The Templar Detective and the Code Breaker Read online

  “I’m in Rome. Accounts.”

  Marcus frowned, eying the man’s shoulder. “So, your wound never recovered?”

  Damase shook his head. “No, and with it being the right shoulder, I just can’t swing a sword like I used to.” He gestured toward Marcus’. “And your wound?”

  “I wouldn’t say fully recovered, but it’s held its own since I’ve arrived.”

  Damase chuckled. “I can’t see that you’d have much opportunity to test it in these parts.”

  Marcus rolled his eyes. “You’d be surprised at what we’ve managed to get mixed up in.”

  Simon jerked a thumb at his master. “You know him. He’s always sticking his nose into something he shouldn’t be.”

  “I do know him, and I can only imagine.” Damase gestured toward the barracks at the top of the hill. “I assume that’s where you are living rather than in this comfortable farmhouse?” He gestured toward the house at the bottom of the hill, the sound of women and children rolling over the fields.

  “It is. There’s no room in the house for any of us now.”

  Damase frowned. “I heard of your sister. You have my condolences.”

  “Thank you, old friend.” Marcus gestured to Jeremy who quickly took charge of Damase’s horse, leading it toward the barn with David. “You’re staying with us tonight, I hope?”

  “If I’m welcome.”

  Marcus chuckled. “You are always welcome here, my friend, after everything we’ve been through together.” They entered the barracks, the warmth of the fire welcome, the three of them sitting in front of the stone hearth, its radiated heat soothing his aching bones.

  David entered, carrying Damase’s possessions, placing them on one of the beds. “Your belongings, sir. Can I help you out of your armor?”

  Damase nodded, standing and stretching out his arms, David expertly removing the chainmail and outer garments, leaving the friends only moments later to talk in private. “You have good boys there.”

  Simon grunted. “Hardly boys anymore. They certainly stink like men.”

  Damase squinted. “I’m afraid you all do. Do you not bathe in France?”

  “Not as much as in the Order, unfortunately, though this is more a function of the work we’ve been doing.” Marcus regarded his friend. “So, what brings you here? You said you were in accounts?”

  “Something curious. I’ve noticed some irregularities in our bookkeeping for the past several months. I’ve been sent to consult with the fortress in Paris since the transactions all seem to tie back here.”

  Marcus’ eyes narrowed. “What kind of irregularities?”

  Damase glanced about, as if making sure they were alone, the only other “person” in the room Tanya, the farm’s mastiff. “I believe our code has been broken.”

  “Impossible!” cried Simon. “That can’t be!”

  Marcus had to agree. “Are you certain?”

  Damase sighed. “No, but I can’t think of any other explanation.”

  “What is your evidence?”

  “What appear to be forged Letters of Credit.”

  Marcus leaned forward. “Explain.”

  “We’ve been receiving copies of redeemed Letters of Credit that indicate they were issued in Rome. As you know, once a Letter has been redeemed and paid out, the original is sent to the regional headquarters, and a copy is made and returned to the originating outpost, so that it can be balanced against our books.”

  “And these forgeries? They don’t match?”

  Damase shook his head. “No, they don’t. There are no records of any of them having come from our end.”

  Simon pursed his lips, folding his arms, clearly not convinced. “Perhaps someone screwed up.”

  “Once, maybe. Twice? Perhaps. But over a dozen times? No, definitely not.”

  Marcus felt slightly sickened. “Is the breaking of our code the only way this could have been done?”

  “It is the only way I dare consider, for the only other is that one of our own is behind it.”

  Simon chewed his cheek. “That sounds more reasonable than our code having been broken.”

  Damase sighed. “Yes, it does, but to what end? The amounts are trivial in nature, at least until recently. And every single one of the redemptions has taken place around Paris. That would mean he would have to be stationed here, and run the risk of being recognized.” He shook his head. “No, I don’t think one of our own is behind this.”

  Marcus frowned. “I hope you’re wrong. Otherwise, it does mean the code has been broken.”

  Simon shrugged. “Does it really matter, though? Just change the code.”

  Damase’s eyes widened slightly. “You don’t understand, do you?”

  Simon grunted. “Evidently not.”

  “Let me explain. If the code has been broken, it could undermine the entire system. If our Letters of Credit can’t be trusted, it all collapses.”

  Simon appeared skeptical. “How?”

  “If word of this gets out, it could mean the end of the Order itself.”

  Simon exchanged a glance with Marcus. “Again, how?”

  “The bulk of our income outside of donations comes from our Letters of Credit system. The fees we charge, and the rents we charge on assets held as collateral, are what fund the entire Order. It is a massive undertaking, and exceptionally expensive. If those that use our system lose confidence in it, it could collapse very quickly, and we’d lose all that income. We would be unable to maintain our current holdings, be forced to liquidate assets to pay our bills, and eventually, to shrink our numbers dramatically. In the end, we would be left with nothing. The Order would be no more.”

  Marcus frowned. “While I don’t share your doom and gloom assessment, I do agree the situation is severe. You are absolutely right that if confidence were lost, and the system was to fail, we would be reduced considerably. I would hope that the nobles of Europe would continue to fund us through donations as they join our ranks, though you’re right, the extent of our influence would be dramatically reduced.”

  Damase sighed. “I’m afraid you’re forgetting one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “If we are so greatly reduced and disgraced, we risk being taken over by another order.”

  Simon growled. “You don’t mean the Hospitallers, do you?”

  “Exactly. You know how they are. If they sensed weakness, and dishonor, they would petition Rome for our disbandment, and eventual absorption.”

  Marcus’ chest tightened at the thought. “That can’t be allowed to happen.” He leaned closer to his friend. “Does anyone know about this?”

  “Very few. The amounts were trivial until recently, though are still not enough to raise concern beyond the possible implications of how it is being done.”

  “This recent change, do you think he’s become greedier?”

  “Possibly. And if he continues, the amounts could become too big to hide.”

  Marcus frowned. “How can we help?”

  “Provide me with a hot meal, some good company, and a roof over my head until morning.”

  “You have it.”

  Damase smiled slightly. “And a prayer to wish me well?”

  Marcus laughed, patting his friend on the back. “You shall have that too. And should you need us, all you need to do is ask.”

  8 |

  Courvat Residence Paris, Kingdom of France

  “It’s too much! They’ll figure it out!”

  René cringed as Pequin glared at him, clearly displeased with his objections. It had been months now since he had been forced to work for Pequin, the amounts initially small like he had been doing, then progressively larger as time went on, their crimes unnoticed, or at least unsolved.

  And every time he expressed his fears, Pequin would point to Grace and Vivienne, both forced to stand in the room each time Pequin would visit with his next demand. They were under constant threat, and he had no idea how to get out from under this, though if
he didn’t, they’d all end up caught and hanged.

  Then who will take care of them?

  They needed husbands. It would solve everything should something happen to him, and perhaps was where his focus should lie. They were both pretty. Vivienne could cook like no one’s business, making any meager meal a feast, and she was teaching the younger Grace. Vivienne at least was nearly of the age where marriage could be considered, though just. Grace had years before he’d let her, though he was certain there were perverts out there who would happily bed her.

  He stared at Pequin, ogling his sisters, the man clearly one of the perverts he feared. “You’re going to get us all killed.”

  Pequin turned his attention back to René. “Talk like that will get your sisters killed.” He leaned closer. “Or worse.”

  René’s heart hammered, his mouth going dry. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  Pequin smiled sinisterly. “I wouldn’t, no, but some of my men?” He shrugged. “Who knows what they might do if they knew your sisters were no longer under my protection?”

  René struggled to maintain control. “Is that what you call it? Protection?”

  “They remain untouched so long as you do what I say. No longer.” He jabbed him with a finger. “And the longer it takes for you to fully grasp that, the more impatient I become.”

  René’s shoulders slumped, defeated. “But you ask for too much! These amounts are too high to go unnoticed. Eventually, they’ll discover the imbalance, and investigate. Then we’re doomed.”

  Pequin leaned back in his chair. “I fail to see how. No real names are used, and the forgeries are always redeemed outside of Paris by different people. I fail to see, even if they figure out what is going on, how they might ever find out who’s behind it. We are perfectly safe, as long as you don’t panic.”

  “But they might begin refusing the Letters of Credit if they find out we’re forging them.”

  Pequin chuckled. “Ahh, my young friend, you are so naïve. Don’t you realize what’s going on here?”

  René frowned. “I guess not.”

  “My boy, there is nothing they can possibly do about it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If word ever got out that their system has been compromised, it would collapse immediately. The Templars would be finished. All Letters of Credit would be suspect, and it would ruin them. They would collapse financially, lose the backing of the royal families of Europe, and most importantly, the Pope and the Roman Catholic Church.” Pequin leaned closer. “René, my boy, they can’t say or do anything, beyond hope to get lucky.” A sly grin emerged. “And luck is always on my side.”

  9 |

  Paris, Kingdom of France

  Simone Thibault frowned as she regarded Pequin, the uncouth bastard sporting a hat far finer than anything she had previously seen him in. In fact, his entire wardrobe appeared out of place. It was a bit of the pot calling the kettle black arse, however, since she too was dressed far above her true station, though that was to separate her from the masses she leeched off.

  And the fact Pequin too was separating himself, suggested his business had taken a turn for the better.

  “Mrs. Thibault, a pleasure to see you this fine day.”

  She forced a smile. “And you, Mr. Pequin. That’s a fine hat you’re wearing.”

  He bowed slightly, tipping it. “It is, isn’t it? And yours is lovely as well.”

  She didn’t bother to curtsy. “Business must be good to afford such fine attire.”

  “It is, thank you. As yours obviously continues to be.”

  She regarded his entourage, never smaller than half a dozen. “Perhaps if you didn’t have so many men draining your purse, you’d be able to afford a finer pair of shoes.”

  Pequin frowned, staring down at his humble shoes, the one piece of his wardrobe the galoot had neglected. His cheeks flushed. “You should watch your tongue while alone on the street. Enzo isn’t here to protect you.”

  She smiled. “I’ll tell him you said that. That way he’ll know if anything ever happens to me, you are the one to pay a visit to.”

  Pequin gulped, the prospect of a visit from her primary enforcer evidently unwelcome. He tipped his hat. “Ma’am, it’s been pleasant, but I have business to attend to.”

  She smiled. “As do I.” She pointed behind them as Enzo rounded the corner. “Oh, here’s Enzo now. Perhaps you’d like to say hello?”

  Pequin’s voice shot up a couple of octaves. “That won’t be necessary!” He rushed off, his men stumbling after him as they kept a wary eye on the lumbering mass of approaching muscle.

  “Is everything fine, ma’am?”

  She nodded as she watched Pequin and his lackeys flee. “Something is going on there. There’s no way a man like that can afford clothes such as those. He’s on to something. We need to find out what.”

  “How?”

  She thought for a moment, her lips pursed as the last of them disappeared around the corner, likely heading back to the tavern that acted as their headquarters. She smiled. “Grab one of his men tonight when they leave the bar. Get him even drunker. Find out what he knows.”

  “And if he won’t talk?”

  “Tenderize him a bit if you have to. Whatever Pequin is up to, I want in.” She glanced down at her clothes. “I’ve been needing a new dress for ages, but all my money is tied up with ungrateful debtors who think I’m the bad one for them getting into trouble.” She shook her head, resuming her trek home. “What a world we live in, when a hard working woman like me is considered evil by those she sacrifices for.”

  “It’s terrible. What would these vermin do without you to help them?”

  She smiled up at the big man. “I’m so happy I have you, Enzo. I think you’re the only one who truly understands the sacrifices I make for my fellow Parisians.” She patted him on the back. “Now, go get one of those bastards drunk and find out what’s going on.” She paused. “And take Thomas with you. Let him ask the questions. Your strengths lie elsewhere.”

  10 |

  Enclos du Temple, Templar Fortress Paris, Kingdom of France

  “What have you found?”

  Sir Damase de Sissey gestured toward the pile of papers sitting on Sir Matthew Norris’ desk. “Our books aren’t reconciling. We’ve been sent notices of Letters of Credit being redeemed in your region, that apparently originated in Rome, that we never issued.”

  Sir Matthew flipped through the pages. “A bookkeeping error?”

  Damase shook his head. “No, that’s what we thought at first, but there are too many errors, and they’ve been getting bigger and more frequent. The only pattern we’ve been able to discern is that they are all redeemed within a day’s ride of Paris, but never inside Paris.”

  “Interesting.”

  “And disturbing. I suggest we put a message out to all our outposts to see if anyone else has noticed this pattern. I can’t believe whoever is behind this would only target Rome.”

  Matthew continued scanning the pages. “The amounts, even now, are trivial, though I’ll concede they are growing.” He regarded Damase. “Are you making too much of this?”

  Damase tensed. For the Templar Master for France to not see the significance was stunning, yet pointing that out would have to be done delicately. “Sir, I don’t think you, umm, grasp what is going on.”

  Matthew smiled slightly, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms, Damase’s word choice evidently poor. “Enlighten me.”

  Damase drew a deep breath, steeling for the defense of his position, something he had already done with this man’s counterpart in Rome. “Sir, someone has broken our code. Everything is now at risk. Not only our Letters of Credit, but our entire communications network. Nothing is safe. Before today, we always assumed that if a messenger was intercepted, no one would be able to read our correspondence. But now? Anyone can.”

  Matthew raised a finger slightly. “Only if it has been shared. I would think if anyone figured ou
t our code, they would keep it to themselves so they could benefit, as they have been. Why share this information and risk getting found out? And besides, we can always change the code.”

  Damase’s heart beat a little quicker as he tensed, his point not getting through. “Sir, that would only stop them temporarily, I fear. If they figured out how to crack the code once, then they can do it again.” He tapped the stack of forged Letters of Credit. “Look at these initial transactions we flagged. These names are unusual. They’re obviously designed to cover every letter of the alphabet.”

  Matthew leaned forward, picking up the pages to see for himself. His eyes widened slightly.

  “Whoever is behind this is smart. Very smart. Simply changing the code isn’t going to stop him. But there’s a bigger thing at stake here.”

  Matthew tossed the pages back on his desk. “Bigger than our financial system being pillaged?”

  “Yes.” Damase lowered his voice slightly. “Sir, if word gets out that our code has been broken, that our Letters of Credit are suspect, then the entire system could fail. No one will want to entrust us with their assets for fear someone at the other end of their journey might claim their letter is a forgery.” He frowned, shaking his head. “Sir, once word spreads, we’re finished.”

  Matthew leaned back, his head slowly bobbing, giving Damase hope his point might have finally gotten through. “I never thought of that.” He stared at Damase. “What do you propose we do?”

  Damase shook his head. “I’m not sure. The only pattern we’ve noticed is that they are using commanderies and outposts around Paris to redeem their Letters of Credit. I suggest we start there.”

  “How?”

  “I plan on interviewing our men at each of these locations, and see if they recall any of these redemptions. We might just get lucky.” He pulled out a piece of paper from his bag. “Also, I have a directive here I’d like sent out to all the locations in question, with your permission, of course.” He handed over the page and Matthew read it.

  “You really think this might help?”