“How so?”
“Well, maybe she’s wondering if she’s not enough for us. You know, the whole adopted child versus biological child thing.”
Amanda closed her eyes. “Oh, God, you’re right.” She pounded her thigh with a fist. “I hadn’t even thought about that. The poor girl. She’s resilient, but she’s also at that age. Of course those doubts have crossed her mind.” She exhaled. “That decides it, then. We’re going.” She shifted; Cam stayed silent, letting her talk it out and hopefully convince herself. “And it would be nice to visit those sites myself. Maybe they’ll help give me some perspective.” She stared into the fire. “After all, places like Newgrange really are all about the cycles of life. Birth, life, death, rebirth. They’re fertility shrines. Women have been giving birth, or not giving birth, for millions of years.” She lowered her voice and offered a sad but brave smile. “I’m not the first who had a miscarriage.”
Cam took her hand and kissed it, then looked her in the eye. “Wonderful. Thanks, honey.” He’d bring up the Brian stuff tomorrow. “And if you’re not having fun, we can take an earlier flight home.”
She rolled her eyes. “Not bloody likely. My guess is you saved the whiskey distillery for the last day to make sure I don’t bolt.”
Raja seemed to know everyone in the school, but Astarte appreciated that he made a point of leading her to a section of the gym where a cluster of her theater friends were sitting. Luckily they walked in during halftime rather than sauntering in together like a pair of Hollywood A-listers while everyone else was already seated.
The bleachers were crowded, and Astarte couldn’t tell whether his leg rested against hers because of the crush of humanity or because, well, he had a crush on her. She made no effort to edge away.
Normally she would have followed the action on the court. But for some reason tonight she was more interested in breathing in Raja’s body spray and feeling the heat of his thigh against hers and laughing a little too loud and long at his jokes.
She was surprised when the horn blew, signaling the end of the game. Had an hour really passed? He stood and smiled. “I promised your parents I would bring you straight home.” He swallowed as she nodded. “And since I plan to ask you out again, it is in my best interests to keep that promise.”
She met his smile and held his dark eyes. “Good.” She offered him her arm. “I might even say yes.”
Cam was preparing documents for a real estate closing on his laptop in front of the fire while Astarte showered after her date and Amanda did yoga on the floor of the living room next to him. He was glad to see Amanda in her yoga pants; normally a health nut, she had rarely exercised since losing the baby.
“Who gains ten pounds after a miscarriage?” she hissed. “At this rate you’ll have to buy me a bloody second seat on the plane.”
Cam smiled and reached over to pat her ass. “Everything looks fine to me.”
“Yeah, well, that’s because you haven’t had a very good look lately.” She arched an eyebrow. “Might I suggest it’s time to remedy that?”
He had been patient, waiting for her to come back to him, not sure what the protocol for intimacy was after a miscarriage. “You might,” he laughed.
She finished her bend and exhaled. “I’ll shower when I’m finished.”
“And I’ll try to wait patiently.”
Whenever they traveled abroad, Cam made a point of doing research to see if there were any Templar sites or history worth investigating. It was as good a way as any to kill time waiting for Amanda. He closed the real estate file and did a quick Google search. He surfed for ten minutes, surprised to learn that Ireland had such a rich Templar history. Apparently in the late twelfth century, when the Irish submitted to English rule, a number of Templars were given estates and land holdings in Ireland after returning from the Crusades, both as a reward and as a way for the English king to police his Irish subjects. Cam jotted some notes and was about to end the search when something caught his eye: Christopher Columbus had visited Galway, on the west coast of Ireland, in 1477, apparently to learn more about the legendary journeys of Brendan the Navigator, the Irish monk believed to have crossed the North Atlantic in the sixth century. While in Galway, Columbus visited a church with known ties to the Templars.
Cam sat back and thought about Columbus. His ships sported sails adorned with massive Templar crosses. He married the daughter of a nobleman with close ties to the Knights of Christ, the Portuguese successor order to the Templars. His signature incorporated the Hooked X symbol, believed to be the secret calling card of Templars who explored America in the 14th century. And just where did he get his maps to the New World? Cam stared at the fire. Was it possible Columbus was doing more in Galway than just listening to old seafaring legends?
Astarte’s parents had come up to say goodnight while she read in bed. Forty-five minutes later she heard their bedroom door close; Venus trotted in and jumped on her pillow. That usually meant they were fooling around. Which, come to think of it, hadn’t happened in a long time as far as she knew. Hopefully it meant her mom was feeling better. Astarte didn’t like to think about what her parents did in their bedroom too much. It was too personal, too intimate. Like being in the bathroom while someone else was on the toilet. But tonight, with the taste of Raja’s lips still on hers, her mind wandered.
He had kissed her after pulling into the driveway and before walking her to the door, moving in slowly and lingering briefly before recoiling as if her mouth had shocked his. She hoped it wasn’t her breath, hoped it was just his awkwardness or shyness. Or concern she might turn away. As if. She sighed. Either way, it was her first real kiss. Somehow the placement of his lips on hers had sent a warm, tingling feeling through her whole body, including between her legs. It was such a weird thing if you really thought about it, the whole kissing thing. Aliens visiting earth would probably laugh, the way humans laughed at dogs sniffing each other’s butts. And why should it affect her private parts in any way?
Venus’ ears perked as the bed creaked down the hall. Astarte heard a faint moan. Some kind of mysterious magic. And, apparently, it all started with a kiss.
Brian Heenan paced the cold, low-ceilinged room above the garage of his aunt’s ranch home in Westford. She hadn’t been thrilled to see him back in town, and he couldn’t stand her sanctimonious piety, so the secluded room with worn industrial carpet and a pair or fluorescent lights worked well for both of them. The only problem was the single bathroom. Apparently her shit didn’t smell, because she pointedly left him a candle and a book of matches with a note—Light candle after doing business—the first night he had stayed with her, even though she didn’t extend him the same courtesy. Did she really believe her piety made her odor-free? He had been tempted to take the candle and set her pink furry toilet seat cover on fire instead.
Actually, there was a second problem as well—no cable TV. Who in the 21st century didn’t have cable? His viewing options were limited to a few local channels, and even then only when the electric space heater wasn’t running. It was barely sixty degrees in the poorly-insulated room, so he threw on another sweater and a thick pair of socks before snapping the heating dial to the off position; frostbite or not, he’d go crazy without something to help him kill time. At least today he had been able to do something, to get out of this room and set their plan in motion. He flicked his tongue against his teeth. Now it all depended on Thorne…
The cell phone he had been given chimed in the pocket of his green pants. One of the reasons he so liked the pants was because of the oversized pockets. But mostly he wore them because he wanted to let people know he didn’t give a damn what anyone thought. He reached to remove the phone from his left pocket, cursed as the bandage on his hand caught, then finally wrestled it free with his right hand. He jabbed at the buttons, trying to figure out how to take the call. “Damn it, answer.” It had taken him more than a decade to find someone who took his sword seriously. Now, all his hard work, his planning, would be los
t because he couldn’t make the phone work? He finally poked the green phone icon. “Hello, hello?”
“Mr. Heenan.” A male voice, the words spoken slowly, as if trying to hide a foreign accent.
“Yes.” He sighed. All this cloak and dagger shit, taking orders from people he never actually got to see. “I’m here. Hello.”
“I am calling for a report.”
“I made contact with Thorne.” Brian described the encounter.
“And when will Mr. Thorne get back to you with his answer?”
“I’m guessing tomorrow.”
“We are running short on time, as you know.”
“Look, I’m planning on going to Ireland no matter what Thorne says. If I have to bump into him while I’m there, so be it.”
“But it would be better if he agrees to your company.”
“Yeah, well, it’s been a long time since someone willingly agreed to my company. But fuck ’em. Sometimes they’re stuck with me, like it or not.”
Cam startled awake in the middle of the night, a scream caught in his throat. He gasped, blinked away the images of his nightmare, and fought to control his breathing. Just a dream. He kicked the sheets away and rubbed his eyes, but the images remained burned into his pupils: An oversized bloody palm, pushing into his face and covering his nose and mouth, choking off the air as metallic-tasting blood seeped into his mouth and down his throat. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Amanda, but she either didn’t hear his struggles or didn’t care, as she calmly sliced vegetables with the swagger sword…
He rubbed his hand over his face. Not too hard to figure out the meaning of that dream.
Amanda turned and reached for him, sensing his unease. “You okay?” she murmured.
“Yeah. Just a bad dream.” But not random. Obviously his subconscious was struggling with the whole Brian thing.
She moved closer. “Tell me your dream and I’ll tell you what it means.”
He grinned at the familiar line. Astarte had played Golda in Fiddler on the Roof this past summer at theater camp. Even with a British brogue, Amanda’s Yiddish accent was pretty good. He sat up against the headboard. “Okay.” He did his best Tevya. “But don’t be frightened.”
Cam recounted how he and Brian had been best friends, how they had grown apart, how Brian had broken into his home. Then he described the nightmare. “But now Brian’s dying. And it sounds like he’s not exactly surrounded by people who care for him.”
She looked at him with wide green eyes, her blond hair splayed across the pillow. In the dim light, he could see the flush in her cheeks from their lovemaking. Or maybe that was just his imagination. She said, “Can’t understand why not. Doesn’t everyone like it when their friends steal from them?”
“It turns out Brian knows Monsignor Marcotte. His aunt is a nun at Saint Catherine’s. And it also turns out Brian is hell-bent on seeing Ireland before he dies. Marcotte knows about our trip, and wants me to spend some time with Brian while we’re there. Obviously, I was feeling guilty about not telling you about all this earlier tonight.”
She took his hand. “Not just guilty. Sounds like you’re a bit frightened of him as well.”
He nodded. “My sense is he’s lived a tough life. He’s been a bouncer, a bounty hunter, who knows what else? As a kid he was always the one looking for a fight. Sometimes it seemed like he didn’t even care if he won. So who knows what he’s capable of.”
“But on the other hand, he’s dying. And you want to do the right thing.”
“Exactly. Marcotte is like the good angel on my shoulder, telling me to carve out a few hours for him.”
“And who’s the devil on your other shoulder?”
“I guess that would be you.” He shifted. “I sort of expect you to say you don’t want him in Ireland with us.”
“I don’t. At least not in our hotel or touring with us or at dinner. But if you want to spend half a day with him while Astarte and I do something else, that’s fine. I mean, the guy’s dying.”
“That’s not very devilish of you.”
She slid closer and reached her hand beneath the sheets. Smiling, she drummed her fingers up his thigh. “I try to pick my spots.”
Bleary-eyed, Cam, Amanda and Astarte landed in Dublin on the morning after Christmas, Cam remaining hopeful that the European adventure would jar Amanda out of her malaise. They took a taxi to their hotel, where he had arranged for an early check-in.
Astarte wheeled her suitcase into the room and peered out the hotel window. “Hey, there’s a castle next door.”
Amanda replied in an animated tone. “Welcome to Europe. We’ve got castles like the States has strip malls.” She pushed the curtain aside. “That’s Dublin Castle. The tower dates to the 13th century, but the rest of it was rebuilt in the late 1600s after a fire.” She shrugged. “We’ll see many more impressive structures than this.”
“I think the Irish Templars were imprisoned in the castle after the Pope outlawed them in 1307,” Cam said. “Maybe in that very tower.” He checked his watch. Almost ten. He knew the best way to deal with the red-eye flight was to power through it rather than trying to catch up on missed sleep. “Let’s wash up and grab a quick breakfast. Then go explore.”
They spent the early part of the day walking the city, beginning with a tour of the castle and then ducking in and out of shops in the Temple Bar area. Cam and Amanda were more interested in the ancient Druid sites, but they couldn’t very well go to Ireland and skip Dublin.
They crossed the iconic Ha’penny Bridge and ate a quick lunch. They then waited for Brian in front of the Two Irish Ladies statue, which depicted a pair of middle-aged women with shopping bags on a bench. Cam and Brian planned to take in a soccer match at Aviva Stadium. Which, for Brian, no doubt would mean an excuse to start drinking early.
Brian and his green pants seemed to appear out of the shadows, his face suddenly a few feet in front of Cam’s. “I see you found The Hags with Bags.” Unshaven and wearing a tweed Irish flat cap, he grinned and motioned at the statue. “That’s what the locals call it.”
Cam could smell beer on his breath. He was glad they hadn’t chosen to meet at the Irish Spire, a 400-foot needle near the Liffey River which the locals had nicknamed The Stiffy by the Liffey. No doubt Brian would have had plenty to say about that.
“This must be your beautiful family,” Brian continued. He offered an exaggerated bow before handing a semi-wilted red rose to Amanda and another to Astarte. He studied Amanda, nodded in approval, and turned to Astarte. “And how old are you, my dear? Sixteen? Seventeen?”
“Thirteen,” she said, smiling, apparently not put off by his clumsy attempt at charm. “Nice to meet you.” Cam shook his head. How was it possible she wasn’t repulsed by him?
“Yes.” Brian leaned closer. “You as well.”
“Well, we should head over,” Brian said to Cam, his eyes lingering on Astarte. “The match begins in a half-hour.” He offered his arm to her. “Young lady, do you like football?” He leaned in again. “That’s what they call soccer here in Europe.”
Cam stepped between his daughter and his childhood friend. “They won’t be joining us,” he said, now relieved that Amanda had begged off. “You know, shopping calls.”
“Oh.” Brian’s shoulders dropped. “Okay then.”
Cam said his goodbyes and, a short train ride on the DART later, they arrived at the modern stadium’s front gate. Brian handed Cam a ticket, his left hand still bandaged. Cam pulled out his wallet.
“Forget it. I got it.”
“Thanks. But where you getting all the money for this trip?” Brian had told Cam he was broke.
Brian offered a crooked grin consisting of a half dozen stained upper teeth. “Credit cards. I’ve got, like, six of them. By the time they get around to chasing me, I’ll be dead in the ground. Fuck ’em. Greedy bastards.”
Brian surprised Cam by being a knowledgeable fan of the game. “I used to live in Salt Lake City. They ha
d a pro team. No shit, there’s nothing to do in that city. So I started going to games.” He flashed what passed for another smile. “Got friendly with some of the players and made a few bucks betting on the games.” He shook his head and laughed ruefully. “One time I slipped a laxative into our keeper’s breakfast shake, then bet on the other team. He never made it out of the locker room. I won five hundred bucks.”
Brian bought a couple of beers and changed the subject. “So, I found out my family is from County Limerick, on the west coast. I’m taking a bus out there tomorrow. Then heading up to Galway.”
Cam nodded. They were planning to be in Galway also in a few days.
They watched the match in silence for a few minutes. “You know,” Brian said, “as much as dying sucks, it’s sort of liberating. I want a beer for breakfast, why not? Or a Snickers bar for lunch. Or maybe I want to drop a grand on a hooker.” He shook his head. “But it also makes you think about shit you don’t usually think about. I mean, I’ve got no kids … at least that I know about. And nobody really gives a shit if I live or die.” He sighed. “So what’s it all about? The only time I really remember being happy is when we were kids, running around in the woods, playing ball, going sledding, whatever.” He shook his head. “But since then, nothing. Just a wasted fucking life.”
Cam wasn’t sure what to say. “You’re right, we had a lot of fun as kids. Those were carefree days.”
“Yeah, but you’ve made a life for yourself. A wife, a kid, a career, all that research of yours.” He angled his head. “You know, I read your book. Do you really think the Templars were here … I mean in America … before Columbus?”
“I do. At first it was just a theory, but all the evidence points to it. Every time we find another artifact or old map or old journal, it confirms our theory.” He paused to organize his thoughts. Explaining it aloud, to someone who had not lived it the way he and Amanda had, helped keep things clear and simple in his mind. “So here’s what we know.” He summarized the evidence, counting the points off on his fingers, describing a dozen artifacts and sites supporting his theory over the next five minutes.
The Swagger Sword Page 4