by Chloe Palov
‘Keep me posted.’
Snatching the night vision goggles, Stan walked over to the window. Elbows braced on the limestone sill, he returned his gaze to the sea.
One if by land, two if by sea.
He chuckled, amused by the thought. Like Paul Revere, he was about to launch a revolution. One of biblical proportions.
83
Cædmon made his way up the treacherous path cut into the side of the limestone cliff, grateful for the faint light shed by the stars overhead. He couldn’t risk using the torch, at least not until he had reached the summit and surveyed the area. MacFarlane would undoubtedly have sentries posted. Men who would not hesitate to shoot at a suspicious light.
His forty-year-old knees aching from the ascent, he was very much aware of the fact that he did not have the resources or influence of the British government behind him. He was on his own. A lone and hungry wolf.
He snorted, amused by the thought.
In sheep’s clothing.
Puffing slightly, he reached the top; the top being a treeless, rocky plateau. About two hundred yards to the north-west he could make out the outline of St Paul’s Tower, the only visible landmark on the barren escarpment. Wishing he had a pair of night vision goggles, he thought he spied what looked like a large military truck parked beside the tower.
MacFarlane might have the Ark stored inside the tower. Out of sight of prying eyes. Or it could be in the truck, ready for transport.
Motionless, he scanned the terrain, searching for the slightest sound or a suggestion of motion. Something to indicate that he was not alone. That others lurked in the shadows.
A good two minutes passed before he saw a faint flicker, little more than a pinprick of light.
A burning cigarette.
The target sighted, he set off.
As he navigated his way across the bramble-strewn plateau, his thoughts turned to the Knights of St John, who for nearly three centuries had patrolled those same craggy heights, safeguarding their domain from Turkish corsairs. During the great siege of 1565, sixty stalwart knights had defended the fort at St Elmo against a Turkish force numbering eight thousand. Perhaps this night history would repeat itself.
Lord, I hope so.
The thought that he might never again set his gaze upon Edie Miller’s face left him bereft.
Shoving this thought aside, he turned his attention to the man negligently leaning against a large slab of limestone, a lit cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. And a MP5 sub-machine gun cradled against his chest. Though it was impossible to see in the darkness, Cædmon assumed the man’s finger was on the trigger and the safety catch was off.
Keeping to the shadow cast by the limestone outcrop, he slid the five-inch diving knife from its sheath. The hilt securely grasped in his right hand, he inched forward, hoping the sentry didn’t suddenly turn, praying he didn’t inadvertently kick a loose stone. To his dismay, he saw that the man had a communication device protruding from the side of his head.
If the sentry as much as whimpered, the game would be over before it even began.
Cædmon slowed his breathing. An age-old trick to calm one’s nerves.
Then, coming within two feet of the sentry, he lunged forward.
In one smooth, sure-footed motion, the movement ingrained from his distant training, he grasped the other man from the rear, clasping a hand over his mouth as he yanked his head back, exposing the jugular vein and carotid artery. First he slashed. Then he ripped.
Warm blood gushed from the opened artery.
A silent kill.
As the sentry dropped to the ground, Cædmon shoved his finger into the weapon’s trigger guard, yanking the MP5 out of the dying man’s grasp, knowing that a shot would be his undoing. Sliding his arm through the gun’s shoulder strap, he crouched beside the now-dead sentry, relieving him of the radio equipment, the device both a blessing and a beast. While he’d be able to monitor sentry movement in and around the tower, when the man failed to report in, MacFarlane and his henchmen would know they had an enemy in their midst.
84
Edie sat up and hacked, the frigid sea air scouring her lungs.
Damn Cædmon Aisquith.
Her head ached. Her body ached. And, not unexpectedly, her heart ached, Cædmon not having trusted her to pull her weight. So what did he do? He cut her adrift. No warning. No discussion. Just wham, bam, thank you, ma’am.
Rolling onto all fours, she awkwardly pushed herself to her feet. She glanced at her left wrist. No watch. Since the cheapo Timex wasn’t waterproof, she’d left it behind at the hotel.
She wondered how long she’d been out. Hopefully not too long.
With a groan, she bent down and picked up the torch.
‘How considerate,’ she muttered, wishing her AWOL partner had instead left her a bottle of aspirin.
Knowing her anger wouldn’t get her off the strip of beach, Edie tilted her head back and peered up, the cliff like an impregnable fortress wall. One that she intended to ascend. Just a few months ago she’d mastered the rock wall at one of DC’s largest sporting goods stores.
So, I’m good to go.
She searched the rocky shoreline, recalling that Cædmon had said something about a path. Switching on the torch, she followed the footprints that he’d left in the sand, tracking them about forty feet.
Right to the foot of the path.
Afraid the torch might attract attention, she switched it off, securing it to one of the elasticized loops on the waistband of her trousers. Hands free, she carefully began the steep climb up the incised stone steps. She wondered whether Barbary pirates or the Knights of St John had undertaken the task of carving what amounted to a staircase into the cliff. No doubt Cædmon would have been able to pull that particular factoid out of his hat. Had he been there.
Damn him, anyway. The man actually thought that he could take on the doomsday prophet all by himself. MacFarlane would fight him tooth and nail. And his loyal followers would use far deadlier weapons.
That thought spurring her on, Edie glanced behind her, able to see that she was only at the halfway mark. Her breathing noticeably laboured, she struggled to keep on climbing, realizing she was pitifully out of shape.
Finally, sheer willpower taking over, her leg muscles having long since turned to rubber, she reached the summit. There being nothing she could do about the scrape on the palm of her hand, she wiped the blood off on her trouser leg.
She could see that she was standing on a flattopped ridge, a pitiless place that in the light of day probably resembled nothing so much as an asteroid. Only the faint whiff of rosemary indicated that it could actually sustain some sort of vegetation.
In the distance she made out a tall tower. That being the only building in sight, she headed in that direction.
As she got closer to the tower, she saw a large canvas-covered truck parked outside, the kind of vehicle one might see on a military base. Hoping it wasn’t loaded with armed soldiers, she headed towards it. Trying to keep as low as possible, she hunched over, running in a crouch. The way people scurried about in the movies.
She hadn’t gone far when she saw a bear of a man emerge from the tower and head towards the truck.
Boyd Braxton.
Terrified, Edie came to an abrupt halt. Needing a weapon and needing one quick, she snatched a jagged rock from the ground.
Give me strength, God.
The same kind of strength that had enabled Samson to slay a thousand foes with the jawbone of an ass.
Edie glanced at the pathetic stone clutched in her hand.
If only she had the jawbone of an ass.
85
Pondering his next move, Cædmon stared at the watchtower that loomed a hundred yards away. Absently, he stroked the smooth metal of the MP5, wondering if a little shock and awe wasn’t in order. That would certainly get MacFarlane’s attention.
And, no doubt, get him killed into the bargain. Without ever having set eye
s upon the Ark.
No, he needed a far more subtle tactic. Something that would lure MacFarlane’s men away from the tower, where he presumed the Ark was stored, enabling him to sneak inside and decapitate the snake. And maybe, if he was lucky, he could then escape with none of the snake’s bully boys the wiser. The wily fox outwitting the ferocious pack of hounds.
But how best to create a diversion?
Anywhere else in the world he would have started a fire. However, other than a few wind-blown brambles, there was nothing combustible to be had. He did have the laser light, a last-minute purchase. Perhaps he could do something with that.
Like a man mesmerized by a swaying crystal, he continued to stare at the tower. The Ark of the Covenant was near at hand. Yet completely unattainable.
Had Stanford MacFarlane deciphered its secrets? Had he donned the Stones of Fire, stood before the Ark and communed directly with God?
‘We’ve got a breach on the north-west quadrant. Somebody just tripped the security laser.’
Hearing the disembodied voice in his earpiece, Cædmon’s breath caught in his throat.
Edie.
He scanned the promontory, searching for that familiar, curly-haired silhouette, knowing he had to find her before MacFarlane did.
86
Standing as still as a Grecian statue, Edie watched as Boyd Braxton threw back the canvas tarpaulin on the military-style truck and opened the tailgate. She assumed that he was about to unload something. Or else he was getting the truck ready to be loaded. Whichever it was, it had to have something to do with the Ark. Of that she was certain.
Taking deep measured breaths, she continued to watch Braxton, curious as to why he suddenly pressed a finger to his ear. Just before he pulled his gun out of its shoulder holster, turned on his heel and ran off.
Something had spooked the man. But what could possibly have –
Oh God! Cædmon.
Swivelling her head back and forth, squinting to better see in the darkness, she searched the rocky promontory. It was like searching the dark side of the moon. Realizing that it actually was a whole lot like being on the moon in that there was no place to hide, she began to shiver.
A few moments later four men emerged from the tower, carrying what looked like a large crate. Two other men, stubby machine guns at the ready, followed in their wake.
Without being told, Edie knew that the Ark of the Covenant was inside the crate.
Her heart painfully thudding against her breastbone, she watched as it was loaded into the back of the truck. That done, the two armed guards took up positions on either side of the vehicle, the four porters returning to the tower.
Slowly she backed away from her observation post.
She’d taken no more than three tentative steps when a large hand was slapped over her mouth, an unseen assailant lifting her bodily off the ground.
87
‘Button your lip!’ a distinctly English voice hissed in her ear. ‘We don’t want them to hear us.’
Releasing his hand from her mouth, Cædmon stepped in front of her, Edie surprised to see a machine gun strapped to his chest. He snatched the rock that she still had clutched in her hand.
‘First they would have to know that we’re here –’
‘They do know!’
Grabbing her upper arm, he unceremoniously pulled her to the ground, the two of them squaring off at a squat.
‘Have you lost your bloody mind?’ His warm breath hit her full in the face.
‘I’m here. Deal with it.’
‘I can render you unconscious at any moment, so kindly do not tell me what to do.’
‘That reminds me… Did you have to hit me so hard?’
‘Be thankful it was me doing the hitting and not one of MacFarlane’s thugs. And before you rant at me, I had no choice.’ For several seconds he stared into her eyes. Then, raising his left hand, he gently caressed the side of her face. ‘I am truly sorry, Edie, that I hurt you.’ Both his features and his voice had noticeably softened.
‘My feelings are hurt more than anything else. Mainly because you didn’t trust me enough to –’
‘I trust you with my life. And I will do all in my power to safeguard yours.’ He removed his hand from her cheek. Taking her by the elbow, he urged her upright. ‘Follow my lead. No hare-brained heroics or I’ll stuff my handkerchief in your lovely mouth and bind you hand and foot.’
‘If you do that, I won’t be able to tell you that they loaded the Ark into the back of that big truck. Oh, and how about giving me a weapon?’
Reaching into his pocket, he removed something that resembled a fountain pen. ‘Here.’
‘What am I suppose to do with this?’
‘Shine it directly into an assailant’s eyes. I don’t have time to explain the laws of photonics, except to say that it will instantaneously induce a state of temporary blindness. So please be sure the business end is pointing away from you when the light is activated.’
Edie took the laser. ‘I was hoping you might give me your diving knife, seeing as how you managed to find yourself a machine –’
Just then she heard the sound – rubber on stone – of a booted foot.
Frantically, she glanced at Cædmon.
Amazingly calm, he put his left index finger to his lips, cautioning her to silence while at the same time placing his right index finger on the trigger of the sub-machine gun.
Suddenly, Edie surprised by his quickness, Cædmon made a lightning-fast about turn.
‘Drop your weapon and remove the headset! Now!’
Realizing his pistol was no match for Cædmon’s mightier weapon, Boyd Braxton obediently put his pistol on the ground, kicking it in Cædmon’s direction. That done, he yanked off the headset and, smiling snidely, tossed it several feet away. ‘You didn’t want that, did you?’
Afraid the headset might have an open mike, Edie strode over and smashed the heel of her shoe down on the device.
The smile instantly vanished from the behemoth’s face. Stepping past him, Edie noticed that the crisscrossed bandages on the side of Braxton’s head gleamed surreally in the darkness. Stitches courtesy of Cædmon and a well-aimed bottle. She returned the snide smile.
Braxton took a threatening step in her direction, his right hand balled in a fist.
‘Touch her and I’ll gladly add a pound of lead to your current body weight.’
At a glance, Edie could see that it was no idle threat. In fact, she was beginning to realize that Cædmon Aisquith never made idle threats.
‘She’s got you wrapped around her little pinkie, doesn’t she?’ Braxton snickered. ‘Guess you know by now that she’s a real prick tease, huh? Hell, my pecker has been standing on end since I first set eyes on the curly-haired bitch.’
His shoulders visibly relaxing, Cædmon slyly smiled at Braxton… just before he reared back and kicked him in the crotch.
Sounding a lot like a braying donkey, the behemoth dropped to his knees, clutching his testicles with both hands.
‘I trust that has given you some relief.’ Cædmon turned to Edie. ‘My apologies.’
About to say ‘For what?’ Edie instead went slack-jawed, horrified at seeing a quartet of men, who had suddenly and very silently materialized as though from thin air. Shoulder to shoulder, they stood some ten feet behind Cædmon.
The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse come to life.
Before she could shout a warning, a floodlight was switched on, illuminating the entire area.
‘You would be well advised, Mr Aisquith, to drop your weapon. Very, very slowly.’
Calmly, not so much as peering over his shoulder, Cædmon unclipped the leather strap that held the sub-machine gun to his chest. Holding the weapon in his left hand, his right hand held aloft so it could easily be seen, he bent slowly at the waist, placing the weapon on the ground.
Stanford MacFarlane stepped forward. Retrieving the gun, he handed it to Boyd Braxton.
‘Here, boy. You l
ook like you could use this.’
Still doubled over and gasping for breath, Braxton straightened just enough to aim the weapon directly at Cædmon’s chest.
Unthinkingly, Edie grabbed MacFarlane by the forearm, knowing he was the only man present who could stop Braxton from pulling the trigger.
‘One Christian to another… don’t let him do it,’ she begged, ready to throw herself at his booted feet if that’s what it took to save Cædmon’s life.
‘You are not a Christian woman!’ MacFarlane bellowed, his face twisted in an ugly sneer. ‘You are a harlot!’
88
‘And you are a disgusting stain on a snowy white sheet,’ Cædmon snarled at MacFarlane, words the only weapon left to him.
Unaccustomed to insubordinate words or deeds, the colonel appeared apoplectic. Like an Old Testament prophet on the verge of an aneurism.
‘I want him searched before he’s killed,’ Mac-Farlane barked at one of his men.
The situation completely out of his control, Cædmon stood motionless while a muscular man with a shaved pate roughly patted him down for weapons. The torch he tossed aside, the GPS receiver and diving knife he handed to his chief. MacFarlane quickly perused the confiscated items before giving them to yet another of his men for safekeeping.
Still gasping for breath, Braxton rose to his full height, transformed from a wounded bear into a menacing mountain of a man. ‘Let’s just say I ain’t gonna miss you when you’re gone.’
Having known all along that this was how it might end, Cædmon defiantly stared his executioner in the face. As he did, Goya’s famous painting The Third of May flashed across his mind’s eye, bloodshed and violence the chain that inevitably linked one epoch to the next.
