David Morrell - The Covenant Of The Flame

In back, someone murmured, 'I'll feel more confident when our other unit shows up.'

The man in front nodded. 'And even more confident when the enforcers arrive. I called our man at the airport. He'll instruct them where we've gone.'

Another man in back asked, 'How long will they take to - ?'

Their plane lands in half an hour,' the man in front said. 'Figure another twenty minutes after that. We've got a car waiting to bring the enforcers.'

'In which case, we just have to hope that the vermin don't make their move before… Wait a moment. I see a car.'

The gunmen stared out the rear window.

'It isn't our other unit,' one of them breathed.

The man in front concentrated. Through the rear window, he saw a blue Toyota round the corner, approaching. A thirtyish man drove, an attractive woman beside him.

'Do you think it might be - ?'

They probably live in the neighborhood. But if they are the vermin, they've made a mistake.' The man in front drew his pistol. 'Six against two. They're outnumbered.'

The car passed the truck's back window, no longer in sight. As the solemn man turned toward his sideview mirror to watch the car continue forward, he flinched.

The woman hurled a canister through his open window.

The canister hissed.

The car kept driving down the street.

'No!' the solemn man screamed.

At once he shuddered and slumped. Invisible nerve gas filled the truck. The men behind him scrambled to open the back door.

Too late. As the gas touched their skin, they convulsed, voided their bowels, vomited, and lay still.

'But what about the photograph of the books?' Tess demanded. 'Do their titles mean anything to - ?'

Priscilla removed a magnifying glass from a drawer in the desk and held it over the phot ograph. 'Eleanor of Aquitaine… The Art of Courtly Love …'

'The one in Spanish means The Dove's Neck Ring ,' Tess said.

'I know. It's another treatise on courtly love. Eleventh century as I recall.'

Tess blinked in surprise. 'You can't imagine the trouble I went through to learn that, and you just…'

'Hey, it's my specialty, remember.' Priscilla's wrinkled lips formed a modest smile. 'These titles are all related. It's just like with the sculpture. Once you understand the background, everything's clear. Eleanor was the Queen of France during the century before the fall of Montsegur. Aquitaine, where Eleanor came from, was in southwestern France. She established – and her daughter, Marie de France, continued to maintain – a royal court in that region.'

Tess nodded, having learned that much when she'd read the introduction to The Dove's Neck Ring the previous night at her mother's home, just before the fire had…!

With a shudder, grieving, she forced herself not to interrupt.

' Southwestern France,' Priscilla emphasized. 'Where Mithraism resurfaced, in the form of the Albigensian heresy, shortly after Eleanor's death. Eleanor encouraged the notion of courtly love, a strict set of rules that idealized the relationship between men and women. Physical union wasn't permitted until after a stringent code of overly polite behavior was obeyed. The Albigensians adapted courtly love for their own purposes. To them, after all, the good that Mithras fought for was spiritual. The evil of the opposing god was physical, belonging to the world and the flesh. For example, Albigensians were vegetarians, allowing only the purest of foods to enter their bodies.'

' My friend was a vegetarian.' Tess felt startled.

'Of course. And I imagine he didn't drink alcohol.'

'Right,' Tess said.

'And he exercised rigorously.'

'Yes!'

'He needed to deny and control his flesh,' Priscilla said. 'It's what I'd expect from someone who believed in Mithras. But the Albigensians also believed that sex was impure, that carnal desires were one of the ways that the evil god tempted them. So they abstained, except for rare occasions, allowing intercourse only for the exclusive purpose of conceiving children. A necessary grudging surrender to the flesh. Otherwise their community would have dwindled and died. With that rare exception, in the place of sexual relations, they substituted highly formal, immensely polite social relations that they borrowed from the concept of courtly love.'

'My friend insisted that we could never be lovers, never have sex,' Tess said. 'He claimed he had certain obligations he had to follow. The most we could ever have was what he called a platonic relationship.'

'Of course.' Priscilla shrugged. 'Plato. Another of the books on the shelf in this photograph. According to Plato, the physical world is insubstantial. A higher level should be our goal. You see how it all comes together?'

'But what about…?'

The doorbell rang. Tess had become so absorbed by the conversation that the sudden disturbance made her flinch. At once she realized.

It must be -

Priscilla jerked up her head, anticipating. 'I imagine that's your other friend. The one you phoned from here a while ago. The man who expected you to meet him near the airport.'

Tess stared toward the exit from the study. 'God, I hope. Priscilla… Professor Harding… I have to explain. My friend's a…'

'No need to explain,' Professor Harding said. 'Any friend of yours is welcome here.'

'But you have to understand! He's not just a friend . He's - '

Again the doorbell rang.

' - a policeman . A detective from New York's Missing Persons.' Tess reached inside her canvas purse. 'But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it's someone else! What if it's-?' She withdrew the handgun from the purse.

Priscilla and Professor Harding blanched at the sight of it.

Grasping the trigger, Tess ordered, 'Hide in that closet. Don't make a sound. If it's them and they kill me, if they come in here and take the photographs, they might be satisfied! They might not search the house! They might not find - !'

The doorbell rang a third time.

'I shouldn't have come here! I hope I haven't - !' Tess couldn't wait any longer. 'Pray!'

She lunged from the study, assumed the stance her father had taught her, aimed her handgun down the hallway toward the front door, and said a silent prayer of thanks when she saw Craig's tense, confused face through the window in the door.

As he pressed the bell yet again, Tess hurried along the hallway, yanked the door open, and tugged him inside, thrusting her arms around him. 'I've never been so glad to see anyone in my life.'

With her left hand, she slammed the door shut behind them, leaned past him to lock it, and hugged him even harder.

'Ouch!' Craig said. 'I hope that pistol isn't cocked! You're pressing its handle against my back!'

'Oh.' Tess lowered the pistol. I'm sorry! I didn't mean to - '

Wary, Craig glanced at the pistol. 'Good, it isn't cocked. Where did you get that? Do you know how to use it?'

'Yes. A very long story. Craig, I've learned so much! I've got so much to tell you!'

'And I want to hear it, believe me.' Craig hugged her in return. 'I've been so damned worried about you. I - '

Tess felt Craig's reassuring arms around her. She felt her breasts against his chest, her nipples unexpectedly tingling. The warmth surging through her was equally unexpected. Responding to an irresistible impulse, she kissed him. In the midst of fear, the pleasure she received from Craig's embrace was like…

She'd been meant to be in his arms…

Craig's lips against hers…

Hers against his…

From the moment they'd met.

For now.