rifle. Didn’t even have a damned sidearm, Tammy refusing to let him bring a loaded anything into the house on account of Baby Ashley. Six months old, Baby Ashley cried all night long. Just like those fucking raghead babies in Fallujah. One night he couldn’t take it any longer, Ashley bawling for a milk titty.
And then everything went eerily quiet, Ashley’s screams muffled with a pillow.
Just like that baby in Fallujah.
That’s about the time his wife ran into the room, jumped on his back and actually sank her teeth into the side of his neck, the bitch going for his jugular. He’d had no choice but to fling the rabid cunt off his back. She hit her head on a nearby rocking chair, the blow pretty much killing her on the spot. Not knowing what to do, he telephoned Colonel MacFarlane. Like he was his own flesh and blood, the colonel took care of everything, giving him an airtight alibi, making it look like a robbery gone bad. The local police bought the story. Even the dickheads at the
The colonel said the same thing. Except he went one step further. He said God understood what it was like to be a warrior, to come home from a hard-fought battle only to have to fend off the evil. Colonel Stan MacFarlane was a great and good man, and Boyd owed him. Big time. Not just for saving his ass, but for showing him the Way. For leading him into God’s fold. And when the little dick bastards at the Pentagon drummed that great and good man out of the Corps, Boyd went with him.
Pushing his yellow bucket, Boyd scanned the crowd, his nose twitching at the faint smell of stir-fried Chink food.
Soon enough he’d find her. And when he did, it’d be like shooting ragheads in a rain barrel.
13
‘… the story of the Ark of the Covenant is an operatic drama played out on the stage of the biblical Holy Land,’ C?dmon continued in answer to Edie Miller’s question.
‘Operatic? Don’t you think you’re laying it on a bit thick?’
‘Not in the least. As you undoubtedly know, the Ark of the Covenant, or
‘Like the gold boxes I saw last year at the King Tut exhibit, right?’
‘Right down to the gold rim on the lid and the winged figures which adorned the top cover. Furthermore, the Egyptian bark and the Ark of the Covenant both had the same purpose: that being to contain their respective deities.’
Her brow furrowed. ‘But I thought the Ark of the Covenant was a container for the Ten Commandments. Are you saying that the Ark of the Covenant was some kind of magical God-in-the-box, like in that movie
C?dmon chuckled, amused by the question. ‘Just as the sacred Egyptian bark contained the might and majesty of Aten, so the Ark of the Covenant contained the power and glory of Yahweh. And, once contained, the only way to control all that cosmic power was for the high priest to shield himself with the Stones of Fire.’
Raising her steaming cup to her lips, his companion took several moments to digest what he’d just said. As she did, C?dmon surveyed the throng. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary, his eyes taking in a man pushing a wheelchair-bound octogenarian, a cleaner pushing a yellow bucket and a harried mother pushing a pram. Briefly he noticed two youths, one fuchsia-haired, the other tiger-striped, locked in a passionate embrace in front of the massive glass wall that fronted the waterfall.
‘Okay, we know what happened to the breastplate: it was confiscated by Nebuchadnezzar, hidden in Babylon and recently rediscovered and smuggled out of Iraq,’ Edie said, drawing his attention back to the matter in hand. ‘But what happened to the Ark of the Covenant?’
‘At some point after the construction of Solomon’s famous temple, the Ark of the Covenant disappears from the pages of the Bible. Whether captured, destroyed or hidden, its current whereabouts are unknown.’
She folded her arms across her chest. ‘Yeah, well, I seem to recall you saying the same thing about the Stones of Fire, but the breastplate managed to mysteriously turn up. And because of it, you and I are now in serious danger.’
Out of the corner of his eye, C?dmon noticed that the cleaner pushing the yellow bucket had suddenly turned in their direction.
Odd that the man was wearing military-style boots.
The man was also a muscular behemoth.
Recalling Edie’s earlier description of Padgham’s killer, C?dmon felt a prickling sensation on the back of his neck.
‘I am beginning to concur with your assessment,’ he murmured, his eyes still trained on the giant. The man removed his right hand from the mop handle and reached behind his back.
In that instant C?dmon saw the flash of a silver ring.
In the next instant he caught the dark flash of…
He squinted, the object coming into focus.
14
There being no time to think, C?dmon shoved the table aside and hurled himself at Edie Miller, flinging both of them to the floor in one strong-armed motion.
The bullet struck the upturned table and ricocheted off the stone top. Female companion in tow, C?dmon scooted behind a nearby column. The second bullet struck a metal planter —
A woman in the crowd frantically screamed.
A man gruffly shouted, ‘He’s got a gun!’
Yet another yelled, ‘It’s a fucking terrorist!’
Several other people joined the cacophony of fear.
Not waiting for the third bullet, C?dmon went on the offensive. Stretching out his right arm, he grabbed a trolley stacked with dirty crockery parked beside the column. With a mighty heave, he propelled the cart forward. Plates crashed to the floor. A smashing diversion.
Catching sight of the motion, the gunman spun on his heel, reflexively firing a third round. The bullet hit the sheet of glass that contained the cascading fountain, the glass shattering on impact. Water gushed into the concourse.
The chaos increased, people running pell-mell in every direction.
Edie, flattened beneath the weight of his body, shrieked in his ear. Raising his head, C?dmon scanned the panic-stricken crowd, searching for the armed behemoth.
The gunman was nowhere in sight. All that remained was the yellow bucket, a wooden mop handle
