C. Palov - Templar's Code

“And going to London will change that how ?” In the process of placing the memory chip into the plastic bag, she stopped in mid-motion. The woman didn’t just stare at him, she out-and-out scowled, no doubt thinking him completely bonkers.

“There’s a chap in London, name of Rubin Woolf. In addition to being an antiquarian, Rubin is an acknowledged Baconian expert.”

“And you’re thinking that this Rubin character can shed some light on Bacon and his esoteric cronies?” Edie ran her thumb and index finger across the top of the plastic bag, sealing the memory chip inside.

“If Francis Bacon came into possession of a ‘glorious’ Templar relic, Rubin might know something about it. The man is quite obsessed.”

Edie chuckled. “One pod, two peas. Okay, let’s do it. Let’s go to London.”

“I think you should know that London can be beastly in March: chill wind, driving rain.”

“That’s why the umbrella was invented.” She cocked her head to one side, a questioning expression on her face. “You’re sending a mixed message. Do you want me to accompany you or not?”

Caedmon hesitated. Two days ago Jason Lovett had been executed, the murder weapon emblazoned with an octogram star. Moreover, the man’s cottage had been thoroughly ransacked, the intruder leaving a painted star as a parting signature. While he didn’t know how the symbol related to those two violent episodes, he had to assume the beautiful bastard was still on the hunt.

“You’re taking way too long to answer a simple question.”

He wordlessly stared at her, not certain how to reply. My brave, beautiful Edie. Although he willed it otherwise, he couldn’t erase the image of her perilously clinging to the shaft.

“According to the computer, there’s a flight leaving Providence, Rhode Island, at seven twenty this evening. There are two seats still available,” he said finally, deciding the best way to keep her safe was to keep her close. “And the umbrella was invented by the ancient Egyptians.”

“Well, praise be, the riddle is finally solved.”

Ignoring her smirk, Caedmon booked the flight, keying in names, dates, and his credit card number.

Edie glanced at her watch. “We have plenty of time to hike out of here, return to our hotel and catch a bite to eat, then drive to Providence. Lucky for you, I packed my passport.”

“How fortunate,” Caedmon deadpanned as he reached for his field kit. The instant he leaned over, he experienced an excruciating burst of pain.

He glanced down, flabbergasted to see an arrow protruding from his upper arm.

CHAPTER 37

Skata!

How could he have missed his target? To kill a man, you must strike him in the head or the heart. A lesson learned on Panos Island.

Enraged, Saviour took a deep breath, filling his nostrils with the scent of cedar. Remembering. . .

Evangelos, stunned that Saviour had turned the bow on him, angrily pointed a finger at his boy toy. “What are you doing?”

“Defending my honor,” Saviour calmly informed him.

“You’re my little pousties. You have no honor.”

“ As to thialo! Although hell’s too good a place for you,” Saviour hissed, releasing the arrow, striking Evangelos in the upper thigh. The tycoon dropped to his knees, gasping.

Saviour slowly walked toward him, a second arrow notched. “Beg.”

“Yes . . . mercy, please.”

Saviour clucked his tongue, disappointed. “I meant beg for forgiveness.”

“I adored you . . . worshipped you like the god that you are.”

“Liar.” Saviour calmly released his finger, the arrow flying into Evangelos Danielides’s left orbital socket. A perfect bull’s-eye.

“Calm. Above all else, I must remain calm,” Saviour murmured, the memory imbuing him with newfound strength. If he kept his focus, he could accomplish anything he set his sights upon. Isn’t that what Mercurius always told him?

Yes, focus.

I must kill the Brit.

“I will kill the Brit.”

CHAPTER 38

Christ Almighty!

Grabbing Edie with his uninjured right arm, Caedmon pulled her under him just as several more arrows soared in their direction.

“Caedmon, what’s happening?”

“It’s raining bloody arrows,” he snarled, the projectiles bouncing off the granite and skittering into the gushing river beside the ledge. “We have to take cover.”

With Edie tucked against his torso, Caedmon scooted backward onto the granite shelf that protruded from under their makeshift office, Yawgoog’s bridge comprising stacked and staggered granite slabs. While the maneuver got them out of the open, it gave them little more than an eighteen-inch bulwark to crouch behind.

“Are you all right?”

Edie bobbed her head, a stunned look on her face. “If you hadn’t . . . hadn’t leaned over when you did, the arrow would . . . would have . . .”

Gone straight to his heart.

As it was, the metal tip burrowed into his bicep. A flesh wound, albeit a painful one.

Caedmon glanced over the top of the stone rampart just in time to see the archer briefly step into the open to launch his next salvo. He ducked. The arrow sailed past, plunging into the opposite bank.

“Stay as low to the surface as humanly possible,” he hissed. “I’m going to scramble onto the ledge and grab my field kit.”

“You can’t be serious!”

“Dead.”

Edie pointedly stared at the wooden shaft embedded perpendicular to his arm and the bloody circle of fabric that surrounded it. “Given that you have an arrow protruding from your body, ‘yes’ or ‘no’ are the two preferred answers.”

“The first-aid kit and the GPS receiver are—”

“In your knapsack,” she said over top of him. “I’ll get them.” She raised up slightly.

Caedmon shoved his right hand on her shoulder, pushing her back down. “No! And the matter isn’t open for debate.”

Not exactly thrilled by the prospect of becoming a human pincushion, he scurried over the granite ledge. The field kit was five feet away. He awkwardly crawled toward it. Just as his hand made contact with the nylon strap, a feather-tipped arrow came flying his way. Raising the kit to his face, he used it to deflect the arrow.

Still holding the makeshift shield in front of him, he grabbed one more item—the plastic bag with Edie’s memory chip—before lurching over the side of the granite ledge.

Edie snatched the canvas pack from him. Her normally pale cheeks splotched with uneven color, she removed the first aid kit and the GPS receiver.

Taking a deep stabilizing breath, Caedmon grasped the wooden shaft of the arrow.

“Wait!” She grabbed his wrist. “You can’t just pull it out. What if the shaft breaks away from the arrowhead? What if the arrowhead hits an artery?”

“The tip isn’t anywhere near my brachial artery. And while it’ll make for a nasty puncture wound, I’ll live to tell the tale.” Gritting his teeth, he slowly pulled the arrow from his flesh. A small geyser of bright red blood gushed from his arm. He grunted. It hurt like hell. Eyes watering, he flung the arrow aside.

“I didn’t think there’d be so much blood,” Edie said with a gasp.

“Gauze! Hurry!”

Another arrow soared toward them, striking next to the laptop computer. He watched as it bounced in their direction. An ominous sign.

Edie, her hands visibly shaking, placed the end of the gauze roll on top of the puncture wound. “Are you sure it’s Lovett’s killer who’s taking aim?”