C. Palov - Templar's Code

The Light did work in mysterious ways, man unable to fathom cause and effect until after the fact. More than forty years ago, in Amman, Jordan, he’d uncovered a single word embedded in the text of the Copper Scroll. Akhenaton. That single, startling word implied a connection, however tenuous, between the Hebrews of the Old Testament and ancient Egypt. Frightened by an anonymous act of vandalism, he’d never published his findings. Instead, he cowered in silence.

But when the Greek crone unceremoniously thrust a loose-leaf manuscript at him seven years ago, Mercurius had been given an unbelievable gift. One bequeathed to him in 1943. The true history of the Hebrew tribes and their connection to the pharaoh Akhenaton.

Within days of that miraculous encounter at his childhood home, he’d been given yet another gift—the beautiful young man, Saviour Panos. Firmly grounded in the material world, his amoretto was the dark to his light. Together, they made a perfect whole. Old and young. Cerebral and visceral. Eromenos and erastes.

Cause and effect.

The two of them would give a great gift to a world at war with itself. A gift that had the power to engender a spiritual awakening of mankind’s collective soul. A gift that would bind up all the wounds. A way to usher the victimized inhabitants of this planet to the Lost Heaven. The only true utopia. Paradise regained.

He was the Bringer of the Light. It was his sacred duty to see that it happened.

But he had to acquire the Emerald Tablet. Without it, the Luminarium was just empty words. In the same way that the Emerald Tablet was worthless without the encryption key contained in the pages of the Luminarium.

Cause and effect.

Now was not the time to cower in silence. For evil is birthed in silence. How many stood silent while Osman and Moshe were led to the waiting train? A scene repeated thousands of times across the whole of Europe.

Now was the time for action.

He’d vowed that no man would ever profit from the Emerald Tablet. Clearly, the Brit intended to do just that. To sell it to the highest bidder. Why else would Caedmon Aisquith have gone to such lengths to find the sacred relic? And now that he’d unearthed the sacred relic, what lengths would he—

Yes! Of course! The path was so clear . . . so brilliantly illuminated.

Excited, Mercurius tightly clutched the phone. He would atone for his sins after the Emerald Tablet had been retrieved.

“ Amoretto, you must listen very carefully. There is a way to retrieve the sacred relic.”

A deadly way, to be certain. But with so much at stake, he refused to stand silent.

CHAPTER 83

Exhausted, Edie gracelessly plopped into one of the upholstered Louis VI chairs scattered about the hotel lobby. The events of the last hour had unraveled at breakneck speed.

Which was about how fast she drove down Fourteenth Street, flooring it through two red lights to get to the Willard Hotel. The marble-columned, overly plush lobby had “safety” written all over it. How could any harm come to a person in this magnificent old-world edifice? The stalwart doorman would keep the bogeyman at bay.

She glanced over her shoulder; Caedmon was still at the concierge desk on the other side of the lobby. No sooner had they pushed through the revolving door than he’d trotted off, keen to check the metal case into the hotel vault.

Self-conscious of the fact that she was underdressed for the upscale lobby—decked out in a wrinkled peacoat and stained jeans—Edie smoothed a hand over her tangled curls. I probably look like one of those big-haired women in a Gustav Klimt painting . Caedmon was equally disheveled, but speaking the Queen’s English meant that he could get away with it, Americans enamored with well-spoken Brits.

At the moment, she was far from enamored.

Hearing the melodic strains of a Chopin sonata, she peered behind the columned promenade adjacent to the lobby. A tuxedoed pianist was finessing the ivory. An image flashed across her mind’s eye. Rubin Woolf, decked out in his smoking jacket, seated at a white baby grand playing —

“Would you care for something to drink?”

Startled, Edie jerked her head. A pleasant-faced cocktail waiter, holding an empty tray, stood beside her.

“Sorry, I, um, didn’t see you,” she sputtered. “A drink? Yes. Perfect. Although I’m drawing a big blank.” She self-consciously laughed. Not only did she look like a bag lady, she was starting to sound like one.

“May I suggest a Silver Bullet? It’s a martini with—”

“No martinis!”

The waiter contemplatively tapped a finger against his chin. “You strike me as the champagne Kir Royale type.”

“Sounds wonderful. Make it two, please. Someone will be joining me.”

A few moments later, Caedmon approached. “I say, posh accommodations,” he wryly remarked, seating himself in the Louis VI chair opposite her. He ran a hand over his jaw. “Although that shave at C’est Bleu was so close, I damned near nicked myself.”

“It could have been worse—you could have had a dagger thrown at your back,” she snapped, annoyed by his facetious remark.

Caedmon lowered his hand. Head cocked to the side, he frowned. “Considering that we escaped unscathed, you’re uncharacteristically taciturn.”

Taciturn? Try terrified.

The waiter returned, setting two champagne flutes on the table. Flipping his empty tray, he unobtrusively took his leave. Caedmon raised a questioning brow.

“Champagne Kir Royale.” She shrugged. “I needed a pick-me-up.”

“The French monks who created crème de cassis thought it a curative for wretchedness.”

Edie raised her flute in mock salute. “Bring on the crème de cassis. I’ve had all the wretchedness I can handle for one day. And speaking of which, we absolutely cannot go public with the Emerald Tablet,” she blurted, deciding to lay all her cards on the table. “If the secret of creation is contained within the ancient pictograph that’s inlaid on the tablet, the ramifications are mind-boggling.”

“No need to worry. I wasn’t planning on running off half-cocked.” One side of his mouth twitched. “At least not until we know what we’re dealing with.”

“Is that why you asked Professor Lyon to translate the tablet? So you’ll know what you’re dealing with. Or are you planning to perform a little alchemical mojo, see if you can replicate the Big Bang theory of creation?”

An annoyed expression flashed across his face. “I am convinced that the Emerald Tablet was the reason behind the Templars’ demise.”

“Okay, fine,” she muttered, readily conceding the point. “Isn’t it enough to know that the Emerald Tablet is real, that it does actually exist? Earlier today, we made a horrible mistake. We should never have dug it up. But it’s not too late. We can return it to—”

“I can not and I will not,” Caedmon interjected, jaw tightly set, blue eyes glittering.

“Our having custody of the Emerald Tablet is wrong on so many levels, I don’t even know where to begin. No, wait! How about starting with the dead man at Chow Hounds? Who, by the way, was an innocent bystander.”

“Yes, Jesus wept. Unfortunately, blood and treasure go hand in hand. Better the corpulent bystander than one of us.”

Edie gripped the stem of her champagne flute, on the verge of slinging the contents in his face.

“Christ! Did I just say that?” Wearing a stunned expression, Caedmon shook his head. Dr. Jekyll regaining his sanity. “Forgive me. But the fact of the matter still remains: The Emerald Tablet is a discovery of the first magnitude. Now that our grave concerns about the relic falling into the hands of a terrorist have been doused, there’s no reason why—”