She turned her gaze back to the man standing across from her. ‘Just answer me this: what are you going to do if you actually get your hands on the Ark?’
‘That’s between me and the Almighty,’ Mac-Farlane replied.
‘What if the Ark of the Covenant turns out to be nothing more than a gold-plated box?’
MacFarlane smiled. ‘And God said to Moses, “Let them make me a sanctuary, that I may dwell among them.”’
Clearly he considered the Ark some kind of God box, so Edie decided to try a different approach. ‘There’s no question in my mind that you’re a God-fearing man. Which means that we have a lot in common. You may not know this, but I go to church every Sunday and… well, I don’t have to tell you what the Bible says about mercy and compassion. “Blessed are those who are pure in heart: for they shall see God,”’ she recited, tossing out a Bible verse of her own, figuring the only way to fight fire was with more of the same.
MacFarlane’s gaze narrowed. ‘Like many of your ilk, you’ve hijacked the Bible in order to advance your left- wing, feel-good agenda. According to people like you, the carjacker will not steal your vehicle if you show some compassion, nor will the killer pull the trigger as he is an intrinsically good man.’
Turning away from her, MacFarlane walked over to the kitchen counter, the stone-walled room a big open space with matching sofas on one side, a dining table in the middle and a kitchen area at the far end. She watched as he took down two mugs from a shelf. He opened two packets of instant cocoa. That done, he added hot water from an electric kettle.
Even as he handed her one of the mugs, he glared at her. A dark, impassioned glare that sent a chill down her spine. She didn’t dare refuse the cocoa.
‘I know you and your kind, Miss Miller. You think that by putting your carcass in a pew every Sunday, God will look kindly upon you, perfect church attendance equalling a free pass to salvation.’
‘You’ve got me mixed up with some other person. Personally, I think it’s important for —’ she searched for the right word ‘— the
‘Spare me the secular sermon. As if volunteering at some inner-city soup kitchen will gain you entry into heaven. Faith, not deeds, will secure you a place among the righteous.’
‘Don’t you mean the self-righteous?’ she retorted.
‘You and your kind are anathema unto the Lord.’
‘Then we clearly worship two different gods.’
‘At last, something we can agree upon.’
And as Edie knew full well, it was an agreement based on a bitter divide.
Truth be told, she was taken aback at how much Stanford MacFarlane reminded her of Pops, her maternal grandfather having held to a very conservative interpretation of the Bible. At the time she’d thought it a stifling interpretation. But when espoused by a man like MacFarlane, it went from stifling to scary. Put a black robe on him and Stanford MacFarlane would have made the perfect Spanish inquisitor.
‘Speaking of entry into heaven, if you think finding the Ark is your stamped ticket, think again,’ she said, refusing to go quietly to the stake.
About to raise his mug to his lips, MacFarlane lowered it. For several seconds — seconds that conjured up images of burning bodies — he stared at her.
‘Unlike you, I will die and rise with the Old Testament saints.’ Then, as though he’d simply made a passing comment about the weather, he calmly took a sip of his cocoa.
Edie was silent.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a gossamer strand of cobweb dangling from the wood- beamed ceiling. Staring at it, she suddenly felt very much like the fly ensnared in the deceptively beautiful trap.
But unlike the ensnared fly, she had an out.
She knew he would come. If not to rescue her, then to find the Ark.
60
Hearing a knock, C?dmon turned in his chair. The guest-house proprietor, a florid-faced Welshman, stood in the doorway, no doubt wondering why the door had been left open. Simply put, he had not seen the need to close it.
‘You’ve got a call,’ the man announced, clearly annoyed at having had to climb four sets of stairs to convey the message. ‘You can take it downstairs.’ Announcement made, he departed.
C?dmon rose to his feet. As he walked towards the door, he glimpsed the sketch of the Canterbury window and the handwritten translation of the quatrains on the wooden bench. Stark and painful reminders that Edie’s abduction had everything to do with the Ark of the Covenant. Knowing he would have need of both, he retrieved the two sheets of paper, slipping them into his anorak pocket, these being the only things of value in the room. He followed the proprietor, closing the door behind him.
A few moments later, standing at the rough-hewn counter that masqueraded as a reception desk, C?dmon lifted the heavy handset of an old-fashioned telephone. ‘Go ahead. I’m listening,’ he said, refusing to engage in the hypocrisy of a civil greeting.
‘I do hope you’re having a pleasant evening,’ an American male on the other end said smoothly and sarcastically.
‘Sod off! Is she still alive?’
‘You know that she is.’
‘I know no such thing. If we are to continue this conversation, I require some proof.’
‘You’re hardly in a position to make demands.’
‘I am not demanding,’ C?dmon countered in a calmer tone, reining in his emotions. ‘I am requesting, as a show of good faith, that you give me proof that Miss Miller is your captive.’
C?dmon was able to detect a muffled command being issued, then, a few seconds later, ‘It’s me, C?dmon. I’m… I’m all right.’
‘Have they harmed you in any way?’
‘No, they —’
‘Satisfied?’ her captor snarled into the phone.
‘Yes, I’m satisfied. What do I have to do to ensure her safe return?’
The other man chuckled, obviously amused by the question. ‘Find me the Ark of the Covenant, of course.’
C?dmon fell silent.
Hearing the deal so clearly and bluntly spelled out made him acutely aware that MacFarlane might well be asking the impossible. For nearly three thousand years the Ark had remained hidden. Nothing more than a legend. Many before him had failed to find it. Somehow, against impossible odds, he had to succeed.
His stomach muscles cramped painfully. Knowing the negotiations could come to a rapid end if he sounded anything less than totally confident, he strove for a calmness he didn’t feel. ‘Do I have your word that when I find the Ark Edie Miller’s life will be spared?’
‘You do. And my word is my bond,’ the other man promptly replied. ‘As soon as we hang up, I want you to leave that rat hole of a hotel and head three blocks south. Turn left at the telephone booth on the corner. There’s an alley halfway down the street. My men will be there waiting for you. Don’t try anything foolish. If you do, the woman dies. And, trust me, it won’t be a pleasant death.’
Instructions issued, the call was unceremoniously ended.
For several long seconds C?dmon stared at the telephone, events moving at a faster pace than he would have liked.
He brought his palm down hard on the silver bell on the counter. When the Welshman appeared, C?dmon
