The second leg of their journey also went as hoped, with the plane touching down at Peretola International a few minutes before 9pm. Jack had googled the location Olga had sent, about twelve miles north-east of Florence, close to the small town of Borgo San Lorenzo.
They cleared Immigration and Customs and made their way to the waiting line of taxis. The driver, clearly happy to pick-up two visitors, had the thought of making a little extra money on the fare, but when Jack gave the destination in perfect Italian, the driver shrugged and pulled away from the kerb.
The ride from the airport to San Lorenzo took a little over forty-five minutes, and although the town was only twelve miles from Florence, as-the-crow-flies, it was almost thirty miles by road. Once there it took a few more minutes to find the actual location, and when the cab pulled up to the gates, the driver was clearly apprehensive, as there was nothing but darkness.
The sky was black, with the moon obscured behind heavy cloud. As the gates swung silently open two figures emerged from the shadows. One stood in front of the car, the headlights glinting on the Beretta machine-pistol in his hands. The second, opened the rear door and said, ‘Buona sera, signiori.’
Jack paid the driver and climbed out. ‘Buona sera.’
The man then turned to the driver, and with a wave of his hand, said, ‘Avanti.’
As the taxi pulled away, the man indicated a six-seater golf buggy, just to the right of the gate. ‘Prego, signiori.’
Jack and Bogdan took the middle seats, as the man with the gun sat behind them. The cart lurched as it pulled away into the shadows. They continued for a couple of minutes through a heavily wooded area and then came out onto a well-lit driveway. A hundred yards ahead, and surrounded by floodlit gardens, was what appeared to be a 12th century castle.
As the buggy pulled up to the bottom of the entrance steps, a man, dressed in evening suit, came down to greet them. Jack and Bogdan climbed out, and the cart drove off.
The man offered his hand. ‘Good evening, Mr Castle.’
As they shook hands, Jack said, ‘Good evening. This is… ‘
‘Mr Markov. Yes, we are expecting you both.’ He offered his hand to Bogdan.
The big Russian smiled. ‘Hullo.’
‘My name is Giovanni. Welcome to the Castello San Lorenzo, gentlemen.’
Jack and Bogdan followed Giovanni into the old building. The exterior, although well maintained, was as it had been, almost a thousand years ago. The interior had kept its medieval countenance, but it was clear the castle had been modernised with state of the art air-conditioning, new marble floors and contemporary windows. The walls were hung with works by many of the old masters and the statues were an equal to any in the museums of Florence or Rome. Antique furniture was everywhere. This was not contrived opulence, this was the real deal.
Giovanna said, ‘Here we are,’ then turned and opened a heavily-studded oak door.
As they entered the room the occupants stood to greet them. Two men and a woman, probably between sixty and seventy, dressed elegantly in evening-wear, stood in front of a huge fireplace.
‘Gentlemen, please come in,’ said the woman.
Giovanni introduced Jack and Bogdan to the woman. This is the Contessa Maria Alaria di Vincenzo.’
‘Contessa,’ said Jack, as he took her hand and kissed it.
The woman smiled. ‘Please, call me Maria. And, Mr Markov. Welcome.’
The Russian smiled.
Maria introduced the other men. ‘This is my great friend Myles DeVere, one of your fellow countrymen, Jack. And this is Takashi Miori, recently arrived from Japan.’
Hands were shaken, and they sat down on the three large chesterfields that surrounded a low coffee table. A silver ice bucket with an unopened bottle of vintage Dom Perignon, a couple of decanters of spirit and several small bottles of mineral water where laid out.
‘Can we get you a drink gentleman,’ said Giovanni.
‘Water’s fine, thank you,’
The woman smiled. ‘Yes of course. You don’t drink, do you, Jack. Not so you, Mr Bogdan?’
The big man smiled. ‘Da. Not so me, Contessa.’
Chapter Thirty One
Early in the 12th century the French knight, Hugues de Payens founded the original order of Knights Templar. For almost 200 years the Templars grew in numbers, wealth and power, and their contribution to the Crusades was legend.
Not by accident, did the Templars develop into what would be known today as a multi-international corporation, with interest in banking, investments and the wider control of wealth, across the civilised world. Their links to Freemasonry and even the Illuminati, did nothing but strengthen their position.
As the Templar’s influence grew, it became clear King Phillipe 4th of France was in fear of their power and hold on the world of finance; this, plus the fact he was personally in crippling debt to them. To free himself from their grip, he initiated vile rumours that the Templars were nothing more than money-grabbing devil-worshipping Heretics.
On Friday 13th October 1307, Templars across Europe were simultaneously arrested, tortured and put to death. This action by Phillipe, was designed to deliver three goals. The first, get rid of his debt. The second, get rid of the Templars. The third, secure their vast wealth. The first two were achieved, not so the third, and although huge amounts of monies were seized, most of the Knights Templar fortune remained undiscovered.
Over the centuries, and to the present day, the original Templar fortune has grown and grown. It is a closely guarded secret just how much money is now in the hands of the descendants of the Knights Templar, and today, with their unlimited funding, they can direct world events, influence governments and control almost any situation.
It is believed there are about six hundred direct progenies of the original Templars, and although they are spread across the world, their High Council is based, and meets in Florence. Today, these descendants are known as, Templari Incrementum.
The Contessa Maria Alaria di Vincenzo, is the current Grand Master of the Templari, and head of the Council of Thirteen. This number of male and female council members, in reverence to the dreadful date their ancestors perished.
‘You are a very resourceful man, Jack,’ said the Contessa.
Jack finished his water and looked at the woman. ‘Not as resourceful as your organisation though, Contessa.’
She smiled. ‘Maria, please. Well, we have been established for almost a millennium, Jack.’
He nodded. ‘There is that, I suppose. May I ask a question, Contessa… Maria?’
‘Your organisation has been following us. Why? What makes us so interesting? And why are you so obviously willing to help us?’
‘Ah, the directness of the British. I do so like it. So, we come to the business of the evening,’ she waved her hand and said, ‘Giovanni, prego.’
‘Si, Contessa.’ The man took a stance in front of the huge fireplace, as if about to deliver a dramatic speech. Jack looked at Bogdan who was clearly supressing a grin.
‘We know of the recent and unfortunate Poseidon incident. We know your government paid three billion pounds to the high-jackers. We also know you have been tasked with recovering the money and finding the person or persons responsible.’
Jack picked up another bottle of water and poured it into the crystal tumbler, then looked across at DeVere. The Englishman raised his glass in a knowing gesture and smiled.