C. Palov - Ark of Fire

Which left only one viable option: He had to disarm one of MacFarlane’s henchmen.

No easy feat, given that all three men were sturdily constructed and no doubt knew how to comport themselves.

“What’s going on?” Edie asked, nudging him with her elbow. Sanchez’s sweep of the cloister already underway, the ground was littered with several small flags.

“Each time his metal detector finds any buried metal, the device beeps. Whereupon the spot is marked with a flag, the color of which designates the type of metal detected.”

“Oh, I get it. So, I’m guessing that gray is for silver, orange is for bronze, black is for lead, and yellow is for gold.”

He nodded. “Since a metal detector can’t fully identify the buried object, Braxton will use ground-penetrating radar to survey all areas that tested positive for gold. The working assumption is that the Ark of the Covenant was indeed made of pure gold.”

Edie raised a quizzical brow. “Radar? You mean like the guys in the airport tower use?”

“Not exactly. Rather than sending radio waves into the air, these waves are directed into the ground. The electronic signals then bounce back into a receiver.” He nodded toward the small laptop computer that Braxton had set up on top of the GPR receiver. “A computerized map will be generated based on the density and position of the returned signals. It should enable them to determine the size and depth of any buried object.”

“Normally, I’d say, ‘Way cool,’ but I’ve got a funny feeling this ground-penetrating radar is going to make or break us.”

Caedmon made no reply, having reached the same conclusion.

Worried about their immediate future, he wordlessly stared at Edie. At the curls covered in a bridal veil of morning mist. At the mottled purple bruise on her right cheek. He thought that she resembled nothing so much as a bedraggled street urchin. Something straight out of Dickens. Brave and vulnerable in the face of danger.

“I’ve got something!” Braxton suddenly hollered.

At hearing that, Caedmon inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. “I’d say we’re bang on target.” Then, his interest getting the better of him, he called out, “May I have a look?”

When MacFarlane nodded his assent, Harliss happily did the honors of escorting them over to the laptop computer, prodding them forward with a negligently held machine gun pointed at their backs.

“I’m getting a whole bunch of little unidentified objects,” Braxton said, pointing to the computer screen.

Caedmon studied the monitor; the computer-generated image resembling nothing so much as a black-and-white photograph of the moon. And the dark side of the moon at that.

He tapped his finger at several small spots on the computer screen. “I believe these are miscellaneous stones left hither and yon when the nunnery was destroyed. But this looks promising,” he said, pointing to what appeared to be a large, solid object buried some two meters below the surface.

“Whatever it is, it’s a big mother. Sir, you want me to dig it up?”

A definite gleam in his eyes, MacFarlane nodded.

Moments later, pickax in hand, the behemoth began swinging like a brigand in search of gold doubloons, no thought given whatsoever to properly excavating the site, of carefully slicing away section by section in order to recover any historic artifacts that might be nestled in the soil. For these men, there was only one artifact of any import.

While Braxton attacked with his pickax, Sanchez assisted with a hand shovel, the two men making fast work of it. Donning a pair of knee pads, MacFarlane perched himself on the edge of the hole. His gaze intent, he peered into the deepening chasm, putting Caedmon in mind of a large bird of prey about to swoop upon its quarry.

Overhead the clouds bumped and collided, fusing together and releasing a cold drizzle on their uncovered heads. The light sprinkling soaked MacFarlane’s gray hair, the spiky tufts clinging to his head like a skullcap. Seen in profile, he resembled a fierce Celtic warrior come to life. Although Caedmon suspected the reality was far worse than anything produced by that warlike race of men.

“Yeah, boy! We got it!” Braxton jubilantly shouted.

Sanchez heaved himself out of the hole and rushed over to one of the canvas equipment bags, retrieving a length of rope. He tossed the coiled length at his digging partner.

Edie slipped her hand into his. “I can’t believe it . . . they actually found it,” she whispered.

As Sanchez and Braxton pulled their find to the surface, Caedmon held his breath, about to set his gaze on the most sought-after relic in the history of mankind.

It could have been mine, he jealously thought. Had I but played the game differently.

After several loud grunts and a muttered curse, the box was hauled out of the hole.

Its appearance was met with a stunned silence.

“I don’t think it’s made of gold,” Edie said, garnering a damning glare from Stanford MacFarlane.

“No, it isn’t made of gold,” Caedmon concurred. “A lesser metal. Bronze perhaps. Difficult to say what’s under all the grime.” Moreover, the box was secured on the outside with a large lock for which there was no key.

Braxton ran the back of his hand over his dirt-smudged brow, still panting from his labors. “Maybe the Ark is inside.”

“Open it,” MacFarlane ordered.

With one strong-armed swing of the pickax, the behemoth broke the lock.

His jaw tightly clenched, his gaze resolute, MacFarlane threw back the lid. Everyone stared wide-eyed at the uncovered treasure trove.

Everyone save for Stanford MacFarlane.

“What are those ?” MacFarlane pointed an accusing finger at the golden objects that filled the box.

Extending a hand, Caedmon lifted a finely wrought candle-stick out of the chest. Next, he examined a bejeweled gold chalice.

“These are the altar vessels from the destroyed church,” he said, running his hand over an exquisitely fashioned paten. “No doubt the nuns had advance warning that the king’s men were en route to the priory. I imagine they hid these vessels so they wouldn’t be confiscated.” He gestured to the gold objects. “Not exactly a king’s ransom, I admit, but still valuable. You should have no problem finding a buyer for—”

“I’m not interested in earthly profit,” MacFarlane interjected. “My reward will come in the next life.” Turning his head, he pointedly set his gaze upon Edie. Then, like an Old Testament patriarch of old, he very quietly and calmly said, “Kill her.”

The order of execution given, the behemoth raised his pickax.

Caedmon lurched forward.

But anticipating the move, Harliss and Sanchez seized hold of him, barring him from intervening.

“No!” he shouted, violently struggling to free himself.

Not like this! God in heaven, not like this!

CHAPTER 67

“Last night you gave me sixteen hours to find the Ark of the Covenant! I have forty minutes left!” Caedmon yelled, twisting and straining to free himself from his burly captors.

MacFarlane stared at him as he considered the appeal put before him—Michelangelo’s stern-faced Moses come to life.

“Colonel MacFarlane, I know you to be a man of your word,” Edie husked, her eyes flooded with tears, every limb in her body quivering with fright. “Please give Caedmon a chance. Without him, you’ll never find the Ark.”

Pondering it later, Caedmon decided that it was this last caveat that held sway, Edie having cannily played upon MacFarlane’s obsession. Specifically, his fear of never obtaining the object of what was fast proving a most unnatural desire.