Hunt for the Holy Grail by Preston W Child

Author:Preston W Child [Child, Preston W]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-05-19T22:00:00+00:00

PART 3

Prologue

The Antarctic, 11:00 pm. July 5.

—

When you do the Lord's work, you ask no questions. And tonight, there were no answers either. Only the ocean that broke against the edges of the Antarctic. Also, there were the heavens and the stars that bore witness to the presence of soldiers on the water.

The soldiers of the Order of the Templar would follow strict rules. Go down the hole, find a facility on the ice, look straight ahead, take nothing, find the room without a door at the bottom of the facility and break into it.

Fifteen minutes later, their amphibious vessels—three of them—brushed onto the shore. They mounted snowmobiles, made speeds of fifty miles per hour, and found the hole in the ice. The hole that was accidentally drilled by a different batch of visitors months ago.

With torchlights to illuminate their way, they went down into the smell and darkness. The smell was worse than the claustrophobia.

Rubber-soled shoes stepped over decaying dead bodies, eyes peeled for unplanned encounters, and assault rifles pointing everywhere.

With the aid of a blueprint, they found a groove in the floor, not far from another room where the remains of an ICBM lay insensate. The smell of dead bodies was thick here. One of the soldiers coughed.

"Here," he said.

Something else about the mission: no names. Each soldier knew his place and what his role was. With brutal precision, they set to work.

Ten kilos of C-4 explosives on both sides of the two meters in diameter grooved in the floor timed to fifty seconds. They hid in the room where the ICBM sat without its sting.

The explosion was loud. The soldiers crouched through the dust and smoke, and down they dropped into the most unusual room.

In the middle of it was a black wooden pedestal. The insignia on the sides of the wood was the same as the one on the soldiers' shoulder patches—a red cross on a yellow patch.

One soldier took a box from the top of the pedestal, another produced a black sack with a flocculent material. They carefully placed the box in the bag. Two soldiers up above helped the others up, and ten minutes later, five soldiers were rigging the whole facility with more explosives.

The soldiers were two miles out when the bombs triggered. The flames mushroomed, and the ice shook as the facility caved in.

—

Rome, The Piazza Navona, 8:09 pm, July 7.

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