C. Palov - Ark of Fire

“I can see that your eyes are jaded. That you aren’t fit to gaze upon God’s glory.” His contempt having mutated into a stern-faced rage, MacFarlane turned to his men. “Harliss, prepare the tabernacle!”

“Yes, sir.” Like a marionette on a string, Harliss unzipped one of the oversized equipment bags.

Unable to look Edie in the eye, well aware that he had lost his only opportunity to save her life, Caedmon was surprised when she leaned her head against his shoulder.

“When the end comes, at least we’ll be together,” she whispered.

“Yes . . . we will be at that.”

“Any idea what they’re up to?” She jutted her chin at the folded stacks of material that Harliss had removed from the zippered bag.

“A badger skin, a length of blue cloth, and a tightly woven veil were traditionally wrapped around the Ark whenever it was in transport. I suspect the three layers created a primitive form of nonconducting insulation. Clearly, MacFarlane intends to play the game by the book.”

“That being the Good Book, huh?”

“Indeed. Although the scriptures have a way of becoming distorted beyond recognition when spouted by a man like MacFarlane.”

Curiosity superseding his dread, Caedmon watched as the other two members of the trio hauled a large metal box out of the earth. A quick mental calculation proved that the box was large enough to house the Ark of the Covenant. As he’d done at the cloister, Braxton opened the lock with a mighty swing of his pickax.

His movements slow and reverential, Stanford MacFarlane opened the lid.

Although he craned his neck, Caedmon could see nothing more than the dull glimmer of gold. A gold what , he couldn’t say. What he could see, however, was the awestruck expression affixed to the face of each of the four men gathered around the open box. As though they’d just wandered into Aladdin’s cave.

“‘And there was seen in his temple the ark of his testament and there were lightnings, and voices, and thunderings, and an earthquake, and great hail,’” Stanford MacFarlane loudly i ntoned.

“Don’t forget the drizzle,” Edie muttered under her breath. “And the fog,” she added a moment later when Harliss set off a smoke bomb, completely obscuring the proceedings from their view.

“The Hebrew priests used to shroud the Ark in a thick blanket of incense to keep it hidden from curious onlookers.” As he spoke, Caedmon squinted and strained, but the smoke barrier was impenetrable.

A few seconds later, Harliss emerged from the smoke. Two sets of plastic flexi-cuffs dangled from his fingertips. “I’ve got a restraining order for you two.”

“Will you at least tell us if the Ark of the Covenant was uncovered?” he asked, desperate to have a definitive answer.

“Oh, yeah,” the other man slowly replied, the bedazzled expression returning to his unshaved, rawboned features. “The two angels on top of the gold box were the telltale clue.”

Hearing that was like hearing an unexpected boom of thunder; Caedmon slightly swayed on his feet.

They had actually found the Ark of the Covenant.

Knowing it was futile to resist, he stood motionless as Harliss bound his hands together, his mind unable to wrap around the enormity of the find.

Softly humming a jaunty tune, Harliss ripped a piece of duct tape from a roll. “Wouldn’t want to disturb the neighbors,” he said with a mean-spirited cackle as he slapped the length of tape across Caedmon’s mouth. That done, he bound and gagged Edie in a similar fashion.

“We got orders to row you two to shore and take you to a remote location. The colonel says it wouldn’t be right to kill you in the same place where we found the Ark.”

CHAPTER 71

For the second time that day, the specter of death hovered over Edie’s shoulder. But this time, unlike those petrified moments when she’d stood shaking beneath the sharp point of Braxton’s pickax, she’d had time to prepare for her death; Harliss and Sanchez had loaded them into the Range Rover and taken them to a remote location some ten miles east of Swanley. Somewhere toward the sea; Edie could discern the tang of salt in the air.

In the distance, she heard the outraged screech of a seagull. The thunderous roar of a jet engine. Familiar sounds. Probably the last sounds she would hear.

At least she’d lived longer than her mother.

She turned and glanced at Caedmon, who, duct tape strapped to his mouth, hands bound in front of him, stoically stared at the passing scenery. She wondered if he, too, had used the time to take stock of his life. He could have saved himself back on the isle. But he didn’t do it. Instead, he tried to garner her freedom. From a madman, no less. Although she was furious with him for passing up his one and only chance, she thought she might just love the brave, quixotic Englishman.

Harliss, again relegated to being the copilot, peered over the headrest. “Soon you two will be sleepin’ with the angels. The colonel is fond of sayin’ that ‘the judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether. More to be desired are they than gold . . . sweeter also than honey and the honeycomb.’”

Oh, yeah. A bullet to the back of the head. How sweet was that?

Still leaning over the back of his seat, Harliss reached into his jacket pocket and removed a pack of filterless Camels. “I’d offer you one, but . . .” Chortling, he shook a cigarette free. He then flipped open a silver lighter. Taking a drag, he blew a perfect smoke ring into her face.

Inhaling the smoke through her nostrils, Edie gagged. Beside her, Caedmon twitched, his muffled protest sounding as though he were attempting to speak under water.

Seemingly oblivious to the psychodrama, Sanchez steered the SUV onto what looked to be a deserted farm road; the Range Rover lurched from side to side as they slowly proceeded down a rutted lane. They’d gone approximately a half mile when Sanchez put on the brakes and cut the engine.

Edie and Caedmon simultaneously turned and looked at one another.

I’m sorry, Caedmon.

As am I, love.

Craning his head from side to side, Harliss gave an approving nod. “This looks as good a place as any. Don’t know that anyone’s been down this road in a good long while.” He turned to his partner. “What do ya think?”

“I think I gotta take a crap,” Sanchez blurted, releasing his seat belt.

“Jesus! A body could tell time by your bowel movements.”

“Shut up and get me the wipes out of the glove compartment.”

A few seconds later, diaper wipes in hand, Sanchez ambled toward a clump of trees. Harliss, a half-smoked Camel sticking out of the corner of his mouth, opened the passenger’s-side door and got out of the SUV. Slamming the door shut, he stretched his back, then walked around to the front of the vehicle. Leaning against the hood, with his back to them, he proceeded to finish smoking his cigarette.

No sooner were they alone than Caedmon urgently nudged her with his elbow. Having gotten her attention, he nodded toward his anorak pocket before shooting her a meaningful glance.

The metal nail file.

When they’d been issued the rubber Wellington boots earlier that morning, Caedmon had managed to remove the file from his discarded oxfords, hiding the file in his coat pocket. Because he’d already been subjected to a thorough body search, the working premise was that they wouldn’t search him a second time. Edie could see that with his hands bound in front of him, he wouldn’t be able to retrieve the file. But her hands, although similarly bound, were much smaller.