{"product_id":"the-templar-legacy-isbn-9780593725665","title":"The Templar Legacy","description":"\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eNEW YORK TIMES \u003c\/i\u003eBESTSELLER • “Exciting . . . hard to put down without reading one more page.”—\u003ci\u003eThe Florida Times-Union\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003eThe ancient order of the Knights Templar possessed untold wealth and absolute power  over kings and popes . . . until the Inquisition, when they were wiped from the face  of the earth, their hidden riches lost. But now two forces vying for the treasure  have learned that it is not at all what they thought it was—and its true nature could  change the modern world.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Cotton Malone, one-time top operative for the U.S. Justice  Department, is enjoying his quiet new life as an antiquarian book dealer in Copenhagen  when an unexpected call to action reawakens his hair-trigger instincts—and plunges  him back into the cloak-and-dagger world he thought he’d left behind.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It begins  with a violent robbery attempt on Cotton’s former supervisor, Stephanie Nelle, who’s far from home on a mission that has nothing to do with national security. Armed  with vital clues to a series of centuries-old puzzles scattered across Europe, she  means to crack a mystery that has tantalized scholars and fortune-hunters through  the ages by finding the legendary cache of wealth and forbidden knowledge thought  to have been lost forever when the order of the Knights Templar was exterminated  in the fourteenth century. But she’s not alone. Competing for the historic prize— and desperate for the crucial information Stephanie possesses—is Raymond de Roquefort,  a shadowy zealot with an army of assassins at his command. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Welcome or not, Cotton  seeks to even the odds in the perilous race. But the more he learns about the ancient  conspiracy surrounding the Knights Templar, the more he realizes that even more than  lives are at stake. At the end of a lethal game of conquest, rife with intrigue,  treachery, and craven lust for power, lies a shattering discovery that could rock  the civilized world—and, in the wrong hands, bring it to its knees.\u003cb\u003ePraise for Steve Berry\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e The Amber Room\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Sexy, illuminating . . . my kind of thriller.”\u003cb\u003e—Dan Brown, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Da Vinci Code\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Magnificently engrossing, with wonderful  characters and a plot that speeds, twists, and turns. Pure intrigue, pure fun.”\u003cb\u003e—Clive  Cussler, author of \u003ci\u003eSacred Stone \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003eThe Romanov Prophecy\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Perfect for thriller fans  and history buffs alike. Fabulous plot twists.”\u003cb\u003e—David Morrell, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Protector\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Compelling . . . adventure-filled . . . a fast-moving, globe-hopping tale of long-lost  treasure and shadowy bad guys.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eSan Francisco Chronicle\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003eThe Third Secret\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Controversial,  shocking, explosive . . . rich in a wealth of Vatican insider knowledge and two thousand  years of Virgin Mary visitations. The Third Secret will change our view of the relationship  between religion and wisdom.”\u003cb\u003e—Katherine Neville, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Eight\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eSteve Berry\u003c\/b\u003e is the \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e and #1 internationally bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Lincoln Myth, The King’s Deception, The Columbus Affair, The Jefferson Key, The Emperor’s Tomb, The Paris Vendetta, The Charlemagne Pursuit, The Venetian Betrayal, The Alexandria Link, The Templar Legacy, The Third Secret, The Romanov Prophecy, \u003c\/i\u003eand\u003ci\u003e The Amber Room\u003c\/i\u003e. His books have been translated into 40 languages with more than 18,000,000 copies in 51 countries.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e History lies at the heart of every Steve Berry novel. It’s this passion, one he shares with his wife, Elizabeth, that led them to create History Matters, a foundation dedicated to historic preservation. Since 2009 Steve and Elizabeth have traveled across the country to save endangered historic treasures, raising money via lectures, receptions, galas, luncheons, dinners, and their popular writers’ workshops. To date, nearly 2,500 students have attended those workshops. In 2012 their work was recognized by the American Library Association, which named Steve the first spokesman for National Preservation Week. He was also appointed by the Smithsonian Board of Regents to serve on the Smithsonian Libraries Advisory Board to help promote and support the libraries in their mission to provide information in all forms to scientists, curators, scholars, students, and the public at large. He has received the Royden B. Davis Distinguished Author Award and the 2013 Writers for Writers Award from \u003ci\u003ePoets \u0026amp; Writers\u003c\/i\u003e. His novel \u003ci\u003eThe Columbus Affair\u003c\/i\u003e earned him the Anne Frank Human Writes Award, and his historic preservation work merited the 2013 Silver Bullet from International Thriller Writers.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Steve Berry was born and raised in Georgia, graduating from the Walter F. George School of Law at Mercer University. He was a trial lawyer for 30 years and held elective office for 14 of those years. He is a founding member of International Thriller Writers—a group of more than 2,600 thriller writers from around the world—and served three years as its co-president.\u003cb\u003eONE \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Copenhagen, Denmark  \u003cbr\u003e Thursday, June 22, The Present  \u003cbr\u003e 2:50 pm  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Cotton Malone  spotted the knife at the same time he saw Stephanie Nelle.  He was sitting at a table  outside the Café Nikolaj, comfortable in a white  lattice chair. The sunny afternoon  was pleasant and Højbro Plads, the  popular Danish square that spanned out before  him, bristled with people.  The café was doing its usual brisk business—the mood  feverish—and for the  past half hour he’d been waiting for Stephanie.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She was  a petite woman, in her sixties, though she never confirmed her age  and the Justice  Department personnel records that Malone once saw  contained only a winking n\/a in  the space reserved for date of birth. Her  dark hair was streaked with waves of silver,  and her brown  eyes offered  both the compassionate look of a liberal and the fiery  glint of a  prosecutor. Two presidents had tried to make her attorney general, but   she’d turned both offers down. One attorney general had lobbied hard to  fire her—especially  after she was enlisted by the FBI to investigate  him—but the White House nixed the  idea since, among other things,  Stephanie Nelle was scrupulously honest.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e In  contrast, the man with the knife was short and stout, with narrow  features and brush-cut  hair. Something haunted loomed on his East European  face—a forlornness that worried  Malone more than the glistening blade—and  he was dressed casually in denim pants  and a blood-red jacket.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Malone rose from his seat but kept his eyes trained  on Stephanie.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He thought of shouting a warning, but she was too far away and  there was  too much noise between them. His view of her was momentarily blocked  by one of the modernistic sculptures that dotted Højbro  Plads—this one of an obscenely  obese woman, lying naked on her belly, her  obtrusive buttocks rounded like windswept  mountains. When Stephanie  appeared from the other side of the cast bronze, the man  with the knife  had moved closer and Malone watched as he severed a strap that draped  her  left shoulder, jerked a leather bag free, then shoved Stephanie to the  flagstones.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A woman screamed and commotion erupted at the sight of a purse snatcher  brandishing  a knife.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Red Jacket rushed ahead, Stephanie’s bag in hand, and shouldered people   out of his way. A few pushed back. The thief angled left, around another  of the  bronzed sculptures, and finally broke into a run. His route seemed  aimed at Købmagergade,  a pedestrian-only lane that twisted north, out of  Højbro Plads, deeper into the  city’s shopping district.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Malone bounded from the table, determined to cut off  the assailant before  he could turn the corner, but a cluster of bicycles blocked  his way. He  circled the cycles and sprinted forward, partially orbiting a fountain   before tackling his prey.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e They slammed into hard stone, Red Jacket taking most  of the impact, and  Malone immediately noticed that his opponent was muscular. Red  Jacket,  undaunted by the attack, rolled once, then brought a knee into Malone’s   stomach.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The breath left him in a rush and his guts churned.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Red Jacket  sprang to his feet and raced up Købmagergade.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Malone stood, but instantly crouched  over and sucked a couple of shallow  breaths.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Damn. He was out of practice.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He caught hold of himself and resumed pursuit, his quarry now possessing a   fifty-foot head start. Malone had not seen the knife during their  struggle, but  as he plowed up the street between shops he saw that the man  still grasped the leather  bag. His chest burned, but he was closing the  gap.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Red Jacket wrenched a flower  cart away from a scraggly old man, one of  many carts that lined both Højbro Plads  and Købmagergade. Malone hated the  vendors, who enjoyed blocking his bookshop, especially  on Saturdays. Red  Jacket flung the cart down the cobbles in Malone’s direction.  He could not  let the cart run free—too many people on the street, including children—so   he darted right, grasped hold, and twisted it to a stop.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He glanced back and  saw Stephanie round the corner onto Købmagergade,  along with a policeman. They were  half a football field away, and he had  no time to wait.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Malone dashed ahead,  wondering where the man was heading. Perhaps he’d  left a vehicle, or a driver was  waiting where Købmagergade emptied into  another of Copenhagen’s busy squares, Hauser  Plads. He hoped not. That  place was a nightmare of congestion, beyond the web of  people-only lanes  that formed the shoppers’ mecca known as Strøget. His thighs ached  from  the unexpected workout, the muscles barely recalling his days with the  Navy  and the Justice Department. After a year of voluntary retirement, his  exercise regimen  would not impress his former employer.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Ahead loomed the Round Tower, nestled  firmly against the Trinity Church  like a thermos bound to a lunch pail. The burly  cylindrical structure rose  nine stories. Denmark’s Christian IV had erected it    in 1642, and the symbol of his reign—a gilded 4 embraced by a c—  glistened on its  somber brick edifice. Five streets intersected where the  Round Tower stood, and  Red Jacket could choose any one of them for his  escape.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Police cars appeared.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e One screeched to a stop on the south side of the Round Tower. Another came   from farther down Købmagergade, blocking any escape to the north. Red  Jacket was  now contained in the plaza that encircled the Round Tower. His  quarry hesitated,  seeming to appraise the situation, then scampered right  and disappeared inside the  Round Tower.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e What was the fool doing? There was no way out besides the ground-floor   portal. But maybe Red Jacket didn’t know that.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Malone ran to the entrance.  He knew the man in the ticket booth. The  Norwegian spent many hours in Malone’s  bookshop, English literature his  passion.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Arne, where did that man go?” he  asked in Danish, catching his wind.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Ran right by without paying.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Anybody  up there?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “An older couple went up a little while ago.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e No elevator or  stairs led to the top. Instead, a spiral causeway wound a  path straight to the summit,  originally installed so that bulky  seventeenth-century astronomical instruments  could be wheeled up. The  story local tour guides liked to tell was of how Russia’ s Peter the Great  once rode up on horseback while his empress followed in a carriage.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Malone could hear footfalls echoing from the flooring above. He shook his  head  at what he knew awaited him. “Tell the police we’re up there.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He started to  run.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Halfway up the spiraling incline he passed a door leading into the Large   Hall. The glassed entrance was locked, the lights off. Ornamented double  windows  lined the tower’s outer walls, but each was iron-barred. He  listened again and could  still hear running from above.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He continued ahead, his breathing growing thick  and hampered. He slowed  his pace when he passed a medieval planet plotter affixed  high on the  wall. He knew the exit onto the roof platform was just a few feet away,   around the ramp’s final bend.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He heard no more footsteps.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He crept forward  and stepped through the archway. An octagonal observatory—not from Christian IV’ s time, but a more recent  incarnation—rose in the center, with a wide terrace encircling.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e To his left a decorative iron fence surrounded the observatory, its only  entrance  chained shut. On his right, intricate wrought-iron latticework  lined the tower’s  outer edge. Beyond the low railing loomed the city’s  red-tiled rooftops and green  spires.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He rounded the platform and found an elderly man lying prone. Behind  the  body, Red Jacket stood with a knife to an older woman’s throat, his arm  encasing  her chest. She seemed to want to scream, but fear quelled her  voice.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Keep  still,” Malone said to her in Danish.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He studied Red Jacket. The haunted look  was still there in the dark,  almost mournful eyes. Beads of sweat glistened in the  bright sun.  Everything signaled that Malone should not step any closer. Footfalls  from  below signaled that the police would arrive in a few moments.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “How about  you cool down?” he asked, trying English.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He could see the man understood him,  but the knife stayed in place. Red  Jacket’s gaze kept darting away, off to the sky  then back. He seemed  unsure of himself and that concerned Malone even more. Desperate  people  always did desperate things.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Put the knife down. The police are coming.  There’s no way out.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Red Jacket looked to the sky again, then refocused on Malone.  Indecision  stared back at him. What was this? A purse snatcher who flees to the  top  of a hundred-foot tower with nowhere to go?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Footfalls from below grew louder.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “The police are here.”New York Times bestselling author","brand":"Ballantine Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46299731034341,"sku":"NP9780593725665","price":20.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593725665.jpg?v=1767741807","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-templar-legacy-isbn-9780593725665","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}