Templar's Code

CHAPTER 72

Christos!

They were doing nothing but walking. Endless blocks of walking, trudging, trekking. Moving from one location to another with nothing to show for the effort.

Standing at the souvenir kiosk on the edge of the monument grounds, Saviour watched as the Brit and his woman began walking toward Constitution Avenue. Here we go again. Mercurius said that Aisquith had embarked on a sacred quest. A sacred quest, my ass.

In no hurry to set off—with the tracking device, he could follow at his leisure—Saviour examined the array of souvenirs being sold at outrageously inflated prices. His gaze alighted on a ten-inch-high metal replica of the Washington Monument. Welded onto the front of the miniature obelisk was an outdoor thermostat.

“How much for these two?” he brusquely asked the vendor, picking up a blue baseball cap in his other hand.

“Twenty-four ninety-five.”

Christos! For a baseball cap and a shitty souvenir!

He wordlessly handed over a twenty and a five. Furious that the malaka had just swindled him, he barely refrained from throwing the nickel change at the other man’s chest.

Slapping the baseball cap on his head, Saviour tucked his souvenir under his arm and strode across the neatly trimmed expanse of lawn toward the stubby stone ballast. The granite monolith had garnered Aisquith and the woman’s attention. In fact, they’d been so interested, they consulted with a third party. A third party who presently stood a few feet away from the squat stone.

Saviour affixed a guileless expression on his face and approached. His gaze immediately alighted on the gleaming gold badge pinned above the black man’s left shirt pocket. U.S. Park Ranger. Then he glanced at the gold name tag pinned above the right pocket. Jermaine Walker. Although he wore a uniform, the ranger carried no weapon.

“Please could you help me?” Saviour entreated with a smile.

The ranger, in the process of wiping the back of his neck with a handkerchief, turned to him. “Be happy to help, if I can.”

“I was supposed to meet my friends at the monument, but”—still smiling, he lifted his shoulders in a shrug—“apparently we missed each other in the crowd. Perhaps you saw them: a tall redheaded Brit and a curly—”

“Just missed ’em. Not too many folks ask about the Jefferson Pier.”

Saviour presumed he meant the hunk of granite a few feet away. “The Jefferson Pier? Why would they be interested in this? The Washington Monument is what everyone comes to see, no?”

“By the busloads. But for whatever reason, your friends seemed more interested in the pier. Like I told ’em, this marker was set in place by Thomas Jefferson when he surveyed the seventy-seventh meridian.”

Head tipped to one side, Saviour feigned interest. Why is the Brit interested in a rock? It made no sense.

“Will you excuse me for a moment?” Stepping several feet away, Saviour turned his back on Ranger Walker as he tapped the Bluetooth device clipped to his ear. Without preamble, he relayed the conversation to Mercurius, hoping his mentor could provide some context to the strange episode.

“And you’re quite certain that he said the seventy-seventh meridian?”

Saviour glanced over his shoulder at the ranger who had resumed mopping the sweat on the back of his neck. “Yes, positive.”

“I am deeply troubled that this man, the ranger, has spoken with Aisquith about the sacred meridian. He may even suspect the reason for the Englishman’s interest. That alone makes him a dangerous impediment.”

“I understand.” Saviour tapped the device, disconnecting the phone call.

He walked back to where the ranger stood waiting. “The information about the Jefferson Pier has been most helpful.”

Amiably grinning, the ranger jutted his chin at the tacky souvenir nestled under Saviour’s arm. “So, what’s the temperature?”

For several seconds, Saviour stared at the black man’s face, noticing the perspiration that dotted his brow. The neatly trimmed mustache. The dark nubbins of ingrown facial hair. Then, very slowly, and very deliberately, his gaze dropped to the slim hips garbed in a pair of dark-green trousers. “It’s extremely hot.”

The ranger held his hands up, palms facing out. “Hey, I don’t swing that way.”

“Pity.” Saviour removed the souvenir from under his arm and held it in his hand like a stake. A makeshift weapon.

Sensing his intention, the other man recoiled.

Too late.

Saviour plunged the pointed tip of the metal obelisk into Jermaine Walker’s left breast. Straight to the heart. The ranger’s eyes immediately widened. Lips quivered. In that infinitesimal second between life and death, he yanked violently. A terrified animal in its death throes.

In the next second, Ranger Walker went limp.

Throwing his left arm around the ranger’s shoulders, Saviour grabbed him before he collapsed in an ungainly heap. Gently, he eased the uniformed man to the ground, propping him against the stone pier. Anyone seeing him from a distance would simply think he was sitting on the grassy lawn.

“You gave up the ghost too quickly, my friend.”

He readjusted the baseball cap on his head as he examined the expanding blood stain that encircled the metal obelisk protruding from Ranger Walker’s chest. When he bought the souvenir, he had intended it for a different victim.

“Oh, I almost forgot. . . . It’s seventy-two degrees Fahrenheit.” Saviour softly cackled, the joke lost on his dead companion.