C. Palov - Ark of Fire

In a reckless show of heroics, Edie stepped into the roadway, frantically hailing the fast-approaching cab.

The driver swerved into a skid, barely managing to brake his vehicle to a screeching halt several feet from where she stood.

Rushing over, she yanked open the back door.

Like a jack-in-the-box, a wide-eyed passenger popped his immaculately groomed head through the opening. With an upraised arm, he prevented her from getting into the vehicle.

“In case you didn’t notice, this cab is already taken.”

Undeterred, Edie shoved her hand into her tote bag. A second later, she slapped a hundred-dollar bill into the passenger’s hand. “Now shut up and move over!”

Cowed into submission, the man obediently slid to the far side of the seat.

CHAPTER 29

“Drop us off at the next corner,” Edie ordered the cabdriver, handing him a ten. Still pissed that she’d had to pay a hundred dollars in bribe money to the Beltway bandit, who’d earlier disembarked at a K Street lobbying firm, she grudgingly signaled the driver that he could keep the change.

Having yet to utter a single word, the cabbie stopped in front of McPherson Square; the city park was overrun with homeless men huddled around metal subway grates, their worldly possessions stowed in plastic shopping bags.

No sooner did Caedmon slam the cab door shut than she turned to him. Confused, angered, and more than anything else, terrified, she said, “I can’t believe they actually killed Eliot Hopkins.”

“Like you, I didn’t foresee today’s deadly turn of events.” Sliding an arm around her shoulders, he led her to one of the vacant benches that rimmed the park. Although they were both soaked to the knee, no one in the park took note of their bedraggled state; more than a few of the benchwarmers were in far worse straits. It was no accident that she’d picked McPherson Square; the downtown park was an excellent place to fade into the city landscape.

“Just as they manipulated yesterday’s murder scene at the Hopkins Museum, no doubt Colonel MacFarlane had planned a similar artifice for today’s bloodshed.”

Edie derisively snorted. “I can see the headlines now . . . ‘Love Triangle Turned Deadly.’ ”

“Or some such tripe.” Caedmon’s red brows drew together. “I think we’re both in need of a fortifying cup of hot coffee,” he said, gesturing to the ubiquitous Starbucks, the chain coffeehouse located on the nearby street corner.

“Do you mind if I sit here and wait for you? To be honest, I don’t know if I’m capable of putting one waterlogged foot in front of the other.”

Caedmon surveyed the park grounds. Not only were there homeless men on nearly every park bench, there were homeless men bundled in sleeping bags, the only thing protecting them from the cold, flat pieces of corrugated cardboard.

“Go on. I’ll be perfectly safe. They might look dangerous, but these guys are perfectly harmless,” she assured him.

“A bittersweet irony to see so many men living rough while others live in the lap of luxury.” He glanced at the nearby Hilton Hotel.

“Yeah, well, unless we can figure out a safe place to lay low, you and I may be reduced to the same plight come night-fall.”

“A topic we’ll discuss when I return.”

Edie nodded, inclined to leave the decision making to Caedmon. Without his quick thinking, she’d be lying in a puddle of her own blood, the second member of the imaginary love triangle. Whether she liked to admit it or not—and she didn’t—she needed his protection.

With a backward wave of the hand, Caedmon departed on his coffee run.

“Don’t forget the biscotti,” she yelled at his backside, the screech earning another wave.

Her legs about to give way, Edie sat down on a vacant park bench. Within moments it began to sleet, pellets of crystallized ice assaulting her person, hitting her on the face, nose, and forehead. She hunched forward, tucking her chin into her chest.

Miserable, she listened to the uneven tattoo of ice striking the wood planks of the weathered bench. With nowhere to run, and fast running out of places to hide, she felt imprisoned in a winter canvas of gray, taupe, and white.

How apropos , she dejectedly thought, her body starting to go into deep freeze. Her limbs becoming immobile, her thoughts were reduced to a sluggish meander of the nonsensical.

Seeing red instead of winter neutrals, she shoved her hand into her canvas tote bag, retrieving her BlackBerry. Hopefully, she had enough juice to make a local phone call.

She dialed 411.

The days of speaking to a real person a thing of the past, she slowly said, “Rosemont Security Consultants” when prompted by the automated operator. A few seconds later, the same computerized voice recited a seven-digit phone number. Edie hit the 1 key, requesting to be connected.

The call was answered on the first ring. “Rosemont Security Consultants.”

Edie was taken aback that the office receptionist was a man, not a woman.

“I want to speak to Stanford MacFarlane,” she brusquely demanded, hoping the lackey on the other end picked up on her don’t-mess-with-me attitude.

He didn’t.

“I’m sorry, but the colonel is unavailable to take any calls at this time. If you would like to leave a—”

“Tell him that Edie Miller is on the line. Trust me. He’ll take the call.”

The receptionist put her on hold, Edie treated to the annoying strains of elevator music.

Midway into Sinatra’s “My Way,” the line reengaged.

“Ah, Ms. Miller. What an unexpected surprise.” Edie shivered. Stanford MacFarlane was eerily cordial. “I trust that you’re feeling—”

“Can the bullshit, MacFarlane. How do you think I feel after watching one of your goons gun down a scared old man?”

“None too well, I suspect. You do know that you’re proving a most elusive target.” Edie wasn’t certain, but she thought she detected a note of grudging respect in his voice.

Disgusted by the thought that she and Caedmon had become some kind of perverted pastime, she said, “I know what you’re up to, you sick bastard! Eliot Hopkins told us all about your plan to find the Ark of the—”

From out of nowhere, an unseen hand yanked the BlackBerry away from her ear.

Craning her neck, Edie was surprised to find Caedmon standing behind the park bench. In his right hand he held her BlackBerry, in his left an egg carton carrier of coffee.

Without a word, Caedmon unceremoniously shoved the cell phone into his jacket breast pocket. Then, acting as though nothing were even remotely wrong, he handed her a cup of coffee.

“If I recall correctly, you take two sugars.”

Edie’s shock turned to outrage.

“Do you know why the British have never rebelled against the monarchy? Because you’re afraid to take action! You’re afraid to say, ‘I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it any longer!’”

“Unlike you, I believe that restraint is the better part of valor.”

“Oh, stuff an argyle sock in it, will ya? I’m beginning to think you love the sound of your own voice.”

Caedmon straightened his shoulders, drawing himself to his full imposing height of six foot three. “Because of your impetuousness, we have lost our only advantage. Not only did you divulge the fact that we know their identities, but you foolishly disclosed the information given to us by the now-deceased Mr. Hopkins.”

“Look, I don’t know about you, but I’m sick and tired of being hunted down like a defenseless animal. And while you might not give a rat’s patootie, I want to know why Colonel MacFarlane ordered Eliot Hopkins to kill us.”