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all those years ago and take the chosen one across the seas on the 33 rd parallel in search of the mystical land of Merica. The Templars had never been there, yet they knew from their history and archives that a people, known in ancient times as the Minoans from Crete, had visited there many times, setting up huge mining operations on a big lake some thousand miles from the coast. De Molay had told St Clar to not follow the historical route of the Minoans in case the dark ones knew of it as well, which he could only assume they would because of their infiltration of the knights’ archives, but to head due west on the 33 rd as only the initiated few knew. The 33 rd was always to be the heightened state, and the degrees of initiations in the Templars would reach 33 only when a knight had given service for 33 years and was at least second generation. Only then did they feel safe in giving the most sacred information. St Clar knew he was one of just a few. His brother was by now in Scotland, carrying much of the real wisdom of the Templars, the scrolls and books from Egypt, whilst he was to hide the bloodline Christ himself.
    De Molay was a shrewd operator and his suspicions were right on the money. On 13 October 1307, just six weeks earlier, King Phillip the Fairand Pope Clementine V had sent their armies to arrest the Templars. De Molay and his second in command Geoffroi De Charney had stayed and would in time pay the ultimate price. After seven years of torture, King Phillip would eventually have them slow roasted at the spit, on the island in front of Notre Dame cathedral in Paris. De Molay’s ploy would have King Phillip thinking he had the greatest prize, whilst in fact the real prize, all of the knowledge and the one they swore to protect would be hushed away onto ships and dispersed amongst the world, leaving ridiculous clues and false ends for generations to come, sparking the greatest conspiracy theories the world would see. Yet all that was to come. St Clar had made ground on the 33 rd parallel. A quick trip aided by great winds and seas. He had already fought off one mutiny on board one of the ships from the dark ones and that ship and its brave men had sacrificed themselves, scuttling the ship with all aboard. Yet here he was, in a new foreign land, the ultimate prize in any game with him and obstacles that he knew not how to face.
    St Clar surveyed his surroundings. It was cold, not quite at the point of snow, yet his feet were frozen on the rock. From the rock he could see his ship and another in the harbour, two of three that had headed west. Over forty ships had left the Templars’ harbour on 13 October and they had under orders headed in seven different directions under the seven 33 rd degree commanders, of whom he was one. He would never see any of these friends and brave souls again. In his mind St Clar did not feel alone, however. He felt he truly had God on his side and he would do everything in his power to protect what he had to.
    “Call the carvers and cast this rock,” St Clar called to his second in command Petr De Odes.
    De Odes raised the order and a stonemason with a chisel came to the rock.
    “Use the runes,” St Clar spoke to the man – then lent down and whispered into his ear. Suffice to say that the man understood. St Clar stepped down off the stone, came to the shore and dried his feet.
    De Odes turned and looked toward his leader.
    “What now my lord? Everyone is tired. Shall we make do by this bay?”
    “No, we can’t stay here,” St Clar replied. “We must scuttle one of the ships and use the wood from it for shelter and warmth at least. Hide the other ship in that river.” St Clar pointed to a mighty river around the point from where he stood. “We will move inland and build a fort there. We must be quick. Who knows who is following us?”
    St Clar was an extraordinary leader. Compassionate yet firm and unyielding he ordered one of the ships, the weaker of the two, drawn up on