“The key to understanding this map was inscribed on a medallion,” Hancock went on. “Only one man in each generation would possess the key.”
The medallion fits into one of those symbols. And that’s where the treasure is. Alex didn’t verbalize this revelation. She studied the ceiling a moment longer, trying to take a mental snapshot of the map, but there were so many symbols, so many possibilities. Finally, sensing that Hancock was growing impatient, she said, “Trevor was the keeper of the medallion. But surely the Japanese would have taken it from him when they captured him.”
“In the beginning,” said Hancock. “The medallion was worn, as one might wear a crucifix or a St. Christopher’s medal.”
Alex absently fingered the gold crucifix which hung from a chain about her own neck.
“But the Gatekeepers — that is what we have called ourselves for these past six centuries — quickly realized that there was great risk in doing so. If the medallion was stolen or captured, the means of unlocking the map would be lost forever. So they hit upon a way of ensuring that the medallion would not be lost while its bearer lived. A surgeon would make an incision in the scalp here—” He touched a finger to his head, just behind the ear “—and the medallion would be affixed to the skull. When the wound healed and the scar was covered by a growth of hair, there would be no outward indication of the medallion’s presence.”
Alex nodded slowly in understanding. “So even though Trevor has been dead for fifty years, he still has the secret to unlocking your map.”
“Just so. At least, I assume he does. Trevor was made the keeper of the secret as a youth. I remain one of the Gatekeepers, but none of us — no one alive today in fact — has the key.”
“So the people who are after me… they know about all this. The Templars. Your map. The medallion.” More pieces fell into place, but the big picture remained maddeningly elusive.
“And now you know.” Hancock sighed then reached into his pocket. When his hand emerged, he was holding a small revolver. He pointed it at her. “Two can keep a secret if one of them is dead.”
A cold spike of adrenaline slammed into Alex’s chest. She opened her mouth to protest, to plead, but found she didn’t have the breath to speak.
“I am so very sorry, Alex.” Hancock actually sounded sincere. “You are an innocent, caught up in something you can’t possibly understand. But you know about Trevor, you know where he might be found. The secret must be kept.”
He extended the gun in a two-handed grip, aimed at her heart.
“For someone who goes on about secrecy, you sure are a blabbermouth.”
Because she was so focused on Hancock and the gun, it took Alex a moment to realize that there was someone else in the chapel with them. Hancock however reacted much quicker. He snatched up the flashlight and shone it into the shadows to Alex’s left, revealing a handsome, solidly built man with close cropped blond hair. His eyes were a stormy blue and he didn’t so much as blink when the light fell upon them. Nor did he flinch when the barrel of Hancock’s gun swung toward him.
“Killing her won’t keep your secret. Too many people know it already.”
Alex could almost hear Hancock’s finger tightening on the trigger. “Who the devil are you?”
The blue-eyed man cocked an eyebrow. “I’m the guy who found your brother’s skeleton at the bottom of the South China Sea. That’s all you need to know.” He turned to Alex and winked. “You however, can call me Dane Maddock.”
CHAPTER 9
When Dane turned to Alex, so did Hancock. His aim wavered, and that was the moment Dane had been waiting for. He sprang to the side, away from the cone of illumination cast by the flashlight, and then darted in close. Before the old man could so much as try to find him again, Dane snared his gun hand and slammed it down on the altar. There was no shot; only the sound of frail bones breaking and Hancock’s cry of pain.
Dane tore the gun from Hancock’s nerveless fingers, an old Smith and Wesson Victory Model, if he did not miss his guess, and then relieved him of the flashlight as well.
Alex finally snapped out of her paralysis. She looked down at Hancock who lay like a sacrifice atop the altar, clutching his fractured wrist. “Why? Why tell me everything if you were just going to kill me anyway?”
“He was probably trying to gauge how much you already knew,” supplied Dane. “And whether you’d told anyone else.”
Hancock shook his head. “No,” he said in a weary voice. “Nothing so clever, I’m afraid. I just wanted to tell someone. That’s the thing about secrets; the longer you hold them, the hotter they burn.” He looked up to meet Dane’s stare. “Did you really find Trevor?”
“Not exactly. But I did find the ship.”
“The Nagata Maru?” asked Alex.
Dane studied her. He had arrived at the house just as Hancock and Alex were heading out from the garden, and had followed surreptitiously as they entered the cave, eavesdropping from the shadows. In all that time, he hadn’t really gotten a good look at her, and in hindsight, that was probably a good thing. She was distractingly beautiful, with long straight hair — a sun-streaked brown that defied easy description — strong features and an olive-complexion that bespoke a Mediterranean heritage, and eyes the color of jade.
“Is that her name?” Dane gave an apologetic shrug. “I’m afraid I came in a little late on your conversation, so you’ll have to catch me up. I was actually looking for a different ship when I found her.”
Hancock slumped as if this explanation was an insult he could not bear. “And now that you know its importance, you will return and search until you find him.”
“I just might at that.”
“Wait a minute,” said Alex. “If you didn’t know any of this, didn’t even know the name of the ship you found, then why are you here?”
“Fair question,” Dane admitted. “When we found the wreck, some not-very-nice men showed up with guns and told me to dive on the wreck and find Lord Hancock, the man with the plate in his head.” He nodded at Edward Hancock. “No doubt they were some of his Templar buddies trying to bring back this special medallion.”
Hancock shook his head. “Not us.”
Alex ignored him. “You obviously got away from them.”
“That’s right. And being a curious fellow, I decided to find out what I could about the mysterious Lord Hancock. That brought me here, and not a moment too soon, I’d say.”
“They weren’t Gatekeepers,” insisted Hancock again.
“No? Well, then I guess your big secret isn’t so secret after all, is it?”
The old man straightened. His face was still twisted with pain, but he appeared to have regained some of his dignity. “For as long as we have protected this knowledge, there have been those who desired to take it from us.”
“Is that so? And I suppose you’re just dying to tell us all about it? Those secrets still trying to burn their way out, is that it?”
“You have me at a disadvantage. Knowledge is the only coin with which I may bargain for my freedom.”
“Sorry, I’m not buying it.” Dane strode forward, gripped Hancock’s shoulder and thrust him once more onto the altar. This time, he performed a hasty pat down and found a hard rectangular object in one of the old man’s pockets. He dug out a cellular phone, flipped it open.
“No reception down here,” he remarked. “But I see you made a call twenty-five minutes ago.” He glanced at Alex. “Would that be right after you showed up?”
She nodded.
“I’m guessing you called a couple of your mates from the local Templar chapter to come back you up, maybe dig a shallow grave for her. This whole Chatty Cathy routine is just a way to stall until they show up, isn’t it?”