“We formulated a more extensive plan. Bear in mind, the pope had a significant head start in planning this war. The Grand Master Templar Knight and his lieutenants responded by developing our own Templar Final Solution to terminate the war.”
Mario leaned in, captivated by this untold piece of intelligence. “What was the Templar Final Solution?”
Dominic glanced at his watch, realizing he needed to return upstairs. “Rather than me narrating, let me fetch you the archival journal from the Master Templar himself, detailing their grand scheme.” Dominic rose and retraced their steps down the aisle. Returning with a book, he handed it to Mario. “This will provide you with the specifics of the Templar Final Solution of 1945.” As Mario examined the book’s cover, Dominic added, “I must return upstairs. I’ll come back down in a few hours to see how you’re doing.”
“Thank you for all the explanations. And thank you”—Mario met Dominic’s gaze—”you saved my life. I am eternally grateful.”
Dominic nodded, turned, and exited the sitting area.
Mario reclined in the leather club chair, ready to delve into the journal the Templar had given him.
Chapter 77
1 April 1945
Sunday Morning
Rome, Italy
Five desperate Templar Knights huddled around a circular conference table, their minds whirring with strategies to halt the war. The Vatican held the reins of power, controlling the Axis forces with an iron grip.
“The Nazis are systematically eradicating millions of Jews in their extermination camps,” the Templar Lord declared with a grave tone. “Their brutality towards the Jewish hostages knows no bounds. The pope will not cease this war until we surrender the ransom.” He paused, his gaze sweeping over each of his lieutenants, a steely determination etched on his face. “We cannot allow him to take possession of Solomon’s Treasure. What’s our countermove?”
“The Allies are unable to penetrate the Eastern Bloc cities with aircraft to obliterate the camps. The pope has strategically scattered hundreds of camps throughout Eastern Europe to prevent an effective response,” a knight replied.
“I’m not interested in their limitations. What resources do we have at our disposal?” the Templar Lord thundered, his fist crashing down on the conference table, demanding solutions.
“What if we eliminate the top leaders?” another knight proposed. The daring solution hung in the air.
“What are you suggesting?”
“Assassinate Hitler, Mussolini . . . and Roosevelt, to provoke the Americans out of their complacency. Sever the head, and the body will perish.”
“Germany, Italy, and the United States,” the Templar Lord mused, considering the audacious idea. “All three are vital cogs in the pope’s war machine. This could be our game-changer.”
The four Templars sat in silence, watching their Templar Lord as he mulled over this new strategy.
“Include Joseph Goebbels on the hit list. He’s the natural successor to Hitler. His elimination is crucial,” the Templar Lord decided, crafting a comprehensive plan to dismantle the pope’s top leaders.
“Mobilize the teams immediately. Code names: Alpha, Beta, Gamma, and Delta,” the Templar Lord directed his four Templar Lieutenants. “As a last-ditch effort, add Epsilon—for Eugenio Pacelli.” The inclusion of the pope was a desperate move by the Templar Lord, a drastic measure to end World War II. He was aware that targeting the pope would incite the Vatican to full-scale retaliation against the Knights Templar. Taking out the pope would be a measure of last resort if all else failed.
“The primary targets must be eliminated by May first. Is my directive clear?”
“Yes, my lord,” the four echoed in unison.
“Alert your teams.”
12 April 1945
Thursday, 12:53 p.m.
Washington, DC
Elizabeth Shoumatoff, the renowned portrait artist, was poised in front of her easel, meticulously crafting a likeness of Franklin Delano Roosevelt. FDR sat opposite her, playing the willing subject for his portrait. The day before Friday the 13th was devoid of any significant events for the president. FDR, a man of superstition, never scheduled any important journeys on Fridays, and he held a particular aversion for Friday the 13th—he always ensured he was safely ensconced within the White House on such calendar days. The president of the United States of America was indeed a man haunted by superstitions, with Friday the 13th warranting the most suspicion of all.
So it was that Delta Team, employing a sense of poetic justice, had deliberately chosen the day before Friday the 13th to execute President Roosevelt. FDR, who was in constant communication with Pope Pius XII throughout the war, was deemed unworthy to die on a day that held significance for the Templar’s ancestors when their brethren were executed in 1307. The president’s fears led him to isolate in the White House, unwittingly setting the stage for Delta Team to execute their lethal mission.
A White House servant with a subtle French accent entered the Oval Office to serve the president his lunch. “Mr. President, it’s time for your polio medication,” he instructed, his voice carrying a hint of authority.
“You must be new,” Roosevelt observed, his tone amiable, as he was known to be kind to all his staff.
“Thank you for noticing, Mr. President,” responded the Delta Team leader masquerading as a member of the White House kitchen staff.
Franklin Roosevelt popped the two pills into his mouth and washed them down with a glass of water. He placed the glass on the table beside him then resumed his pose for Ms. Shoumatoff.
The Delta Team leader retreated towards the door, positioning himself out of the artist’s and the president’s line of sight. His eyes remained fixed on Roosevelt. He waited.
“I have a terrific pain in the back of my head,” Roosevelt declared moments later. He suddenly slumped forward in his chair, unconscious.
“I’ll fetch the doctor,” the Templar announced, swiftly exiting the room.
Delta Mission Accomplished.
Δ Team
28 April 1945
