David Morrell - Covenant Of The Flame

by Covenant Of The Flame(lit)

  The woman had curlers in her hair and looked annoyed that she'd been interrupted. Inside the house, a TV gameshow host announced outstanding prizes, his audience applauding.

  'Really. My apologies,' the man said. He wore the brown uniform of a UPS delivery man. When he turned to carry the package back to his truck, he heard the woman slam the door behind him.

  At the truck, he climbed behind the steering wheel and turned to the five men in back. They had their handguns ready and ignored him, their concentration focused toward the rear window and the taxi pulling away from the Porsche parked in front of a house in the middle of the next block. The tall, rugged detective stood on the sidewalk for a moment, then disappeared past trees and bushes, approaching the house.

  'Well, this might be another false rendezvous, but it's my guess that the bait led us to the quarry,' the solemn man said and closed his door. 'Now all we have to do is wait for the vermin.'

  'Assuming they followed him as well. But we didn't see any sign of them,' one of the men in the back said.

  'Just as we were careful and hope that they didn't see any sign of us,' the man in front said. 'We know, however, that their only chance to find the woman is to follow the detective.'

  In back, someone murmured, 'I'll feel more confident when our other unit shows up.'

  The man in front nodded. 'And even more confident when the enforcers arrive. I called our man at the airport. He'll instruct them where we've gone.'

  Another man in back asked, 'How long will they take to-?'

  Their plane lands in half an hour,' the man in front said. 'Figure another twenty minutes after that. We've got a car waiting to bring the enforcers.'

  'In which case, we just have to hope that the vermin don't make their move before. Wait a moment. I see a car.'

  The gunmen stared out the rear window.

  'It isn't our other unit,' one of them breathed.

  The man in front concentrated. Through the rear window, he saw a blue Toyota round the corner, approaching. A thirtyish man drove, an attractive woman beside him.

  'Do you think it might be-?'

  They probably live in the neighborhood. But if they are the vermin, they've made a mistake.' The man in front drew his pistol. 'Six against two. They're outnumbered.'

  The car passed the truck's back window, no longer in sight. As the solemn man turned toward his sideview mirror to watch the car continue forward, he flinched.

  The woman hurled a canister through his open window.

  The canister hissed.

  The car kept driving down the street.

  'No!' the solemn man screamed.

  At once he shuddered and slumped. Invisible nerve gas filled the truck. The men behind him scrambled to open the back door.

  Too late. As the gas touched their skin, they convulsed, voided their bowels, vomited, and lay still.

  FIFTEEN

  'But what about the photograph of the books?' Tess demanded. 'Do their titles mean anything to-?'

  Priscilla removed a magnifying glass from a drawer in the desk and held it over the photograph. 'Eleanor of Aquitaine. The Art of Courtly Love.'

  'The one in Spanish means The Dove's Neck Ring,' Tess said.

  'I know. It's another treatise on courtly love. Eleventh century as I recall.'

  Tess blinked in surprise. 'You can't imagine the trouble I went through to learn that, and you just.'

  'Hey, it's my specialty, remember.' Priscilla's wrinkled lips formed a modest smile. 'These titles are all related. It's just like with the sculpture. Once you understand the background, everything's clear. Eleanor was the Queen of France during the century before the fall of Montsegur. Aquitaine, where Eleanor came from, was in southwestern France. She established - and her daughter, Marie de France, continued to maintain - a royal court in that region.'

  Tess nodded, having learned that much when she'd read the introduction to The Dove's Neck Ring the previous night at her mother's home, just before the fire had.!

  With a shudder, grieving, she forced herself not to interrupt.

  'Southwestern France,' Priscilla emphasized. 'Where Mithraism resurfaced, in the form of the Albigensian heresy, shortly after Eleanor's death. Eleanor encouraged the notion of courtly love, a strict set of rules that idealized the relationship between men and women. Physical union wasn't permitted until after a stringent code of overly polite behavior was obeyed. The Albigensians adapted courtly love for their own purposes. To them, after all, the good that Mithras fought for was spiritual. The evil of the opposing god was physical, belonging to the world and the flesh. For example, Albigensians were vegetarians, allowing only the purest of foods to enter their bodies.'

  'My friend was a vegetarian.' Tess felt startled.

  'Of course. And I imagine he didn't drink alcohol.'

  'Right,' Tess said.

  'And he exercised rigorously.'

  'Yes!'

  'He needed to deny and control his flesh,' Priscilla said. 'It's what I'd expect from someone who believed in Mithras. But the Albigensians also believed that sex was impure, that carnal desires were one of the ways that the evil god tempted them. So they abstained, except for rare occasions, allowing intercourse only for the exclusive purpose of conceiving children. A necessary grudging surrender to the flesh. Otherwise their community would have dwindled and died. With that rare exception, in the place of sexual relations, they substituted highly formal, immensely polite social relations that they borrowed from the concept of courtly love.'

  'My friend insisted that we could never be lovers, never have sex,' Tess said. 'He claimed he had certain obligations he had to follow. The most we could ever have was what he called a platonic relationship.'

  'Of course.' Priscilla shrugged. 'Plato. Another of the books on the shelf in this photograph. According to Plato, the physical world is insubstantial. A higher level should be our goal. You see how it all comes together?'

  'But what about.?'

  The doorbell rang. Tess had become so absorbed by the conversation that the sudden disturbance made her flinch. At once she realized.

  It must be -

  Priscilla jerked up her head, anticipating. 'I imagine that's your other friend. The one you phoned from here a while ago. The man who expected you to meet him near the airport.'

  Tess stared toward the exit from the study. 'God, I hope. Priscilla. Professor Harding. I have to explain. My friend's a.'

  'No need to explain,' Professor Harding said. 'Any friend of yours is welcome here.'

  'But you have to understand! He's not just a friend. He's-'

  Again the doorbell rang.

  '-a policeman. A detective from New York's Missing Persons.' Tess reached inside her canvas purse. 'But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it's someone else! What if it's-?' She withdrew the handgun from the purse.

  Priscilla and Professor Harding blanched at the sight of it.

  Grasping the trigger, Tess ordered, 'Hide in that closet. Don't make a sound. If it's them and they kill me, if they come in here and take the photographs, they might be satisfied! They might not search the house! They might not find-!'

  The doorbell rang a third time.

  'I shouldn't have come here! I hope I haven't-!' Tess couldn't wait any longer. 'Pray!'

  She lunged from the study, assumed the stance her father had taught her, aimed her handgun down the hallway toward the front door, and said a silent prayer of thanks when she saw Craig's tense, confused face through the window in the door.

  As he pressed the bell yet again, Tess hurried along the hallway, yanked the door open, and tugged him inside, thrusting her arms around him. 'I've never been so glad to see anyone in my life.'

  With her left hand, she slammed the door shut behind them, leaned past him to lock it, and hugged him even harder.

  'Ouch!' Craig said. 'I hope that pistol isn't cocked! You're pressing its handle against my back!'

  'Oh.' Tess lowered the pistol. I'm sorry! I didn't mean to-'

  War
y, Craig glanced at the pistol. 'Good, it isn't cocked. Where did you get that? Do you know how to use it?'

  'Yes. A very long story. Craig, I've learned so much! I've got so much to tell you!'

  'And I want to hear it, believe me.' Craig hugged her in return. 'I've been so damned worried about you. I-'

  Tess felt Craig's reassuring arms around her. She felt her breasts against his chest, her nipples unexpectedly tingling. The warmth surging through her was equally unexpected. Responding to an irresistible impulse, she kissed him. In the midst of fear, the pleasure she received from Craig's embrace was like.

  She'd been meant to be in his arms.

  Craig's lips against hers.

  Hers against his.

  From the moment they'd met.

  For now.

  For always.

  Abruptly Tess felt suffocated. Pushing away, sliding her hands from Craig's back, around his broad shoulders, toward his firm chest, she peered upward, straining to catch her breath. She studied his strong-boned, hard-edged features, which suddenly struck her as being handsome, and told herself, Screw love at first sight. Second sight is better. It gives you a chance to think, to get your Priorities straight. Passion is fine. But devotion and understanding are better.

  This man - whatever mistakes he made in his marriage - never mind what happened before I met him - is decent and kind. He cares for me. He's willing to risk his life to help me.

  He doesn't just love me. He likes me.

  Someone discreetly cleared a throat behind them.

  Turning, Tess saw Priscilla and Professor Harding standing selfconsciously in the hallway near the door from the study.

  'I'm sorry for interrupting,' Professor Harding said, 'but.'

  'No need to feel sorry.' Tess smiled. 'And we don't have to worry.'

  'I gathered that,' Priscilla said, her wrinkled eyes crinkling with amusement, 'from the way you greeted him.'

  Tess blushed. This is my friend. Lieutenant Craig. His first name's. You know,' she told Craig, 'you never mentioned it to me. But on your answering machine, I heard.'

  'It's Bill.' Craig walked down the hallway, extending his hand. 'Bill Craig. If you're friends of Tess.'

  'Oh, definitely,' Tess said.

  'Then I'm very pleased to meet you.' Craig shook hands with them.

  'Mr and Mrs Harding,' Tess said. They're both professors.'

  'Please, Tess, I told you no formalities.' Priscilla gave her first name to Craig. 'And this is Richard, my husband. And don't you dare refer to either of us as professor.'

  Craig chuckled. 'I can already see that we're going to get along.' His expression sobered. 'But Priscilla. Richard. we have things to discuss. Important things. And time's against us. So why don't you bring me up to speed? What are you doing here, Tess? What's going on?'

  Priscilla gestured. 'Come into the study.'

  'And perhaps you'd like some tea,' Professor Harding said.

  'Richard, for heaven's sake, the lieutenant came here to help Tess, not to be offered tea.'

  'Actually I could use a cup,' Craig said. 'My mouth's dry from being on the plane.'

  They entered the study.

  For the next fifteen minutes, while Craig politely sipped tea, he listened impatiently to what Tess. and then Priscilla. and on occasion, Richard. told him.

  When they finished, Craig set down his teacup. 'If I told this to my captain, he'd think you were, to put it politely, letting your imaginations get carried away. But never mind, I believe - because I saw the statue. And Joseph Martin's dead. And Tess, your mother's dead.' He shook his head in commiseration. 'And Brian Hamilton's dead. And you're in danger. All because of-'

  'Something that happened more than seven hundred years ago,' Priscilla said.

  'What else haven't you talked about?' Craig asked.

  'The titles of the books on the shelf in Joseph Martin's bedroom,' Priscilla said. 'Before you rang the doorbell, I was about to explain that The Consolation of Philosophy, a sixth-century treatise written by an imprisoned Roman nobleman, describes the Wheel of Fortune.'

  Craig shook his head, confused.

  'An image for the ups and downs of success and failure. The book analyses and condemns the physical values - wealth, power, and fame - by which people addicted to worldly success are tempted and ultimately disappointed. Because physical values are temporary and insubstantial. It's exactly the type of book that someone who believed in the spiritual values of Mithras would find appealing.'

  'Okay.' Craig frowned. 'But why did Joseph Martin keep a copy of the Bible? That doesn't fit. From what you've told me, Mithraism doesn't believe in Christianity.'

  True,' Priscilla said. Their theologies are different, but both religions share similar rites, and both reject worldly goals. For Joseph to read the Bible would be comparable to a Christian reading about Zen Buddhism, for example, because its mystical basis was different from but could be applied to his own religion.'

  'Anyway, Joseph didn't read the entire Bible,' Tess said. 'He ripped out most of the pages, except for the editor's introduction and the sections written by John. I don't understand. Why the preference for John?'

  Priscilla raised her shoulders. 'Because John's sections in the Bible most closely approximate the teachings of Mithraism. Here.' She held her magnifying glass over a photograph that showed a page and a passage that Joseph Martin had underlined in one of John's Epistles. 'Love not the world. If any man love the world, the Father is not in him. For all that is in the world - the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of the world - is not of the Father but is of the world. And the world passeth away, and the lust of it, but he that doeth the will of God abideth forever. Does that sound familiar?'

  Tess nodded soberly. Take away the reference to the Father, substitute Mithras, and it matches everything you've told me.'

  'But there's something I don't understand,' Craig said. 'Why the Scofield edition of the Bible? Is that significant?'

  'Oh, very much,' Priscilla said. 'When Ronald Reagan was president, most of America's foreign policy was based on Scofield's interpretation of the Bible.' She studied another photograph. 'Here's an underlined section from Scofield's introduction. The Bible documents the beginning of human history and its end.' Priscilla glanced up. The climax of the Bible, John's Book of Revelations, describes the end of the world. Ronald Reagan believed that the end - the Apocalypse - was about to occur, that a cosmic battle between good and evil, God and Satan, was about to take place. Remember all that business about the Soviets being the Evil Empire? Reagan also believed that in the cosmic battle, goodness would triumph. I suspect that's why he encouraged confrontation with the Soviets, to begin Armageddon, with the total confidence that the United States - in his opinion, the only good - would triumph.'

  'Madness,' Craig said.

  'But also very much like Mithraism, provided you think of Satan as an evil god and not a fallen angel,' Priscilla said. 'In that respect, it's not at all surprising that Joseph Martin kept an abbreviated version of this Bible near his bedside.'

  'Keep going,' Craig said. The other books I saw on Joseph Martin's shelf. The Millennium. The Last Days of the Planet Earth:

  Priscilla set down the magnifying glass. 'Obviously, Joseph Martin was obsessed by the impending year two thousand. Each millennium is a traditional time of crisis, every thousand years a time of fear, an apprehension that the world will disintegrate.'

  'And this time,' Professor Harding said, 'given the poisons that wither my lilies, the prediction might not be wrong. The Last Days of the Planet Earth! I thank the Lord I'll be dead before that happens.'

  'Richard, if you die before me, I'll never forgive you,' Priscilla said.

  Craig, despite his distress, couldn't help smiling. 'I wish my former marriage had been as good as yours.'

  'We survive,' Priscilla said.

  'Yes,' Craig said. 'Survival.' He put his hand on Tess's shoulder.

  Electricity jumped, making her t
ingle.

  Craig stood. 'I'd better phone the Alexandria police chief. He and I will get you to a safe house, Tess. Richard and Priscilla, you'll be out of this. In no danger.'

  'I hope,' Tess said.

  'The nearest phone is in the kitchen.' Professor Harding pointed. 'To the left. Down the hallway.'

  With fondness, Tess watched Craig start to leave.

  But at once Craig hesitated and swung back, frowning. 'There's one thing I still don't understand. Nothing you've said explains it. I'm really bugged by. Tess, if Joseph Martin believed in Mithras, and if the people trying to kill you believe in Mithras, why did they kill him?'