74
‘Surely in that day there shall be a great earthquake in the land of Israel, so that the fish of the sea, the birds of the heavens, the beasts of the field, all creeping things that creep on the earth, and all men who are on the face of the earth shall shake at my presence. The mountains shall be thrown down, the steep places shall fall, and every wall shall fall to the ground.’
Opening the storage compartment in the middle of the Range Rover’s dashboard, Stanford MacFarlane stowed away his well-worn Bible, the words of the prophet Ezekiel never ceasing to inspire him.
Beside him, in the driver’s seat, his gunnery sergeant muttered under his breath, complaining yet again about having to drive on the left side of the road. Stan ignored him. They would be in Margate soon enough. A small fishing boat docked at the harbour would enable them to bypass British customs.
Again, he craned his neck to look at the well-padded crate in the back of the Range Rover.
It had taken more than twenty years for him to find the most sacred of relics. During this search ordained by God he had followed every lead, every rumour, every crackpot theory, his quest taking him to the distant corners of the globe.
Again, he glanced at the crate, experiencing a tingling sensation. As though his entire body was enveloped in a static electric field.
The Lord was near at hand! He could feel it!
For it was at the Ark that God, made manifest, had appeared to Moses. The Ark not only embodied the Almighty, it was the symbol of God’s promise to his chosen people. Nothing had changed. It was now as it had been then. Adorned with the Stones of Fire, he would be able to speak with the Almighty. Just as Moses had conversed with God in the wilderness. With that heady thought in his mind, Stan was able to hear the blast of trumpets and the clash of cymbals, the shouts and cheers, the joyful hosannas. As though thirty-five hundred years had come and gone in the blink of an eye.
He knew full well that God’s plan for mankind had been formulated in the Garden of Eden and that it would end with a new paradise where those worthy of his blessings would enjoy a thousand years of peace and prosperity. Finally, their rest well deserved, the warriors would put aside their bloody weapons and lie side-by-side with the meek and gentle lamb.
With astounding clarity, the prophet Ezekiel had seen the crimson future that would precede this golden dawn. Stan did not doubt that Ezekiel’s prophecy would soon unfold, taking an unprepared world by storm. The future was already written, prophecy the gift that God gave to quell man’s fear in the face of the dark and violent nights that were to come. And when Ezekiel’s prophesied war came, sinful man would have no doubt as to God’s existence.
Those would be dark days. Days that would push man to the limit of his endurance. But those who refused to traffic with the enemy would be reborn in the new world to come. A time of rest for the people of God. When the deserts of the earth would be made fertile and when the Dead Sea would no longer be dead. Ezekiel had foretold how those waters would be stocked with the very fish that would feed the new kingdom of God.
A thousand of years of peace. Time for an old warhorse to at long last take his rest.
Reaching into his pocket, Stan removed his BlackBerry and rapidly keyed in a numeric code with his thumbs. Double-checking each digit, he sent the message, knowing it would simultaneously reach the Warriors of God stationed in Europe and the Middle East. Battle orders issued, he returned the device to his pocket.
As they approached the outskirts of Margate, Stan thought of the Englishman and his harlot. Their execution well-deserved, he felt no pity. Instead, a wave of hatred washed over him. Hate was good. Cleansing even. Hate enabled a man to slay the infidel and slaughter the sinner.
He would put his hate to good use in the days to come.
75
‘I know this is going to sound crazy, but I’m actually sad,’ Edie confessed, taking the proffered coffee cup from C?dmon’s outstretched hand. ‘Angry, but sad. I mean those two guys were a couple of homophobic misanthropes in dire need of some sensitivity training. But watching them die was…’ She broke off and stared at the narrow road in front of the public bench.
Coffee cup in hand, C?dmon seated himself beside her. He, too, gloomily stared at the main thoroughfare that ran through the middle of the small seaside port of Gilchrist.
Knowing the local constabulary would be drawn to the plumes of black smoke produced by the Range Rover explosion, and that in turn would lead them to at least one dead body, he’d used the pilfered GPS receiver to plot a course in the opposite direction from the charred ruins. Although exhausted, they’d tramped through deserted fields, eventually arriving at their present location. Unwelcoming in the way that some small towns tend to be, Gilchrist had about it the distinct scent of salt and dead fish, the town’s only saving grace being its coach station. Assuming one could call a metal bench in a shelter beside the road a coach station.
Raising the paper cup to his lips, C?dmon took a sip of the horrible-tasting brew he’d purchased at the fish and chip shop across the way. According to the reticent fellow behind the counter, the afternoon coach to London was due to arrive in forty minutes.
‘It’s never easy to watch the end of a life,’ he replied, also haunted by the deaths of Harliss and Sanchez. ‘Try as you might to erase the memory, it leaves an imprint on your soul.’
‘Not for MacFarlane or his men.’ Raising the plastic lid of her cup, Edie took several swallows. Only to grimace a few seconds later from the bitter aftertaste. ‘They believe that when they pull the trigger, they’re doing God’s work.’
‘Somehow I doubt whether MacFarlane’s God would have much truck with those who long for peace.’
Sighing, Edie wrapped her free arm around his waist and leaned her head on his shoulder. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m in desperate need of a group hug.’
He hoped the day’s atrocities would quickly recede from Edie’s memory and she could forgive what she’d seen him do. As soon as they reached London, he intended to call in a favour from an old chum at MI5 and get her into an out-of-the way safe house. Some place where Stanford MacFarlane and his assassins could never find her.
Edie lifted her head from his shoulder. ‘What do you think MacFarlane plans to do now that he has the Ark?’
‘The first thing is to get it out of Britain. If he’s discovered with the Ark on English soil, not only will the bloody thing be confiscated, it will be sent direct to the British Museum.’ Where it would draw larger crowds than the Rosetta Stone, the Elgin Marbles and the Sutton Hoo treasure combined.
He removed the GPS receiver from his anorak pocket. ‘It’ll take a few moments to initialize,’ he informed her as he hit the ‘Power’ button. He held the receiver aloft to get a satellite fix on their position. A few seconds later, glancing at the small display screen, he said with a teasing smile, ‘Ah, we are exactly where we should be.’
Edie half-heartedly returned the smile. ‘Since I have yet to correctly programme the TV remote, I’ll have to trust you on that one. But isn’t the GPS a bit superfluous? I mean, we’re here already and we know where here is.’
‘On the contrary. This is a hand-held computer with satellite capabilities and untold stored information.’ Using the ‘Nav’ key, he accessed a database file of saved maps. ‘Now, isn’t this interesting? A number of maps have
