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.The Catholic Church wasn’t in much better shape.Over the years the situation has gone from bad to worse.”“How does La Sapiničre fit into all of this, the Sodalitium Pianum or whatever it was called?”“Why do you ask?”“Because one of their people tried to kill us in Jerusalem,” said Holliday.“A priest, like you.”“I told you,” said Rodrigues, “I am no longer a priest.”“That doesn’t matter.What interest does the Vatican have in all of this?”“The same as it did eight hundred years ago,” answered Rodrigues.“Power.Or the lack of it.The Saladin treasure would make the Roman Catholic Church an irrelevancy in one blow if it was revealed.The political machinery that has evolved in the Holy See over a thousand years would come down like Humpty Dumpty off his wall.There would be no way to put it back together again.”“I don’t get it,” said Peggy.“The Vatican has more money than it knows what to do with.You’re trying to tell me they’d hire killers just to get more?”“You’d be surprised at what the Church is capable of,” said Rodrigues.“But this is not about money.It never was.”“What else is treasure about?” Peggy said.“When is a treasure not a treasure?” Rodrigues responded.“What’s that supposed to mean?” Peggy asked, exasperated by the tall man’s roundabout answers.“I think I see,” said Holliday slowly.“Well, I sure don’t,” said Peggy.There was a sound from the road outside the cottage: tires on gravel, and more than one vehicle from the sounds of it.Doors slammed, and they heard the low sound of voices speaking quietly.Rodrigues stood and went to the window.He looked for a few seconds, then turned away and went to the fireplace.He took down the shotgun, carried it to the desk, and rummaged in one of the desk drawers.He took out a handful of shells, broke the barrels of the shotgun, and loaded it.He snapped the barrels closed and turned to Holliday and Peggy.“We have visitors,” Rodrigues said.“Unwelcome ones by my estimation.”32Through the window, Holliday saw two cars, an old Citroën 2CV and an even older Mercedes sedan, standing on the gravel in front of the cottage.There were six men, all big, blond, and hard-faced.One of them stood at the trunk of the Mercedes handing out weapons to the others.Shotguns and small, brutal-looking machine pistols, Uzis and MAC-10s.Holliday caught the flash of a tattoo on the wrist of one of the men.“Kellerman’s people,” said Holliday.“Ordo Novi Templi,” nodded Rodrigues.“The Order of the New Templars.”“You know about Kellerman?” Peggy asked, startled.“There have been White Templars and Black since the beginning,” answered the ex-priest.“Ordo Novi Templi is simply one of the Black Templars’ more recent incarnations.” The tall man shook his head.“There is no time to explain further.We must leave this place immediately.”“And how are we supposed to do that?” Holliday asked.“Those men outside aren’t about to give us a free pass.”“Vis consili expers mole ruit sua,” said Rodrigues, stuffing the pockets of his trousers with more shotgun shells.“Horace,” answered Holliday.“ ‘Discretion is the better part of valor.’ You don’t happen to have another weapon by any chance, do you?”Rodrigues reached under the desk.There was a faint tearing sound: Velcro.He handed Holliday a well-oiled Czech CZ 75 automatic pistol in a belt-clip holster.“It’s loaded with Smith and Wesson.40-caliber copkillers—Teflon coated.”“Strange priest,” said Holliday, stuffing the holster into the waistband of his jeans.“Strange times,” responded Rodrigues.“Follow me.”Rodrigues stepped quickly to the center of the room and threw back the braided rug.Beneath it was the obvious square and iron ring of a trapdoor set into the floor.Peggy groaned.“Not this again!”Rodrigues grabbed the ring and pulled up the trapdoor.Beneath it was a narrow set of stone steps leading downward.The ex-priest motioned them toward the opening.“Go down.I’ll come after you.”“It’s dark,” objected Peggy.“The fifth step down on the right,” instructed Rodrigues.“There’s a switch on the wall
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