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Mr. Michelangelo. “Outside of their name, we only know enough about them to realize that they’re a global threat and little else.”

“True. But this establishment and what we do here is always a learning process,” said Mr. da Vinci. “The Shadow Klan exists. And they are now in a position to overwhelm our organization should they decipher additional quatrains with the use of the crucible. We’ve been bloodied but not crippled. But we soon will be if we don’t get back that bowl.”

“And the Eye of Moses?” asked Mr. Spartan.

“An even greater threat,” answered Mr. da Vinci. “Everyone sitting at this table knows about the power of the Eye of Moses. It’s a dark particle cocooned inside the crystal. Allegedly, the Shadow Klan has the minds to break down and glean data from the particle, and then appropriate its properties into a WMD with indescribable powers of destruction. Right now, its theory on how to do so, may take time. And time, gentlemen, is what we need to see this through. Be it a day, week, month, or year. But we can’t sit idly by and expect them to take years to analyze the contents instead of weeks.”

“What’s the game plan?” Plato asked Mr. da Vinci.

And Mr. da Vinci, after killing the holographic image, went into complete detail regarding mission aspects. He told the seated members within the High Chamber how the Consortium Tracking Unit was pouring through satellite surveillance footage on the night the bunker was attacked, by tapping into the recorded images of geospatial satellites that were stationed in the low-altitude of Croatian airspace.

Thermal imaging reported an aircraft close to the bunker after the assault, which was believed to be a chopper. Its trajectory was being chartered through a string of celestial satellites as they were speaking.

“You think it was an extraction vehicle removing the Shadow Klan assault team?” asked Plato.

Da Vinci shrugged. “The aircraft lifted off from a nearby meadow directly after the assault took place. The spot is not considered a helipad, by any means. And at such an early hour it wouldn’t make sense otherwise. So, yes. I believe it was.”

Then Mr. Archimedes asked: “And now the Tracking Unit is trying to determine the last known point this chopper unloaded.”

Da Vinci nodded. “It would give us a starting point to search from, yes.”

“And their progress thus far?” asked Mr. Shakespeare, his first introduction of the meeting.

“Gains are being made. We have the capability to launch a thorough investigation through satellite uses and feeds. We can connect the dots from where this aircraft took off and landed. Then it’ll be up to the Consortium field operatives to take it from there.”

“And these field operatives,” said Mr. Spartan. “Meaning?”

“The best people the Consortium can send, which is every man sitting at this table.”

Nobody said a word or betrayed any emotion. Everyone there knew that the duty of the Consortium was a duty to mankind. Finding Nostradamus’ crucible and Aaron’s rod was all that mattered.

“We must safeguard humanity at all costs,” Mr. da Vinci continued. “So, since the Vatican has a huge stake in this, I contacted them and they’ll be sending us one of their own to assist, a Vatican Knight. Apparently, he’s someone who has a sixth sense about these situations because he’s been there before. He’ll be an asset to our unit.”

“The Consortium is a clandestine organization,” said Mr. Spartan. “To trust someone outside the family is taking a risk.”

“We’re in crisis mode,” stressed Mr. da Vinci. “If this man can help us and keep the integrity of our covert practices secret, then half the battle is already won. I believe he will. From what I’ve been told, this man values loyalty above all else except honor, and has a high sense of justice.”

Mr. Spartan nodded. He had heard of the Vatican Knights and regarded them as an outstanding unit with combat capabilities. And he knew of one person who was becoming mythologized within his circle. A man by the name of Kimball Hayden.

Mr. Spartan threw his name out there for confirmation. “Are you talking about Kimball Hayden?”

Mr. da Vinci nodded. “So, you know him?”

“No. I only know of him.”

“Then you agree with his co-operative status?”

“From what I know, yes. He’ll be an asset for sure.”

“I’m glad you agree, Mr. Spartan. Because he’s on his way here as we speak.”

For another hour they spoke about the potential movement of the Templar treasure to a more secure location, and how to obstruct any future assaults on any of the cache of vaults the Consortium had worldwide. Advanced technology when it came to security had its appeals, but they could also be circumvented as the Shadow Klan had recently proved.

Once the meeting concluded and the members dismissed, the High Chamber seemed much too large and hollow to Mr. da Vinci. The ceiling appeared too high, the walls too far, and the opulence overly done. Normally, Mr. da Vinci never gave this room a second look or thought, always taking for granted that it would always be there. But now he sensed an alien weakness that left him feeling open and abandoned, the room now as big as a wasteland. For the first time in Mr. da Vinci’s life, even when surrounded by opulence, he had never felt so impotent.

 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Deep Mountain

Switzerland

Elias Caspari was sitting in the penthouse suite of the mountaintop estate that overlooked the snow-capped peaks along the horizon and the cerulean-blue waters of Lake Lucerne. From his stately office, floor-to-ceiling windows gave him a panoramic view of the entire vista. He was a small and diminutive man who stood five-six and had a gangly build, which often made his expensive suits hang on him with the looseness of drapery. With a hatchet-thin face and a hawk-shaped nose, Elias Caspari, whose captivating eyes were as black as obsidian glass, radiated power that was much greater than his physique would suggest. Here at the mountaintop high above the valley floor, he was the king who ruled the

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