by Alex Lukeman
"The bad guy," Nick said. "He thinks he's got it covered but he's making a mistake."
"Phillip Harrison," Elizabeth said. Her voice was strange.
They looked at her. "What's the matter, Director?" Stephanie said. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"I just had this very odd feeling," she said. "My intuition says this prince is Harrison. He's planning something bad."
"A nuclear war would qualify," Nick said.
"What about this other one?" Ronnie said, "the one about wine?"
Four will share wine but three will drink
One less to mark the path
The Sacred Container is beyond
That which is desired
"I don't know. But it has to be about the Ark. That would be the only sacred container anyone would think of."
Harker picked up her Mont Blanc and began tapping. "This is the most bizarre investigation I've ever heard of," she said.
It broke the tension. Everyone laughed.
"Nothing new for us," Nick said. "Pyramids, ancient artifacts, we do it all. Why not prophecies?"
"All right," Harker said. "What's the next step?"
"Let me see if I can pin down a Templar tomb that matches the quatrain," Stephanie said.
"Ronnie and I are going over to Bethesda to see Lamont," Nick said.
"And I'll meet with the detective," Selena said. "What was his name?"
"Hanson. Mark Hanson." Elizabeth wrote his phone number on a piece of paper and handed it to her.
"Give him a call. He's expecting you."
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
It was a gorgeous summer day on the Maine coast. This time of year, the sun turned unsuspecting visitors red as a Maine lobster in no time flat. The tourist season was in full swing, but on Indian Island there was none of the chaos that marked the vacation spots along the shore.
Phillip Harrison III sat on the shaded porch above the lawn with a glass of good whiskey and thought about what he was planning. Things were progressing more or less on schedule. Wiesner's rhetoric of hatred was doing it's work. Using Croft and his network of arms dealers, a difficult transaction with the Iranians had been concluded. They didn't know that it contained the seed of their destruction. It was a delicious irony that the Iranians saw it as the seed of their victory.
It was all about perception. Victory and destruction were two sides of the same coin.
The book that guided Harrison's life was the Bible, but the words that resonated in his heart weren't the words of love taught by Christ. He preferred the harsh teachings and instructions of the Old Testament. Forgiveness of those who resisted the Lord's Will was not encouraged. One of his favorite quotations was from Deuteronomy:
...the Lord thy God shall deliver them before thee; thou shalt smite them, and utterly destroy them; thou shalt make no covenant with them, nor show mercy unto them...
For Phillip Harrison, those words could have been written to describe Islam and all it's adherents.
Harrison considered himself a patriot. He believed that America had become soft, weak. War was the solution. War hardened a people, gave it purpose, forged the strength of a nation. It was the fire of war that had given birth to the Republic. It was war that had united it. It was war that had made America supreme in the world.
Now that supremacy was at risk because of misguided efforts at negotiating peaceful solutions in a world where peace was impossible, with nations that could not be trusted. The current President was a good example of what could happen. He'd failed to exploit his opportunities. He'd had an opportunity to crush the Muslim world and gain the oil fields of the Middle East, but he'd backed away. He was a coward.
Harrison intended to see that mistake put right. Boyd and Croft saw war as a way to increase their wealth. They assumed the same was true for him. But Harrison was focused on doing God's work. He was certain that what was needed, what God wanted, was a new crusade. Harrison believed that the Holy Land needed to be cleansed of the stain of Islam and the sacred sites of Christianity reclaimed, once and for all. His Puritan ancestors would have approved, he was certain.
Harrison watched a motor launch nearing the island, bringing Boyd and Croft from the mainland. He set his glass on the table beside him and walked down to the landing to greet them.
"Phillip, how are you?"
"Well, Arthur, thank you." The three men shook hands. "There's a light lunch waiting in the house."
They walked up the perfect lawn and into the house. Harrison led the way to the conservatory where the food was laid out on white linen. When the servants had left, Harrison began.
"We have the other part of the Nostradamus file."
"Excellent," Croft said. "Were there any problems?"
Harrison sipped his whiskey. "Two men were killed. It's of no importance. They were disposable. The third man showed initiative. I'm moving him up a bit."
"How soon will we have a location?" Boyd asked.
"Once the quatrains are translated, we'll follow up on the new ones. If the pattern holds, Nostradamus left a clue that will give us the right place to look."
"And if the Ark can't be found?"
"If not, we'll proceed with our alternative plan."
"The assassinations," Croft said.
"Yes. It shouldn't take more than a few weeks to get the pot boiling. Then we tip it over."
"Why don't we just get on with it?" Boyd said.
Harrison was annoyed. "We've been over this, Stephen. It's much better if we can use the Ark. The fanatics will do our work for us. There won't be any possibility of a trail back here. If there's any chance the Templar hoard still exists, or the Ark, we need to secure that first. Once the war begins it will be much more difficult."
Boyd said, "I suppose you're right, Phillip."
"Of course I am."
"What about the President's group, the Project?"
"They've been annoying, I admit. They're following the same trail we are. They may have a copy of the second part of the manuscript. If they don't, what they do doesn't matter. If they do, we'll be prepared. Next time they don't walk away."
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The First District station of the Washington Metro Police was in a converted school building on M Street SW. It housed a state of the art forensic lab, offered community outreach programs and provided evidence storage. The D.C. police needed a lot of storage.
Selena parked her Mercedes next to a row of cruisers with the stylized flag logo of D.C. She put a card on the dash that identified her car as being on government business. Maybe it wouldn't draw a ticket.
The desk sergeant told her to wait for Detective Hanson to come and escort her. The station had a faint, stale odor of fear and stress and sweat, along with the kind of smell that seemed to be poured into institutional buildings with the concrete. After a few minutes a man came through a set of swinging doors on her left. He wore an off the rack gray suit and black shoes and had a pair of thick binders under his arm. He walked over to her. She stood.
"Doctor Connor? I'm Detective Hanson. Thanks for coming down."
He held out his hand. His grip was warm, firm.
Hanson was about Nick's height, six feet tall. He had black hair and blue eyes and a face that looked as though you might not want to get on the wrong side of him. His eyes had the same kind of look as Nick's, as if they'd seen much more than they'd wanted, none of it good. There was a thin scar on the bottom of his chin. She caught a faint whiff of aftershave.
"This way," Hanson said.
He led her through the doors and down a hallway to a room with a table and a large one way window on the wall. There were two chairs. There was a camera on the ceiling. The table was bolted to the floor. Hanson set the binders down on the table.
"Grab a seat. This is one of the rooms we use for interrogations. It's a lot quieter than the squad room and we won't be distracted here. Have you ever done this before?"
His voice was deep, pleasant. Selena liked it
.
"No."
"It's straightforward." Hanson opened one of the binders. "These are photos of people you don't want to meet. We've got thousands of them, but I figured the best shot was to pull known associates of the men who attacked you."
He stopped and gave her an appraising look. "That was good work, by the way. Most women would be dead. Hell, most of the men I know would be dead. How did you do it?"
The question made her uncomfortable. "Oh, training. And luck."
"Sorry. I shouldn't have asked."
Sensitive. Who would have guessed? He picked right up on how I felt. An interesting man.
"That's all right. I study martial arts."
"Guess that explains it. Okay." All business, now. "You can see, each page has pictures. Take your time, see if any of them look like the third man who was there. Would you like something to drink? Coffee, a soda?"
"Coffee would be fine."
"How do you take it?"
She felt something stirring. He's asking you about coffee. With something of a shock, she realized she was attracted to him. She hadn't been attracted to anyone since she'd met Nick.
"Cream, no sugar."
"Coffee's not great here, but it's hot. I'll be right back."
He left the room. Her thoughts were confused. Something had just happened, and she knew enough about herself to realize she would have to deal with it. But not now. She pulled the book of pictures closer and began studying the photos.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
"Him," Selena said.
She put her finger on a photo. She'd been looking at pictures for the past two hours. Hanson had brought more binders in after she'd failed to recognize anyone in the first two.
"You're sure?"
"Yes. I got a good look at him. There's something about his face. Cruel."
The man in the photo had wide ears that stuck out from his head and eyes that looked dead.
"Elbert Sturrock. Armed robbery, assault, attempted murder. He did fifteen upstate. Got out about six months ago."
"Why do they keep letting these people out?" she said.
"You shouldn't ask a cop that, unless you want to see him get mad." Hanson smiled. "Politics, budgets and do-gooders, mostly. Loopholes in the law and bottom feeding lawyers that exploit them."
He closed the binder. "Now that we have an ID, we'll find him. We get him in here, we can sweat him a little."
"You think you can find out who hired him?"
"I'll do my best." Hanson looked at his watch. "I'm off in ten. How about a drink? There's a place a couple of blocks away."
Why not? she thought. Then, No.
"Not today. Maybe another time." Why had she said that? She'd left the door open, just a crack.
Hanson kept the disappointment out of his voice. "Another time would be great. You have a number I can reach you at? I'll let you know what we find out."
"You have a piece of paper?"
Are you really going to give him your number?
Hanson took out a notebook, handed it to her. She wrote down a number. It wasn't the number Nick and the others used to reach her. "It goes to a machine," she said. "I don't usually pick up. Just leave a message."
Back out on the street, she wondered what she was doing.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Elizabeth came into her office. Burps was asleep on her chair, drooling. She'd never been a cat person. Even so, she found the presence of the cat comforting. There was something about this ragged lump of orange that she liked. She lifted him off the chair and walked over to the garden door and set him down. She opened the door.
"Go," she said. She pointed.
Burps looked at her, yawned and moved leisurely into the garden. She closed the door. She used a tissue to wipe off her chair and sat down. The others came into the room and took seats.
"I think I know who Nostradamus meant," Stephanie said, "in the lines about giving a hostage and all that." She looked pleased with herself.
"Who is it?" Selena asked.
"If I'm right, the first Earl of Pembroke, William Marshal. He's buried in the nave of Temple Church, in London." She pulled up a picture on the big monitor. It showed a damaged stone figure of a knight in mail lying on his back. His right hand grasped his sword. The stone blade was broken.
"He was a Templar?"
"Yes."
"Why do you think it's him?" Harker asked.
"Marshal was one of the most powerful men in England. His son was held hostage by King John to make sure he stayed loyal. That fits with the quatrain. And he's holding a broken sword. If that isn't enough, his effigy is one of nine. There are eight others in the Temple Church, all close by, all Templar knights."
"Temple Church is famous, a big tourist attraction," Selena said. "It was the London Templar headquarters when they were at the height of their power."
"When did this guy die?" Ronnie asked.
"1219," Stephanie answered. "He was the real thing. His life could be the model for the heroic knight."
"Doesn't do him much good now," Ronnie said. "All he's got is a fancy tomb to show for it."
"One day they could make one for you, Ronnie," Nick said. "Carve out a grenade launcher instead of a sword."
"That's enough," Elizabeth said. "How are we going to find out what's in that tomb?"
"Pretty clear. Nostradamus says there's something there. We have to get into the church and open it."
Elizabeth coughed into a tissue. "Let me get this straight," she said. "You want to break into a major English historical attraction, vandalize a famous tomb with a slab on it that probably weighs hundreds of pounds and root through the bones or whatever, all in hope of finding a clue that might not even be there."
Nick nodded. "That's about right."
Elizabeth sighed. "There will be guards. You can't hurt them."
"We'll think of something," Nick said.
CHAPTER FORTY
"How do we know which one is Pembroke?" Nick asked.
"The tombs are marked," Selena said. "We just read the signs."
They stood in the circular nave of Temple Church in London. It was three in the afternoon. Sunlight streamed through tall, stained glass windows, throwing spatters of rainbow light on the stone floor and across the silent effigies of the Templar knights.
Temple Church had two sections, the round nave and a larger, rectangular chancel, built a half century later. From the air, the building looked like a giant exclamation point laid down between Fleet Street and the Thames River, with the round Templar church forming the dot.
The building was a fine example of gothic architecture. The ceiling of the church was arched and groined. Arched alcoves completely circled the nave. The wall above the alcoves was decorated by a continuous row of stone faces that leered out with grotesque expressions. The eyes seemed to follow Nick around the room.
The nine effigies of Templar knights lay on the floor in the middle of the nave. A central, round tower rose above, supported by arches of stone and massive columns of dark marble. High overhead, the ceiling of the tower was made of closely fitted wood.
Each tomb was identified with a simple black sign etched in white. They found the one for William Marshal. The effigy was damaged with the passage of 900 years, the stone sword broken in several places. His face looked tired, worn. A line of white ran all around the carved slab.
"It's cemented down," Ronnie said. He kept his voice low. "No way it moves without making a lot of noise."
"We figured on that," Nick said. "The seal is probably not very thick, just enough to keep it in place."
"We might get in through that door." Ronnie nodded at a wooden door set in the west wall under a circular stained glass window. "It leads outside. We wouldn't have to come through the rest of the building."
"Looks solid. Built to withstand trouble."
"It's a door. We can get through it."
"Is it alarmed?"
They wandered over to the door. Nick
couldn't see anything that would trigger an alarm.
"The lock doesn't look modern."
"The door is a replica," Selena said. "The church was bombed during the war. Everything that was made of wood burned. When it was restored they tried to make everything look like the original."
"The lock's not a problem," Ronnie said.
"I've seen enough. Let's go back to the hotel."
On the way out, Nick picked up a plan of the church and a few postcards with pictures of the nave.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Twelve hours later they were back, outside the door opening into the nave. The night was dark except for a distant streetlamp and a faint glow from within the church. Mist from the Thames and an elaborate stone portico outside the entrance helped conceal them. There was no one about. A light rain drifted down.
"Got it," Ronnie said.
Nick heard the tumblers turn. There was no sound of an alarm. No one expected thieves to go after stone slabs that would take six men to carry away.
They wore dark clothes. The tools were in a pack. They carried tranquilizer guns and their pistols. If they ran into someone, the trank guns could take anyone down before they sounded an alarm. They were effective, silent and non-lethal.
Ronnie eased the door open and they slipped inside.
So far, so good, Selena thought. Her heart was beating hard.
The interior of the nave was dimly lit. Deep pools of shadow filled most of the room.
"This feels wrong," Selena said. "Opening this tomb."
"I know. But we have to do it. It's not like we're grave robbers. Watch the entrance from the chancel," Nick said to Selena. His voice was very quiet. "You see a guard coming this way, put him down."
She nodded and moved to the chancel entrance, a trank gun in her hand. Few lights showed in the cavernous building. Rows of pews lined the floor. Several candles burned in the darkness. There was no one in sight.
