“Normally, I’d say, ‘Way cool,’ but I’ve got a funny feeling this ground-penetrating radar is going to make or break us.”
Caedmon made no reply, having reached the same conclusion.
Worried about their immediate future, he wordlessly stared at Edie. At the curls covered in a bridal veil of morning mist. At the mottled purple bruise on her right cheek. He thought that she resembled nothing so much as a bedraggled street urchin. Something straight out of Dickens. Brave and vulnerable in the face of danger.
“I’ve got something!” Braxton suddenly hollered.
At hearing that, Caedmon inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. “I’d say we’re bang on target.” Then, his interest getting the better of him, he called out, “May I have a look?”
When MacFarlane nodded his assent, Harliss happily did the honors of escorting them over to the laptop computer, prodding them forward with a negligently held machine gun pointed at their backs.
“I’m getting a whole bunch of little unidentified objects,” Braxton said, pointing to the computer screen.
Caedmon studied the monitor; the computer-generated image resembling nothing so much as a black-and-white photograph of the moon. And the dark side of the moon at that.
He tapped his finger at several small spots on the computer screen. “I believe these are miscellaneous stones left hither and yon when the nunnery was destroyed. But this looks promising,” he said, pointing to what appeared to be a large, solid object buried some two meters below the surface.
“Whatever it is, it’s a big mother. Sir, you want me to dig it up?”
A definite gleam in his eyes, MacFarlane nodded.
Moments later, pickax in hand, the behemoth began swinging like a brigand in search of gold doubloons, no thought given whatsoever to properly excavating the site, of carefully slicing away section by section in order to recover any historic artifacts that might be nestled in the soil. For these men, there was only one artifact of any import.
While Braxton attacked with his pickax, Sanchez assisted with a hand shovel, the two men making fast work of it. Donning a pair of knee pads, MacFarlane perched himself on the edge of the hole. His gaze intent, he peered into the deepening chasm, putting Caedmon in mind of a large bird of prey about to swoop upon its quarry.
Overhead the clouds bumped and collided, fusing together and releasing a cold drizzle on their uncovered heads. The light sprinkling soaked MacFarlane’s gray hair, the spiky tufts clinging to his head like a skullcap. Seen in profile, he resembled a fierce Celtic warrior come to life. Although Caedmon suspected the reality was far worse than anything produced by that warlike race of men.
“Yeah, boy! We got it!” Braxton jubilantly shouted.
Sanchez heaved himself out of the hole and rushed over to one of the canvas equipment bags, retrieving a length of rope. He tossed the coiled length at his digging partner.
Edie slipped her hand into his. “I can’t believe it . . . they actually found it,” she whispered.
As Sanchez and Braxton pulled their find to the surface, Caedmon held his breath, about to set his gaze on the most sought-after relic in the history of mankind.
It could have been mine, he jealously thought. Had I but played the game differently.
After several loud grunts and a muttered curse, the box was hauled out of the hole.
Its appearance was met with a stunned silence.
“I don’t think it’s made of gold,” Edie said, garnering a damning glare from Stanford MacFarlane.
“No, it isn’t made of gold,” Caedmon concurred. “A lesser metal. Bronze perhaps. Difficult to say what’s under all the grime.” Moreover, the box was secured on the outside with a large lock for which there was no key.
Braxton ran the back of his hand over his dirt-smudged brow, still panting from his labors. “Maybe the Ark is inside.”
“Open it,” MacFarlane ordered.
With one strong-armed swing of the pickax, the behemoth broke the lock.
His jaw tightly clenched, his gaze resolute, MacFarlane threw back the lid. Everyone stared wide-eyed at the uncovered treasure trove.
Everyone save for Stanford MacFarlane.
“What are those?” MacFarlane pointed an accusing finger at the golden objects that filled the box.
Extending a hand, Caedmon lifted a finely wrought candle-stick out of the chest. Next, he examined a bejeweled gold chalice.
“These are the altar vessels from the destroyed church,” he said, running his hand over an exquisitely fashioned paten. “No doubt the nuns had advance warning that the king’s men were en route to the priory. I imagine they hid these vessels so they wouldn’t be confiscated.” He gestured to the gold objects. “Not exactly a king’s ransom, I admit, but still valuable. You should have no problem finding a buyer for—”
“I’m not interested in earthly profit,” MacFarlane interjected. “My reward will come in the next life.” Turning his head, he pointedly set his gaze upon Edie. Then, like an Old Testament patriarch of old, he very quietly and calmly said, “Kill her.”
The order of execution given, the behemoth raised his pickax.
Caedmon lurched forward.
But anticipating the move, Harliss and Sanchez seized hold of him, barring him from intervening.
“No!” he shouted, violently struggling to free himself.
Not like this! God in heaven, not like this!
CHAPTER 67
“Last night you gave me sixteen hours to find the Ark of the Covenant! I have forty minutes left!” Caedmon yelled, twisting and straining to free himself from his burly captors.
MacFarlane stared at him as he considered the appeal put before him—Michelangelo’s stern-faced Moses come to life.
“Colonel MacFarlane, I know you to be a man of your word,” Edie husked, her eyes flooded with tears, every limb in her body quivering with fright. “Please give Caedmon a chance. Without him, you’ll never find the Ark.”
Pondering it later, Caedmon decided that it was this last caveat that held sway, Edie having cannily played upon MacFarlane’s obsession. Specifically, his fear of never obtaining the object of what was fast proving a most unnatural desire.
Mollified, MacFarlane curtly nodded. “You have exactly forty minutes. If you don’t want to see Miss Miller’s head split open like a Fourth of July watermelon, you will find the Ark of the Covenant.” He dismissively glanced at the gleaming altar vessels in the still-open trunk. “I’m not interested in digging up any more golden trinkets.”
With a stay of execution issued, Braxton lowered the pickax. Glancing at Edie, Caedmon battled a strong desire to bend over and retch.
It’d been close. With one mighty swing, the behemoth would have punched a gaping hole right through her skull.
“I’ll find your bloody gold box,” he muttered, glancing at his watch, the countdown having already begun.
Christ. Forty minutes to find something that had been buried long centuries ago.
The clock ticking away like a blasted gong, he ignored the stricken expression still plastered on Edie’s face. With precious few minutes left, they had to stay focused on the task at hand. To that end, he slowly turned full circle, studying the wintry landscape that surrounded the cloister. Leafless trees. Dead grass. The pillaged walls of the chapel.
There was something here that he wasn’t seeing. But what?