Ark of Fire

CHAPTER 70

“. . . As with Paul on the road to Damascus, you have a chance to redeem yourself. Read the prophecies for yourself and you will see that I speak the truth.”

Astonished that the offer had even been made, Caedmon stood silent for several seconds. That is, until cynicism got the better of him.

“Ah, yes, ‘the sure word of prophecy,’” he drolly remarked, quoting another Church father, St. Peter.

“I know you to be a man searching for meaning in his own life and in the world around him.”

“Though that may be true, I’m not a malleable soul ready to latch onto the first prophet who offers a ready-made curative to life’s travails.” Purposefully he held MacFarlane at bay, knowing that if he committed too soon, he would show his hand.

“Your words imply a deep-seated fear. I can take that fear from you.” MacFarlane expansively gestured to the three men industriously working to haul their treasure trove aboveground. “My Warriors of God know no fear.”

“He’s feeding you a load,” Edie exclaimed, grabbing him by the arm. As though she feared he might step across the imaginary line that had been drawn between them and their nemesis. “I’ve read the Ezekiel prophecies, and do you know what I think? I think Ezekiel was a madman, a doomsday prophet who would have been on lithium and a very short leash had he lived in the twenty-first century. One of his so-called visions actually tells of how he came upon a pile of dry bones in the desert and supposedly breathed life into those same bones, creating a mighty army. Maybe I’m the crazy one here, but that sounds like the kind of delusional prophecy that would be spouted by some homeless guy pushing a shopping cart.”

Eyes narrowing, Stanford MacFarlane contemptuously glared at Edie.

Hoping to smooth the rough waters, Caedmon cleared his throat. “Although I won’t go so far as to speculate on Ezekiel’s mental state of mind, I know that many of the Old Testament authors wrote metaphorically, never intending their verses to be literally interpreted by later generations.”

“This I know above all else,” MacFarlane countered in an acid tone, “not only will the divine revelation given to Ezekiel come to fruition, but the Battle of Gog and Magog will be fought. Only those who put their trust in the Almighty will escape the coming doom. And those who take up arms against the soldiers of Magog will be doubly blessed. When the battle is fought and won, the Ark of the Covenant will be restored to its rightful place within the new Temple. Repent and you will live eternally. Turn your back on the Lord and you will be damned.”

“But why ask me to join your ranks? It’s been years since I last stepped foot in an Anglican church.”

“We can use a man with your specialized talents.”

Something in the offhand compliment gave Caedmon pause, leaving him with the distinct impression that MacFarlane knew about his tenure with MI5. Such skills would certainly appeal to a man like MacFarlane. Although he had a small army at his disposal, there was a world of difference between a soldier and a trained intelligence officer.

“I would be happy to join your ranks. However, there is a condition attached to my acceptance . . . you must free Miss—”

“Don’t do it, Caedmon!” Edie screeched over the top of him.

“—Miller. Needless to say, the point is not negotiable,” he added, hoping to check Stanford MacFarlane. And to check Edie as well. To that end, he cast her a stern glance, wordlessly ordering her to cease and desist.

“The woman knows too much. She can’t be trusted to keep quiet,” the other man uncharitably replied.

“I trust her implicitly. Is that not enough?”

“She is a degenerate vessel, unworthy of your consideration. My offer does not include the woman.”

Visibly rigid with the force of his contempt, MacFarlane glared at Edie. Loathing incarnate. Throughout history, men such as Stanford MacFarlane had voraciously condemned the female sex, blaming them for the ills of the world. He’d always thought the loathing stemmed from a deep-seated fear of woman’s innate wisdom.

With a heavy heart he offered Edie a silent apology.

Knowing that monsters, by their very nature, were devoid of mercy, he said, “Your offer puts me in mind of a medieval inquisitor attempting to convert a hapless heretic. Regardless of whether the heretic repented, it usually ended badly. For the heretic, that is.”

“I can see that your eyes are jaded. That you aren’t fit to gaze upon God’s glory.” His contempt having mutated into a stern-faced rage, MacFarlane turned to his men. “Harliss, prepare the tabernacle!”

“Yes, sir.” Like a marionette on a string, Harliss unzipped one of the oversized equipment bags.

Unable to look Edie in the eye, well aware that he had lost his only opportunity to save her life, Caedmon was surprised when she leaned her head against his shoulder.

“When the end comes, at least we’ll be together,” she whispered.

“Yes . . . we will be at that.”

“Any idea what they’re up to?” She jutted her chin at the folded stacks of material that Harliss had removed from the zippered bag.

“A badger skin, a length of blue cloth, and a tightly woven veil were traditionally wrapped around the Ark whenever it was in transport. I suspect the three layers created a primitive form of nonconducting insulation. Clearly, MacFarlane intends to play the game by the book.”

“That being the Good Book, huh?”

“Indeed. Although the scriptures have a way of becoming distorted beyond recognition when spouted by a man like MacFarlane.”

Curiosity superseding his dread, Caedmon watched as the other two members of the trio hauled a large metal box out of the earth. A quick mental calculation proved that the box was large enough to house the Ark of the Covenant. As he’d done at the cloister, Braxton opened the lock with a mighty swing of his pickax.

His movements slow and reverential, Stanford MacFarlane opened the lid.

Although he craned his neck, Caedmon could see nothing more than the dull glimmer of gold. A gold what, he couldn’t say. What he could see, however, was the awestruck expression affixed to the face of each of the four men gathered around the open box. As though they’d just wandered into Aladdin’s cave.

“‘And there was seen in his temple the ark of his testament and there were lightnings, and voices, and thunderings, and an earthquake, and great hail,’” Stanford MacFarlane loudly i ntoned.

“Don’t forget the drizzle,” Edie muttered under her breath. “And the fog,” she added a moment later when Harliss set off a smoke bomb, completely obscuring the proceedings from their view.

“The Hebrew priests used to shroud the Ark in a thick blanket of incense to keep it hidden from curious onlookers.” As he spoke, Caedmon squinted and strained, but the smoke barrier was impenetrable.

A few seconds later, Harliss emerged from the smoke. Two sets of plastic flexi-cuffs dangled from his fingertips. “I’ve got a restraining order for you two.”

“Will you at least tell us if the Ark of the Covenant was uncovered?” he asked, desperate to have a definitive answer.

“Oh, yeah,” the other man slowly replied, the bedazzled expression returning to his unshaved, rawboned features. “The two angels on top of the gold box were the telltale clue.”

Hearing that was like hearing an unexpected boom of thunder; Caedmon slightly swayed on his feet.

They had actually found the Ark of the Covenant.

Knowing it was futile to resist, he stood motionless as Harliss bound his hands together, his mind unable to wrap around the enormity of the find.

Softly humming a jaunty tune, Harliss ripped a piece of duct tape from a roll. “Wouldn’t want to disturb the neighbors,” he said with a mean-spirited cackle as he slapped the length of tape across Caedmon’s mouth. That done, he bound and gagged Edie in a similar fashion.

“We got orders to row you two to shore and take you to a remote location. The colonel says it wouldn’t be right to kill you in the same place where we found the Ark.”