The Lafayette Sword by Eric Giacometti Page B

Templar imagery, partly out of nineteenth-century romanticism and partly out of a pragmatic need to invent a prestigious lineage and attract the bright minds of the time.
    â€œOf course it’s an aberration. But there is the story of the Templars’ treasure, which was never found. Fascinatin g legend.”
    Marcas smiled. “The Templar treasure, hidden from King Phillip and lost. As my son would say, ‘IDBI’—I don’t believe it. Let’s forget those martyred knights, who have been served up with every kind of esoteric sauce, and focus on our murderer.”
    The grand secretary shrugged and looked around the room.“You’re right, Marcas. Paul was your friend. We owe it to him and the poor fellow who was stabbed in the chamber of re flection.”
    â€œI know what I need to do,” Marcas said. “I’m not just a police investigator. I’m a brother, as well.”
    â€œSo it’s up to you to avenge hi s memory.”
    The two men sat in silence. Outside, the night began its fight against the setting sun. The darkness rose like an undergr ound tide.
    Andrivaux broke the silence. “There’s something that you need to know. Paul left a letter for you in my office on the night he was murdered.”
    â€œAnd you didn’t give it to H odecourt?”
    The grand secretary sipped his whiskey. “The letter was addressed to you, Marcas.”
    Andrivaux pulled an envelope out of his jacket and handed it over. Marcas opened it and pulled out a black USB key and a business card with a message: “If something happens to me, read this and get my ancestor’s sword back, no matter what. Your broth er, Paul.”
    Marcas showed the card to the grand secretary. Andrivaux nodded and gav e it back.
    By now the sun had disappeared, and the streetlights were going on. Marcas looked at his watch.
    â€œDamn! I’ve got to go. I promised my ex-wife that I’d have dinner with her. I’ll be finished in a couple of hours, and when I get back I’ll take a look at the flash drive. What can you tell me about t he sword?”
    Andrivaux looked stunned. “You’re certainly not going out, are you? You were just released from the hospital.”
    â€œDon’t worry,” Marcas answered. “I’ll be fine, although I don’t have much of an appetite after getting a gutful of sewage. So back to t he sword.”
    â€œI can’t give you much help with that,” Andrivaux said, picking up his coat. “You already know that it’s one of the most valuable pieces in our museum collection. It’s the Marquis de Lafayette’s Masonic sword. It’s magnificent, with a flamed blade and mother-of-pearl grip. There are no others like it, and it was stolen the night Paul and the initiate were murdered.
    Marcas grabbed his jacket and opened the apartment door, allowing the grand secretary to pass. “First we find the murderer. Then we find the sword. Or maybe it’ll be the other way around. But we’re going to do both. If we can’t bring back Paul, at least we can return the sword to its rightful place. I promised.”

35
    Hamadi oil complex
    Present day
    P owerful spotlights illuminated an excavation the size of a swimming pool. A silver-haired man in a linen suit and gray tie was sitting on a stack of cinderblocks and smoking a cigarillo. He watched the m come in.
    â€œHamid. What a pleasure to see you again,” the man said, standing up and embracing the Kuwaiti. “Welcome, m y friend.”
    â€œ Salaam alaikum, ” the Kuwaiti answered. “May Allah spread his goodness to your dear Lebanon.”
    â€œMy home country can always use it. Aren’t you going to introduce your friend?” The man eyed Winthrop with suspicion.
    â€œSamir, this is John Bush, a friend and an English investor,” Hamid said, setting down his case.
    The Lebanese man raised his arm, and two men with