by C. M. Palov
CHAPTER 69
“I know that Bible verse . . . it’s from the book of Ezekiel,” Edie murmured.
Knowing that Edie had been force-fed a biblical diet during her teenage years, Caedmon turned to her. At a glance, he could see that she was distressed by MacFarlane’s recitation.
“I didn’t take you for being a woman versed in the prophecies,” MacFarlane dismissively replied.
Edie shrugged. “My grandfather held to the same End Times belief, absolutely certain that Ezekiel’s war, as he called it, loomed on the near horizon.”
“Then you undoubtedly know that the ancient prophecies are a gift from God. A light in the midst of the spiritual malaise that is so prevalent in our day and age. Long centuries ago, the prophet Ezekiel clearly spelled out God’s battle plan to save mankind from the forces of evil that lurk on the near horizon.” MacFarlane spoke with a proprietary air, as though imparting a great and wondrous secret.
“Which merely proves what I’ve thought all along . . . that biblical prophecy is too often used to justify the hate-filled agendas of warmongers like yourself.” Edie’s normally pale cheeks were flushed with vivid color; Caedmon was well aware that, for her, the argument had a personal dimension. “Many fundamental Christians believe that the verses of Ezekiel contain a detailed plan for the invasion of Israel by an alliance of foreign countries,” she continued, addressing her comments directly to Caedmon. “It’s what known as the Battle of Gog and Magog. Furthermore, they believe that this battle will be fought during the last days.”
The last days.
By that he supposed that Edie referred to the much-ballyhooed apocalypse. The end of the world as we know it. As in bend your knees and kiss your arse good-bye.
Was MacFarlane’s obsession with the Ark of the Covenant somehow intertwined with an apocalyptic vision? God help them if it was; history was full of men who had proclaimed that the end of the world was near at hand. In almost every instance, those “visionaries” left only pain and misery in their wake.
“I’m curious about this so-called Battle of Gog and Magog,” Caedmon said. If he’d learned anything during his tenure with Her Majesty’s government, it was that information was a form of power. Sometimes the only power one had over one’s enemies. “Where precisely will the conflict take place?”
“The great battle will be fought in the mountains of Israel,” MacFarlane replied.
“I see.” Caedmon mulled the disclosure, his curiosity piqued. “And who will be involved in this clash of titans?”
His nemesis answered, “The prophet Ezekiel clearly writes of an alliance of nations from remote parts of the north known as ‘the land of Gog.’ This alliance will come under the leadership of the ruler of Gog, also known as Magog, and will include the princes of Rosh, Meshech, and Tubal.”
Caedmon silently considered what, to the uninitiated ear, was so much gibberish. “I assume that Rosh refers to the tribe of Ros, an ancient group of people believed to have inhabited the region of modern-day Ukraine and Russia.” When MacFarlane nodded, he next said, “So presumably this northern alliance will be composed of former eastern bloc countries.”
“Many of which, such as Kazakhstan and Tajikistan, are Islamic nations,” Edie pointed out.
Islamic nations fighting a cataclysmic battle within the borders of Israel.
The stew pot had considerably thickened.
“According to Ezekiel, Magog’s army will be supported by the nations of Persia, Cush, and Put.” This came from Edie, who was fast proving herself a font of biblical information.
“Iran, Sudan, and Libya, if my ancient history serves me correctly.” Caedmon took a moment to mull over what he’d been told thus far. Then, finding a glaring inconsistency with the prophesized scenario, he said, “Let’s assume for argument’s sake that the Ezekiel prophecy does foretell of a Russian-led invasion of Israel; what possible reason would Russia have for initiating such a war?”
MacFarlane stared at him as though he’d asked a simpleton’s question. “Economic and political instability are reason enough, don’t you think? Israel is, after all, the Silicon Valley of the Middle East.”
“And don’t forget that there’s a wealth of minerals to be mined in the Dead Sea, as well as the untapped oil reserves within Israel’s borders,” Edie piped in, her remarks leaving Caedmon unsure of whether she believed the apocalyptic tale. “Given that both Russia and Israel have nuclear weapons in their arsenals, the end result will be catastrophic.”
“I must confess that it’s not an improbable scenario; the Middle East is a volatile region,” Caedmon admitted in response to Edie’s last remark. “Although if that particular conflict ever manifests, it will be orchestrated by man, not God. The world’s thirst for oil is unquenchable, and Russia is undoubtedly concerned by the extreme lengths that the U.S. has gone to in order to secure a foothold in the Arab world. The Iron Curtain may have fallen, but the old rivalry still lingers.”
“The prophet Ezekiel describes the battle to come in clear, concise terms,” MacFarlane said with a manic gleam in his eyes. “One has only to read the daily newspaper to know that the prophesized Battle of Gog and Magog can come at any time.”
Unconvinced, Caedmon folded his arms over his chest. “Prophecy is always a slippery slope to navigate. Although I’m curious as to who you think will be the victor if this unholy conflagration were to occur.”
“Why, Israel, of course. And that victory will assure Jews and Christians alike that God is still in their midst, as he was in the days of old when he dwelled among them during the forty-year trek through the wilderness. With victory, a new temple will be erected in Jerusalem. Once it is constructed, the Ark of the Covenant will be restored to its rightful place.”
The Ark of the Covenant . . . finally, they had come full circle.
Caedmon glanced at the trio of men busily engaged in hauling their treasure trove out of the hole. Time was not on his and Edie’s side. And it was certainly against them if the excavation turned up anything other than the sought-after prize.
“Why are you telling me all of this? Aren’t such disclosures akin to letting the cat out of the biblical bag?”
MacFarlane took a step in his direction; Caedmon was surprised to see a look of entreaty on his face.
“I have a reason for sharing the prophecy with you . . . I want you to join us in our holy cause. The Lord always has need of good, stalwart men ready to fight his battle.”
CHAPTER 70
“. . . As with Paul on the road to Damascus, you have a chance to redeem yourself. Read the prophecies for yourself and you will see that I speak the truth.”
Astonished that the offer had even been made, Caedmon stood silent for several seconds. That is, until cynicism got the better of him.
“Ah, yes, ‘the sure word of prophecy,’” he drolly remarked, quoting another Church father, St. Peter.
“I know you to be a man searching for meaning in his own life and in the world around him.”
“Though that may be true, I’m not a malleable soul ready to latch onto the first prophet who offers a ready-made curative to life’s travails.” Purposefully he held MacFarlane at bay, knowing that if he committed too soon, he would show his hand.
“Your words imply a deep-seated fear. I can take that fear from you.” MacFarlane expansively gestured to the three men industriously working to haul their treasure trove aboveground. “My Warriors of God know no fear.”
“He’s feeding you a load,” Edie exclaimed, grabbing him by the arm. As though she feared he might step across the imaginary line that had been drawn between them and their nemesis. “I’ve read the Ezekiel prophecies, and do you know what I think? I think Ezekiel was a madman, a doomsday prophet who would have been on lithium and a very short leash had he lived in the twenty-first century. One of his so-called visions actually tells of how he came upon a pile of dry bones in the desert and supposedly breathed life into those same bones, creating a mighty ar
my. Maybe I’m the crazy one here, but that sounds like the kind of delusional prophecy that would be spouted by some homeless guy pushing a shopping cart.”
Eyes narrowing, Stanford MacFarlane contemptuously glared at Edie.
Hoping to smooth the rough waters, Caedmon cleared his throat. “Although I won’t go so far as to speculate on Ezekiel’s mental state of mind, I know that many of the Old Testament authors wrote metaphorically, never intending their verses to be literally interpreted by later generations.”
“This I know above all else,” MacFarlane countered in an acid tone, “not only will the divine revelation given to Ezekiel come to fruition, but the Battle of Gog and Magog will be fought. Only those who put their trust in the Almighty will escape the coming doom. And those who take up arms against the soldiers of Magog will be doubly blessed. When the battle is fought and won, the Ark of the Covenant will be restored to its rightful place within the new Temple. Repent and you will live eternally. Turn your back on the Lord and you will be damned.”
“But why ask me to join your ranks? It’s been years since I last stepped foot in an Anglican church.”
“We can use a man with your specialized talents.”
Something in the offhand compliment gave Caedmon pause, leaving him with the distinct impression that MacFarlane knew about his tenure with MI5. Such skills would certainly appeal to a man like MacFarlane. Although he had a small army at his disposal, there was a world of difference between a soldier and a trained intelligence officer.
“I would be happy to join your ranks. However, there is a condition attached to my acceptance . . . you must free Miss—”
“Don’t do it, Caedmon!” Edie screeched over the top of him.
“—Miller. Needless to say, the point is not negotiable,” he added, hoping to check Stanford MacFarlane. And to check Edie as well. To that end, he cast her a stern glance, wordlessly ordering her to cease and desist.
“The woman knows too much. She can’t be trusted to keep quiet,” the other man uncharitably replied.
“I trust her implicitly. Is that not enough?”
“She is a degenerate vessel, unworthy of your consideration. My offer does not include the woman.”
Visibly rigid with the force of his contempt, MacFarlane glared at Edie. Loathing incarnate. Throughout history, men such as Stanford MacFarlane had voraciously condemned the female sex, blaming them for the ills of the world. He’d always thought the loathing stemmed from a deep-seated fear of woman’s innate wisdom.
With a heavy heart he offered Edie a silent apology.
Knowing that monsters, by their very nature, were devoid of mercy, he said, “Your offer puts me in mind of a medieval inquisitor attempting to convert a hapless heretic. Regardless of whether the heretic repented, it usually ended badly. For the heretic, that is.”
“I can see that your eyes are jaded. That you aren’t fit to gaze upon God’s glory.” His contempt having mutated into a stern-faced rage, MacFarlane turned to his men. “Harliss, prepare the tabernacle!”
“Yes, sir.” Like a marionette on a string, Harliss unzipped one of the oversized equipment bags.
Unable to look Edie in the eye, well aware that he had lost his only opportunity to save her life, Caedmon was surprised when she leaned her head against his shoulder.
“When the end comes, at least we’ll be together,” she whispered.
“Yes . . . we will be at that.”
“Any idea what they’re up to?” She jutted her chin at the folded stacks of material that Harliss had removed from the zippered bag.
“A badger skin, a length of blue cloth, and a tightly woven veil were traditionally wrapped around the Ark whenever it was in transport. I suspect the three layers created a primitive form of nonconducting insulation. Clearly, MacFarlane intends to play the game by the book.”
“That being the Good Book, huh?”
“Indeed. Although the scriptures have a way of becoming distorted beyond recognition when spouted by a man like MacFarlane.”
Curiosity superseding his dread, Caedmon watched as the other two members of the trio hauled a large metal box out of the earth. A quick mental calculation proved that the box was large enough to house the Ark of the Covenant. As he’d done at the cloister, Braxton opened the lock with a mighty swing of his pickax.
His movements slow and reverential, Stanford MacFarlane opened the lid.
Although he craned his neck, Caedmon could see nothing more than the dull glimmer of gold. A gold what, he couldn’t say. What he could see, however, was the awestruck expression affixed to the face of each of the four men gathered around the open box. As though they’d just wandered into Aladdin’s cave.
“‘And there was seen in his temple the ark of his testament and there were lightnings, and voices, and thunderings, and an earthquake, and great hail,’” Stanford MacFarlane loudly i ntoned.
“Don’t forget the drizzle,” Edie muttered under her breath. “And the fog,” she added a moment later when Harliss set off a smoke bomb, completely obscuring the proceedings from their view.
“The Hebrew priests used to shroud the Ark in a thick blanket of incense to keep it hidden from curious onlookers.” As he spoke, Caedmon squinted and strained, but the smoke barrier was impenetrable.
A few seconds later, Harliss emerged from the smoke. Two sets of plastic flexi-cuffs dangled from his fingertips. “I’ve got a restraining order for you two.”
“Will you at least tell us if the Ark of the Covenant was uncovered?” he asked, desperate to have a definitive answer.
“Oh, yeah,” the other man slowly replied, the bedazzled expression returning to his unshaved, rawboned features. “The two angels on top of the gold box were the telltale clue.”
Hearing that was like hearing an unexpected boom of thunder; Caedmon slightly swayed on his feet.
They had actually found the Ark of the Covenant.
Knowing it was futile to resist, he stood motionless as Harliss bound his hands together, his mind unable to wrap around the enormity of the find.
Softly humming a jaunty tune, Harliss ripped a piece of duct tape from a roll. “Wouldn’t want to disturb the neighbors,” he said with a mean-spirited cackle as he slapped the length of tape across Caedmon’s mouth. That done, he bound and gagged Edie in a similar fashion.
“We got orders to row you two to shore and take you to a remote location. The colonel says it wouldn’t be right to kill you in the same place where we found the Ark.”
CHAPTER 71
For the second time that day, the specter of death hovered over Edie’s shoulder. But this time, unlike those petrified moments when she’d stood shaking beneath the sharp point of Braxton’s pickax, she’d had time to prepare for her death; Harliss and Sanchez had loaded them into the Range Rover and taken them to a remote location some ten miles east of Swanley. Somewhere toward the sea; Edie could discern the tang of salt in the air.
In the distance, she heard the outraged screech of a seagull. The thunderous roar of a jet engine. Familiar sounds. Probably the last sounds she would hear.
At least she’d lived longer than her mother.
She turned and glanced at Caedmon, who, duct tape strapped to his mouth, hands bound in front of him, stoically stared at the passing scenery. She wondered if he, too, had used the time to take stock of his life. He could have saved himself back on the isle. But he didn’t do it. Instead, he tried to garner her freedom. From a madman, no less. Although she was furious with him for passing up his one and only chance, she thought she might just love the brave, quixotic Englishman.
Harliss, again relegated to being the copilot, peered over the headrest. “Soon you two will be sleepin’ with the angels. The colonel is fond of sayin’ that ‘the judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether. More to be desired are they than gold . . . sweeter also than honey and the honeycomb.’”
Oh, yeah. A bullet to the back of the head. How sweet was that?
&nbs
p; Still leaning over the back of his seat, Harliss reached into his jacket pocket and removed a pack of filterless Camels. “I’d offer you one, but . . .” Chortling, he shook a cigarette free. He then flipped open a silver lighter. Taking a drag, he blew a perfect smoke ring into her face.
Inhaling the smoke through her nostrils, Edie gagged. Beside her, Caedmon twitched, his muffled protest sounding as though he were attempting to speak under water.
Seemingly oblivious to the psychodrama, Sanchez steered the SUV onto what looked to be a deserted farm road; the Range Rover lurched from side to side as they slowly proceeded down a rutted lane. They’d gone approximately a half mile when Sanchez put on the brakes and cut the engine.
Edie and Caedmon simultaneously turned and looked at one another.
I’m sorry, Caedmon.
As am I, love.
Craning his head from side to side, Harliss gave an approving nod. “This looks as good a place as any. Don’t know that anyone’s been down this road in a good long while.” He turned to his partner. “What do ya think?”
“I think I gotta take a crap,” Sanchez blurted, releasing his seat belt.
“Jesus! A body could tell time by your bowel movements.”
“Shut up and get me the wipes out of the glove compartment.”
A few seconds later, diaper wipes in hand, Sanchez ambled toward a clump of trees. Harliss, a half-smoked Camel sticking out of the corner of his mouth, opened the passenger’s-side door and got out of the SUV. Slamming the door shut, he stretched his back, then walked around to the front of the vehicle. Leaning against the hood, with his back to them, he proceeded to finish smoking his cigarette.
No sooner were they alone than Caedmon urgently nudged her with his elbow. Having gotten her attention, he nodded toward his anorak pocket before shooting her a meaningful glance.
The metal nail file.
When they’d been issued the rubber Wellington boots earlier that morning, Caedmon had managed to remove the file from his discarded oxfords, hiding the file in his coat pocket. Because he’d already been subjected to a thorough body search, the working premise was that they wouldn’t search him a second time. Edie could see that with his hands bound in front of him, he wouldn’t be able to retrieve the file. But her hands, although similarly bound, were much smaller.
