The Templar Map

A legendary treasure map is up for grabs in LA. The former owner, the Vatican, sends an elite military squad to capture the map. The FBI sends the Art Theft Unit to recover it. The criminal organization that got cheated out of the map is looking for blood. When the case began, Private Detective Jason Dalton had an office in one of those old buildings downtown. You know the type, built in the twenties with a marble staircase, a huge lobby that smelled stale, a broken elevator with brass fixtures. Dalton and young Nick, his assistant, were working nickel and dime stuff: missing persons, insurance fraud, and rounding up a fugitive here and there. Then she arrived. Dalton heard heels clicking on the tile landing, and looked up from his desk. Into his office walked a redhead with an envelope full of cash. As she crossed the room in that tight skirt, his mouth dropped open. Mrs. Sophie Devonshire had been attacked. Her home had been burglarized. It all started, she said, when she found a photo of an old metal disc among her late husband's things. Could Mr. Dalton determine what it was? And could he help her find it? As Mrs. Devonshire was telling her story, Dalton saw movement through the glass door of his office. The second he looked up, two military goons burst into the office with assault rifles. Sophie Devonshire jumped up and screamed. Dalton grabbed her and pushed her into the corner, as though he could protect her. Of course he was crazy. He couldn't protect her. The soldiers had weapons aimed at him. Thinking he could protect her was rational thinking, used for chitchat around a lunch table. Attacks like this were dealt with differently. Another part of the brain was needed. Dalton's heart beat pounded like a drum solo in his ears, driving out rational thinking. Out of desperation, Dalton picked up the only weapon he could reach, a steel block paper weight on the desk, and waved it at the intruders. One of the soldiers fired his weapon.