“You gave up the ghost too quickly, my friend.”
He readjusted the baseball cap on his head as he examined the expanding blood stain that encircled the metal obelisk protruding from Ranger Walker’s chest. When he bought the souvenir, he had intended it for a different victim.
“Oh, I almost forgot… It’s seventy-two degrees Fahrenheit.” Saviour softly cackled, the joke lost on his dead companion.
CHAPTER 73
“… and as we just recently learned, the Washington Monument was supposed to have been erected at the Jefferson Pier.” Caedmon gave the grove of holly and elm a cursory glance. “Lovely site for a brainstorming session.”
“According to Ranger Walker, the Army Corps of Engineers didn’t think the soil around the Jefferson Pier would support so massive a weight. That’s why the Washington Monument ended up not on the seventy-seventh meridian as originally planned but four hundred feet away.” Edie sighed. “And you’re right. I can’t think of a better place to contemplate God’s line of longitude than on Uncle Albert’s lap.”
Caedmon stared at the twelve-foot-tall bronze figure that dominated the grove. At Edie’s suggestion, they’d decided to break for lunch and dine al fresco at the Albert Einstein Memorial, the outdoor monument located on Constitution Avenue at the National Academy of Science. To his surprise, the memorial consisted of a charming, almost child-like statue of Einstein seated on a marble step. A secluded and peaceful oasis.
“Did you know that Albert Einstein was a member of the American Philosophical Society? Which is not the reason why I suggested the spot for our picnic.” Edie distractedly waved in the direction of the Jefferson Pier, some eight blocks away. “I just wanted to get off the beaten path. The Mall is an esoteric free-for-all.”
“Which Jefferson and Adams used to advantage, taking great care in hiding their emerald tree in Washington’s esoteric forest. Even going so far as to survey the seventy-seventh meridian.” Placing a hand on Edie’s elbow, he guided her toward the marble steps.
“Check out a D.C. map and you’ll see that the city was designed as a perfect ten-mile square.” Edie sat down next to “Uncle Albert.” “Sixteenth Street, aka the seventy-seventh meridian, runs right through the middle of the north-south axis of that square, completely dividing the city in half. The next signpost could be anywhere along the seventy-seventh meridian.” Opening a plain brown bag, she removed a hot dog wrapped in foil and a can of cola, handing both to him. “Lunch is served.”
Caedmon sat next to her. Not particularly enthusiastic, he gingerly peeled back the foil on the hot dog. Catching a whiff of onions and relish, he wrinkled his nose. “Bit of an acquired taste, eh?”
In the process of ripping open a small packet of mustard with her teeth, Edie raised a quizzical brow. “And blood sausage isn’t?”
“Point taken.” Following suit, he opened a packet of mustard. When in Rome. “I’m certain that the Jefferson Pier is a signpost. As you’ll recall, an entire line of inscription had been chiseled from the granite block.”
“And you think the missing inscription may have been important?”
“The pier was erected by one of the original Triad members. No coincidence in that, I’ll warrant.”
“If that’s the case, we’ve come to the end of our journey. There’s no way we can recover something that’s been chiseled out of existence, erased for all eternity.”
At hearing Edie’s blunt appraisal, his stomach painfully tightened. What initially started as a crusade for academic vindication — to find the missing link between the Knights Templar and ancient Egypt — had become a deadly quest to find an ancient relic of unimaginable power. The secret of Creation. Or the secret of obliteration in the case of the ill-fated Atlantis.
After centuries of being surreptitiously bandied about, the Emerald Tablet had been brought to the new capital city and promptly hidden by a trio of men to prevent it from falling into the hands of a despot. Now, more than two hundred years later, that dire scenario was very much front burner. He had to find it. Only then could he be certain that a rogue nation or terrorist organization didn’t use the relic to engineer a catastrophic event.
The sense of urgency real, Caedmon reached into his jacket pocket and removed the D.C. map that he’d earlier purchased along with an ink pen. Unfolding the map, he drew solid dots on two locations: the Adams Annex and the Jefferson Pier, connecting the points with a straight line. But where does the line go from there?
“It’s here, somewhere in this blasted ten-mile square,” he muttered, angered that they’d lost the scent.
“While the inscription on the Jefferson Pier has been obliterated, maybe there’s a record of it elsewhere.” Idea proffered, Edie sank her teeth into the hot dog, making him wait until she’d chewed, swallowed, and washed it down with several sips of cola. “I’m guessing that Jefferson and Adams would have sent one another progress reports. When Jefferson surveyed the meridian, he would have written to Adams to inform him of what he’d done. Conversely, when Adams transported the Emerald Tablet from Philly to Washington, he would have sent a letter to Jefferson letting him know that the transport went off without a hitch.”
“And, in the days before cell phones and e-mail, this information would have been relayed via letters sent in the post.”
“It’s possible that one or the other may have mentioned the seventy-seventh meridian in a letter. And I’m fairly certain that the written correspondence between Jefferson and Adams is archived online.” Putting aside her half-eaten lunch, Edie opened her leather satchel and removed the netbook computer.
“A valid theory worth investigating.” Particularly since they’d reached a roadblock.
“Okay, I’ve got the complete set of Jefferson-Adams letters,” Edie informed him once the computer had booted up. “Lordy. Between the two of ’em, there’s more than three hundred letters. Any suggestions as to the keyword search?”
“The obvious first choice is ‘meridian.’ ” He dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a paper napkin before setting aside his half-eaten lunch, grateful for a reason to do so.
“I don’t believe it… We got a hit.” Edie silently read the text, her lips moving as she did so. “Not that it makes a whole lot of sense,” she muttered a few moments later, handing him the netbook.
Caedmon skimmed over the first page of the missive, which seemed to be little more than inconsequential musings on the weather and an eloquent passage about the harvesting of English peas. When he reached the last paragraph on the second page, his breath caught in his throat.
By paragraph’s end, he’d reached a startling conclusion.
“The Great Seal anagram is embedded within this last paragraph.”
“Really! Are you sure?”
“Beyond a shadow.” To prove the point, he copied the paragraph and pasted it onto a blank page. He then selected ten words out of the text, which he highlighted. Finished, he handed the netbook back to Edie. Mister Adams, be assured that God’s eye will each day be blinded when the noonday sun falls upon our meridian. That is true illumination. Not the superstition and rituals carved on the biblical ten stone. I do not care that those who dabble in the dark arts will be displeased to learn of my deed. I will take my heavenly rest knowing I did not err. For “I will stand on the top of the hill with the rod of God in mine hand.”