TEMPLAR

1: Meeting At Rosslyn (sneak peek)

By: John Westcott

© Copyrighted by John Westcott.

As I have recently had issues with people stealing my stories and selling them as their own, I feel I have to put an explicit copyright warning on my stories. Be advised that I have properly documented and protected my copyright of these characters and situations and have enlisted a lawyer to protect them. Any violation of my copyright will result in legal action, beginning with, but not limited to, a cease and desist order. If that fails, further and harsher legal actions will be aggressively pursued to the full extent of the law.

Disclaimer: All characters and situations are the property of John Westcott. Any similarities to real persons and/or events is entirely coincidental.

Author's Notes:This story is something I've been kicking about in my head for quite some time. It's safe to say that if you enjoyed stories like "The Da Vinci Code" you'll probably have a leg up on enjoying this story. While it's certainly influenced by those types of tales, I need to emphasize that I've been reading up on this type of stuff since long before it was popularized by Dan Brown. I read "Holy Blood, Holy Grail" long before Dan Brown's book was ever written, for example. I've also read most works by authors like Knight and Lomas (of 'The Second Messiah' fame) many years previous. My good friend, Rod Davila, will attest to me speaking of telling a Templar Knight story (though in a vastly different format) for many years now. That being said, I hope you enjoy this two page sneak peak at a story I plan to continue in 07.

This story is dedicated to my mother, a saint in her own right.

Dec. 25, 2006

Alexander Jack Monaghan padded up the pathway toward the ancient edifice that confronted him. For a secret society, the Priory’s choice of headquarters proved somewhat surprising to him. The area appeared deserted but for the small gatherings of automobiles in the car park. There were no guards or security present that he could detect.

The crisp Scottish air was bracing and helped to keep him alert after a long journey to the lush land of his forefathers. He’d begun the week in Toronto, training hard as always in a secret dojo hidden in the heart of the city. When the call came, he was summoned to Oak Island, an ancient island outpost for his brethren off the coast of Nova Scotia.

His top secret orders were simple, report to the Priory on Christmas Day. Spend the rest of the week traveling the globe, roaming from one country to the next, always on the lookout for a shadow, an agent of the enemy tailing him back to the Priory’s headquarters. His trip to Scotland via New York, Sydney, Amsterdam and finally London left him with a severe cramp in his back, jet lag and a slight headache.

All of which was instantly forgotten when he approached Rosslyn Chapel. The ancient church, originally named the Collegiate Chapel of St. Matthew, always managed to take his breath away. Built in the 15th century in the village of Roslin, Scotland. The chapel was designed by William Sinclair, 1st Earl of Caithness (also spelled "St. Clair") of the St. Clair family, a Scottish noble family descended from Norman knights.

Monaghan, a gentleman of about five foot, ten inches tall, was dressed in a simple but exquisitely designed custom tailored suit by NobleHouse and designer Vijay Wadhwani. The material clung to his well muscled form in all the right places. His reddish blonde hair was trimmed close to his head and his piercing green eyes were always darting this way and that, as he was trained from birth, on the lookout for potential threats even now.

The rest of Monaghan’s body was similarly well manicured, from his fingernails to his teeth. It was a style of life the young man of twenty-seven preferred. Throughout his years of training, he had spent time as a blacksmith in Auckland, a mechanic in Michigan, a professional gambler in Monaco and a banker in Zurich.

All of these trades, from blue collar to white, were meant to give him an appreciation for all walks of life, for it was the many he was charged to protect, not the privileged few, but if he was being perfectly honest with himself, Monaghan had to admit he preferred the compensations that accompanied life in a tailored suit. Not because he identified with the so called ‘upper class’, but because, more than anything else, Alexander Monaghan enjoyed being clean and tidy.

Monaghan closed the door to Rosslyn Chapel behind him and stopped for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the gloom. Rosslyn was nearly as cold inside as out. He rubbed his shoulders and moved inside as his gaze came to rest on the five men standing at the altar.

“Merry Christmas, Alex.” The man in the lead was extraordinarily tall, well over six feet, but soft spoken with soft features and a kindly smile.

“It’s Christmas? I hadn’t noticed,” Monaghan replied.

The tall man stepped forward, producing a small, black, hand held device with the words ‘Welch Allyn’ on it. Monaghan knew exactly what the device was for.

“Please look to the ceiling.”

Monaghan did as he was told and the hand-held direct illuminating ophthalmoscope was activated. The tall man bent over slightly and examined the back of his eye. What he saw there would mystify most people.

The retinal tattoo portrayed the image of two men riding a single horse: the eternal symbol of brotherhood adopted by the Templars. The tall man, known to the world as Dr. Allan Armitage, knew the sign well, for it was he who expertly branded the back of Monaghan’s eye with laser surgery. It was a tricky operation but when done by a highly qualified professional, there was no loss of vision whatsoever in the patient. In this way Monaghan was branded with a nearly invisible means of identification. In this way his identity could never be usurped. With that task complete, Dr. Armitage switched the light off and retreated back to the company of his fellows.

“We can only apologize for bringing you here today when you should be celebrating and enjoying the holidays, but as you well know, you, like your forefathers, are sworn to our service. You are our military arm and we need our military arm now more than ever in this emergency.” This from another gentlemen, seated on a pew to Monaghan’s right, a wickedly old looking man who rested most of his weight on the walker he held in front of him.

These five were the ruling council of the Priory, the keepers of many secrets and defenders of the faith... the true faith as Monaghan knew it.

“And that emergency is?” Monaghan asked.

“In centuries past the Priory employed their Templar Knights to fight on their behalf, but as times changed our military arm grew so threatening to those in power that they were persecuted for crimes they did not commit, their ranks smashed. Now, there is only one Templar Knight for each age, and that Templar is you.”

The tall man held out an ornately carved wooden box. Monaghan took it and lifted the lid. Inside, he found two matching SIG P226 Semi-automatic pistols, silencers and a holster for each: a shoulder holster and one for his waist. Monaghan found the Templar Cross engraved on the handles of each weapon slightly disconcerting.

In times past, the Templars would have used swords to defend the faith, and there was no doubt that Monaghan was well trained in the art of swordplay, but guns were the weapon of choice in this day and age.

“When we created the Templars it was for one specific purpose: to protect those pilgrims of the faith. That is once again your task. Our kind are being murdered, one by one. The Illuminati are once again stepping up their war with us. The ancient relics of our faith are being stolen from our dead hands. We are charging you with our very safety, beginning with the gifts of the magi...”