He’d lived long enough to know that evil could not be contained; it had to be destroyed. Only then could the Bringer of the Light illuminate the way back to the Lost Heaven where all souls originated and where we all yearned to return. That luminous place where the Light dwelled.
Where there was no hatred or brutality.
Where children weren’t raped or women murdered.
Where no one had to live in dread fear of being dragged away in the middle of the night. Of having a gun put to his head. Or a noose slipped around the neck.
If he had the Emerald Tablet, he could activate the harmonic sequence that would end all suffering. For all time.
That was the message that Osman de Léon and his milk brother, Moshe Beneroya, had imparted to him before the SS officer forcibly led them to the train station on that fateful night in 1943.
You must always remember, little one, that you were named for the Bringer of the Light.
Do not fear the Light, Merkür. For it will lead you to your life’s purpose.
About to begin the sacred ritual, Mercurius stopped in mid-breath, his reveries disturbed by a ringing telephone. Given the early hour, it could only be one person calling — his amoretto, Saviour.
Hurriedly, he padded barefoot to the nearest telephone, the one on the hallway credenza.
Moments later, he listened intently as Saviour, in a highly agitated state, briefed him about what had transpired in the last few hours.
The well-laid plan that they concocted the previous night had only been partially successful.
“A moment, please,” he told his amoretto, his heart painfully thumping against his chest. He placed the phone on the credenza.
Bending at the waist, he placed his hands on his thighs, gripped with a sudden case of vertigo. He closed his eyes. Took several deep breaths. Dear Lord. He could hear the pain-racked screams of all the victims. Too innumerable to count.
The shrieks. The sobs. The agonized bellows. A hideous cacophony of suffering.
The persecuted masses.
Oh, the horror of it!
Mercurius put his hands over his ears, trying to block out the anguished dissonance. To no avail. The screams and shrieks only got that much louder.
Building toward an unbearable crescendo.
Deliver us from evil!
“Yes! Yes! I intend to do just that,” he gasped aloud. To deliver the world from the evil energy that was all-pervasive. To shepherd the pain-racked souls of mankind home to the Lost Heaven.
It had been done once before. In Atlantis millennia ago. It could be done again. It had to be done again.
Yes! Fearless.
Determined to fulfill his sacred purpose, the Light Bringer grabbed the cordless phone.
CHAPTER 64
“I deserved that.”
Edie stared at the red imprint of her hand on Caedmon’s left cheek. “You deserve a lot worse than that. An innocent man is dead because—” Choking back a sob, she placed her hand over her mouth. A few feet away, firefighters decked out in maroon and yellow held a long hose as they blasted the exterior of Woolf’s Antiquarian Books with water.
“I’m sorry, love.” Caedmon put a comforting hand on her shoulder.
“Not good enough. You should have warned Rubin that there’s a killer on the loose who will do anything to get his hands on the Emerald Tablet.” Shaking her head, she gasped. Still horrified by what she’d seen in Rubin’s boudoir. “God! Why didn’t you tell him about Rico Suave?”
“I had no way of knowing that the bastard followed us to London. So, yes, mea maxima culpa.”
Hearing his apology—in Latin! — made her livid. “Go to hell!” she retorted, shrugging off his hand.
“At the moment, neither of us is going anywhere.” Caedmon jutted his chin at the quartet of police officers who were busy cordoning off the area near the bookshop. “No doubt, the quiz masters at the London Fire Brigade and Scotland Yard will want to thoroughly interrogate us.” Taking her by the elbow, he steered her away from the frantic flow of pedestrians and first responders.
Edie stooped to pick up the shoulder bag that she’d earlier flung to the ground. “Any idea what we should tell the authorities?”
“As little as possible.” Caedmon shepherded her into the doorway of a print and map shop. Closed for business on account of it being a Sunday. “Best to keep answers to a minimum. We were visiting an old friend. Yes, he had many valuable books on the premises. Since we barely survived the inferno, there should be no finger-pointing in our direction.”
“What if we’re grilled?” She stopped herself from saying “over the fire.”
“My old group leader at MI5 will see to it that we’re cleared in short order.”
Friends in high places. Must be nice.
“And I don’t advise mentioning the video,” Caedmon continued, his eyes glued to the devastated bookshop across the way. “A bit too much spice in the ragout. Especially if Scotland Yard discovers we were present at Jason Lovett’s murder five days ago. Thames House will cover for me on this side of the Atlantic, but that’s as far as they’ll go. And they won’t be happy about traversing that distance.”
“So we tell them that we found Rubin hanging from — Ohmygod!” Edie raised her arm and pointed to the stylishly dressed blond woman running down Cecil Court. “It’s Marnie!” Putting a hand on his back, she shoved Caedmon out of the doorway. “Don’t let her see this!”
No one should have to witness so horrific a scene of death. No, not death, murder.
Caedmon ran toward Marnie, catching her in his arms. Standing in the doorway, Edie watched as Marnie, frantically trying to escape, began to scream hysterically. Tears welled in her eyes, the other woman’s pain so tangible, so gut-wrenching, she could feel it from a distance.
Not wishing to be an intruder to Marnie’s grief, she turned her head and examined the wares in the shop window, feigning an interest in a rare, and exorbitantly expensive cartoon from Punch magazine. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Caedmon turn Marnie over to the rescue workers, who in turn wrapped a blanket around her shoulders before leading her to an ambulance parked at the end of the court.
“The bastard ought to be strung up by his entrails,” Caedmon muttered a few moments later, rejoining her. “Such a waste of blood and treasure.” He wearily sighed. “My God, what a grueling day.”
“Like so many of your countrymen, you have a gift for understatement.”
Rather than reply, Caedmon turned his head, presenting his face in profile.
“What are you doing?”
“It’s called turning the other cheek,” he informed her.
Belatedly realizing that she’d behaved like a teenaged drama queen, Edie smoothed her hand over the proffered cheek. “So how did Rico Suave find us?” Suddenly cold, she sidled closer to him.
“Obviously, he’s been tracking us since we arrived. Probably followed us from Rhode Island.”
“It’s crazy… We don’t even know his name. He’s just a pretty face with a big murky question mark superimposed over his forehead.”
“According to Marnie, yesterday she met a beautiful young man who hails from Thessaloniki, of all places. Do you have the mobile?”
She reached into the pocket of her trench coat and removed the cell phone, handing it to him.
As he examined the cherry-red phone, a crease materialized between his brow. “Marnie’s, I believe. She mentioned that it was pinched last evening. She noticed it missing after she spent the night with the aforementioned young man.”