C. Palov - Ark of Fire

Although MacFarlane stood in the shadows, Caedmon could see that the older man didn’t appear the least bit surprised to learn of his connection to MI5.

Bloody hell. Edie’s stratagem might actually work. No doubt Stanford MacFarlane, like most Americans, stood in awe of the mighty Five.

With a brusque wave of the hand, MacFarlane motioned Boyd Braxton to stand down. His eyes narrowing, the behemoth lowered the submachine gun. Then, snarling like a rabid animal, he brazenly toggled his index finger over the trigger, wordlessly relaying a very stark message—with the mere press of a finger, he could instantly end Caedmon’s life.

Having no control over Braxton, Caedmon turned his attention, instead, to his commanding officer. Well aware that the best falsehoods were those crafted from the truth, Caedmon did just that. He told the truth. “Since last we met, I’ve used my time wisely. With Miss Miller’s able assistance, I put together an in-depth intelligence dossier.”

“Complete with photographs, maps, you name it,” Edie embellished, spinning yet another outlandish lie on her improvised loom.

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that.” As MacFarlane spoke, the muscles in his jaw began to spasmodically twitch.

“As Edie mentioned, Thames House has been apprised of your plan to destroy the Dome of the Rock two days hence on Eid al-Adha,” Caedmon replied, having quickly cobbled together what he hoped was a plausible scenario. “And, to answer your next question, Five has already contacted their Israeli counterparts. The moment you enter Israel, Mossad will very painfully tighten the noose around your neck. The Israelis do not take kindly to terrorists in their midst.”

“And the deal?” Other than a tightness in his jaw, MacFarlane gave no visual clues as to whether he believed the tale thus told.

“The deal is simple: Surrender yourself to British authorities and you will be assured humane and civilized treatment. Reject the offer and you will be at the mercy of Mossad. I understand their interrogation tactics are particularly brutal.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, I’m an American citizen,” MacFarlane declared, as though that gave him some sort of carte blanche.

“Do you think that will matter to the Israelis? To them you are merely a terrorist intent on destroying the most holy site in all of Jerusalem.”

The tic in MacFarlane’s jaw became more noticeable. “And what of the Ark?”

Beginning to think he might actually pull off a bloodless coup, Caedmon said, “It must be turned over to Her Majesty’s government. Were it not for the fact that you have the Ark of the Covenant in your possession, you would have been thrown to the Israeli wolves as a matter of course.” Caedmon glanced at this wristwatch: 10:20 P.M. “If you have not surrendered yourself to the British consulate by twenty-three hundred hours, the deal will be rendered null and void.” Of course, he had no way of knowing if, at this late hour, anyone was on duty at the consulate. He would cross that rickety bridge when he came to it.

A terse silence ensued, the only sound being a soft rat-a-tat-tat as Braxton drummed his fingers against his weapon stock. Caedmon purposely refrained from looking at Edie, knowing that any communication, even a silent exchange of glances, would be closely scrutinized; MacFarlane was in the process of separating the wheat from the chaff.

“Since the beginning, I wondered if you would contact British intelligence,” MacFarlane finally said after what seemed an interminable silence. “But knowing the power that the Ark holds, something told me that you’d want to keep MI5 out of the loop. Why? Because I assumed that like most men, you would want the Ark of the Covenant all for yourself. It’s the reason why Galen of Godmersham made no mention of his extraordinary find to his brethren, the Knights of St. John, even though he was duty-bound to do just that. Instead, he lugged the Ark back to England, where he promptly hid it from prying eyes.” MacFarlane took several steps in Caedmon’s direction, the tic in his jaw no longer in evidence. “So I have to ask myself . . . what makes you a better man than that brave knight?”

Caedmon shrugged. “I was faced with a crisis that Galen of Godmersham never had to confront.”

“And what crisis might that be?”

“How best to prevent the destruction of the Dome of the Rock. Brave knight though I am, I am but an army of one,” he drolly added, hoping to recapture the momentum. “And so I had no choice but to contact Thames House. Better the British Museum have the Ark of the Covenant than a man bent on destroying the world.” Even before the words passed his lips, Caedmon knew them to be the truth, silently damning himself for not contacting Five. For thinking that he, like Galen of Godmersham, could keep the Ark all to himself.

And when the wretched knight saw this, his death was well deserved.

How apropos; the cryptic line from the quatrains finally made perfect sense to him.

“Mark my words, doomsday will soon be upon us. And when it comes, we will slay the beast of perfidy with divine revelation.” As he spoke, Stanford MacFarlane compulsively twisted the silver Jerusalem cross that he wore on his right ring finger. Caedmon suspected the ring was his anchor. A constant reminder of the big picture.

Seeing that repetitive motion, he feared the scales had just tipped. And in the wrong direction.

Edie, who had heretofore remained silent, pointed to the string of lights visible from a vessel that had just entered the bay in the distance. “Doomsday is coming, all right. Dressed in commando black and wielding some awesome firepower. You guys have only got a few minutes left to surrender peaceably.” Wearing her bravado like a new suit of clothes, she donned a cocky grin.

Good God. The woman was taking her cues from a Holly-wood script.

Without warning, MacFarlane stepped over and grabbed Edie by the hair, yanking her against his chest. Although she valiantly tried to twist free, he wrapped her curly locks around his fist as he pulled her head back at an awkward angle, exposing her neck. He then held out his free hand, palm up. “Give that me that diving knife.”

Suddenly realizing the other man’s intention, Caedmon lurched forward.

Only to be pistol-whipped in the side of the head by one of MacFarlane’s men.

Knowing he could do nothing to save Edie if he was dead, he stood immobile. Edie, evidently sensing that she couldn’t escape, had suddenly stopped resisting.

“You know, boy, I’ve got a funny feeling that you and this curly-haired harlot are lying to me.” MacFarlane, his face twisted in a sneer, locked gazes with him. “Now, I know that you’re a trained intelligence officer. So I’m going to assume that you have the mental fortitude to stand by while I hold a gun to your pretty woman’s head.” As he spoke, he lightly ran the knife blade along Edie’s cheek. “But do you have the stomach to watch the flesh flayed from her bones in long bloody strips?”

Although her neck was stretched taut as a bow string, Edie tried to shake her head. Tried to caution him not to reveal that there would be no commandoes dressed in black coming to the rescue.

A brave woman . But, more importantly, a beloved woman.

“As earlier stated, I did, in fact, compile a dossier outlining everything that has occurred since Jonathan Padgham’s murder,” he confessed, the match lost, his queen taken. “Included in the report is a detailed threat assessment of your planned attack on the Dome of the Rock.”

“Where’s the dossier?”

“It is in the vault of the Dragonara Hotel.” Having carefully planned for just such a moment, Caedmon then presented what he hoped would be their Get Out of Jail Free card. “If Edie and I have not returned to the Dragonara Hotel by eight o’clock tomorrow morning, the dossier will promptly be delivered to the British consulate. From there, it will be forwarded to Her Majesty’s intelligence service. You are a clever enough man to realize that it would be advantageous to keep us alive. Now, would you please be so kind as to relax your grip on Miss Miller’s hair?”