The Templar Legion Read Online Free PDF Page A

phone call from one of the dockside warehouses would have warned the gate guards of his approach and they would have been ready and waiting. A guard who had failed to open the gate quickly enough had been placed in the wooden strangling scaffold that had replaced the bronze statue of Ambrosio Fourandao in the center of the square, while the rest of the townspeople were forced to watch. A rope was threaded through holes in the neck piece of the scaffold, then twisted around a metal pole at the back, slowly and very painfully choking the life out of the man.
    Kolingba had watched from the parapet of the compound as the executioner drew out the process over more than an hour, choking and releasing until a nod from Kolingba finally put the man out of his misery. It was the kind of thing that gave Oliver Gash the creeps but the money was too good to complain. Another year and he’d have enough to slip out of the madman’s clutches and disappear forever. Like it or not, the king of Kukuanaland was as crazy as a box of crackers and, like any wild beast, he was capable of turning on you at any time. Dealing with the man was like walking a high wire over Niagara Falls. But the money just was so damned good.
    Gash parked the Land Rover in front of the presidential residence, then went up the three wide steps to the covered veranda. There was a distinct colonial flavor to the porch, complete with wicker armchairs for the plantation owners to sit on in the cool of the evening with their tall gin drinks as they complained about the heat and the lack of civilized pursuits.
    The two guards at the front doors snapped to attention as Gash went by, their eyes wide with terror. Gash went up the stairs to the second floor of the building and found his way to Kolingba’s study, which overlooked the compound.
    As usual Kolingba was at his immense desk, brooding over some document under his immense hand. He was wearing his full uniform: dark blue jodhpurs with a red stripe down the outer seam, a light blue shirt with black and gold shoulder boards, and a chestful of medals. A huge, steel-bound copy of the Old Testament stood between two wrought-iron lion’s-head bookends at the front of the desk. A chrome-plated World War Two–era tank commander’s helmet rested on one corner of his desk and an ornately scrolled silver-plated presentation Colt .45 automatic pistol lay close to his right hand. Gash knew that its mate was in the holster at Kolingba’s hip. There was a narrow bookcase against one wall, mostly filled with books about General George S. Patton. There was even a photograph of the actor George C. Scott on the wall, dressed for his role as the famous general. Kolingba’s big head lifted as Gash entered the room. His eyes narrowed.
    “ ‘Now the weight of gold that came to Solomon in one year was six hundred and threescore and six talents of gold—beside that which chapmen and merchants brought. And all the kings of Arabia and governors of the country brought gold and silver to Solomon.’ ”
    “Truer words were never said, Your Majesty,” murmured Gash. He didn’t have the faintest idea what the big man was talking about, but he presumed Kolingba was quoting from the Bible.
    “The Bible speaks of my ancestor with great reverence,” rumbled Kolingba, the sound of his voice like the throaty growl of some immense beast, barely contained.
    “Of course they do, Your Majesty.” Gash nodded.
    “We must act quickly, Gash, before it is too late.”
    “Of course, Your Majesty.”
    There was no doubt about it; Solomon Kolingba was right out of his mind.

3
     
    “Herodotus said that Egypt was an acquired country; it was the Nile’s gift,” Holliday said, staring out at the arid landscape of the Ethiopian Plateau from the backseat of the battered old Toyota Land Cruiser.
    “Herodo-who?” Peggy said, sitting beside Rafi, who was behind the wheel.
    “How could a nice Jewish archaeologist marry a Philistine like her?” said