by C. M. Palov
A hope shared by so many.
Save the world. Save the earth. Save the planet.
The desperate cry of the anguished souls who refused to acknowledge that the Creation was flawed. Had always been flawed. Defective. One had only to turn on the cable news channel to ascertain that the hate mongers, the dictators, and the vicious thugs dominated global politics. Always threatening to pull the trigger. Start a war. Drop the bomb. It was now as it was in the beginning.
Mercurius tore his gaze away from the framed photographs. He refused to countenance such a world. A pragmatic man, he could reach but one conclusion: This world was not worth saving.
CHAPTER 21
“The Templars referred to the Holy Land as ‘Outremer,’ meaning ‘the land beyond the sea.’ A fitting name, as well, for this far-flung Rhode Island promontory.” As he spoke, Caedmon stared at the two-story stone tower on the other side of the wrought-iron enclosure, stunned anew, the medieval circular structure out of time and out of place.
“After getting a look at this, it’s no wonder Jason Lovett was so convinced the Knights Templar set up shop in the New World.” Standing beside him, her dark curly hair blowing in the chill bay breeze, Edie shot several digital photos. “Too bad the roof and flooring have rotted away. I bet it was something to see in its heyday.”
“Indeed.” Situated in the middle of a small Newport park, flanked by nineteenth-century mansions, the rubble-work masonry struck a surreal note. Approximately twenty-six feet in diameter and an equal measure in height, the structure was supported by eight Romanesque arches resting upon eight stone pillars. Were it not for the fact that the Italian explorer Giovanni da Verrazano mentioned the circular tower in his 1524 ship’s log, he would have dismissed the unusual structure as a Victorian folly. A wealthy man’s attempt at re-creating an idealized medieval edifice. “While there’s no conclusive evidence that the tower was built by the Templars, the design is highly suggestive. As you no doubt know, the circle beautifully illustrates the concept of infinity.”
“It’s most definitely a medieval-style structure, although”—Edie’s brow furrowed—“Lovett maintained that the Templars established their colony not on the coast but inland at Arcadia.”
“This was, more than likely, a watchtower to signal ships in the bay.”
“Which raises an interesting point. Did the Templars travel back and forth between the New World and the Old?”
“It’s quite possible that there was sea travel between Rhode Island and, say, Scotland. In the aftermath of the auto-da-fé, a contingent of Templars escaped to the Highlands, the Scots sympathetic to their cause. As Oscar Wilde once famously quipped, ‘Many people discovered America before Columbus, but most of them had the good sense to keep quiet about it.’”
“I’ll say it once, way cool. It certainly warrants a chapter in your next book.” Edie scanned the photos on the camera’s display screen. “Love to take some snaps at sunset.”
“Time doesn’t permit a lengthy excursion.” Caedmon glanced at his wristwatch. A few minutes shy of three, they had just enough time to drive to Jason Lovett’s cottage in Arcadia.
“Okay, scoutmaster, I’m ready to hit the road.” Playfully winking, she stuffed the digital camera into its case.
As they strolled back to the rental car parked at the curb, Caedmon slung a companionable arm around Edie’s shoulders. Unable to resist, he turned his head and took one last look at the stone tower that so convincingly mocked the history books.
“I suppose the great unknown at its most dangerous was a safer bet than the Inquisition on its best day,” Edie remarked, correctly deducing his thoughts. “And what better place for the Templars to hide themselves and their treasure trove than on an undiscovered continent that nobody in the early fourteenth century even knew existed.”
Key in hand, Caedmon unlocked the front passenger door on the rental car. “Until they were discovered by Verrazano and the Knights of Malta. By the sixteenth century, the Age of Exploration was in full swing, the kingdoms of the Old World all vying for territory in the New. Only a matter of time before someone discovered the Templars’ secret hideaway.”
“Doomed from the get-go.” Pulling aside her long woolen skirt, Edie eased into the sedan’s front seat.
A few moments later, dark clouds scudding across a lackluster gray sky, they drove away from what had to be the most unusual man-made structure in America. While not proof positive that the Knights Templar took refuge in the New World, it lent a certain credibility to Jason Lovett’s outrageous claim.
“Off to the land of Yawgoog,” Edie said cheerily. “Where, hopefully, we will find riches beyond compare.”
Uncertain what they would find at the dead archaeologist’s cottage, Caedmon made no reply. Only yesterday Jason Lovett’s dream ended in a bloody nightmare. They were treading a much safer path, the killer unaware that they left Washington. After the unexpected break-in, they’d packed their bags and spent the night in a downtown hotel.
Approaching the toll bridge that spanned between Newport and Conanicut Island, Caedmon gestured to the bay in the near distance. “This is the same sight that greeted the Templars when they first sailed into these waters.”
“Sans the oil tanker.” Edie twisted in her seat, softly grunting. The subcompact Toyota sedan afforded a modicum of comfort. “There’s something that’s been bothering me. . . . According to the legends, Yawgoog had ‘innumerable’ children, but I thought the Templars were celibate.”
He maneuvered the Yaris behind a dinged and dented pickup truck hauling a plastic-covered mattress, the unwieldy object lightly bouncing in the cargo hold. “Once they were ex-communicated, the Templars were no longer bound by their vow of chastity.”
“Free to fornicate at will,” she retorted with a grin. The woman was no prude. “Although the only available females on Rhode Island were Narragansett.”
“The Templars may well have taken Indian wives. Or perhaps they warmed their beds with Scottish lasses.”
“The old Seven Brides for Seven Brothers.”
“Without female mates, their secret colony would have been short-lived to say the—” He glanced into the rearview mirror. An old habit ingrained from the years at MI5, an enemy’s most common avenue of approach would be from the rear. “Strap yourself into the seat belt.”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“Unless I’m greatly mistaken, we’re being shadowed.” For the last several minutes he’d been keeping an eye on the black Audi following in their wake, the vehicle keeping perfect pace. Not too close to be noticeable. Not so far as to lose sight of them.
Craning her neck, Edie peered out the back window.
“The black Audi with the tinted windows,” he said. “Turn back around. We don’t want the driver to know that we’re on to him.”
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking, that it’s Rico Suave behind the wheel?” Although she appeared outwardly calm, he detected a note of panic in her voice.
“We’re of like mind.” Pulling into the left lane, he accelerated past the pickup truck. He then passed four more vehicles, tucking in behind a mustard-yellow SUV. As expected, the Audi stayed put, the driver careful not to show his hand. On a heavily congested expansion bridge, he could follow at a distance, secure in the knowledge that they had nowhere to run.
“Once we get off this bridge, you do plan on losing him, don’t you?”
Suspecting that would be a tricky feat to manage on an unfamiliar roadway, he made no reply. Instead, keeping one hand on the wheel, he rummaged in his anorak pocket for two crumpled bills to pay the toll. Up ahead, a neat line of booths materialized on the horizon, two lanes of traffic suddenly branching into six. He veered away from the garish SUV, heading for the tollbooth on the far left.
Beside him, Edie groaned, having spotted the Audi in her side-view mirror.
“Guess who just broke away from the pack.”
“Remain calm.”
Slowing th
e Yaris to a crawl, he made his way to the tollbooth, coming to a complete stop once they were abreast of the uniformed attendant. He shoved his arm through the open window, handing two dollars to the overly plump female. About to put his foot back on the gas pedal, he instead leaned his head out the window.
“May I please have a receipt?”
“Are you crazy?” Edie hissed. “He’s right behind us!”
“As I am well aware.” Turning away from his agitated passenger, he directed his attention to the moonfaced attendant. “Thank you so much.”
Slowly, in no apparent hurry to leave the toll plaza, he drove away from the booth, remaining in the extreme left lane. Up ahead, the six lanes funneled back into two. Whereupon he had a choice: continue straight onto the high-speed expressway or take the far-right exit.
“Oh, I get it. You don’t want Rico to know that we know that he’s right behind us.”
He glanced into the rearview mirror, the driver of the Audi in the process of handing a bill to the attendant. “Let’s hope the bastard falls for the charade because”—he slammed his foot onto the accelerator, cutting in front of a boxy minivan, then a sporty red coupe, and finally the mattress-laden pickup—“we’re taking the next exit.”
The sudden burst of fuel catapulted the Yaris to forty miles per hour, tires squealing as he jerked the steering wheel to the right, barely managing to stay on the roadway as they veered onto the sharply curved exit ramp. According to the green sign that they’d just passed under, they were headed toward Jamestown, a seaside village on the southern end of the island. He sped through the stop sign at the end of the exit ramp.
Edie twisted in her seat to peer out the back window. “Punch it! Pedal to the metal! He’s right behind us!”
“Damn! The bastard has quick reflexes,” he muttered, remembering how the beautiful young man bested him at the House of the Temple. Their pursuer, driving a far more powerful vehicle, had no difficulty keeping pace.
He glanced at the speedometer: 75 mph. A safe enough speed on an expressway. A more precarious speed on a narrow two-lane coastal byway.
“Any idea how fast this old girl will go?”
Staring at the wobbling speedometer—as though by such action she could telepathically dictate a speedier progression—Edie groaned, “Not fast enough.”
He spared another glance into the rearview mirror, wondering how long they could maintain this high-speed chase. “Can you—Shag it!” he exclaimed a half second later when, just ahead of them, a truck suddenly veered onto the roadway from a side street. Still cursing, he slammed on the brakes, the Yaris fishtailing from side to side. A short ton broom sweeping the roadway clear of debris.
Beside him, Edie did a fair imitation of a crash dummy, her upper body propelled forward before the constraints of the nylon shoulder harness jerked her back into place.
No time to inquire how she fared, he stomped down on the accelerator as he swerved into the opposite lane, entreating the powers that be to grant them safe passage. At seventy-five miles per hour, they’d never survive a head-on smashup.
“Godspeed is suddenly taking on a whole new meaning,” Edie rasped, her right hand cinched around the door handle, the left clutching the armrest.
Safely passing the truck, he peered into the rearview mirror, verifying what he already suspected; that the Audi had also successfully navigated around the slow-moving obstacle.
“It appears that we’re about to have an unexpected visitor,” he informed Edie, the Audi zooming toward them, still in the left lane. He wound down the driver’s-side window. “Quick! Hand me your mobile phone!”
“By the time the state troopers get here, we’ll be roadside fatalities. In case you haven’t noticed, his is bigger. Meaning he can easily ram us off the road.”
“Just hand me the blasted mobile!” he impolitely ordered, thinking Edie’s truculence strangely misplaced.
She passed her iPhone just as the Audi came parallel to them. Snatching the device in his right hand, he held it like he would a pistol. Then, his left arm rigidly positioned at a ninety-degree angle from his body—hopefully obscuring the fact that he wielded a mobile phone rather than a loaded weapon—he took aim at the parallel vehicle.
The illusion worked, the driver of the Audi hitting the brakes as he repositioned his vehicle directly behind them.
Admittedly relieved, he returned the iPhone.
Beside him, Edie insistently jabbed her finger in the air. “Look! Up ahead on the right! It’s a golf course!”
“Perfect.” He abruptly swerved to the right, the back end of the Yaris fanning, first to the left, then to the right, as they made the turn. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he watched as the sleek Audi followed on their heels.
Passing the clubhouse, he headed straight for the green turf.
Mercifully, the course was closed for the season, the links deserted. Overhead an osprey and an eagle glided through the air, casting their shadows onto the green-way, the two birds of prey vying for the same quarry.
“Oh God! He’s gaining on us!” Edie worriedly exclaimed as they sped along the fairway.
Caedmon peered into his side mirror. Repeating the move he’d made on the two-lane highway, the Audi pulled up beside them. This time, however, the driver used the much sturdier vehicle like a battering ram.
The Yaris shook on its flimsy metal frame, knocked in the direction of the towering pines that rimmed the fairway.
Caedmon slammed on the brakes. Rubber tires dug into the thick grass, leaving pulpy furrows in its wake.
Just as he hoped, the Audi sped ahead of them, the driver, finally, thrown off his stride by the unexpected maneuver. Caedmon jammed his foot on the gas pedal. The fourteen-inch tires spun on the turf before they were spasmodically propelled forward.
They crested a green rise.
Only to be met by a glassy pond on the opposite bank.
“Bugger!” Beginning to think the golf course a less-than-inspired idea, he barely managed to escape the watery snare.
“The Audi is right behind us!” Edie informed him.
“These nine holes may prove our undoing. Brace for impact,” he ordered, sighting an ominous granite outcropping on the edge of the green.
To Caedmon’s surprise, his copilot did the exact opposite, releasing the clasp on her seat belt. Twisting in her seat, Edie snatched an overnight bag from the foot well.
He heard the metallic rrrhh of a zipper.
“Come on! Come on!” she muttered, frantically rummaging through the duffel. “There’s got to be something in here that I can—Yes!” She unfurled a folded bath towel. Then she unwound the passenger’s-side window and heaved her upper body through the opening.
“What in God’s name are you doing?”
His shouted question went unanswered. A half second later, Edie released the oversized terry-cloth towel.
Like the eagle and osprey that soared overhead, the snowy white towel glided through the air. Only to crash land directly onto the Audi’s windshield. Completely obscuring the driver’s vision.
The Audi zigged. Then zagged. A moment later, the luxury sedan cruised over a grassy incline. Airborne, the vehicle landed with what had to be a bone-jarring thud. Right into a sand trap.
Caedmon brought the Yaris to a full stop, he and Edie watching as the driver of the Audi, his upper body hampered by a white air bag, tried to extricate his vehicle from the pit. The powerful engine roared, but the Audi wouldn’t budge, rubber tires impotently spinning in the sand.
“Yeah, boy!” Edie whooped.
More relieved than exuberant, Caedmon wasted no time driving back toward the clubhouse. “That should buy us some time.”
Although not a large supply.
CHAPTER 22
Caedmon opened the passenger car door. “We mustn’t tarry.”
“I know. Just a quick sneak and peek to find Lovett’s research notes. Assuming we can figure out what aqua sanctus means.” As she exited the Yaris, Ed
ie pulled the two sides of her jean jacket closer together. Though it was early spring, there was a chill in the air. “We left the golf course about an hour ago and I’m guessing it’ll take at least that long for Rico Suave to get towed out of the sand pit.”
“Meaning we have a very narrow window.”
Edie assessed the one-story 1950s cottage set some fifty yards from the main road. Situated in the midst of a towering pine grove, it looked ridiculously small. One menacing pine, heavy with sap, was bowed in a gravity-defying arch, it limbs brazenly brushing against the asphalt shingle roof. In addition to the cottage, there were a half dozen derelict trailers scattered across the grove.
“According to the chap at the local petrol station, this is Lovett’s rental cottage,” Caedmon remarked.
As they walked along the dirt lane that served as a driveway, Edie cast a sideways glance at the nearest trailer. A rickety wood deck had been added to the front of the turquoise-blue single-wide. Overtop of that hung a faded black-and-white-striped canvas awning. She knew without being told that the interior boasted threadbare wall-to-wall carpet, chipped Formica countertops, and jalousie windows that had long since rusted shut. She knew this because when she was six years old, she and her mother lived in a trailer park outside Orlando, Florida. Her mother, Melissa, manned a ticket booth at Disney World and would frequently leave Edie unattended, unable to afford a baby-sitter. Since her only companion was a thirteen-inch-screen TV, Edie knew all the plotlines and all the characters on the daytime dramas. Given the pendulum extremes of her own life, Sesame Street bored her to tears.
Unbidden, old memories suddenly flashed across her mind’s eye. Her mother, sprawled on the trailer floor, dead from a heroin overdose, the needle still stuck in her arm. The song “Sweet Melissa” playing on the tape recorder.
Don’t leave me, Mommy. Please don’t leave me.