The Templar's Code

CHAPTER 80

“One hazelnut, one Swiss almond, right?”

Not waiting for a confirmation, the gangly waiter placed two chipped mugs on the Formica tabletop, hot coffee sloshing over the rims. Given the soiled apron tied around the young man’s waist, Caedmon assumed that spilled coffee was a regular occurrence.

“And heavy on the whipped cream,” Edie implored with a winsome smile as she snatched the sugar dispenser from the end of the table.

“No problem. I’ll have your waffle out in a jiff,” the amiable, if maladroit, waiter assured her before departing for the kitchen.

“People come from miles away to eat at Chow Hounds. Waffles are the specialty of the house.” She measured out two teaspoons of sugar, stirring the granules into her Swiss almond coffee. “Trust me, you will regret not ordering one.”

In the process of reviewing the digital photos that Edie took of the Emerald Tablet, Caedmon stopped what he was doing and glanced across the table. “I doubt it.”

Particularly since she’d ordered something called a Belgian S’more. Billed as a “variation on a campfire favorite”—whatever that meant — the outrageous concoction included chocolate ice cream, gooey marshmallow, graham cracker crumbs, and whipped cream. Sure to please the hungry camper.

Edie deeply inhaled the coffee’s aroma before taking a sip of the sweetened brew. “After what we just went through, I’m in dire need of a fix and Chow Hounds is my favorite sugar shack. I love eating here. Plus, it’s only a mile or so from the house.”

His gaze moved across the crowded space, astonished that anyone could enjoy dining in a restaurant with tangerine-and-turquoise-colored walls. The boisterous atmosphere was not to his liking either; patrons had to raise their voices to be heard over the rockabilly music blaring from the sound system. Although a conversation held in a crowded eatery was always the safest. A lesson learned at the hands of his old MI5 taskmasters.

“While you’re understandably anxious to return home, I think we should spend one more night at the Willard.” When Edie opened her mouth to protest, he raised a hand, forestalling the objection. “Since we can’t put the Emerald Tablet in your safe deposit box until the bank opens in the morning, I will secure it in the hotel safe.”

At the mention of the relic, Edie’s gaze went to the leather satchel that he wore bandolier-style around his chest for safekeeping. “That’s gotta be uncomfortable.”

Caedmon assumed she referred to the fact that the metal case containing the Emerald Tablet was stuffed inside the satchel. “I’ll manage.” He shifted slightly on the cane-bottomed chair, allowing more room on his lap before returning his attention to the digital camera.

“Here. It’ll be easier to view the photos on the netbook,” Edie said, sliding the portable laptop across the table.

Anxious to examine the photos, he popped the memory chip out of one slot and into another, hoping the photographs would do the relic justice.

They did, magnificent the word that instantly came to mind. Without a doubt, the Emerald Tablet was a beautifully crafted, stunning relic with a jaw-dropping provenance. Although…

“You’re frowning.”

“Am I? My apologies. I’m bewildered by the inlaid lettering on the tablet. Quite honestly, I had expected to see more Egyptian hieroglyphs. There’s only the one ibis glyph on the backside underneath the entwined circle.”

“Well, the ibis is the symbol for Thoth, and since the ibis-headed Thoth supposedly authored the Emerald Tablet, maybe it’s some sort of signature.”

He stared at the inlaid glyph positioned at the bottom of the tablet. “As a shore-dwelling bird, the ibis lives in that nebulous realm between land and water. More important, it’s symbolic of Thoth’s ability to straddle the unconscious and the conscious mind, that being the gateway to enlightenment.”

“Okay, but you’re still frowning.”

He rearranged his facial muscles into what he hoped was a more congenial expression. “I’m irked by the fact that while the script is clearly of ancient origin, I’ve never seen this alphabet before.”

“I have.”

His head jerked, surprised by the revelation.

“You’ve seen it, too.” Shoving her coffee mug aside, Edie slid the netbook to her side of the table.

Craning his neck, Caedmon watched as Edie deftly accessed the computer file that contained her archived photos.

“When we were at Jason Lovett’s cottage in Arcadia, we found a sheet of paper in the fax machine with some funky writing on it. Remember?”

He thought back to that day: the ransacked rooms, the octogram star brazenly scrawled on the wall, the hidden artifacts, and yes, an overlooked sheet of paper still in the fax machine. “As I recall, Dr. Lovett sent a fax to a professor at Catholic University. At the time, I didn’t think it significant, since Lovett mentioned on his digital voice recorder that he’d discovered an inscription on a foundation stone.”

“Look familiar?” Edie turned the computer in his direction.

“My God… you’re absolutely correct. It is the same alphabet that’s inscribed on the Emerald Tablet.” He shook his head, staggered by the discovery. The Knights Templar had used the same ancient alphabet to inscribe the foundation stone at the Arcadia settlement.

“This is the person on the receiving end of Jason Lovett’s fax.” Edie tapped on the keyboard, bringing up the next photo in the archive: a facsimile cover sheet addressed to Dr. Lyon at Catholic University. “Do you want me to go to the Catholic—”

“Yes, by all means go to the university site,” he interjected.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the gangly waiter approach with a laden tray.

“A Belgian S’more, right?” As with the coffee, the young man didn’t wait for a reply before setting the plate on the table.

“Waiter!” a portly man at the next table loudly bellowed. “That’s my Belgian S’more! I’ve been waiting twenty minutes!”

Faced with a thorny dilemma, the waiter nervously glanced from table to table.

Edie stopped typing long enough to turn her head and peer across the aisle. At seeing a florid-faced man built like a sumo wrestler straddling not one, but two, rickety cane chairs, she picked up the plate and passed the whipped-cream-topped confection to the next table. “Bon appétit.”

“Thanks!” the young waiter gushed, clearly relieved that he didn’t have to battle the hefty dragon. “I’ll put a rush on your waffle.”

“No hurry.” Edie turned her attention to the computer screen. “According to the university site, Dr. Lyon is professor emeritus in the Department of Semitic and Egyptian Languages. Here’s a picture of him.” Edie cocked her head to one side. “For an older man, he’s quite handsome. One of those frail, aristocratic Ian McKellen types.”

Caedmon contemplatively stared at the online bio. “How fascinating. Dr. Lyon is an expert in the ancient languages of the Near East. Is there an e-mail address?”

Edie scanned the page. “Yep. M Lyon at cua dot edu.”

“May I?” He gestured to the netbook; Edie obliged the request, sliding the computer to his side of the table.

The direct approach usually being the one that bore fruit, he typed a pithy message. Dr. Lyon, I am an associate of Dr. Jason Lovett’s. During the course of our recent excavation in Rhode Island, we uncovered an unusual artifact with an incised script that we believe to be of Near Eastern derivation. Would you be interested in examining a digital photo of the artifact and rendering a translation? Thank you, sir, for your kind consideration. I look forward to your response. Caedmon Aisquith

“Yes, I know, I bent the truth somewhat.”

“How about an out-and-out lie?” Edie indignantly huffed. “You barely knew Jason Lovett. And we did not discover the artifact in Rhode Island. Which, by the way, makes it sound like you found nothing more interesting than an old potsherd.”

“If I reveal the truth, I doubt very much that I will be able to secure Dr. Lyon’s cooperation.”

“What exactly do you expect this professor emeritus to do, translate the Emerald Tablet? If so, then… then you deceived me.”

“I did no such thing!” he exclaimed in his defense, the accusation baseless.

“All right, we found the Emerald Tablet. The treasure hunt is over.” Reaching across the table, she grabbed hold of his wrist.” But we cannot under any circumstances tell anyone that we found it. Death follows in that thing’s wake.”

“Do you not trust me to be careful?”

Releasing his wrist, she caustically laughed. “I know what this is all about. Since you’ve secured the Emerald Tablet, you can rest easy, assured that Rico Suave won’t be selling the relic to some terrorist group. Which means that you can now turn your attention to vindicating your academic credibility. God, Caedmon! You are really a piece of work. Two men have been murdered and all you can think about is your next book. Testis sum agnitio. Am I right?” She pointedly glanced at the silver ring on his right hand.

Recognizing a trap, Caedmon considered how best to reply. For the last six days, his focus had been on the hunt. Now that he had the Emerald Tablet, he was unsure how to proceed, suddenly aware that the relic might actually contain a secret of historic magnitude.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” he said at last, a noncommittal cliché the best he could manage.

Edie’s gaze narrowed. “Given that it’s early spring, I imagine the Rubicon is very cold and very deep.”

Caedmon hit the Send button. “No doubt it is.”

About to hand Edie the netbook, he stopped in mid-motion, noticing that the corpulent diner at the next table had turned an unhealthy shade of madder red. Suddenly, without warning, their neighbor banged a beefy fist on the table, flatware and water glass crashing to the floor. In the next instant, he began to spasmodically flail, white froth bubbling between his lips. Gasping for air, the rotund gastronome clutched the area over his heart, then slumped forward, his face landing in the half-eaten Belgian S’more.

The waffle originally intended for Edie.