“God spoke through the prophet Ezekiel, making his will known to mankind. I will see to it that his orders are carried out.”
“No greater sacrilege is known under the heavens than to take upon one’s shoulders the mantle of God,” Caedmon quietly informed their nemesis. “Men like you not only diminish the human spirit, you diminish the very nature of God.”
“Soon enough you and your whore will learn what comes of sleeping with the devil,” MacFarlane retorted. Then, pointing an accusing finger, “‘But evil men and imposters will grow worse and worse, deceiving and being deceived.’ Gallagher, take them away!”
The bald-headed underling, with a semiautomatic pistol capably held in his right hand, stepped toward them.
“At least we bought ourselves a little bit of time,” Edie whispered.
Caedmon glanced at the yacht in the bay. “Yes, but what of the rest of the world? For them the doomsday clock still ticks.”
CHAPTER 89
“‘ . . . If you warn the wicked, and he does not turn from his wickedness, or from his wicked way, he shall die for his in iquity.’” As he spoke, their guard, the bald-headed Gallagher, motioned Edie and Caedmon to take a seat on a nearby slab of limestone.
Caedmon plunked down on the raised flat stone. “Good God, but I’ve had enough apocalyptic nattering to last a l ifetime.”
Wordlessly, Edie sat next to him, knowing it would be a lifetime cut down in its prime if they didn’t figure out a way to escape their captor.
Approximately a hundred yards away, Edie could see that MacFarlane and his crew were quickly piling into the military-style transport truck. The same truck into which they’d earlier loaded the Ark of the Covenant. She assumed that the plan was to drive the truck to a boat launch at the bottom of the sea cliff. They could then transport the Ark from shore to yacht via a small motorboat.
From there it would be clear sailing. All the way to Israel.
That thought enraged and terrified her all at once. But it was an impotent rage. And an equally impotent fear. There was nothing she or Caedmon could do to stop the ancient prophecies from being fulfilled. With the End Times hanging over them like an ominous shadow, the voice of reason had become eerily silent. Instead, she’d reverted to being the terrified child who feared the death and destruction that was part and parcel of God’s wrath.
“Caedmon. . . I’m afraid. I don’t want it to end. Not the world. Not any of it,” she lamely murmured, unable to put her feelings into words. At least not words that made any sense.
He placed an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to him. “As the Irish are fond of saying, ‘At least we had the day.’” Edie intuited that he was speaking of their earlier love-making onboard the ferryboat.
Knowing they didn’t have much time left, she took her fill of him. The thick red hair. The lean, rangy physique. The beautiful blue eyes. The relationship over before it ever began.
“I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I’ve decided that it’s more than mere physical lust,” she informed him, speaking in a low whisper.
“Do I detect a deathbed confession?”
“You know, gallows humor has always eluded me.”
“Then perhaps we need to get off the scaffold and shine some much-needed light.”
“Yeah, but—” She stopped, suddenly realizing what Caedmon was alluding to.
The portable laser light.
Caedmon had said that it could temporarily blind a man.
Edie surreptitiously placed her hand on top of her jacket pocket. The penlike device was still there. In all of the pandemonium, no one had thought to search her for weapons. Not that anyone would consider something resembling a Bic pen much of a threat.
“Be ready,” she whispered in a hushed voice, certain that when the time came, Caedmon would know what to do.
A few seconds later, Gallagher reached into his breast pocket and removed a crumpled pack of Marlboro cigarettes. Next he patted the front of his cargo pants, searching for a match. Or a lighter. It didn’t much matter because it gave Edie an opportunity to slide her hand into her jacket pocket, all the while praying that their captor’s gaze didn’t land on her slow-moving hand.
Her fingers wrapped around the laser light. Quickly, she found the small on/off switch. In the same place where you’d expect to find the clip on an ink pen. She removed the pen from her pocket.
Gallagher’s bald head suddenly swiveled in her direction.
“Hey, bitch! What the hell are you doing?”
“Bringing you to Jesus!” she retorted, aiming what she hoped was the business end of the laser at Gallagher’s face.
A thin ray of green light immediately burst forth, hitting Gallagher first in one eye, then the other. Instinctively, he raised his arm to shield himself from the lens-burning beam of light.
“Quick! Turn it off!” Caedmon hissed, snatching her by the forearm to get her attention. The abrupt motion caused the light beam to shoot heavenward, making it appear as though the thin green light actually touched the marmalade moon that hovered thousands of miles above the earth.
Edie flipped the switch into the off position.
Like a striking viper, Caedmon lurched forward, his right hand thrusting outward, his fingers wrapping around the barrel of Gallagher’s gun. One quick, strong-armed twist and the gun was loosened from the other man’s grip. The pistol now in his possession, Caedmon used it to violently bludgeon Gallagher on the skull. An instant later, Gallagher went limp. Grabbing him by the scruff of the neck, Caedmon lugged him behind the slab of limestone. Out of sight. That done, he unclipped Gallagher’s cell phone from his belt.
Edie furtively scanned the area, terrified that the scuffle, which lasted only a few seconds, had been observed.
Mercifully, she heard no alarm being issued; MacFarlane’s men were still clambering into the back of the truck.
“Is he . . . ?” She jutted her chin at the man sprawled on the other side of the limestone slab.
Caedmon tersely shook his head. “But pray the bastard doesn’t awake any time soon.”
Taking her by the elbow, Caedmon quickly shepherded her toward the convoy truck. Not only did they keep to the shadows, but they kept a low profile, both of them hunched at the waist.
About fifty yards from the truck, Caedmon yanked her behind a scraggly clump of dried vegetation.
“Our objective, our only objective, is to prevent the Ark from being loaded onto that yacht in the bay. If that happens, it will be lost forever. I mean this, love . . . no heroics.” As he spoke, he lightly grasped her by the chin.
“Do you think we’ve actually got a chance?”
“So long as our escape from the hapless Gallagher goes undetected. Their success is not yet a fait accompli.”
“If they do find Gallagher, they’re gonna turn on us like a pack of wolves.”
Still holding her by the chin, Caedmon stared at her. Taking a deep breath, he said, “The bloodletting, if it comes, will be voracious. And altogether pitiless.”
CHAPTER 90
“I don’t know about you, sir, but I can’t wait to blow the Dome of the Rock to kingdom come.” Fully recovered from his earlier injury, Boyd Braxton positioned himself behind the steering wheel of the 6×6 convoy truck.
“‘Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord,’” Stan replied, well aware that in the eleventh century, the Muslim infidels had attempted to destroy the tomb of Jesus; the reprisal was long overdue. “Gunny, do you know what the word Islam means?”