The Templar's Code (44 page)

Curiosity trumping decorum, he sat down on the weathered stone. Like Edie, he very much wanted to cobble together the disparate pieces of the puzzle. “I suggest that we begin with the deciphered anagram ‘biblicil aten stone to gods eye do not err.’ ”

Although she raised a dubious brow, Edie obliged the request. “Aha! Just as I thought,” she exclaimed a split second later. “Not a single result.”

“An inauspicious start.”

“Okay, we know that the motto ‘Rebellion to tyrants is obedience to God’ was significant to Benjamin Franklin, but what about the other two members of the Triad?” As she spoke, Edie typed out the phrase plus the name
Thomas Jefferson
.

“The first entry, I think.” Caedmon quickly scanned the selected page. “Fascinating . . . Not only did Thomas Jefferson adopt the phrase as his personal motto, but he had it cast onto a signet to seal his correspondence.”

“Let’s see if we get any hits with John Adams. . . . Hmm, looks like Adams mentioned the phrase in passing to his wife, Abigail, but that’s about the extent of it.”

“Fuel for an historian perhaps, but unless I’m greatly mistaken, we’ve just run out of petrol.”

“You are such a naysayer. New search.” Undaunted, Edie flexed her fingers above the keyboard. “Earlier today you hypothesized that the All-Seeing Eye is a red herring. With that in mind, let’s key in ‘All-Seeing Eye’ plus the names of the three Triad members.” An instant later, she shielded her face with her arm. As though protecting herself from flying debris. “Whoa! Talk about a conspiracy theory bomb blast. I think I just got nicked by a hurtling wingnut. Or was that a flying whack-a-doo?”

Caedmon scanned the list of results. “Good God! Given the surfeit of entries that contain the word
satanic
, it may take hours to find an intelligible kernel in all that dross.”

“Online hysteria over secret cabals has become all the rage. Evidently, we wandered into the eye of the storm.”

He smiled, amused by the pun. “We need to refine our search.”

Edie tapped a finger against her chin. “When we were in London, Rubin spoke at length about the Eye of Thoth, the Radiant Light of Aten, and the All-Seeing Eye. As I recall, he was convinced that they were variant expressions derived from the same stream of hidden knowledge.”

“That’s because Thoth, the author of the Emerald Tablet, was at the root of each of those symbols. Ergo, those three iconic images each conveyed the essence of creation made manifest in the material world.”

“Yada, yada, yada. Let’s see if we can find a connection between Thoth and any of our Triad members.” Edie Googled “Benjamin Franklin + Thoth.” “Nada on the yada,” she muttered when “No results found” popped up on the computer. “Ditto for Jefferson. Who, by the way, happens to be my
second
favorite redhead.” She punctuated the playful addendum with a wink. “And lastly, the portly man from Quincy.” A moment later, slack-jawed, brown eyes opened wide, she turned to him. “Ohmygod . . . we got a hit.”

Squinting, he leaned closer to the computer. “Are you certain?”

“Oh, yeah. Look, it’s a bronze bas-relief sculpture
of Thoth
on an exterior door. The door in question is hinged onto the John Adams Building in Washington, D.C. Which, in case you don’t know, is an annex building for the Library of Congress.”

He stared, dumbfounded.
Thoth, the ibis-headed Egyptian god, depicted not in a temple on the Nile but in the American capital on the Potomac.

Washington, the city of secrets.
Past and present.

“And did you happen to notice what the bird-man is holding aloft in his right hand?”

“I do believe that our Egyptian friend is clutching the Emerald Tablet.” Amazed by the startling image, he could do little more than shake his head and gawk.

“Ruh-roh.” Edie pointed to a section of text that accompanied the online image. “According to this, the Adams Annex was constructed in 1938. One hundred and twelve years
after
John Adams died.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Unconcerned by the incongruous date, he elaborated. “Dr. Franklin indicated in
The Book of Moses
that he intended for the Triad to germinate itself, each member responsible for selecting his own successor. In that way, the Triad would continue in perpetuity. Blooming anew each generation.”

“If that’s true, then at some point the Emerald Tablet was transported from Philadelphia to Washington.”

“A bas-relief sculpture is hardly proof positive.”

“ ‘Biblicil aten stone to Gods eye do not err,’ ” she iterated, an exasperated edge to her voice. “Not only do we have an image of Thoth holding the Emerald Tablet, but I think I know who was responsible for moving the relic to the capital city.”

“Indeed?” He wondered how, sans a crystal ball, she could know such a thing.

“Guess who first broached the idea of turning a swampy parcel on the Potomac into the nation’s capital?”

“Admittedly, my grasp of American history is sketchy, but I thought that George Washington was the culprit, aided by the French-born city planner Pierre Charles L’Enfant. Both of whom were Freemasons.”

“That’s the story the Freemasons would like you to believe,” Edie informed him. “The truth of the matter is that Thomas Jefferson strenuously lobbied Congress to purchase land along the Potomac River to serve as the site for the new capital. And he did this
before
the Revolution ended in 1781. An amateur architect, he even drew up a plan for the city layout.”

“Did Franklin have anything to do with the design of Washington?” he asked, admittedly intrigued.

“Not according to the history books. Benjamin Franklin died the same year that Washington was founded in 1790. But given that it was Jefferson who chose the site, Jefferson who oversaw the city survey, and Jefferson who managed the entire construction project when he was secretary of state, I’m wondering if the three members of the Triad—Franklin, Adams, and Jefferson—didn’t hatch the plan to build the new capital on the Potomac long before it became a reality. Because,
yes,
you guessed it,
that’s
where they all along intended to hide the Emerald Tablet.”

Her supposition certainly had merit. Curious—Edie’s wealth of knowledge impressive—he inquired, “How is it that you’re so well informed on these matters?”

Grabbing the netbook, she set it on her lap. “The summer between junior and senior year in college, I worked as a guide for the Washington Tourmobile company. Making me a walking encyclopedia when it comes to D.C. history and lore.”

“And have you seen this bronze bas-relief sculpture of Thoth in situ?”

“I’ve seen the building, but not the bronze doors. Do you think the Emerald Tablet could
possibly
be hidden in the Adams Annex?” she inquired as she shut down the computer.

“It’s possible. We won’t know until we examine the bas-relief sculpture on the Adams Annex.”

“Then it’s homeward bound. Kind of ironic that we’re going full circle, huh?” Closing the lid on the computer, Edie shoved it into her satchel. “Ever give any thought to what you want on
your
epitaph?”

“I’ve given little thought to shucking the mortal coil. Although, like Dr. Franklin, perhaps something pithy and—”

“Oh my God!” Edie gasped, grabbing his arm. “I just saw Rico Suave!”

“At least I think I saw him,” Edie amended, having caught sight of a dark-haired, well-dressed blur out of the corner of her eye. “Whatever I saw, we need to get out of here!” Particularly since the cemetery was eerily deserted.

Outwardly calm, Caedmon leaned in close like a man about to whisper sweet-nothings into his lover’s ear. “Keep your voice down. We don’t want to alert our foe.”

A command easier said than done, her nerves like vibrating guitar strings. A frenzied flamenco come to life.

“I need to know where precisely you saw the bastard.”

“To my left, about fifty yards back.” Although tempted to turn and point, she didn’t.

“Do you by any chance have a mirror in your satchel?”

“Um, yeah, I think so.” Opening her shoulder bag, she hurriedly ransacked the contents. A few seconds later, she removed an old cosmetic compact. Fumbling a bit with the latch, she opened it, wordlessly passing it to him.

The mirror enabled Caedmon to scan the cemetery without turning his head. “Damn. The bastard’s too far away to identify. Although he appears to be manning the front gate. Since the cemetery is enclosed by a seven-foot-high brick wall and that gate is the
only
way out of here, I suspect he’s waiting for us to come to him.”

At which time Rico Suave could shoot them, stab them, or even hit them in the head with a metal pipe. And there wasn’t anything they could do to stop him.

“Admittedly, our options are limited.” Closing the compact, Caedmon returned it to her.

“God, I’m
so
stupid! I’ve got a cell phone. I can dial 911,” she exclaimed, riding a big Waikiki wave of relief. “One call and the cops will be here in a jiff.”

“
If
they show up.”

“Why wouldn’t they?”

Caedmon raised a dubious brow. “What exactly do you plan on telling the police? That a lone man, who has done nothing untoward or threatening, is milling about, minding his own business. No crime in that.”

“He’s murdered two men!” Edie hissed. Being cool under pressure was one thing. Being blasé in the face of danger another matter altogether. “In this country, that’s a capital offense.”

“For which we have no proof.” Caedmon stood up. Grabbing the satchel, he wrapped his other hand around her upper arm, pulling her upright. He gave her a tight smile. “Time to put on your jolly face.”

“And this is going to help us
how
?”

He made no reply. Instead, he slung a companionable arm around her shoulder as he shepherded her along the crushed-stone walkway. In the complete opposite direction from the cemetery gate. While relieved to be moving away from Rico Suave, she didn’t like putting so much distance between themselves and the gate. That being the only means of escape from the bricked enclosure.

As they
leisurely
strolled, Edie could feel the tensed muscles in Caedmon’s arm. And though he smiled and attentively bent his head in her direction, his eyes kept darting from side to side. Plotting. Planning.

A few moments later, plan evidently hatched, he veered away from the walkway onto a dirt path that rib-boned off at a scraggly angle, the grass beaten from years of pedestrian traffic. The arm instantly dropped from her shoulder as Caedmon snatched hold of her hand, accelerating the pace as they hurried past stone crosses, carved sarcophagi, funerary urns, and tilted headstones.

“This is as good a bulwark as any,” he muttered, dodging behind a massive granite plinth surmounted by a carved memorial obelisk. “And completely out of the bastard’s line of sight.”

Edie nestled close, well aware that they were playing a potentially deadly game of hide-and-seek.

Pressed against her backside, Caedmon peered around the granite pedestal. “Perfect . . . our gatekeeper is on the move.”

He’s on the move!
A garbled sound—midway between a gasp and a whimper—passed between her lips. Caedmon chastened her with a cautionary glance.

“You mean that you actually
want
him to follow us?” she whispered.

“How else to lure him away from the exit? Which brings me to the matter of your coat. If you would be so kind as to hand it over.”

“Why do you want my trench coat?”

“It will make the perfect
capote de brega
. Bullfighter’s cape,” he translated.

All thumbs, Edie clumsily untied the belt and removed her coat. Clueless as to what exactly he intended to do with the fuchsia-colored garment, she handed it to him.

The last thing she expected was Caedmon to roll it into a ball and shove it
under
his wool sports jacket.

“Off to set the trap.”

Edie grabbed his wrist. “Please don’t tell me this is where we go our separate ways and meet up later in Prague.”

“If all goes well, I’ll only be gone a few minutes.” A determined look on his face, Caedmon reassuringly squeezed her hand. “If the bastard shows up before I return, kick him in the cubes and scream like a banshee.”

Battle orders given, he took off running, tucking his tall frame into a low crouch as he zigzagged from monument to obelisk to tree trunk. The dark clouds overhead washed the cemetery in muted shades of gray and granite. She soon lost sight of Caedmon, inciting a barrage of graphic, gory images to flash across her mind’s eye.
Worst-case scenarios.

In her peripheral vision, Edie saw a blaze of fuchsia. And though she knew it was an illusion, it
appeared
that someone decked out in a bright pink coat was crouched behind a tombstone.