Templar's Code

CHAPTER 76

“Okay, here’s the plan.” Exhausted, Edie slumped against the balustrade before continuing. “We come back in the morning, when we’re rested, and search the park with fresh eyes, full bellies, and maybe even a metal detector. There’s a place in town that rents them by the day.” Having read every inscription on every statue, examined the fountains at close wet range, and walked the entire circumference of the park three times, they hadn’t found anything even remotely promising.

Caedmon, who showed no sign of calling retreat, grasped the concrete balustrade and moodily stared at the terrace below. Last man standing. Twilight fast approaching, the drummers and their colorful entourage had already left the premises and the park was now nearly deserted.

Feet aching from all the walking, Edie closed her eyes and concentrated on the serene tweeter of birdsong rather than the sonorous rumble of city buses.

“Serene and urban don’t usually go together in the same sentence, but I’ve always thought that Meridian Hill Park managed to strike the perfect balance.”

The chatty remark met with silence.

Edie glanced at the notebook she’d earlier set on top of the balustrade. The open page had a hand-drawn park design, the schematic inundated with checkmarks and dashes and circled Xs. “Look, Caedmon, I know that you’re frustrated, but hey, we fought the good fight. And in the words of my favorite Southern belle, ‘Tomorrow is another day.’ ”

“Spare me.”

“Fine,” she retorted, shrugging away his ill humor.

Trying to revive herself with a bit of forced blood flow, Edie vigorously shook her hands. When that didn’t work, she took a half dozen slow, deep breaths.

“Two hundred years ago, the view from the escarpment must have been spectacular.” Glancing at her tall, redheaded companion, she could easily envision the tall, redheaded Thomas Jefferson standing in the same spot as he cast his gaze along the seventy-seventh meridian, all the way to the Potomac River. “Wonder if Jefferson felt it.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The vibe. We’ve been here for hours. Surely, you’ve sensed the vibratory energy of the place.”

“Otherwise engaged, I did not sense the, er, vibe.”

“Before the incursion of white settlers, this was a sacred spot for Native Americans,” she remarked, choosing to ignore his sarcasm. “They used to gather here and—”

“Bang the drum all day?”

“Funny. But there is a reason why people are drawn to this place. And, quite frankly, I’m surprised you can’t feel it.”

“The ‘vibe,’ as you call it, is the energy generated by the ley line that runs beneath the seventy-seventh meridian,” Caedmon informed her sans sarcasm. “While it’s true that such energy can incite a positive response, as we saw earlier today with the drum circle, Dr. Franklin witnessed firsthand how that same occult energy could be perverted in a most demoralizing fashion. That’s why the wily bastard and his cunning minions hid the Emerald Tablet.” He angrily slapped the palm of his right hand against the top of the balustrade. “Damn them!”

“The Triad had no choice in the matter,” Edie argued, quick to come to her countrymen’s defense. “Nine Freemasons signed the Declaration of Independence. Who knows how many more signed the Constitution. And the namesake of this occult Wonderland was, yes, that’s right, a Freemason.” As if that weren’t enough, from where they stood, they could see the stepped pyramid that adorned the top of the House of the Temple and the Washington Monument beyond. One Egyptian-styled structure juxtaposed in front of the other. “You read The Book of Moses. Benjamin Franklin’s dark premonition had merit.”

“Still does, I’m afraid. The Emerald Tablet contains a secret worth killing for.”

A thought she preferred not thinking about. At least not at the moment. “The irony is that the fellas at the House of the Temple have no idea the Emerald Tablet is hidden in their own backyard.”

“Yes, bloody brilliant of the Triad,” Caedmon muttered, back to being crotchety.

A strained silence ensued.

Deciding the time had come to acknowledge the elephant in the park, Edie said, “You’re not going to like hearing this, but it’s entirely possible that the Triad decided not to leave the last signpost. Or if there was one, it was intentionally removed. Someone went to a lot of trouble to chisel out the inscription on the Jefferson Pier. It could be that at some point in time the Freemasons got too close for—Caedmon, are you all right?”

Cheeks flushed red, knuckles drained white, Caedmon stood trembling. Then, to her utter surprise, he grinned from ear to ear.

“I just found the bloody signpost.”