Ark of Fire

CHAPTER 62

“I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough chips for one day,” Caedmon grumbled.

“And guys with big guns and things that go bump in the night.” Edie squinted, there being only a small glimmer of light shining through the locked door. MacFarlane’s twisted idea of “bed and board” was a small storage closet and a couple of bags of soggy fries.

“But on a bright note, we shall be lulled to sleep by the babbling brook that runs beneath the mill.”

Edie made no reply; a damp chill oozed up from the floorboards on account of that same babbling brook. Already she could feel the ache in her joints.

“By the by, I’ve got your metal nail file hidden under the insole of my shoe.”

“I can top that . . . I’ve got a thousand dollars stuffed inside my boot. After the attack in Oxford, I was worried someone might steal the Virgin Air bag.” Her thoughts running every which way, she abruptly changed gears. “There’s something I need to tell you . . . I have intimate knowledge of Stanford MacFarlane.”

“Indeed?”

“Not that I have biblical knowledge of the man,” Edie quickly amended. “But I do know the heart of Stanford MacFarlane.”

“And how is that?” There was no mistaking the interest in his voice.

“My maternal grandfather was something of a religious zealot. If not cut from the same bolt of cloth as MacFarlane, Pops was certainly cut from a similar one.” She caustically laughed, the memory an unpleasant one. “My grandfather believed that freedom of religion extended only to other fundamental Christians.”

“Being a young girl, I’m surprised that you weren’t, er—”

“Indoctrinated? Having been raised by a mother who repeatedly told me that she would clean up her act, and who repeatedly failed to make good on the promise, made me a hard sell. Deep-seated trust issues, I suppose.” She readjusted her legs, the dark space a tight fit for the two of them. “Having sat through all those Sunday sermons, I know that men like my pops and Stanford MacFarlane lie awake at night, consumed with visions of a global theocracy.”

She paused a moment, recalling the earlier one-on-one conversation. “Although I get the feeling that, unlike Pops, MacFarlane thinks of himself as some sort of Old Testament patriarch.”

“One of those unsavory bastards who prays before the bloodletting, hmm?”

Edie shuddered. “He’s probably praying as we speak.”

Putting an arm around her shoulder, Caedmon pulled her close. “As long as there’s a chance of finding the Ark, you will be safe. MacFarlane knows that if he harms you in any way, I’ll refuse to comply with his wishes.”

“You don’t actually trust him to keep his word, do you?”

It being too dark in the closet for her to discern Caedmon’s features, she sensed rather than saw his sardonic smile.

“In my experience, trusting one’s enemy is a fine art.”

In the same way that she sensed the smile, Edie suddenly sensed its disappearance.

“It’s my fault that you got dragged into this mess. I should never have agreed to—”

Edie put a hand over his mouth, sshhing him. “Since meeting you at the National Gallery of Art, everything that I’ve done—and I mean everything—from coming to England to making love to riding in the back of that refrigerated truck, I’ve done of my own free will. We’re in this together, Caedmon. And don’t for one second think that we’re not. There was no way that either of us could have known they’d place a tracking device on me.”

“Are you saying that the punch-up at the Covered Market was merely a feint? Bloody hell. I should have seen that one coming. From the onset, MacFarlane has remained one step ahead of me.”

Hearing the self-recrimination in his voice, she thought a change of subject in order. “We now have less than sixteen hours to figure out the meaning of those two geese in the basket. All we know is that one of the geese represents Philippa.” She sighed, well aware that it was a very brief allotment of time. “I wish we knew more about Philippa. Other than the fact that she married Galen and she joined a nunnery, we’ve got precious few clues.”

“The nunnery . . . that’s it. You, Edie Miller, are bloody beautiful!”

Without warning, Caedmon began to loudly bang on the closet door with his balled fist.

“What the hell’s goin’ on in there?” came a deep-throated voice on the other side of the locked door.

“Tell MacFarlane that I know where the Ark is hidden.”