“Do you think that will matter to the Israelis? To them you are merely a terrorist intent on destroying the most holy site in all of Jerusalem.”
The tic in MacFarlane’s jaw became more noticeable. “And what of the Ark?”
Beginning to think he might actually pull off a bloodless coup, Caedmon said, “It must be turned over to Her Majesty’s government. Were it not for the fact that you have the Ark of the Covenant in your possession, you would have been thrown to the Israeli wolves as a matter of course.” Caedmon glanced at this wristwatch: 10:20 P.M. “If you have not surrendered yourself to the British consulate by twenty-three hundred hours, the deal will be rendered null and void.” Of course, he had no way of knowing if, at this late hour, anyone was on duty at the consulate. He would cross that rickety bridge when he came to it.
A terse silence ensued, the only sound being a soft rat-a-tat-tat as Braxton drummed his fingers against his weapon stock. Caedmon purposely refrained from looking at Edie, knowing that any communication, even a silent exchange of glances, would be closely scrutinized; MacFarlane was in the process of separating the wheat from the chaff.
“Since the beginning, I wondered if you would contact British intelligence,” MacFarlane finally said after what seemed an interminable silence. “But knowing the power that the Ark holds, something told me that you’d want to keep MI5 out of the loop. Why? Because I assumed that like most men, you would want the Ark of the Covenant all for yourself. It’s the reason why Galen of Godmersham made no mention of his extraordinary find to his brethren, the Knights of St. John, even though he was duty-bound to do just that. Instead, he lugged the Ark back to England, where he promptly hid it from prying eyes.” MacFarlane took several steps in Caedmon’s direction, the tic in his jaw no longer in evidence. “So I have to ask myself . . . what makes you a better man than that brave knight?”
Caedmon shrugged. “I was faced with a crisis that Galen of Godmersham never had to confront.”
“And what crisis might that be?”
“How best to prevent the destruction of the Dome of the Rock. Brave knight though I am, I am but an army of one,” he drolly added, hoping to recapture the momentum. “And so I had no choice but to contact Thames House. Better the British Museum have the Ark of the Covenant than a man bent on destroying the world.” Even before the words passed his lips, Caedmon knew them to be the truth, silently damning himself for not contacting Five. For thinking that he, like Galen of Godmersham, could keep the Ark all to himself.
And when the wretched knight saw this, his death was well deserved.
How apropos; the cryptic line from the quatrains finally made perfect sense to him.
“Mark my words, doomsday will soon be upon us. And when it comes, we will slay the beast of perfidy with divine revelation.” As he spoke, Stanford MacFarlane compulsively twisted the silver Jerusalem cross that he wore on his right ring finger. Caedmon suspected the ring was his anchor. A constant reminder of the big picture.
Seeing that repetitive motion, he feared the scales had just tipped. And in the wrong direction.
Edie, who had heretofore remained silent, pointed to the string of lights visible from a vessel that had just entered the bay in the distance. “Doomsday is coming, all right. Dressed in commando black and wielding some awesome firepower. You guys have only got a few minutes left to surrender peaceably.” Wearing her bravado like a new suit of clothes, she donned a cocky grin.
Good God. The woman was taking her cues from a Holly-wood script.
Without warning, MacFarlane stepped over and grabbed Edie by the hair, yanking her against his chest. Although she valiantly tried to twist free, he wrapped her curly locks around his fist as he pulled her head back at an awkward angle, exposing her neck. He then held out his free hand, palm up. “Give that me that diving knife.”
Suddenly realizing the other man’s intention, Caedmon lurched forward.
Only to be pistol-whipped in the side of the head by one of MacFarlane’s men.
Knowing he could do nothing to save Edie if he was dead, he stood immobile. Edie, evidently sensing that she couldn’t escape, had suddenly stopped resisting.
“You know, boy, I’ve got a funny feeling that you and this curly-haired harlot are lying to me.” MacFarlane, his face twisted in a sneer, locked gazes with him. “Now, I know that you’re a trained intelligence officer. So I’m going to assume that you have the mental fortitude to stand by while I hold a gun to your pretty woman’s head.” As he spoke, he lightly ran the knife blade along Edie’s cheek. “But do you have the stomach to watch the flesh flayed from her bones in long bloody strips?”
Although her neck was stretched taut as a bow string, Edie tried to shake her head. Tried to caution him not to reveal that there would be no commandoes dressed in black coming to the rescue.
A brave woman. But, more importantly, a beloved woman.
“As earlier stated, I did, in fact, compile a dossier outlining everything that has occurred since Jonathan Padgham’s murder,” he confessed, the match lost, his queen taken. “Included in the report is a detailed threat assessment of your planned attack on the Dome of the Rock.”
“Where’s the dossier?”
“It is in the vault of the Dragonara Hotel.” Having carefully planned for just such a moment, Caedmon then presented what he hoped would be their Get Out of Jail Free card. “If Edie and I have not returned to the Dragonara Hotel by eight o’clock tomorrow morning, the dossier will promptly be delivered to the British consulate. From there, it will be forwarded to Her Majesty’s intelligence service. You are a clever enough man to realize that it would be advantageous to keep us alive. Now, would you please be so kind as to relax your grip on Miss Miller’s hair?”
MacFarlane unwound a palm’s length of hair. Just enough so Edie could move her neck, but not enough for her to escape.
“How do I know that you’re telling me the truth?”
“As with your belief in Old Testament prophecy, you must take it on good faith that I am.”
MacFarlane unwound Edie’s hair from his fist. Muttering something about “lying harlots,” he forcefully shoved her aside. Opening his arms, Caedmon caught Edie, clutching her to his chest.
“You and the harlot have a reprieve.”
Without asking, Caedmon knew that he and Edie would be accompanied to the Dragonara Hotel by one of MacFarlane’s men. Once there, they would be forced to retrieve the dossier from the hotel vault and give it to their escort. After which, they would promptly be executed.
All told, the reprieve would amount to no more than a few hours. Not unlike watching the killer shark from the glass-bottomed boat, knowing all the while that the vessel would soon capsize.
Hearing the mobile phone clipped to MacFarlane’s belt shrilly ring, Caedmon watched as the other man took the call, turning his back on the assembled group. A few moments later, he turned to his second-in-command, the gargantuan Boyd Braxton.
“Call in the troops. We’re ready to set sail.”
Edie frantically tugged on his sleeve. “The boat that just sailed into the bay, I bet that’s how they’re getting the Ark out of Malta,” she hissed in his ear.
“I suspect you’re right.”
“The harlot is right,” MacFarlane verified, having overheard the exchange. “Not only is my mission ordained by the Almighty, but God is acting through me. How else do you explain that after three thousand years, the Ark of the Covenant has been reclaimed?” His eyes sparkling with an inner fire, he smiled, confirming Caedmon’s suspicions that Stanford MacFarlane was quite mad, the man suffering from a full-blown messiah complex.
“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t be measuring for the drapes just yet,” Edie taunted. “If you think for one second that the good, sane, decent people of the world will stand by and let you and your misguided followers start the next world war, think again.”