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that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and de-
stroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has
received any payment for this “stripped book.”
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events
portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or
are used fictitiously.
IMMORTAL SURRENDER: THE CURSE OF THE TEMPLARS
Copyright © 2012 by Valerie M. Hatfield
All rights reserved.
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
www.tor-forge.com
Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
ISBN 978-0-7653-6759-4
First Edition: October 2012
Printed in the United States of America
0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
 chapter 1
]

“How’sTheit wavering
feel to prove the existence of Christ?”
masculine voice invaded Noelle
Keane’s laboratory as a door clicked shut. She looked
over her shoulder to greet aging archaeologist Gabriel
San Lucee with a smile.
“Morning, Gabriel.” She turned back to the cloth.
Thirty-three inches of fragile cloth swathed the labora-
tory table. Laid out with less care than anyone had given
the delicate weave in centuries, it bore dark stains in the
wrinkled center, telltale marks of its original insignifi-
cance. But though it had once been little more than a scrap
meant for the trash, millions revered it. Now the flimsy
piece of material would gain more respect and attract
thousands of devotees. All in the name of a mythical be-
ing who no one could prove existed.
Noelle ran her gloved hand across the rough surface,
smoothing out wrinkles that would never see an iron. In
her other hand, she held a typed printout of her carbon-
dated findings. The evidence was there, and yet all it
10 claire ashgrove
proved was that the Sudarium of Oviedo covered a body
in the approximate year 33.
Not what body. Not which month. Not even where it
had been used. Supposition laid claim to all those things.
Scientific fact, however, verified only its age. That and
the blood type AB. All the rest of the findings—such as
pollen type and traces of myrrh that had been verified in
the midnineties— could relate to any number of ancient
funerary practices in Palestine.
She folded it into a loose square, small enough to fit
into the airtight canister that protected it.
“You didn’t answer my question.” Pulling on gloves,
Gabriel joined her at the table and leaned a hip on the
edge. He extended a wrinkled hand toward the metal
container. “May I hold it?”
She passed him the canister. “I haven’t proved Christ
existed. Until they dig up his bones, that won’t happen.
And even if they do dig up his bones, barring your God
suddenly appearing to tell us otherwise, we can’t prove
the bones are Jesus Christ’s.”
He clucked his tongue as he pulled the veil-thin cloth
out and draped it between his palms. “You still haven’t
come to see the truth?”
“The truth is here.” Noelle wagged her paper beneath
his nose. “Black and white.”
A lazy grin crinkled the corners of his gray-blue eyes.
He put the Sudarium back into the canister and reverently
set it in the middle of the table. “Tell that to all the people
lined up outside and the throngs of Christians waiting to
follow that little can to the airport.”
“I suppose that’s why you’re here?” She picked up her
travel log, signed the necessary forms to verify she’d per-
formed the accelerator mass spectrometry herself, and
 immortal surrender 11
stuffed them all into her briefcase. She couldn’t remem-
ber a time Gabriel hadn’t dropped into her sanitized lab-
oratory unannounced. Since she’d accepted the lead
scientist position in D.C. six years ago, he popped in al-
most monthly.
Truthfully, she already knew what brought him here
today. Gabriel had been part of the team of scientists that
dated the Shroud of Turin in the eighties. He’d want to
see this supposed counterpart.
“Well, yes and no.” He slung a leather satchel that had
seen better days over his shoulder and set it on the table.
“Yes, I wanted to see the Sudarium. But I needed to talk
to you as well.”
“Make it quick. I’ve got a flight to catch. That little
baby has to be back in the Cámara Santa tonight. If it’s
not, Father Phanuel will have a coronary.” She shrugged
out of her lab coat, hung it on the wall, and went to the
mirror to tighten her ponytail. “He’s convinced some-
one’s going to steal it.”
“With good reason, Noelle.” Gabriel pulled out a roll-
ing stool and sat down. “The same reason I wanted to
talk to you. People coveted that cloth before it came
here. Now, people would kill just to touch it. Let alone
possess it.”
She shot him a glance through the mirror and adjusted
her glasses. “I think I can handle escorting the thing back
to Spain. I got it here, didn’t I? Seth’s going to meet me at
the airport and keep me company across the ocean.”
“Ah yes, your faithful shadow, Seth.” Humor lightened
Gabriel’s eyes. He pushed a hand through short, thick,
white hair, and a frown tugged at bushy eyebrows. “I
don’t think you should trust anyone with this, Noelle. It’s
too significant.”
12 claire ashgrove
Slowly turning, Noelle dropped her gaze to the gnarled
cane resting against Gabriel’s left leg. He’d devoted his
life to proving the Shroud of Turin was legitimate. Now
he was almost eighty, and all he had to show for his
research was a shroud that dated from the thirteenth cen-
tury and a crippled leg. His shooting upon that shroud’s
return was the reason for her cadre of governmental
guards.
She met his concerned gaze with a warm smile. “I’ll
be fine. There’s four cars ahead and behind me. The
Church owns the plane. My assistant will be with me—
I’ll be just fine.”
His eyes narrowed as he studied her expression.
She’d seen that look enough times to know Gabriel was
about to dump some revelation on her she wouldn’t like.
The hairs on the back of her neck lifted, and unease
rolled in her belly.
“I’ve arranged for a personal guard.”
“You what?” She blinked. Her glasses slipped down
her nose, and she hastily shoved them back into place.
“I spoke with the director. We both feel it would be a
good idea to have someone with you. Driving you. The
caravan is nice, yes. But the men inside are strangers eas-
ily bought. It’s not like Pope Benedict arranged for the
Secret Service to escort you.”
Noelle folded her arms over her chest and scowled. “I
thought you retired. Doesn’t that mean you can’t piddle
around in my lab and interfere at will?”
A hearty chuckle rumbled in the back of his throat.
“Come now, don’t be cross. It’s one day out of your life.
Besides, I brought you something to make up for it.” He
flopped open his satchel and stuffed a hand inside.
“More like something to bribe me with.” Unable to
 immortal surrender 13
keep her grin under wraps, Noelle sidled into a chair
next to him. Gabriel’s trinkets were always fascinating.
But whatever he brought for her always included a per-
sonal request. Date some little object he’d picked up
from someplace he wouldn’t say, in some corner of the
world he’d forgotten. She suspected half of them ended
up on eBay.
True to form, he pulled out two felt-wrapped parcels
tied with a white string. He selected the smaller and gen-
tly tugged at the ties. The ribbon fell away. Gabriel
plucked the folded fabric apart. He held his open hand
beneath her chin.
Noelle looked down on a gold ring set with a vibrant
red stone. She gingerly took it between thumb and fore-
finger and held it to the light. Intricate etching along the
band formed a crude basket weave pattern that lacked
even a hint of patina. Yet the artistry was old. Imprecise
and rough—a product of an era where everything came
from the hands of men. She brought it closer and traced a
short nail over the prominent cabochon. Etched into the
polished surface, a clubbed chevron had been spared the
scars of centuries.
Though beautiful, she’d seen many of similar type.
“Roman.”
Gabriel nodded. “I know that much. But I want to
know if it’s empire or republic.” He nudged her elbow.
“Try it on.”
Smirking, Noelle gave in to the tradition. If she had a
jewelry box for all the ancient decorations Gabriel had
made her try on over the years, she’d never want for acces-
sories again. She slid the ring onto her finger and cocked
her hand, allowing him to inspect the trinket.
“Lovely. Can’t you see who might have worn it? She
14 claire ashgrove
would have dark hair like yours. Elegant hands.” He
caught her fingertips and turned her wrist under the
light. “It would glint at banquets, a symbol of her hus-
band’s wealth. Perhaps she was an empress. That’s gold,
you know.”
She retracted her hand and slipped the ring off. “I fig-
ured as much. There’s no tarnish on it at all. This doesn’t
look polished—but we won’t know until I get it tested.
We might find chemical residue.”
He winked in the affectionate way that always re-
minded her of her long-gone father. “You’ll tell me if
you do.” Freckled hands pressed the protective cloth
into hers.
She wrapped it up, twisted on her stool, and stuffed it
into the bag that would hold her precious cargo. When
she swiveled around to face him again, Gabriel had the
next package unwrapped. Sitting on the tabletop, a heav-
ily patinaed arm torc waited. The patches of green and
red iron oxide shimmered in iridescent color, marking it
as bronze.
Noelle picked it up to examine it more closely. Triple
wound, it coiled in a near-perfect circle. On each end, a
tiny serpent’s head came to rest in the center. Each bore
fragments of some jewel, or perhaps glass, which served
as onyx eyes. Cross-hatching behind the miniature heads
created masterful scale work.
“This is gorgeous,” she murmured. She turned the torc
beneath the light, and her eyebrows furrowed. Out of
place with the other artwork, a Templar cross had been
etched into each serpent’s head. “That’s odd.”
“I thought so too. Can you see if there’s any difference
in the age between the crosses and the rest of it?”
She brought the torc closer and squinted at the minis-
 immortal surrender 15
cule carvings. “I’ll do my best. When do you need these
back?” Before he could instruct her, she eased the torc up
over her elbow, fitting it snugly onto her arm. She pushed
her shirtsleeve to her shoulder, then twisted to admire the
piece. For the first time since Gabriel had started bring-
ing her objects on the side, she could see what he saw—a
visual of the long-ago person who might have cherished
the forgotten object.
“It’s really pretty, Gabriel.”
His heavy hand clapped her shoulder. “I’m glad you
like it. That one’s yours.”
“Mine?” Noelle’s eyes widened. “I can’t accept this.
It’s got to be worth a fortune.”
Features that still held a hint of color from all his years
in the field lifted with a smirk. “Where’d my skeptic go?
You don’t know how old that is.”
A flush crept into her cheeks. “I know it’s authentic.
You’ve never brought me a fake. No matter how old this
is, it’s still got to have significant value.” She pushed at
the trinket to slip it off her arm. “I can’t accept it.”
Gabriel grabbed his satchel, snapped it shut, and stood.
“You can. Consider it your reward for successfully dating
the Sudarium.” He slung his bag over his shoulder, then
braced himself on his cane. “Come on. I’ll introduce you
to the men I hired.”
Noelle pushed at the torc again, but it refused to budge.
Under her breath, she muttered an oath. She should have
known better than to shove it onto her arm thoughtlessly.
The last time she’d tried on something that was a little too
tight, she and Gabriel nearly had to cut it off. If not for his
brilliant idea to soak her hand in ice water until her fin-
gers almost froze, she’d have destroyed a ring worth thou-
sands.
16 claire ashgrove
“Try soap later,” he commented.
Noelle watched Gabriel limp toward the door. A frown
pulled at her forehead as his long-ago accident sifted into
her mind. He hadn’t expected someone would try to shoot
him, especially not after disproving the theory on the
shroud. Maybe his guard wouldn’t be such a bad idea
after all. She glanced at the canister. “I need a few min-
utes, Gabriel. I don’t have this packed right.”
Knowing glinted in his eyes. “I’ll hobble over to the
candy machine. Want anything?”
Noelle shook her head.
When the door to her laboratory thumped shut, Noelle
picked up the canister and shoved it inside her oversized
purse. She lugged the larger satchel Father Phanuel had
packed it in to her locker, and stuffed in the change of
clothes she kept on hand in case of a chemical spill. Satis-
fied it didn’t look too bulky, she snapped the tiny padlock
on the fastener shut and pocketed the key. Stopping at her
cluttered desk, she scribbled a note to Seth instructing
him to pick up the relic at the boarding gate. While she’d
like to convince herself Gabriel was being overprotec-
tive, she knew in her heart he was a practical man. He
wouldn’t caution her unless he felt she had reason to
worry. Better to take precautions, even if they were un-
necessary.
Still, the idea he’d hired private security niggled at her
pride. She did a reasonable job living on her own in D.C.,
even with her apartment being in a shadier side of town.
She hadn’t been mugged, hadn’t been threatened, and
hadn’t once felt as if she needed a protector. Accepting
Gabriel’s suggestion that now might be a wise time to
become dependent on someone else just didn’t sit well.
A knock signaled Gabriel’s return. She tossed the bag
 immortal surrender 17
and her purse over her shoulder, grabbed her coat, and
pulled on her winter hat. Winding her heavy scarf around
her neck, she headed for the door.
In the hall, she handed Gabriel the canister’s satchel.
“Take this to the airport for me, would you? Gate 23—
I’ll meet you there with Seth.”
Gabriel reached down, and in a gesture that could only
be marked as fatherly, he clasped her hand in an affec-
tionate squeeze. “I’ll have Lucan do the honors.”
“Who’s he?”
“One of the men I hired.”
Even better. Gabriel might observe the weight differ-
ence. Someone unfamiliar with transporting artifacts
probably wouldn’t catch on. When she arrived at the
airport, she’d reclaim the bag, and no one would ever be
the wiser.
Gabriel urged her toward the back stairs. “We’ll go this
way. There’s a slew of reporters on the front steps.”
Noelle rolled her eyes. The things people would do
over a myth. She’d never understand religion or the power
it held over mankind. It was so much easier to compre-
hend the properties of science, the genetic links between
the different species, as opposed to trying to sell the cre-
ative fiction of a greater power. Science could be proved.
Theology only existed as long as people believed.
She followed Gabriel up the musty metal stairs reserved
for employees onto the rooftop parking lot. The sun glared
off high banks of snow, a false illusion of warmth against
the frigid blast that whipped through her hair. As they
stepped around the first row of multicolored vehicles, the
front doors on a silver SUV opened. Two men climbed
out. Two giant men who looked like they could turn that
SUV on its side with little effort.
IMMORTAL  SURRENDER

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