by C. M. Palov
Pronouncement made, Edie turned away from the water. Leaning against the railing, her arms folded across her chest, she stared at him. Quite unabashedly. Although they shared the vessel with countless passengers, there was something inherently intimate about the wind, the water, the warmth that radiated between their two bodies, all of it countermanding the cool satin chill of the winter’s day.
Caedmon sidled closer.
After Jules died, he’d had a few casual relationships, unwilling to take another chance. Which is why it made no sense, with the Ark hanging over his head like the blasted sword of Damocles, that he would now want the very thing he’d studiously avoided.
Bloody hell. He was daft to think they could make a go of it. They didn’t even live on the same continent.
In truth, he didn’t know how he felt about Edie Miller. He’d not had time to analyze his feelings. He only knew it was akin to coming out of a tube station and suddenly finding himself in a strange and unfamiliar location.
“Christ! I need a blasted map,” he muttered.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Nothing.” He waved away the thought. “A bit of nonsense.”
And it was nonsensical. He was forty. A man of middling years. He’d long since put such emotions behind him, a cheery forever after being the hope of one’s youth. Not one’s maturity. And yet . . .
Edie slid her hand behind his head, pulling him close. “Wanna go back to our room?” she asked, rising up on tiptoe, giving him no time to reply.
It took but a second for the unexpected kiss to turn decidedly passionate.
“I think you know the answer to that,” he murmured against her lips.
Taking her by the arm, he strode down the gangway; Edie had to jog to keep up with his hurried pace. It took only a few moments for them to reach their room, his hand shaking as he inserted the key into the lock. He wasted no time dragging her inside, slamming the door shut behind them.
CHAPTER 77
It was a moment of quiet intimacy. Of murmured endearments. Life slowed down to its simplest, most lovely, facet.
In the midst of the quietude, Edie felt a spark. She snuggled closer to Caedmon, burrowing her head into the crook of his bare shoulder. This was not the first time she’d felt the spark, and she wondered if anything would come of it.
Could anything come of it?
On paper, she gave their relationship the shelf life of a carton of milk. If that. They were simply two sexually healthy people caught up in the excitement of the moment. Although, glancing at the small clock mounted to the wall, she could see that the excitement had lasted quite a few hours.
“You do know that this . . . this attraction is nothing more than a primitive urge,” she said, propping her head on his chest.
“Perhaps it must be primal, stripped of all civility, in order for us to put aside our preconceived notions of what should and shouldn’t be.”
Hmm . . . it sounded as though he’d given their relationship more than a passing thought.
“And maybe Freud was right about there being no such thing as pure unadulterated love. Maybe there’s sexual need and nothing else,” she countered, testing him.
“I suspect that Freud was an impotent bugger who wouldn’t have known love if it had slapped him in his bearded face. Let’s not analyze it. Let’s simply accept it, whatever it is, as a beginning. Tentative and tenuous, perhaps, but a beginning nonetheless.”
She smiled; Caedmon had passed the test with flying colors.
“Agreed. But if you think I’m one of those women who’d settle for a man just because he puts down the toilet seat, think again.”
“Point taken. Although I hope you’ll reward me with several bonus points for being so considerate.”
“Change of subject,” she announced. “I’m curious as to what would have happened if you had stayed at Oxford and received your doctorate?”
“You mean how would my life have unraveled?” When she nodded, he said, “In a very typical fashion, no doubt. I would have received a college appointment, most likely at Queen’s. At which point my life would have become a steady stream of tutorials, committee meetings, and university functions.”
“You know, I’m one of those people who believe that things happen for a reason. Personally, I don’t think you were meant to live such a sheltered life. Just look at Sir Kenneth Campbell-Brown. Okay, the man is brilliant, but he’s also a confirmed alcoholic bachelor. You were meant for a better life.”
Smiling, Caedmon brushed his lips against hers. “At the mention of the path not taken, I feel strangely glad-hearted.”
“Me, too.”
“Bloody hell,” he abruptly exclaimed a half second later. “How do terrorists communicate with one another?”
Surprised by the unexpected question, she lifted a shoulder. “Beats me. Although I suspect the answer is not messenger pigeons.”
“In a sense, that is the correct answer in that they communicate via the Internet,” he informed her, his blue eyes excitedly gleaming. “Which enables them to freely pass messages to cells and operatives all over the globe. Perhaps MacFarlane and his Warriors of God are no different.”
“Okay, suppose that’s true. How does the instant text message on Sanchez’s cell phone fit in? I thought that was how MacFarlane was communicating with his men.”
“When we first received the flash message, I thought that a communiqué had been encoded into the numeric list and that an encryption key would be needed to decipher the message. But what if the numeric list is the encryption key?”
“Sorry, I’m not following.” Edie propped her head on her hand.
“Knowing he can’t be too careful when sending messages across the globe, MacFarlane might very well have devised a two-pronged mode of communication. The first prong being the numeric list that was sent to Sanchez’s mobile phone.”
“And the second prong?”
“Mind you, this is mere speculation, but the second prong, or piece of the puzzle, might be the Warriors of God Web page.”
“You’re talking about the Web page that we checked out back in D.C., right?”
Caedmon shrugged. “As I said, it’s merely a working theory. All bones, no meat.”
“So let me make sure I’ve got this straight,” she said, still uncertain how all the pieces fit together. “You think there might be a message encoded in the Warriors of God Web page and that this message can only be decoded using the numeric list from the text message.”
“There’s only one way to find out. Unless I’m mistaken, the ferry boat is equipped with Inmarsat.”
“What’s that?”
“A mobile communications system that enables Internet access while at sea.”
Throwing back the sheet, Edie swung her feet to the floor. “Well, what are we waiting for?”
CHAPTER 78
“Doom and gloom of the worst sort, eh?”
Sitting side by side in front of the ship’s computer monitor, Edie and Caedmon stared at the Warriors of God home page.
“‘When the Warriors of God battle the dark forces—will you be ready for this holy Revolution? Will you be a Patriot marching under God’s golden banner’?” Edie read aloud from the computer monitor. Unnerved by the apocalyptic “announcement” that was prominently displayed on the screen, she shuddered. “You don’t really think there’s a secret message buried somewhere in this so-called announcement, do ya?”
Leaning back in his chair, Caedmon slowly tapped his index finger against his chin. Several seconds passed in contemplative silence before he finally said, “My guess is that MacFarlane has used a simple alphanumeric substitution cipher. Since his flash message was intended for mass consumption, I doubt that he would employ too elaborate a cipher.”
“The old KISS rule, huh?” Seeing Caedmon’s quizzical expression, she smiled. “As in ‘Keep it simple, stupid.’”
Amused, Caedmon chuckled. “Clearly, we are of like mind. Employing the KISS rule,
I propose that we consecutively number each letter and punctuation mark in MacFarlane’s hate-filled diatribe.”
Pencil in hand, he carefully wrote out the “announcement” on a sheet of paper. Then he sequentially numbered each letter and punctuation mark.
While Caedmon busied himself with laying out the cipher, Edie nervously glanced over her shoulder; the ship’s Internet computer was set up in the very public club room. A few tables away a middle-aged quartet played cards. From the cigarette butts overflowing the table’s only ashtray, she guessed that they had been playing for some time. About twenty feet away, an older well-dressed man and his much younger male companion were huddled together in front of a soft drink machine. And on the other side of the club room, a harried mother openly breast-fed her infant.
“I’ll have you know that this is the same cipher that won you Yanks your independence, the words revolution and patriot being the dead giveaway.”
Her eyes opened wide. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Not in the least. Created by Benjamin Franklin, this particular alphanumeric cipher was used to code messages shuffled back and forth between the Continental Congress and sympathetic French diplomats. Would you like to do the honors?” Caedmon offered her the pencil.
Taking the implement, Edie first glanced at the alphanumeric chart that he had created from MacFarlane’s Web page.
Then she glanced at the list of numbers from the text message.
104-13-94-38-35-17-89-62-122-57-19-97-33-26-42-109-86- 70-40-9-53-2-119
“Wish me luck.”
Caedmon having done all the work, it only took a few moments for her to write out the deciphered message.
dome of the rock eid al-adha
Neither of them said anything; Edie was not altogether sure what, if anything, the message meant.
“The Dome of the Rock is the big gold-leafed Islamic shrine that sits on top of the Temple Mount, right?”
“Unquestionably the most famous silhouette on the Jerusalem skyline,” he confirmed; Edie could detect a husky catch in his voice.
Something was wrong. That much was readily apparent.
“MacFarlane’s message means something to you, doesn’t it?”
Still staring at the decoded message, Caedmon slowly nodded. “I now know why Stanford MacFarlane and all of his followers wear the Jerusalem cross ring. As you, no doubt, recall, the Jerusalem cross was the symbol adopted by the medieval crusaders when they conquered the Holy City in the eleventh century.” The entire time he spoke, he stared at the decoded message.
“And why do you think that’s significant?” she prodded, not altogether certain that she wanted to know the answer.
“Because Jerusalem was only theirs for the briefest of i nterludes; the Muslim caliph Saladin retook the city in 1187.” Suddenly resembling a sad-faced crusader from a medieval woodcut, Caedmon turned his head and looked at her. “Clearly, MacFarlane has taken upon himself the crusaders’ cause.”
“I don’t understand. What cause?”
“Like the crusaders of old, MacFarlane and his men intend to conquer the holy city of Jerusalem, their first military target being the Dome of the Rock.”
At hearing that, her jaw slackened. “When? How?”
“I have no idea as to the how. As to the when, it is obvious that they intend to launch their attack on the Islamic holy festival of Eid al-Adha. Which, unless I’m greatly mistaken, begins on December the eighth.”
“But”—she did a quick mental calculation—“that’s less than two days away.”
CHAPTER 79
“Giving us a narrow window of opportunity.”
As he spoke, Caedmon was acutely, painfully, aware of the play of opposites. Good and evil. Love and hate. Life and death.
“So, what exactly are you saying—that MacFarlane intends to destroy the Dome of the Rock on December eighth?”
“It does fit in with all of his apocalyptic posturing. And there’s a certain irony in his selection of holy days, Eid al-Adha being the Muslim Day of Sacrifice, commemorating the day when Abraham intended to sacrifice his beloved son Ishmael to prove his love to Allah. The Dome of the Rock marks the precise location of where the sacrifice was to have taken place. It’s also the spot where the Prophet Muhammad ascended to heaven—making the Dome of the Rock the third-holiest site in all of Islam.”
“Right behind Mecca and Medina.”
He nodded, staggered by MacFarlane’s dark vision. Eid al-Adha. The Day of Sacrifice. The day when Muslim worshippers would be packed onto the Temple Mount. Ten thousand strong.
“Maybe we need to dial back a bit. I mean, the encrypted message doesn’t specifically mention anything about destroying the Dome of the Rock,” Edie pointed out, playing devil’s advocate.
“But MacFarlane did unequivocally state that he intends to install the Ark of the Covenant in the newly constructed Temple,” he countered. “And I think it no coincidence that the Dome of the Rock sits on the very site where Solomon’s Temple once stood.”
“Solomon’s Temple?” Edie gave him a long wordless stare, her pupils contracting into microdots. As though she, too, suddenly realized the magnitude of the encoded message. “Oh, God . . . I didn’t know,” she murmured. “That changes everything.”
“The terrible thing about the truth is that sometimes you find it. Not only is the Temple Mount a holy site for the three major religions of the world, but over the centuries, it has been the most fought-over piece of real estate in the world.” Fraught with bloodshed, carnage, and internecine rivalry, the history of the Temple Mount was a fantastical tale almost too violent to be believed.
“I know that in 1967, during the Six-Day War, the Israelis captured the Temple Mount.”
“Although in an attempt to appease their Muslim neighbors, the Israelis permitted the Waqf, or Islamic Trust, to continue to act as the official administrators of the holy site.”
“So while the Jews have sovereignty over the Temple Mount, the Muslims maintain control of it.”
“And, as you undoubtedly know, this arrangement has been a point of contention between several generations of peace negotiators.” A heaviness in his heart inspired him to say, “Not for the first time have I wondered if the world would have been a better place had Solomon’s Temple never been constructed, the site being one of the most volatile spots on the planet.”
Slumping slightly in her chair, Edie stared at the innocuous sheet of lined notepaper.
Caedmon also stared at the deciphered message, stunned anew. “And now a madman has arrived on the scene, wholly intent on destroying the Dome of the Rock so he can build a Third Temple. With the Ark in his arsenal and a well-trained army at his disposal, he could easily bring about a series of events that mimic the events foretold in the Old Testament. Thus fulfilling Ezekiel’s prophecy.”
“We can’t let that happen,” Edie whispered, her body rigid with the strength of her emotion. “I don’t know if you’re aware that for some time now there’s been a strengthening alliance between Jewish and Christian fundamentalists.”
“Birds of the same dark feather,” he uncharitably remarked.
“Old Testament prophecies are shared by both religions. Which means that MacFarlane might possibly have allies inside Israel who would be more than willing to help him destroy the Dome of the Rock.”
Caedmon shook his head, the scenario having just become that much more frightening.
“Fanatical Christians working in league with fanatical Jews to incite the fanatical Muslims of the world. Incite any of the three and you have global instability. Incite all three and you have the makings of the next world war.”
Knowing that many a war had been ignited by the collective frenzy of which they spoke—the Middle Ages had been one big bloodbath of blind faith—Caedmon turned his head and stared at the churning water visible through the picture window on the other side of the club room.
They couldn’t get to Malta fast enough.
CHA
PTER 80
Caedmon glanced up from the map spread before him on the bar counter.
A vacancy having come open at the last minute, he and Edie were seated at the Dragonara Hotel bar waiting for the maid to finish cleaning their suite. To his surprise, Valletta, the capital city of Malta, was quite the convention center; their seaside hotel was currently hosting a large gathering of British plastic surgeons. Because Malta had at one time been part of the British Empire, it was a popular destination with his countrymen. He’d purposefully selected the Dragonara in order to fade into the crowd. If a desk clerk or bellhop was questioned as to whether an Englishman had checked into the hotel, the reply would be “Yes, the hotel currently has two hundred English guests.”
Before returning his attention to the map, Caedmon surreptitiously glanced at the mirrored wall behind the bar, having resorted to old behaviors, scanning each and every bar patron, running mock scenarios in his head, trying to discern who among them would go in for the kill. He would have preferred sitting at an innocuous table in the back of the room, but the overflow of plastic surgeons swilling predinner drinkies had forced them to grab two stools at the bar.
“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask, is there really a big rock inside the Dome of the Rock?”
Caedmon nodded. “In fact, the rock, known in Hebrew as the Shetiyyah, is believed to be the foundation stone of the world. Before it was stolen by Shishak, the Ark of the Covenant rested on top of the Shetiyyah.”
The bartender, a swarthy fellow with an amiable disposition, placed a tonic water and a cola in front of them. Then, with a practiced flourish, he presented Edie with a plate full of fried calamari and a small dish of quartered lemons.
“Grazzi,” she replied in Malti, the response earning her a toothy grin.
Out of the corner of his eye, Caedmon watched as Edie squeezed a lemon, not on her squid, but into her cola. He continued to watch as she pursed her lips around the end of a fuchsia-colored straw. He well recalled how her lips had clamped around him earlier in the day.
