Ark of Fire (57 page)

The gun limply hanging from his hand, Caedmon stood motionless, watching in disbelief as the truck went over the side of the cliff.

For the briefest of seconds the red taillights eerily twinkled in the darkness before disappearing from sight. A sonorous
Boom!
was soon followed by a sudden burst of bright light, the ensuing explosion illuminating the heavens. A surreal swan song for a madman and the coveted Ark of the Covenant.

All was vanity and grasping for the wind,
he dazedly thought even as his stomach roiled.

Edie ran to his side, throwing herself into his arms.

“Oh, God! I can’t believe what I just saw!”

“Nor I,” he whispered, holding her tight.

As though trapped in a dream from which he could not awake, Caedmon surveyed the wreckage. The explosion having been seen for miles, rescue workers, naval marines, law enforcement personnel, and local fishermen had descended in an excited swarm onto the rock-strewn beach.

Like many he’d seen over the years, this one had all the familiar trappings—yellow tape, black smoke, smoldering hunks of twisted metal. At a glance he saw that no man could have survived so horrific a blast. Although that didn’t deter the local police divers, who plopped salmonlike from the starboard side of a nearby vessel, aided in their search by powerful underwater torches that cast an otherworldly glow onto the dark sea.

“He thought he could walk on water,” Edie, standing beside him, quietly intoned. “Boy, was he ever wrong.”

“The din is silenced. At least for the moment. Perhaps now the voices of tolerance and compassion can finally be heard.”

“Or, put another way, God works in mysterious ways.”

“Mmmm,” he noncommittally grunted, unable to see God’s hand in the violent events that had earlier transpired.

Since the crash, he and Edie had kept very much to the sidelines.
Two curious, but innocent bystanders.
To ensure that they weren’t caught in the police dragnet, he had informed the local officials that they were simply a honeymooning couple who “got the wild notion into our heads to spend a romantic night at the ancient tower.” And though they had heard the thunderous explosion, they “had no bloody idea what caused it.” Coitus interruptus, and all that. The lie took, the police not favoring them with so much as a second glance.

“Deheb! Deheb!”
a grizzled fisherman exclaimed as he charged through the surf, excitedly pointing to a rivulet of molten gold visible in the soot-colored sand.

Staring at that telltale stream, Caedmon felt like a battle-wearied and defeated knight come home from the wars.

The Ark of the Covenant had not withstood the fiery blast.

What was left of the sacred Ark of the ancient Israelites was slowly being washed out to sea.

He contritely glanced heavenward.
I gave it my all.

But his all had not been good enough.

Feeling the shameful sting of tears, the crash site suddenly turning into a nightmarish blur, he abruptly turned his back on Edie. She’d seen enough this night. She didn’t need to see a grown man break down and cry.

“I need to relieve myself,” he muttered, adding yet another lie to an ever-mounting heap. With a quick parting wave of the hand, he headed for the far end of the rock-laden beach, removing himself from the excited melee and contorted scraps of smoldering steel.

His vision still slightly blurred around the edges, he flipped on his torch.
So I don’t unman myself further by breaking my bloody neck,
he irritably thought as he navigated over and around the tumbled rocks that had, over the years, flaked away from the imposing sea cliff. Like so many orphaned children.

Emotionally and physically drained, he seated himself on a flat-topped boulder. Elbows braced on his thighs, head supported between his hands, he glumly stared at the gently rolling waves.

“How could I have been so arrogant to think that—” He stopped in mid-castigation.

Espying a shiny glint out of the corner of his eye, he bounded off his perch and scrambled over several large boulders, maneuvering onto his stomach so he could better see the golden object wedged between two mammoth pieces of limestone.

He shone his torch into the deep crevasse.

An instant later, his breath caught in his throat.

There, upended at an awkward angle, was an incised golden lid, measuring approximately two and a half by four feet.

The lid to the Ark of the Covenant. What the ancient Hebrews called the mercy seat.

Affixed to the top of the lid were two winged stern-faced figures. The cherubim, Gabriel and Michael.
I will meet with thee and will commune with thee from above the mercy seat, from between the two cherubim which are upon the Ark.

Without a doubt, it was the most spectacularly beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“God does truly work in mysterious ways,” he murmured, well aware that the cherubim were traditionally associated with the primal element of fire.

Utterly bedazzled by the find, he stretched out a hand to touch the beautifully incised lid.

Just as quickly, he withdrew his arm, suddenly recalling the fate of the hapless men of Bethshemesh. Worried that a residual spark of the Ark’s awesome power might still inhabit the golden lid, he rolled onto his back and gazed heavenward, silently asking,
begging
, permission.

Instead of a heavenly dispensation, he instead saw the sins of his life flash in quick succession across his mind’s eye like so many cue cards.

“Oh, shag it,” he irreverently cursed, rolling back onto his belly and shining his torch into the crevasse.

Teeth clenched, he shoved his hand into the rocky fissure and committed the unthinkable—he placed his hand upon the lid of the Ark of the Covenant.

When nothing untoward occurred, he slowly inched his fingers along the rim, able to detect some sort of etched ornamentation. He adjusted the angle of the torch, enabling him to inspect a small incised figure that had the body of a man and the head of a falcon.

“I don’t believe it.”

“What are you doing?” a voice behind him inquired.

At hearing Edie’s worried tone, he sat upright. “Come, have a look.” He extended a hand to help her onto the boulder. Then he directed the torch beam at the golden lid.

“It’s the lid to the Ark of the Covenant!” she exclaimed, nearly coming bodily off the boulder.

“Yes, that’s what I thought, as well,” he replied, knowing that he was about to burst a very inflated bubble. “Do you see that row of markings on the rim?”

She scooted a few inches closer to the crevasse. “Uh-huh.”

“Those are Egyptian hieroglyphics.” Reaching into the crevasse, he pointed to a line of incised characters. “This is a rough translation, mind you, but I believe the etched inscription reads, ‘Ra-Harakhti, Supreme Lord of the Heavens.’”

Edie immediately snatched the torch out of his hand and directed it into the fissure, evidently needing to verify for herself. “But . . . I don’t understand . . . why are there Egyptian hieroglyphics on the Ark of the Covenant?”

“Because it’s not the Ark of the Covenant. Rather it is an Egyptian bark.”

“An Egyptian bark,” she parroted, clearly stupefied. “But—are you absolutely certain?” she demanded; the woman was a hard nut to crack. “And what about the two angels on top?”

“Isis and her sister Nephthys, I suspect. As you may recall, the ancient Egyptians were the originators of a sacred chest known as a bark. Furthermore, I believe the Egyptian bark was the prototype used by Moses in creating the fabled Ark.” He took the torch from her shaking hand. “It would seem that Galen of Godmersham uncovered an Egyptian bark, not the Hebrew Ark of the Covenant.”

Tears silently cascaded down Edie’s cheeks. Soon followed by an unexpected burst of raucous laughter.

“Bloody hell!” she loudly bellowed.

At hearing the spot-on impersonation, Caedmon grinned.

“Come here, love.”

As she stepped onto the hotel room balcony, Edie pulled the two halves of her terry-cloth robe closer together and tightened the belt; there was a damp, but invigorating chill in the air. Overhead, a few stars were still visible, shimmering specks of light flung haphazardly across the predawn sky. Glancing heavenward, she sighed, always amazed by the breathless expectancy that heralded the arrival of each new day.

“Enchanting, isn’t it?” Caedmon said as he joined her on the balcony. Having just gotten out of the shower, he was attired in an identical fluffy white robe. He handed her a teacup and saucer.

Catching a heady whiff of bergamot, Edie smiled. “The Earl Grey is much needed and much appreciated. And, yes, it is enchanting,” she agreed as she seated herself at the small bistro table set up in the corner of the balcony.

So enchanting, she wasn’t altogether certain she wanted to leave. At least not yet. After the violence of the night just passed, she needed some downtime. Some stress-free, kick-off-your-shoes, sleep-till-noon, I’m-not-answering-the-telephone downtime. She didn’t know, however, whether Caedmon would be joining her. Other than a brief discussion regarding what time the hotel breakfast buffet opened, no mention of the future had been made.

Caedmon seated himself next to her. Suddenly nervous, Edie stared at the horizon, the sky now tinted a soft pink. Like the inside of a seashell. On the wharf, a few industrious fishermen were already out and about, tossing huge nets onto whimsically painted skiffs.

“When I was little, I used to think that the stars went into hiding once the sun came up. Of course, being older and wiser—well, actually, I’m not exactly certain what happens to the stars come daybreak, so just forget I even brought it up,” she said, waving away the silly thought, belatedly realizing that she was rambling.

“When I was a young lad, I used to wonder what alchemical mix created the rainbow,” Caedmon remarked, his English accent sounding more clipped than usual; Edie wondered if he wasn’t a little bit nervous himself.

“The mysteries of the universe. Seems we were both intrigued at an early age.”

“By the by, I sent an e-mail to my old group leader at MI5,” Caedmon said, changing the subject. “Told him that I caught wind of a plot to destroy the Dome of the Rock on the upcoming Muslim holy day. Trent is a good man. He’ll see to it that Mossad and the Israeli public security minister are contacted.”

“You don’t think that—”

“No, no,” he quickly assured her. “I’m just dotting my
i
’s, as they say. The possibility that MacFarlane had a contingency plan is rather remote. He seemed very much the micromanager.”

Edie fiddled with the delicate handle on her teacup, hesitant to broach the next topic. “You haven’t said anything, but . . . I know you’re disappointed. That it wasn’t the Ark of the Covenant.”

For several long moments, Caedmon stared at the early-morning activity on the bay; Edie was unable to gauge his thoughts. Or his mood; the small pucker on his brow made her think that he was wrangling his way out of a quandary.

Finally, taking a deep I’ve-come-to-a-decision kind of breath, he redirected his gaze toward her. “You wrongly assume that I no longer aspire to find the Ark.”

“But I just thought that—” At a sudden loss for words, she stared at him.

“It’s still out there. I’m certain of it. Still waiting to be discovered. Still waiting to bear holy witness to an eternal truth that is beyond mortal man’s comprehension.”

“‘Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought as doth eternity.’”

Smiling, Caedmon took a sip of tea. “How did you know that Keats is my favorite poet?”