“None that I’m aware of,” Pierce said.
“Then it’s high time you were brought up to date.”
The unfamiliar voice — male, older, with a British accent — echoed in the hall. The rhythmic tapping of footsteps filled the space, and then the man who had spoken stepped into view.
Older, in his seventies, with a mane of swept-back white hair, he stood tall and took long strides, quickly crossing the distance to join them. Aside from his dignified black suit, he was attired with a short, blue and white apron, emblazoned with the distinctive square and compass sigil of the Masonic brotherhood. He strode right up to Pierce and offered his hand.
“How do you do?” he said, his expression serious but friendly. “I am Clive Chillingsworth.”
Pierce introduced the others, utilizing formal titles and surnames only — Fiona was introduced as ‘Miss Sigler’—then he added, “We’re with the Cerberus Group, an independent research organization.”
“Is that a fact?” Chillingsworth replied, raising an eyebrow.
Fiona, sensing their shared wariness, pushed ahead. “You opened the passage, didn’t you? Were you expecting us?”
The man swung his gaze toward her. “In a manner of speaking. Forgive me, it’s difficult to know where to begin.”
“Once upon a time…” Fiona prompted.
“Fi,” Pierce admonished, but then added. “She’s right though. We followed some pretty obscure clues to get here, and now you’re telling us that we were expected? What did you mean by that?”
Chillingsworth waved a hand, gesturing to their surroundings. “The Grand Lodge of London was dedicated three hundred years ago, and for that entire time, we have been the keepers of ancient and secret wisdom. I know how trite that must sound, but it happens to be the truth. Come, allow me to show you.”
He turned and started back down the checkerboard floor. Pierce followed, but before they had crossed even half the length of the hall, he let out a gasp. “That’s it. That’s the Tabernacle.”
Fiona now saw that the curtain was a long piece of fabric, woven of bright red, purple and blue threads, embroidered with shimmering gold angles, draped over a concealed structure, at least twenty feet high and just as wide.
“This is the real thing, isn’t it?” Pierce went on. “The actual Tabernacle created by Moses during the Exodus. The Templars found it under Mount Nebo and brought it back. When the Order was dissolved, they brought it to England and hid it in a crypt below Temple Church. That’s what happened, isn’t it?”
Chillingsworth looked back at him. “So it is said in our traditions,” he confirmed. “The crypt was kept sealed for over two hundred years until King Henry VIII broke with Rome and secretly restored the Templars. A century later, the Royal Society, under the direction of Grand Architect, Sir Christopher Wren, commenced a study of the relics brought back from Jerusalem. He also oversaw the creation of this hall, both as a way to honor the Holy items of the Covenant and to facilitate further investigations. Sir Christopher, and later Sir Isaac Newton, recognized that there was a code hidden in the Sacred Measurements of the Tabernacle, a code that could be used to calculate the End of Days.”
Fiona was nodding along with him, right up until that last declaration. “End of Days?” she echoed.
“It was a matter of great concern back then,” Chillingsworth said. “I suppose it still is today, but men like Sir Isaac were fascinated with the problem of calculating when the world would end based on chronology and Bible prophecies. Sir Isaac himself predicted the prophecies regarding the End Times would be fulfilled no sooner than AD 2060, which I’m sure must have seemed very reassuring in 1704.” He sighed. “We all thought we’d have another fifty years or so, but I suppose even Sir Isaac is allowed a mistake now and then.”
Pierce stiffened. “You think the world is ending now?”
Chillingsworth stopped and turned to face Pierce. “Isn’t that why you’re here? The signs are appearing. An earthquake that shakes the whole world, the sun standing still in the sky. And now…you lot. We were told to look for you when the fulfillment began.”
“Okay, you keep saying that. Explain. Are you talking about another prophecy?”
“In a manner of speaking,” The man now appeared ill-at-ease. “I gather you have some knowledge of our organization. Our reputation for secrecy, rituals, and such.”
Pierce nodded. “I also know that a lot of what people say about you is rubbish. Most of your so-called secret rites are common knowledge.”
“Most,” Chillingsworth agreed. “But there are certain…shall we say…‘nuances?’ Aspects of our rites and traditions that are not public knowledge. Matters known and understood only by Master Masons like myself, who have achieved the highest degree of knowledge. One such tradition, which it is said goes back to the time of the Templar Knights, compels us to offer assistance to anyone who invokes the Great Seal. When we saw the other signs fulfilled, we began our vigil, which is why I happened to be here at the Lodge tonight. Of course, you surprised us by coming in through the back door, as it were. We stopped using the Temple Church entrance after it was mentioned in that book—”
“I’m sorry,” Pierce interrupted. “What’s this Great Seal you’re talking about?”
“It’s the Ark,” Fiona said. “Remember, the Ark of the Covenant is on their coat of arms?”
“That’s not precisely right,” Chillingsworth said, as he reached into his inside jacket pocket and produced a fountain pen and a business card embossed with the same design Dourado had showed them earlier.
“Invoking the Great Seal refers to demonstrating knowledge of the position of the cherubim within the circle of God’s glory.” He drew a circle connecting the points of the rays, and then drew vertical lines through the bodies of the paired angels.
“That’s the Sign of Hercules,” Fiona said, unconsciously rubbing the tattoo of the same symbol on the back of her hand.
The older man faced her. “We maintain video surveillance in the Temple Church sanctuary, just in case. When we saw you describe that pattern of the Great Seal, we knew that the time to fulfill our obligation had arrived.” He lowered his head slightly and gave a knowing smile. “I’ll be honest with you, most of us thought it was just a myth. But, here you are.”
Pierce leaned close to Gallo, though Fiona had no difficulty hearing his whisper. “Alexander must have played a part in organizing the London Grand Lodge. He created, or at the very least, co-opted the Freemasons to keep the Ark of the Covenant safe and secret.”
Gallo appeared unconvinced. “Why didn’t he just move it to one of the Society locations? Like the Citadel?”
The Citadel was the original headquarters of the Herculean Society, located in a hidden cave beneath the Rock of Gibraltar.
“I’m sure he had his reasons,” Pierce said. He turned to Chillingsworth. “As you said, here we are.”
There was an uncomfortable silence, as if Chillingsworth was waiting for Pierce to take the initiative. When that did not happen, he motioned for them to continue following him. As he approached the hanging, he resumed speaking. “The outer courtyard pillars and panels are still in storage. There wasn’t room to set everything up here. The brazen altar is in another hall. Sir Isaac indicated in his writings that the Tabernacle and all its utensils and relics would need to be restored to the Temple Mount when the time of God’s glory arrived.”
“Why there?” Fiona inquired.
Pierce was ready with the answer. “Jerusalem has long been associated with geomagnetic currents known as ‘Ley lines.’ There’s a reason Solomon chose to build the Temple where he did. It’s a power spot, just like Mount Sinai. I’m guessing the other relics are important, too. Maybe they’re part of the control mechanism, or a safety measure so we don’t get fried by the shekinah light.”