“‘And there was seen in his temple the ark of his testament and there were lightnings, and voices, and thunderings, and an earthquake, and great hail,’” Stanford MacFarlane loudly i ntoned.
“Don’t forget the drizzle,” Edie muttered under her breath. “And the fog,” she added a moment later when Harliss set off a smoke bomb, completely obscuring the proceedings from their view.
“The Hebrew priests used to shroud the Ark in a thick blanket of incense to keep it hidden from curious onlookers.” As he spoke, Caedmon squinted and strained, but the smoke barrier was impenetrable.
A few seconds later, Harliss emerged from the smoke. Two sets of plastic flexi-cuffs dangled from his fingertips. “I’ve got a restraining order for you two.”
“Will you at least tell us if the Ark of the Covenant was uncovered?” he asked, desperate to have a definitive answer.
“Oh, yeah,” the other man slowly replied, the bedazzled expression returning to his unshaved, rawboned features. “The two angels on top of the gold box were the telltale clue.”
Hearing that was like hearing an unexpected boom of thunder; Caedmon slightly swayed on his feet.
They had actually found the Ark of the Covenant.
Knowing it was futile to resist, he stood motionless as Harliss bound his hands together, his mind unable to wrap around the enormity of the find.
Softly humming a jaunty tune, Harliss ripped a piece of duct tape from a roll. “Wouldn’t want to disturb the neighbors,” he said with a mean-spirited cackle as he slapped the length of tape across Caedmon’s mouth. That done, he bound and gagged Edie in a similar fashion.
“We got orders to row you two to shore and take you to a remote location. The colonel says it wouldn’t be right to kill you in the same place where we found the Ark.”
CHAPTER 71
For the second time that day, the specter of death hovered over Edie’s shoulder. But this time, unlike those petrified moments when she’d stood shaking beneath the sharp point of Braxton’s pickax, she’d had time to prepare for her death; Harliss and Sanchez had loaded them into the Range Rover and taken them to a remote location some ten miles east of Swanley. Somewhere toward the sea; Edie could discern the tang of salt in the air.
In the distance, she heard the outraged screech of a seagull. The thunderous roar of a jet engine. Familiar sounds. Probably the last sounds she would hear.
At least she’d lived longer than her mother.
She turned and glanced at Caedmon, who, duct tape strapped to his mouth, hands bound in front of him, stoically stared at the passing scenery. She wondered if he, too, had used the time to take stock of his life. He could have saved himself back on the isle. But he didn’t do it. Instead, he tried to garner her freedom. From a madman, no less. Although she was furious with him for passing up his one and only chance, she thought she might just love the brave, quixotic Englishman.
Harliss, again relegated to being the copilot, peered over the headrest. “Soon you two will be sleepin’ with the angels. The colonel is fond of sayin’ that ‘the judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether. More to be desired are they than gold . . . sweeter also than honey and the honeycomb.’”
Oh, yeah. A bullet to the back of the head. How sweet was that?
Still leaning over the back of his seat, Harliss reached into his jacket pocket and removed a pack of filterless Camels. “I’d offer you one, but . . .” Chortling, he shook a cigarette free. He then flipped open a silver lighter. Taking a drag, he blew a perfect smoke ring into her face.
Inhaling the smoke through her nostrils, Edie gagged. Beside her, Caedmon twitched, his muffled protest sounding as though he were attempting to speak under water.
Seemingly oblivious to the psychodrama, Sanchez steered the SUV onto what looked to be a deserted farm road; the Range Rover lurched from side to side as they slowly proceeded down a rutted lane. They’d gone approximately a half mile when Sanchez put on the brakes and cut the engine.
Edie and Caedmon simultaneously turned and looked at one another.
I’m sorry, Caedmon.
As am I, love.
Craning his head from side to side, Harliss gave an approving nod. “This looks as good a place as any. Don’t know that anyone’s been down this road in a good long while.” He turned to his partner. “What do ya think?”
“I think I gotta take a crap,” Sanchez blurted, releasing his seat belt.
“Jesus! A body could tell time by your bowel movements.”
“Shut up and get me the wipes out of the glove compartment.”
A few seconds later, diaper wipes in hand, Sanchez ambled toward a clump of trees. Harliss, a half-smoked Camel sticking out of the corner of his mouth, opened the passenger’s-side door and got out of the SUV. Slamming the door shut, he stretched his back, then walked around to the front of the vehicle. Leaning against the hood, with his back to them, he proceeded to finish smoking his cigarette.
No sooner were they alone than Caedmon urgently nudged her with his elbow. Having gotten her attention, he nodded toward his anorak pocket before shooting her a meaningful glance.
The metal nail file.
When they’d been issued the rubber Wellington boots earlier that morning, Caedmon had managed to remove the file from his discarded oxfords, hiding the file in his coat pocket. Because he’d already been subjected to a thorough body search, the working premise was that they wouldn’t search him a second time. Edie could see that with his hands bound in front of him, he wouldn’t be able to retrieve the file. But her hands, although similarly bound, were much smaller.
Quickly she flipped open the flap on his pocket, shoving her fingers into the opening. It took only an instant for her to remove the file from Caedmon’s pocket.
Now what? she silently asked.
Caedmon wordlessly indicated that he wanted her to pass him the file.
A few seconds later, with the metal file tightly grasped between his interlocked fingers, he motioned for her to use the file to cut through her plastic flexi-cuffs.
It took several moments of frantic sawing back and forth before the plastic finally gave way.
Her hands freed, she immediately reached up to remove the strip of duct tape from her mouth. Beside her, Caedmon tersely shook his head, silently commanding her not to remove the gag. Uncertain why he wanted her to keep the tape in place, she grabbed the file out of his hands; they had a narrow window and she wasn’t about to waste any time second-guessing him.
Tightly gripping the nail file between her clenched fists, she held steady while Caedmon roughly sawed through his flexi-cuffs, freeing himself at the exact moment that Harliss flicked aside the tail end of his cigarette.
Hurriedly Caedmon snatched the file from her. Then, his hands lying inert in his lap, he stared straight ahead. Now understanding the reason for not removing the duct tape, Edie struck a similar pose.
With the tape in place, they created the illusion of still being bound.
Harliss, softly humming to himself, walked around the front of the Range Rover. With one hand he retrieved the gun shoved into the back of his waistband while with the other hand he reached for Caedmon’s door handle.
Edie tensed. Completely in the dark as to what Caedmon intended to do, her heart beat a painful tattoo.