Ark of Fire

CHAPTER 26

“Do you think we’re being followed?” Edie asked, glancing into the side mirror of a parked car.

Caedmon waited until the cross light at Connecticut Avenue turned yellow. Then, cinching his hand around her elbow, he hustled her across the street toward the main entrance to the National Zoo on the opposite side of the intersection. A few seconds later they passed the two bronze lions that stood guard at the gated entrance.

“If we are being followed, our pursuers have successfully faded into the proverbial woodwork.”

Edie shivered, the previous day’s snow having turned into a chill-laden drizzle. She moved closer to Caedmon, the two of them huddled beneath a black umbrella they’d purchased en route. Passing the Visitor Center, she peered at the 180-degree reflection cast by the bank of glass doors. No surprise that the zoo grounds were eerily deserted; animal watching was not a big draw in December. But then, they weren’t there to see the sights. They were there to meet with the man who’d illegally purchased the Stones of Fire, setting into motion yesterday’s brutal train of events.

“Does your family live in the area?” Caedmon conversationally inquired. Throughout their subway ride from Arlington, he’d maintained a steady stream of pleasant chitchat. On to his tricks, Edie assumed the light fare was more for her benefit than his—Caedmon’s way of alleviating her all-too-obvious dread. Little did he know that personal questions elicited a similar response.

“Um, my mother and father were both killed in a boating accident off the coast of Florida,” she answered, the lie well honed from twenty-five years of sharpening. Approaching the Small Mammal House, she gestured to the walkway on the right, the zoo grounds a maze of pathways that wound through what was surprisingly hilly terrain. “It was Labor Day weekend and a drunk in a speedboat rammed right into them. I was only eleven years old when it happened.”

Usually she embroidered the tale, going into great detail as to how the nonexistent boater only had to spend two years in prison. But today, for some inexplicable reason, she felt guilty about the fabrication. Although why she should feel any guilt was a mystery. Shame, yes. Guilt, no. After all, it wasn’t her fault that her father was listed on her birth certificate as Unknown or that her mother had been a junkie, never able to lose her taste for smack. When her mother OD’d, Edie had been forced to spend two and a half years in the Florida foster care system. A kindhearted social worker had taken an interest in her case, going the extra two miles to track down her maternal grandparents in Cheraw, South Carolina. Edie never spoke of the thirty nightmarish months spent on the foster care merry-go-round. Not to anyone. Some things a person couldn’t, or shouldn’t, share with another human being.

Seeing a vaporous cloud approach, Caedmon waited until a red-faced man decked out in winter Lycra jogged past. A few moments later, he solicitously took her by the elbow, steering her clear of an icy patch. “Who took care of you?”

“Oh, I, um, went to live with my grandparents in South Carolina. Pops and Gran were great. Really, really great,” she said with a big fake smile. Uncomfortable with the lie, she feigned a sudden interest in the leafless shrubbery planted along the low-slung retaining wall. Winter had its claws dug deep; the nearby trees and plantings were covered in a crystal shroud. Most of the animals had taken to ground. As they passed the tamarin cage, there wasn’t a primate in sight.

“South Carolina . . . how interesting. One would think you’d have a more pronounced accent. And you’ve been in Washington for how long?”

Wishing he’d cease and desist, she said, “It’s coming up on the twenty-year mark. What anniversary is that? Crystal? I’m not sure.”

“I believe that would be china,” he replied, intently watching her out of the corner of his eye.

Edie cleared her throat, wondering if she’d laid it on too thick about Pops and Gran. As happened with all new acquaintances, she feared that he was on to her.

Hearing a branch suddenly snap, Caedmon momentarily paused as the silence filled with several unidentified screeches. Evidently satisfied that the noises were not man-made, he said. “I’m curious . . . why did you get a degree in women’s studies?”

“Why do you want to know? You’re not a closet chauvinist, are you?”

“Not in the least.”

Satisfied with his reply, Edie shrugged. “Since someone else was footing the bill for my education, I studied what interested me. At the time I was interested in the role of women in American society.” What she didn’t tell him was that, given her background, she wanted to find out why women made the choices they did. “I had an internship at a nonprofit, but because of budget constraints it didn’t pan into a paying gig. Luckily, I found gainful employment at a downtown photo shop.” At the time she hadn’t known squat about photography, having charmed her way into the job. But she learned quickly, enamored with the way that photography could be used to manipulate the real world, to erase the ugliness.

“And how long have you been working as a photographer?”

“Gees, what are you, a Spanish inquisitor?” Edie retorted, determined to end the personal interrogation. “You know, I usually love the zoo, but today it’s got creepy written all over it.”

Caedmon slowed his step as they wound their way through what looked to be an impenetrable chasm, with huge buff-colored boulders, a full story in height, lining the pathway. She wondered if the man at her side was thinking what she was thinking, that this would be an excellent place for a gunman to hide.

A few moments later, they emerged from the stone-lined walkway and approached the caged hillside set aside for the Mexican wolves, the designated meeting place with Eliot Hopkins. To the right side of the outdoor exhibit, a lone man bundled in a wool topcoat sat on a park bench, a cup of Starbucks coffee clutched in his gloved hand.

“There he is,” Edie said in hushed whisper, fearful her voice might carry. “I don’t know about you, but I fully intend to give the SOB a grilling.”

At hearing that, Caedmon jerked his head in her direction.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that? It’s called good cop/bad cop.”

Grabbing her by the upper arm, Caedmon drew her to his side. “Now is not the time for us to be out of step with one another,” he hissed in her ear. “We merely want to tickle the man.”

“Yeah, before we move in for the kill.”