The Templar's Code

CHAPTER 94

And we are all for the dark.

Damn the Bard. He had no blasted idea just how abysmally dark it could get.

Hampered by the handcuffs, Caedmon had to crawl, crab-like, on his knees and elbows, wrists held off the ground. He bit back the pain that ferociously pulsed from his mutilated hand. Surrounded by Stygian blackness, he navigated by sound. A difficult feat in a cave where each and every thud reverberated off the octagon stone walls in a distorted echo.

Knowing there was a second death trap, he painstakingly moved forward a few inches at a time. Every now and again, he stopped, listened, made a course adjustment. A blind, battered fool. But what choice did he have? If he and Edie called retreat and left the cave, the bastard would put a bullet in each of their backs.

While Dr. Lyon had a gun, he also had at least seventy winters on his head, putting the older man at a distinct disadvantage. Or so Caedmon hoped. His plan was to catch the bastard unawares.

Hearing a muffled wheeze — one that definitely did not emanate from Edie — he headed in that direction. Hope renewed.

The chain that yoked the two cuffs together softly jangled.

Almost instantaneously, a shot rang out. The bullet hit the floor a few feet from Caedmon, spraying his face with stone chips.

Bloody hell!

The bastard was standing there — wherever there was — with his ears perked. Listening. Firing each and every time he heard so much as a peep. By his count, Dr. Lyon had five bullets left in the clip. Ample ammunition to kill them.

Caedmon froze. Stilled his breathing. Focused on the palpable silence until he heard—yes! — an almost imperceptible breath.

The old man was close. Very close.

Knowing it was now or never, Caedmon surged forward, butting his head against Dr. Lyon’s shins — knocking his legs out from under him. The older man hit the ground with a thud. One that induced a pain-racked bellow.

The attack cost Caedmon, an agonizing burst of pain exploding in his left hand. He bit back a scream, unable to follow up on the initial attack.

Seconds later, catching his breath, he awkwardly clambered several feet, swiping the ground with his manacled right hand, searching for the fallen gunman. He came up empty-handed.

Where in God’s name was—

A lantern suddenly switched on, the cave flooded with fluorescent light.

Caedmon blinked, willing his pupils to speedily make the adjustment. Squinting, he glanced up… just in time to see Professor Lyon, now standing over top of him. Still clinging to the Emerald Tablet, the other man aimed his small black pistol right at him. The kill shot — when it came — would slam directly into the center of his forehead.

Caedmon gulped a deep breath. No doubt his last. Standing near the altar, Edie screamed.

“I’m sorry,” the older man murmured, eyes filled with tears.

“I’m not!” a deep voice intoned.

What happened next occurred with such stunning rapidity that Caedmon struggled to process the lightning-fast chain of action and reaction: Dr. Lyon glanced up. Gasped. Redirected his 9mm pistol at the new threat. Caedmon peered behind him. His turn to gasp—

The Narragansett Indian, Tonto Sinclair, a Winchester bolt-action rifle held to his shoulder, stood in the entryway to the sanctuary.

Just then, a bullet rang out. Fired from Dr. Lyon’s pistol. A split second later, another shot, this one from Tonto Sinclair’s rifle. Caedmon watched in stunned amazement as a high-speed bullet hit the Emerald Tablet. Actually ricocheting off the damn thing! As though it were sheathed in Kevlar, the relic proved impenetrable.

The impact of the high-velocity shot forcefully thrust Dr. Lyon backward. Like a wobbly child’s top, the older man spun to the left. He then staggered several steps, still, amazingly, keeping his hold on the sacred relic.

Suddenly realizing that the older man was veering toward the second death trap, Caedmon unthinkingly shouted, “Stop!”

Too late.

Like his beautiful paramour, Dr. Lyon instantly vanished, plummeting to… the abyss.