"It might refer to what happened when Nick was in Jerusalem," Harker said.
"It could," Selena said. "But this next one bothers me."
"The seventh month is July," Selena said. "That's in just a few days. If any of this means anything, if Nostradamus really saw the future, we're running out of time."
Nick's ear began itching. "It's like the one you think is about Hiroshima."
"Yes. That bit about the sun touching the earth. It's how Nostradamus would have thought about a nuclear explosion, if he'd seen it in a vision. The Holy City would be Jerusalem or Rome. Or even Mecca. He capitalizes the word container. That could be the Ark. It's called the Sacred Container in the Bible. The next quatrain mentions it again."
"Who's the prince?" Ronnie asked.
"The bad guy," Nick said. "He thinks he's got it covered but he's making a mistake."
"Phillip Harrison," Elizabeth said. Her voice was strange.
They looked at her. "What's the matter, Director?" Stephanie said. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"I just had this very odd feeling," she said. "My intuition says this prince is Harrison. He's planning something bad."
"A nuclear war would qualify," Nick said.
"What about this other one?" Ronnie said, "the one about wine?"
"I don't know. But it has to be about the Ark. That would be the only sacred container anyone would think of."
Harker picked up her Mont Blanc and began tapping. "This is the most bizarre investigation I've ever heard of," she said.
It broke the tension. Everyone laughed.
"Nothing new for us," Nick said. "Pyramids, ancient artifacts, we do it all. Why not prophecies?"
"All right," Harker said. "What's the next step?"
"Let me see if I can pin down a Templar tomb that matches the quatrain," Stephanie said.
"Ronnie and I are going over to Bethesda to see Lamont," Nick said.
"And I'll meet with the detective," Selena said. "What was his name?"
"Hanson. Mark Hanson." Elizabeth wrote his phone number on a piece of paper and handed it to her.
"Give him a call. He's expecting you."
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
It was a gorgeous summer day on the Maine coast. This time of year, the sun turned unsuspecting visitors red as a Maine lobster in no time flat. The tourist season was in full swing, but on Indian Island there was none of the chaos that marked the vacation spots along the shore.
Phillip Harrison III sat on the shaded porch above the lawn with a glass of good whiskey and thought about what he was planning. Things were progressing more or less on schedule. Wiesner's rhetoric of hatred was doing it's work. Using Croft and his network of arms dealers, a difficult transaction with the Iranians had been concluded. They didn't know that it contained the seed of their destruction. It was a delicious irony that the Iranians saw it as the seed of their victory.
It was all about perception. Victory and destruction were two sides of the same coin.
The book that guided Harrison's life was the Bible, but the words that resonated in his heart weren't the words of love taught by Christ. He preferred the harsh teachings and instructions of the Old Testament. Forgiveness of those who resisted the Lord's Will was not encouraged. One of his favorite quotations was from Deuteronomy:
…the Lord thy God shall deliver them before thee; thou shalt smite them, and utterly destroy them; thou shalt make no covenant with them, nor show mercy unto them…
For Phillip Harrison, those words could have been written to describe Islam and all it's adherents.
Harrison considered himself a patriot. He believed that America had become soft, weak. War was the solution. War hardened a people, gave it purpose, forged the strength of a nation. It was the fire of war that had given birth to the Republic. It was war that had united it. It was war that had made America supreme in the world.
Now that supremacy was at risk because of misguided efforts at negotiating peaceful solutions in a world where peace was impossible, with nations that could not be trusted. The current President was a good example of what could happen. He'd failed to exploit his opportunities. He'd had an opportunity to crush the Muslim world and gain the oil fields of the Middle East, but he'd backed away. He was a coward.
Harrison intended to see that mistake put right. Boyd and Croft saw war as a way to increase their wealth. They assumed the same was true for him. But Harrison was focused on doing God's work. He was certain that what was needed, what God wanted, was a new crusade. Harrison believed that the Holy Land needed to be cleansed of the stain of Islam and the sacred sites of Christianity reclaimed, once and for all. His Puritan ancestors would have approved, he was certain.
Harrison watched a motor launch nearing the island, bringing Boyd and Croft from the mainland. He set his glass on the table beside him and walked down to the landing to greet them.
"Phillip, how are you?"
"Well, Arthur, thank you." The three men shook hands. "There's a light lunch waiting in the house."
They walked up the perfect lawn and into the house. Harrison led the way to the conservatory where the food was laid out on white linen. When the servants had left, Harrison began.
"We have the other part of the Nostradamus file."
"Excellent," Croft said. "Were there any problems?"
Harrison sipped his whiskey. "Two men were killed. It's of no importance. They were disposable. The third man showed initiative. I'm moving him up a bit."
"How soon will we have a location?" Boyd asked.
"Once the quatrains are translated, we'll follow up on the new ones. If the pattern holds, Nostradamus left a clue that will give us the right place to look."
"And if the Ark can't be found?"
"If not, we'll proceed with our alternative plan."
"The assassinations," Croft said.
"Yes. It shouldn't take more than a few weeks to get the pot boiling. Then we tip it over."
"Why don't we just get on with it?" Boyd said.
Harrison was annoyed. "We've been over this, Stephen. It's much better if we can use the Ark. The fanatics will do our work for us. There won't be any possibility of a trail back here. If there's any chance the Templar hoard still exists, or the Ark, we need to secure that first. Once the war begins it will be much more difficult."
Boyd said, "I suppose you're right, Phillip."
"Of course I am."
"What about the President's group, the Project?"
"They've been annoying, I admit. They're following the same trail we are. They may have a copy of the second part of the manuscript. If they don't, what they do doesn't matter. If they do, we'll be prepared. Next time they don't walk away."
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The First District station of the Washington Metro Police was in a converted school building on M Street SW. It housed a state of the art forensic lab, offered community outreach programs and provided evidence storage. The D.C. police needed a lot of storage.
Selena parked her Mercedes next to a row of cruisers with the stylized flag logo of D.C. She put a card on the dash that identified her car as being on government business. Maybe it wouldn't draw a ticket.
The desk sergeant told her to wait for Detective Hanson to come and escort her. The station had a faint, stale odor of fear and stress and sweat, along with the kind of smell that seemed to be poured into institutional buildings with the concrete. After a few minutes a man came through a set of swinging doors on her left. He wore an off the rack gray suit and black shoes and had a pair of thick binders under his arm. He walked over to her. She stood.