The Templar Detective and the Code Breaker
The Templar Detective and the Code Breaker
A Templar Detective Thriller
by
J. Robert Kennedy
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BOOKS BY J. ROBERT KENNEDY
The Templar Detective Thrillers
The Templar Detective
The Templar Detective and the Parisian Adulteress
The Templar Detective and the Sergeant's Secret
The Templar Detective and the Unholy Exorcist
The Templar Detective and the Code Breaker
The James Acton Thrillers
The Protocol
Brass Monkey
Broken Dove
The Templar’s Relic
Flags of Sin
The Arab Fall
The Circle of Eight
The Venice Code
Pompeii’s Ghosts
Amazon Burning
The Riddle
Blood Relics
Sins of the Titanic
Saint Peter’s Soldiers
The Thirteenth Legion
Raging Sun
Wages of Sin
Wrath of the Gods
The Templar’s Revenge
The Nazi’s Engineer
Atlantis Lost
The Cylon Curse
The Viking Deception
Keepers of the Lost Ark
The Special Agent Dylan Kane Thrillers
Rogue Operator
Containment Failure
Cold Warriors
Death to America
Black Widow
The Agenda
Retribution
State Sanctioned
The Delta Force Unleashed Thrillers
Payback
Infidels
The Lazarus Moment
Kill Chain
Forgotten
The Detective Shakespeare Mysteries
Depraved Difference
Tick Tock
The Redeemer
Zander Varga, Vampire Detective Series
The Turned
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Table of Contents
The Novel
Author's Note
Preface
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Acknowledgments
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About the Author
Also by the Author
For our lady,
Notre-Dame de Paris.
“Thou shalt not lend upon usury to thy brother; usury of money, usury of victuals, usury of any thing that is lent upon usury.”
Deuteronomy 23:19, King James Version
“Neither a borrower nor a lender be,
For loan oft loses both itself and friend,
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.”
Hamlet Act 1, scene 3, 75–77
William Shakespeare
Author's Note
This is the fifth novel in this series, and for those who have read the others and embraced these characters as so many of you have, please feel free to skip this note, as you will have already read it.
The word “detective” is believed to have originated in the mid-nineteenth century, however, that doesn’t mean the concept of someone who investigated crime originated less than two hundred years ago. Crime long pre-dated this era, and those who investigated it as well.
The following historical thriller is intended to be an entertaining read for all, with the concept of a “Templar Detective” a fun play on a modern term. The dialog is intentionally written in such a way that today’s audiences can relate, as opposed to how people might have spoken in Medieval France, where, of course, they would have conversed in French and not English, with therefore completely different manners of speaking, and of addressing one another. For consistency, English phrasing is always used, such as Mister instead of Monsieur, for example. This does not mean they will be speaking to each other as rappers and gangsters, but will instead communicate in ways that imply comfort and familiarity, as we would today. If you are expecting, “Thou dost hath offended me, my good sir,” then prepareth thyself for disappointment. If, however, you are looking for a fast-paced adventure, with plenty of action, mystery, and humor, then you’ve come to the right place.
Enjoy.
Preface
At the height of their power, the Templars were estimated to have as many as 2000 mounted knights, and as many as 20,000 additional personnel within the Order. In addition to that, they had over 1000 commanderies, fortresses, outposts, and other properties, among their extensive list of assets.
They were wealthy, almost beyond compare.
Yet sworn to poverty.
Much of this wealth was accumulated over time by the nobles that donated to join or support the cause, but much was also from their ingenious, and perhaps world’s first, banking system.
With their sworn mission to protect the pilgrims to the Holy Land from the Saracens and bandits, they soon realized that part of the reason the travelers were targeted was because of the vast amount of wealth they carried with them.
After all, a pilgrimage was a long journey, followed by a usually lengthy stay, before an equally long return home, requiring a large amount of funds to be carried to finance such an endeavor.
Making them ripe pickings for thieves.
Enter the Letter of Credit.
br /> The Templars created a unique system where one could enter a Templar outpost anywhere, deposit a set of assets, then be given a Letter of Credit itemizing those assets, and their value. This letter was encrypted using their unbroken code and given to the traveler, who could then redeem all or part of it along the way to fund their trip.
And it was of little value if stolen.
This ingenious system helped protect the assets of those on a pilgrimage, or traveling anywhere within Europe or the Holy Lands, and reduced the risk to them being raided, as these letters became more commonplace.
The fees charged, and the assets held, including land, made the Templars incredibly wealthy.
And the other religious orders extremely jealous, leaving them desperate to crack the code that protected the world’s first international banking system.
Which begs the question: what would have happened if someone had succeeded?
1 |
St. Cloud, Kingdom of France 1298 AD
René Courvat stood in front of a solid though simple desk that occupied the center of the entry of the Templar outpost. Sweat trickled down his back and beaded on his upper lip as he futilely attempted slow, steady breaths, his heart still racing despite his desperate efforts. He forced himself to look away from the document now held in the hands of the Templar Knight on duty. The sight of the man’s crisp white tunic with large red Maltese cross emblazoned on it, even when viewed only in the periphery of his current tunnel vision, was enough to keep his entire body trembling.
Get a hold of yourself!
He stared at the far corner, nothing but a plain chair occupying it, none of the regalia of the Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ and of the Temple of Solomon in sight, his heart finally calming, if only slightly.
“One moment, please,” said the knight, an older man whose facial scars suggested a much more exciting youth than the position he now held. As soon as the man was out of sight, René sighed then stopped midway, the sound so loud it had to have been heard in the next room.
Something was wrong.
He had done this before. Many times before. And it had never taken this long.
Something was definitely wrong.
His fingernails dug into his palms, the pain going unnoticed as he debated leaving.
You should leave. Now!
He started to turn when the door to the back office opened and the elderly knight’s head poked through. “I’m terribly sorry. This will only take a few minutes.” He pointed at the chair in the corner. “Have a seat. It won’t be long.”
The door closed and René stood, frozen in place.
Would he be so friendly if he knew what you were doing?
He didn’t think so.
An innocent man would sit.
He willed his legs to move, and he soon found himself in the chair, with a view of the entire entry of the small Templar outpost less than a day’s ride from Paris. The Templars had outposts like this scattered around the massive city, allowing travelers to redeem their Letters of Credit before entering the capital, rather than at the busy Templar fortress.
A place he never intended to go.
The lineups were long, and the chance of greater scrutiny was too much.
And his poor heart could never take the stress.
Yet here, west of the city he lived in, he felt no less insecure.
Though what had he expected? He had pushed his luck. Foolishly. At first, it had simply been the challenge. To think he could do something no one else had been able to do for over a century. It had all started by chance. He had always been good with words and numbers, with figuring out puzzles and recognizing patterns. It was a gift from God, his late mother had told him, and he believed her.
Who else among his friends saw numbers as colors, patterns as smells? Nobody. He was a freak of nature, and kept the source of his unique abilities to himself lest he be declared a demon and find himself tied to a stake.
Though perhaps he was. He was different, and it had made his life difficult. He hadn’t married, nor would any woman have him. He was simply too awkward. All he had in his life were his younger sisters. They had lost their father several years ago, and their mother soon after. The three were all each other had, and he would do anything to protect them.
And that was why, when he had finally done what none had done before, he had taken advantage of his accomplishment.
His painstakingly achieved accomplishment.
He knew how to read and write, as well as do numbers. It was a skill in short supply where he lived, an area of the city where too many were desperate, and this desperation created a need for his services, services that he charged for, though more often than not took something in trade.
He would read and explain contracts his customers brought to him, usually from loan sharks, though sometimes they would be land contracts, rental agreements, or other forms of agreement made in writing by people of means to people with little. The terms read often brought tears to the eyes of those who had already agreed, their mark at the bottom of the page as meaningless to them as the words above it.
It was heartbreaking work.
But on a number of occasions, he had received old Templar Letters of Credit in exchange for his services, three from the same widow, her husband having traveled to the Holy Land years before, using the Templar network to move his money. In the end, he had died, leaving her nothing but the letters, letters which she had no idea of what they were until she brought them to him to read.
And they were, of course, gibberish, the strange symbols consisting of dots and various lines at different angles, instead of letters and numbers, a code unbroken for so long, it was legend.
But his beautiful mind had noticed patterns, patterns jumping off the pages like deer in the meadows. It had been so obvious, he had immediately realized that each symbol stood for a letter or number, and their use was consistent.
For he was certain the widow’s husband’s name was repeated near the beginning of each Letter of Credit.
When he informed her they were unreadable, she told him to keep them and feed his fire if he so wished, then left, cursing her dead husband for leaving her with nothing but the clothes on her back.
And it had tortured him that night.
He woke, determined to crack the code and help the widow regain that which her husband hadn’t lost, but rather had wisely entrusted to the Templars with their vast network of outposts across Europe and the Holy Land.
The idea was simple. Traveling with sufficient monies to make long journeys, especially to the Holy Land, was foolish. Thieves along the way would prey upon the pilgrims and steal their money. Enter the Templars. At first, they had acted merely as escorts, protecting the pilgrims from thieves and Saracens. But eventually, they developed the concept of Letters of Credit. One’s wealth was deposited at a Templar outpost at the beginning of a journey, a Letter of Credit was given indicating the value, and then the pilgrim traveled with the piece of paper only. Unless a thief wanted to risk entering an outpost to try and cash a stolen letter, they were considered not worth the trouble.
When the pilgrim required funds along the way, or finally reached their destination, they could go to any Templar outpost and redeem it, getting as much of the deposited wealth as they required at the time, or all of it should they so desire.
It protected the traveler, and it made the Templars incredibly wealthy by charging fees, or by not having to redeem the Letters of Credit of those who died, their papers lost to the battlefield or the side of the road where they succumbed to brigands or the elements.
And that wealth made many insanely jealous, including monarchs, nobility, and other religious orders.
Yet the Templars, supported by the Pope in Rome, continued to amass tremendous wealth at the expense of the innocent.
And that was why, when he had figured out the code, he hadn’t felt any guilt in stealing from them.
Though it had been a challenge. Once he had recognize
d the pattern and guessed at the letters making up the widow’s husband’s name, he had to confirm it. He redeemed the Letters, one at a time, then noticed another pattern, indicating what had been deposited, and its value. This had given him even more to work with. He then created his first fake, copying the first letter exactly, but only changing what he was now certain was the name, using only letters he was certain of.
It had worked.
He then took the proceeds, and deposited them at several outposts, having Letters of Credit created for several people, all with a combination of letters that gave him the entire alphabet.
And his brilliant mind had picked out the patterns, and soon had the entire code broken, including every single letter and number. This allowed him to read any Letter of Credit he saw with ease, and he finally took the plunge, creating his own complete forgery, then redeeming it.
It had worked perfectly, and he had given all the funds gained during his experimentation to the widow—anonymously—his guilty conscience settled.
But the victory had been intoxicating, and he had wanted more. Not much, just enough to get by, to make his life, and that of his orphaned sisters, a little better.
Yet today, he was certain he had pushed his luck.
The door opened and he leaped to his feet, the old man returning to his desk, a collection of coins in his hand. He began counting them out, then pushed them toward the still trembling René.
“Sorry for the delay, young man, but we’ve been short-staffed and I’m getting a little too old for this.” He leaned back in his chair. “So, how was it?”
René’s eyes narrowed, his heart racing. “Sir?”
“The Holy Land.”
A trickle of urine raced down his leg as he wondered why the question had been asked.
Because that’s the origin you used in the Letter of Credit, you imbecile!
“Oh, umm, it was hot, but inspirational.”