamingo dancers that typified such Spanish establishments in the lounge at night. Although, the brickwork was painted in mainly yellow, Zarfidi did find the decor somewhat unnerving. However, he could not put his finger on exactly why at the time.

Then, as he was sitting in the shade of the bar veranda the next afternoon watching the girls in the pool, a waiter approached and gave him a Turkish coffee. Zarfidi commented he did not drink the very thick mud mixture and for it to be taken away. Only after the waiter left with the coffee did the Australian notice a note on the napkin still on the table. It read.

‘Your guides are at the hotel ….. just ask for Patrice in the downstairs kitchen.’

Eventually, Zarfidi wandered down to the breakfast area and asked for Patrice. The Australian was ushered into a backroom office where he was asked to sit down. The man spoke in broken English.

‘We have not much time to talk …… I have been instructed by the curator not to be in your company, publicly …… so as not to scare off the Iranians.’

‘Fine,’ replied Zarfidi. ‘So, how do I keep in touch with you?’

The man then pulled out a cell phone and commented.

‘Keep this on you at all times ….. when you push the numbers 6 and 9 down simultaneously …… it will send an urgent signal to my men. We will always be close by ….. and come as quickly as possible to your aid if in trouble.’

Zarfidi seemed happy with that explanation and asked what was the next step.

‘We have to move fast,’ commented Patrice. ‘Carlos is continually surrounded by musical associates and difficult to approach. However, we understand the musician is to play with a band in a festival performance at the Plaza del Remo on the promenade, tomorrow night. After the session finishes, Carlos usually goes to a woman’s place afterwards in the lane, Luzcosen. Follow him to the apartment upstairs and when his friends depart, persuade the musician to leave as quickly as possible to avoid capture by the Iranians.’

‘Then, what happens?’ came the next question.

‘Dial us and we will take the musician to safety,’ replied Patrice.

‘And what am I supposed to do after that?’ asked Zarfidi.

‘You wait at the flat with some of my men for the Iranian to turn up. He wants to pretend that they have done everything they can to capture the musician and unfortunately missed him by a whisker. This he tells us will help cover his arse, if difficult questions are asked in Tehran and thus keep the Tomar story of the last Iman, intact.’

‘So, am I supposed to go along with this story?’ asked the Australian.

‘No ….. you and my men will kill him instead.’

This sudden opportunity at seeking revenge after such a long time, still took Zarfidi by surprise before inquiring.

‘Why, this change of heart by the templars …… especially, as the Iranian has been such a valuable informer over the years?’

‘The curator tells us the Iranian is going to do a runner on us. The Londoners have found out, Ahmad al Hasan has applied for a diplomatic post in Tokyo and plans to leave our organization in the lurch. So, Lucas Martires says he is of no further value to us anymore and to get rid of him as soon as possible.’

This seemed the inevitable fate accompli for the end of such a treacherous relationship and so the Australian only had to wait for the next evening to come along. However, out by the pool the next afternoon, the same unease returned. It was only after several laps in the pool that something came to him. The hotel had a number of statues of cows around the premises, in the gardens, lobby and out front of the complex. And this got Zarfidi thinking. Often the most obvious things go unnoticed to the eye, while the ridiculous stand out. And he wondered if this was something he should keep in mind this evening.

So, when he arrived at the plaza, the Australian concentrated on detail. Carlos eventually came on stage with the other musicians as a large crowd gathered to watch the show. From a distance, Carlos looked to be the same person of old. However, this was not 100% certain to the Australian as time seemed to have made changes to the man’s demeanor. Only face to face contact would reveal the truth. After the show, he followed the man and his friends to the apartment nearby. Zarfidi waited until everyone said good night to each other before making his way to the front door. As he did so, the Australian felt really unsure of himself on climbing the stairs to the second floor. The front door was not locked and as he opened it, Zarfidi could see soft lights and music playing in the lounge area.

Then, something told him to stop. Suddenly, he knew what had caught his eye at the plaza. The musician in question had played his instruments with the right hand. Carlos of old from Tomar always used his left hand. This Carlos was an imposter. Immediately, Zarfidi closed the door from the outside and started to leave the premises. Instantaneously, a light flashed, and an explosion blew out windows and demolished the apartment. The force of the blast threw the Australian downstairs to the ground floor. As smoke covered the laneway and neighbors started screaming, Zarfidi tried to gather his thoughts. The door opening and closing motion was the booby trap for the bomb to go off and if the Australian had entered the apartment, he would be now dead.

As people came running to see what had happened and police sirens could be