C. Palov - Ark of Fire

Entering a dimly lit gift shop, Boyd saw that the place was overrun with people pushing wheelchairs, people dragging toddlers, and people yakking on cell phones. Everyone he looked, people were mindlessly meandering about, like so many lost sheep. Perfect. No one would later be able to recall who did what when; large crowds were the best camouflage a hunter could have.

As he passed a stack of cards with a Nativity scene, he made a mental note that this might be a classy place to do his Christmas shopping. Not that these godless people would even know the meaning of Christmas. Or any other event described in the Bible. Nowadays people put a popular spin on the Word of God, forgetting that biblical text was not subject to New Age feel-good interpretations.

Only a deluded fool would paraphrase the Word of God.

The colonel had taught him that. The colonel had taught him a lot of things since that day four years ago when he’d ordered him to get down on his knees before the Almighty. Never having prayed before, Boyd had been wary, but once he got over the initial embarrassment, he discovered it was an easy thing to beg God’s forgiveness. And just like that, in one life-altering moment, he was forgiven all of his sins, past and present. The bars, the brothels, the brawls, all forgiven. So, too, the murder of wife and child.

Although it was a daily struggle, he tried mightily to be a perfect holy warrior. He didn’t drink. Didn’t smoke. Kept his body a temple unto the Lord. He wished that he didn’t cuss, but as he’d entered the Corps at age seventeen, that was proving a hard habit to break.

Always room for improvement, he thought as he left the gift shop and entered the food court.

Coming to a standstill, he scanned the chow hall.

She was here, somewhere in the crowd; fear made a person stand out, having an energy all its own. Its own stink, as it were. Like a bull’s-eye, her fear would lead him right to her.

But first he had to cover his ass.

Catching sight of a tall, big-gutted custodial worker lackadaisically pushing a yellow bucket on wheels, Boyd knew he’d found his man. For ten years, his father had pushed a similar bucket. Which was why Boyd knew that custodial workers of every stripe were invisible to the rest of the world. Most people didn’t favor them with a polite hello, let alone a sideways glance. Pleased that the op was going so smoothly, he followed the janitor through a door marked Custodial Staff .

In fact, he was thinking about his daddy—a mean, drunken bastard till the day he died—when he cold-cocked the unsuspecting janitor, knocking him to the floor with one well-aimed punch.

Not believing in chance occurrences, Boyd recognized the fortuitous appearance of the janitor for what it was—a gift from God.

CHAPTER 11

“Since its creation some thirty-five hundred years ago, the Stones of Fire have cost the lives of countless individuals.”

“Including Jonathan Padgham,” Edie pointedly remarked, not in the mood for any more of Caedmon Aisquith’s sidestepping.

“Sadly, I am inclined to agree with you.”

“Well, it’s about time. Most people, if you tell them that their life is in danger, are willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.”

His red brows drew together. “And why is my life in danger? I understand why this masked killer would be searching for you , since you did, after all, witness Padge’s murder. But I have no involvement whatsoever in this nefarious plot.”

“Think again, C Aisquith at lycos dot com. The killer mistakenly believes that Dr. Padgham e-mailed you photos of the relic.” Edie jutted her chin at the camera still clutched in his hand.

Caedmon studied the camera for several seconds, a thoughtful look on his face. “That can only mean one thing . . . the thieves don’t want anyone to know of the relic’s existence. Since the discovery of the Stones of Fire would have made international headlines and set biblical scholars a-twitter, we must assume that the relic came to be at the Hopkins Museum via the back door.” Wearing a pensive expression, he slowly shook his head. “‘The perfect treasure of his eyesight lost.’”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying, that the relic was smuggled out of its country of origin and sold on the black market?” When he nodded, Edie said, “Well, that would explain why the breastplate isn’t listed in the museum’s permanent collection. Since I’m archiving the collection, I have the master list of every ancient whatnot owned by the Hopkins. The breastplate was most definitely not on the list. Why did you call it ‘the Stones of Fire’?” she abruptly asked, beginning to suspect that he knew more than he’d so far let on.

Caedmon Aisquith removed his gaze from the digital photo. “The name was first coined by the Old Testament prophet Ezra. Actually, the relic has been known by quite a few names. The ancient Hebrews called it the Urim and Thummim. There are also several biblical references to the Breastplate of Judgment or the Jewels of Gold.”

“The Stones of Fire. The Urim and Thummim. These names tell me nothing. I feel like the elevator doors just opened on the ground floor of the Tower of Babel.”

“Perhaps I should retrace my steps.” Caedmon pushed his empty coffee cup to the side and positioned the camera in the middle of the table, enabling her to clearly see the photo of the jewel-studded gold breastplate. “Bearing in mind that everything I am about to say is mere speculation, I believe that this relic”—he pointed to the image on the digital camera—“or askema , as it is known in Hebrew, may have been the actual breastplate worn by the Levite high priest when he performed the sacred temple rituals. What makes the breastplate utterly priceless is the fact that it was created by Moses himself as directed by God. So although it’s not his actual handiwork, the breastplate is the actual design of God.”

Edie, who had been silent up until this point, stubbornly shook her head. “But I saw it with my own eyes. It was just . . . just an old breastplate. You don’t really believe that that was designed by God?” She tapped the camera display for added emphasis.

“Who am I to dispute the Old Testament prophets? The Bible is inundated with naysayers struck down by the wrath of God.” The droll remark left Edie in some doubt as to whether Caedmon Aisquith actually believed what he’d just said.

“Since all that remains of the original breastplate are twelve stones and a few bits and pieces of gold, how can you be so sure it’s is the real deal?”

“The relic would be easy enough to authenticate, given the detailed description in the book of Exodus. Conceived as a square design, it was originally composed of laced pieces of gold linen, inlaid with twelve stones set in four rows of three.” Grabbing the same sheet of paper she’d earlier used to draw the Jerusalem cross, Caedmon sketched out a design. “Based on the account in Exodus, I believe the breastplate would have looked something like this.” He turned the sketch in her direction.

“As you can see, my artistic talent is rudimentary at best. Be that as it may, each of the twelve gemstones possessed a divine power. In the first row there was a sardius, a topaz, and a carbuncle . . .” As he spoke, Caedmon carefully wrote the name of each gemstone. “In the second row, an emerald, sapphire, and diamond . . . in the third row a ligure, an agate, and an amethyst . . . and finally, in the fourth row, beryl, onyx, and jasper. Rather gemmy, don’t you think?” He smiled slightly, making Edie realize that he was a handsome man. She didn’t usually go for redheads, but there was something uniquely appealing about the man sitting across from her. And, of course, the accent didn’t hurt.