Stones of Fire

‘Most biblical historians concur that there are five probable scenarios to explain the Ark’s disappearance,’ C?dmon replied, beating the older man to the starting gate. ‘The first of these concerns Menelik, King Solomon’s son with the Queen of Sheba. Those who adhere to this theory have postulated that Menelik stole the Ark from the Temple around 950 BC and took it to Ethiopia, where it resides to this day.’

‘Let’s not forget the theory put forth in Raiders of the Lost Ark,’ Edie said, smirking. ‘You know, that the Ark is in Egypt.’

‘A valid theory, as it turns out, the adherents of which believe that a few years after Solomon’s death the Ark was stolen in a raid by the Pharaoh Shishak and taken to his newly constructed capital of Tanis. Then there are the three remaining theories — which involve the Ark being plundered by the Babylonians, the Greeks or the Romans; take your pick.’

‘And I did, painstakingly considering each of those theories in turn,’ Eliot Hopkins informed them. ‘As you may or may not know, there are nearly two hundred references to the Ark contained within the pages of the Old Testament. Most of those references concern the period between the Exodus from Egypt and the construction of the Temple. This led me to surmise that the Ark of the Covenant disappeared shortly after Solomon constructed his fabulous building.’

Proving herself a sure-footed student, Edie said, ‘Then the Ark was either stolen by Menelik or Shishak.’

‘I know for a fact that the Ark does not reside in Ethiopia,’ the older man quietly asserted.

Hearing that, C?dmon deduced that Eliot Hopkins had very deep pockets, the political situation in Ethiopia dicey to say the least. Obtaining permission to mount a thorough search would have been expensive.

‘So, that means Shishak stole the Ark, and it’s buried in the pharaoh’s tomb.’

‘Not necessarily,’ the older man said in reply to Edie’s deduction. ‘Some years back, during a trip I made to the Middle East, a group of Bedouin traders told me the most fascinating tale of an English crusader who, en route between Palestine and Egypt, discovered a gold chest buried in the Plain of Esdraelon amidst the ruins of what had once been an Egyptian temple.’

‘I’ve heard this story,’ C?dmon murmured, knocked sideways by memories of his Oxford days.

‘Careful, Mr Aisquith. In this game a little knowledge can be a dangerous thing.’ Eliot Hopkins smiled, a kindly man offering a sage word of advice. ‘If you are familiar with the tale, then you undoubtedly have guessed at the final resting place of the Ark of the Covenant.’

Refusing to take the bait, C?dmon went on the offensive. ‘Why are you being so forthcoming with us? For years you’ve gone to great lengths to keep your pursuit of the Ark a secret.’

Grimacing, the museum director slid his gloved hand inside his overcoat. ‘Because it is inconsequential whether you know or don’t know.’

‘And why is that?’

Eliot Hopkins removed his hand from his coat, a Walther PPK clenched in his fist. ‘Because I have been ordered to kill you.’

28

With only a wolf and an eagle to bear witness to their deaths, C?dmon affected a calm he didn’t feel. ‘I say. That’s not very friendly of you.’

‘You’re a fool to think you can get away with murdering us,’ Edie hissed, adopting an entirely different approach.

One side of Eliot Hopkins’ mouth lifted in a rueful half-smile. ‘Killing you and your charming companion will be the least of my crimes.’

‘You’re actually going to kill us in cold blood all because of some religious artefact? Gold stuff! That’s all it is.’

‘None of the artefacts mentioned in the Bible can compare with the Ark of the Covenant,’ Hopkins whispered, the gun unsteady in his gloved hand. ‘The Ark contains the majesty and glory of Yahweh. It alone could inspire or destroy a nation.’

‘Or an innocent couple,’ C?dmon murmured, the Ark about to consume its next two victims.

Raising the gun a few inches higher, Hopkins pointed it at Edie’s chest. ‘I do hope you will forgive me, but if I don’t comply with their orders, they’ll kill my daughter.’

‘“They” being your mysterious consortium, aka the Warriors of God,’ said Edie.

Behind her brave facade, C?dmon saw the tremble in Edie’s shoulder. Although tempted to put a comforting arm around her shoulders, he refrained. Instead he said, ‘I can see to it that no harm comes to your daughter.’

‘Olivia presently attends boarding school in Switzerland.’ As he spoke, tears welled in Eliot Hopkins’ eyes. ‘My hands are tied. I have only one child. She alone is my hope for the future. My legacy.’

‘I can contact Interpol,’ C?dmon pressed, that being the only gambit he could think of. ‘Within the half-hour your daughter could be in protective custody.’

‘Entrust my daughter to strangers more than three thousand miles away?’ The museum director wearily shook his head. ‘You ask the impossible.’

Refusing to give up, C?dmon pressed a bit harder. ‘Yesterday afternoon, in your museum, Jonathan Padgham was senselessly slain. Let us stop this madness before anyone else is killed.’

‘I can’t stop the madness,’ the older man croaked, barely audible. ‘I am truly sorry. I have no choice but to —’

A lion roared in the distance, a deep-throated bawl that rumbled through the leafless trees and echoed off the ice-laden boulders. The stentorian bellow momentarily distracted the elderly angel of death, Eliot Hopkins nervously glancing about.

Divine intervention or serendipity, C?dmon had no way of knowing. He only knew it was the moment to act. Before the window slammed shut.

Carpe diem, he silently invoked, his thighs, buttocks and biceps all tightening as he yanked the closed umbrella from where it hung on his forearm and hurled it like a spear. That done, he shoved Edie out of the line of fire behind a massive concrete rubbish receptacle and watched as the umbrella hit its mark, the stainless-steel tip hitting Eliot Hopkins square in the chest.

Knocked off balance, Hopkins dropped the pistol. The handgun fell to the ground, skittering along the icy surface.

About to retrieve the gun, C?dmon froze as a bullet whizzed past his ear, slamming into Eliot Hopkins’ heart, killing him on impact.

There was a sniper on the hillside!

It had been a set-up. None of them was to have left the zoo alive.

Knowing that in combat he who hesitates is lost, C?dmon dived behind the rubbish receptacle, pushing against Edie’s quivering backside.

‘I’m beginning to think that “land of the free” means free to shoot and kill,’ he muttered into her ear.

‘He’s on the hill above the bald eagle, isn’t he?’

C?dmon nodded, assuming the man was a professional assassin. If they showed themselves, he would snap off two kill shots. Men trained to kill at a distance did so without remorse or regret, the action no different than breathing.

Edie peered at him from over her shoulder, a stricken expression on her face. ‘Please tell me you’ve got a plan.’

‘I haven’t,’ he replied truthfully. Although I had better come up with something bloody quick. Briefly he considered trying to retrieve Hopkins’ pistol. Just as quickly he rejected the idea, certain he’d take a bullet to the head for his troubles.

‘May I take a peek inside your bag?’ he asked, tugging on the large canvas sack she had clutched to her body.

Edie wordlessly complied, opening it for his inspection. There being no time for niceties, he rifled through the bag’s contents. He pulled out her khaki-coloured waistcoat.

‘Perfect.’ Reaching beside him, he grabbed a fistful of snow.