The Templar's Code

CHAPTER 48

To kill or not to kill… always the question.

Standing beside the unkempt bed, Saviour rubbed a hand over his bare chest as he stared at the sleeping woman. At the bony backside. Softly rounded buttocks. Tousled blond hair. A first for him. The fact that she was a woman, not a blond. It’d been rather amusing, the way she’d gasped in surprise when he took her from behind. But gasps soon turned to whimpers and moans. Then a climactic cry. Anemostrovilos. The Greek word for “cyclone.” So similar to the Greek word for “sodomy.”

In no hurry, he took his fill of the somnolent Jocasta. Although Marnie Pritchard claimed to be thirty-five years of age, he placed her closer to fifty. Old enough to be his mother. It’d been a long time since he’d given that bitch even a passing thought. Five years after leaving the flat in Vardalis Square, he’d caught sight of his mother at the Apokries Festival before Lenten Monday. By then, the anger had mutated into a bland indifference; he’d turned and walked away from Iphigenia Argyros without so much as a wave of the hand. A free man.

Tilting his head to one side, Saviour noticed that Marnie had a mole on her upper left back. And a small pucker of cellulite under the curve of her ass. While she hadn’t been a fount, Marnie had given him some valuable information. For starters, he’d learned that Caedmon Aisquith was impersonating someone named Peter Willoughby-Jones. Making him think that Aisquith/Willoughby-Jones might be a fugitive from the law. He’d changed his own last name from Argyros to Panos after he killed Evangelos Danielides. He chose the new surname in memory of Panos Island. So he would never forget the degradation that he’d suffered and how he bested the dragon.

He’d also learned that Rubin Woolf was an expert on Francis Bacon. While he’d never heard of Francis Bacon, Mercurius was well-acquainted with the name and had been greatly interested to learn of this. Throughout the evening, he’d slyly probed and prodded, but Marnie Pritchard clearly had no knowledge of the treasure. A pity that.

His evening’s work unfinished, Saviour left the bed and padded to the dresser and snatched up Marnie’s expensive leather handbag. Purse in hand, he headed for the en suite bathroom, a luxurious room boasting a claw-footed bathtub and gas fireplace. Taking care not to make any noise, he closed the door. Sitting on the commode lid, he riffled through the bag, commandeering a cherry-red mobile phone and a key ring. He muted the ringer before shoving the mobile into his trouser pocket. Fingering through the keys — the organized Marnie having labeled them for him — he removed the silver key marked SHOP.

About to exit the bathroom, he, instead, stepped over to the gilt mirror that hung above the vanity. Frowning, he leaned closer to the glass, annoyed to see two long scratch marks etched into his smooth skin. Mercurius often admired his muscled physique. The reason why Saviour took such care with his appearance, wanting his mentor to find him physically desirable.

Together, he and Mercurius made a perfect whole. Wisdom wedded to youth. Mind and body united. A fact that Saviour realized not long after Mercurius had found him hiding in the Agía Sophía. That was when Mercurius had offered him the opportunity to be reborn, his beloved bestowing upon him a gift that could never be repaid. Though Saviour happily made the effort, Mercurius the only man, other than Ari, whom he had ever trusted. Dishonesty a trait bred in the womb.

As he left the bathroom, Saviour saw a length of fabric hanging from the back of a chair. A Fendi silk jacquard scarf. Perfect. He plucked the scarf from the back of the chair and walked over to the bed.

As he stared at the sleeping woman, he wrinkled his nose. Patchouli. A certain Düsseldorf banker had also doused himself with the sickening fragrance, the fused aroma of patchouli and sauerkraut having triggered a murderous rage.

Saviour wrapped one end of the silk scarf around his palm. Just as he was about to perform the same motion with his other hand, Marnie opened her eyes and drowsily smiled at him.

“Don’t go… sweet sorrow and all that.”

Dangling the length of silk, Saviour slowly trailed it over her bare breasts.

To kill or not to kill… always the question.