The Sword of the Templars by Paul Christopher Read Free Book Online Page A

Uncle Henry’s shelves. They were lovers, or had been once upon a time.
    It seemed strange now—and maybe high on Peggy’s ee-uw scale—but not so strange if you went back forty-three years to young Caroline Branch’s arrival in Fredonia, hormones freshly released from the all-girl confines of the Albany Academy.
    Holliday did the math: the mid-sixties, the Playboy Philosophy, the Summer of Love, and all that malar key; she would have been nineteen or twenty and fresh as a daisy. Uncle Henry would have been in his forties, very much the pipe-smoking debonair professor, maybe even a little bit of distinguished gray at the temples. Hugh Hefner with an education.
    Teacher and student for as long as it lasted and maybe longer than that. It wouldn’t be the first time in academia that a professor had bedded a coed. Henry had never married and, according to the nameplate on her desk, neither had Ms. Branch. Maybe it really was an old-fashioned love story. He stared at the secretary with fresh eyes.
    “Do you have any other questions?” Ms. Branch asked stiffly, perhaps reading his mind a little.
    “Not right now.”
    “It really is getting quite late,” she prompted baldly.
    “We won’t be much longer.”
    Holliday turned on his heel and went back into the office, shutting the door behind him. Peggy was sitting in front of Henry’s computer, trying passwords.
    “Try Caroline,” said Holliday, keeping his voice low.
    “What?” Peggy asked, brow wrinkling.
    “The password. Try Caroline.”
    “But . . .”
    “Later. Just try it.”
    Peggy gave him a look, but she typed the name into the slot and hit return.
    “Nothing,” she said. She sounded almost relieved.
    “Try Caroline Branch, all one word,” he instructed. She typed. She stared at the screen.
    “I’ll be damned,” she whispered. “It worked.”
    “I think they were lovers back in the day,” explained Holliday quietly.
    Peggy snorted. “Grandpa, you old dog!”
    “What kind of files do you see?”
    “The usual stuff. Looks like a lot of old lectures in his ‘My Documents’ files. One called ‘Letters,’ another labeled ‘Expenses.’ ‘Graduate students.’ ‘Tutorials.’ Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing about a sword anyway.” She glanced up at Holliday. “Presumably that’s what we’re looking for.”
    “Is there an e-mail account?”
    “Grandpa Henry using e-mail? Come on, now.”
    “Grandpa Henry having a love affair with Ms. Branch?” Holliday grinned.
    “Point taken,” said Peggy. “I’ll check.” She tapped a few keys. “You’re right. There’s a Hotmail account: [email protected].”
    “What’s the last message he sent?”
    “It’s to [email protected],” said Peggy. “Sent a week ago.”
    “What’s the subject line?”
    “It’s a thank-you for a reply from the 123 person. The subject line for the original message is ‘QUERY.’ ”
    “What does it say?”
    “It says: ‘Dear Henry, as I suggested to you on your visit it looks like you have some early combination of a Book/Masonic-Pigpen/Elian problem going on, but without the key I’m afraid it’s probably indecipherable. There’s no mention of it anywhere in the literature that I can find. There’s a fellow in Jerusalem named Raffi Wanounou who knows a lot about crusader castles; maybe he can point you in the right direction. He works at the Institute. Sorry I can’t be more help. It was nice seeing you in March. Hope things went well with Donald. Keep in touch.’ It’s signed Steven Braintree.” Peggy made a face. “There’s such a name as Braintree?”
    “It’s part of Metropolitan Boston. John Quincy Adams was born there,” said Holliday. “Apparently this particular Braintree is a professor at the University of Toronto.”
    “What’s all this ‘Book/Masonic-Pigpen/Elian’ stuff?” Peggy frowned. “It’s all gobbledygook.”
    “I think he’s talking about codes,” answered Holliday. “You ever