Ark of Fire

CHAPTER 81

Like a miser counting pennies, the crescent moon stingily cast a jaundiced light upon the choppy sea. Its lantern extinguished, the small fishing vessel steadily made its way toward the barren chunk of limestone in the distance. Calypso’s Point. The captain, a wizened salt who spoke no English, stood at the helm. Having been amply compensated for his services, he had turned a blind eye to the peculiarities of the voyage.

Caedmon glanced at Edie, only the pale oval of her face visible in the inky darkness; both of them were garbed in dry diving suits with matching black hoods.

“You know, maybe we should let British intelligence handle this,” Edie said in a hushed voice. “It’s not too late.”

Seated across from her, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the top of his thighs. “Until MacFarlane actually steps foot inside Jerusalem, there’s little that British intelligence or Mossad can do to stop him. Those chaps don’t hold much truck with doomsday prophecies. And though the intelligence agencies will do all in their power to prevent a terrorist act from occurring on the Temple Mount, they won’t be able to act until they have material proof that MacFarlane intends to commit the unthinkable. I, however, am no longer bound by such dictates.”

“Yeah, but short of killing Mac—” She slapped a hand over her mouth. A second later, she lowered it. “That’s exactly what you’re intending to do, isn’t it?”

“In order to destroy a serpent, one must decapitate it.”

“But what if the snake turns around and bites you?”

Rather than answer the question put to him, he instead said, “I think you should return to Valletta with the captain.”

“I told you once already, you’ll have to knock me unconscious to stop me from going with you to Calypso’s—What’s happening?” she hissed, clearly startled.

“No need for alarm. The captain has merely cut the engine.”

“So this is our stop, huh?” She stared at the remote and off-putting promontory that loomed above the small vessel.

Caedmon peered upward. The limestone cliff rose approximately two hundred meters above the sea. “Yes, I know. It has a decidedly Gothic aspect.” As he spoke, he stepped over to the side of the boat, his neoprene booties softly smacking against the deck. Edie followed in his wake, dashing his hope that she’d have a change of heart at the last.

“Right. Let’s get to it,” he said, swinging his leg over the side. A second later, he plunged into the cold sea, grateful they had only a short distance to traverse.

Treading water, he watched as Edie jumped ship and proved herself an able swimmer.

A few minutes later, shivering from the cold and breathing heavily from their exertions, they emerged onto a spindly strip of land that was strewn with chunks of rock that had fallen from the cliff face. At a glance, Caedmon could see that the fishing vessel had already begun its homeward voyage, the captain not bothering to confirm whether they had safely landed.

Removing her hood, Edie jutted her chin at the imposing sea cliff. “Without climbing gear, I don’t know how we’re going to get up that sucker.”

“I have it on good authority that there’s a narrow trail not far from here.” That authority being none other than the hotel bartender, who had laid claim to ascending the cliff on many a youthful outing. Something of a local rite of passage.

He swung a rubberized rucksack off his shoulder. Opening it, he removed yet another watertight bag, from which he removed a coil of wire, a sheathed diving knife, a green laser light, two torches, the GPS receiver, the topographical map, and two pairs of athletic shoes. Inventory verified and double-checked, he unzipped and removed his dry suit. Like Edie, he had worn black hiking attire beneath his suit.

“Guess it’s time for the final reckoning, huh?” Although Edie attempted a brave smile, she fell woefully shy of the mark.

“Yes, I’m afraid that the time has come.”

Rearing back his arm, his right hand balled in a fist, he delivered a quick, precise blow to the side of Edie’s head.

Instantly, her eyes rolled backward, Caedmon catching her as she pitched forward in an unconscious heap. KO’d by the ghost fist that she never saw coming.

Very gently he laid her on a bed of saltwort, using the empty rucksack as a pillow for her head. He then placed a torch in her lax hand. If he didn’t return before she came to, or if he didn’t return at all, she would be able to signal for help.

Still on bent knee, he leaned forward and softly kissed her on the lips.

I’m sorry, love. You gave me no choice.