The Templar's Code

at the House of the Temple. Their pursuer, driving a far more powerful vehicle, had no difficulty keeping pace.

He glanced at the speedometer: 75 mph. A safe enough speed on an expressway. A more precarious speed on a narrow two-lane coastal byway.

“Any idea how fast this old girl will go?”

Staring at the wobbling speedometer — as though by such action she could telepathically dictate a speedier progression — Edie groaned, “Not fast enough.”

He spared another glance into the rearview mirror, wondering how long they could maintain this high-speed chase. “Can you — Shag it!” he exclaimed a half second later when, just ahead of them, a truck suddenly veered onto the roadway from a side street. Still cursing, he slammed on the brakes, the Yaris fishtailing from side to side. A short ton broom sweeping the roadway clear of debris.

Beside him, Edie did a fair imitation of a crash dummy, her upper body propelled forward before the constraints of the nylon shoulder harness jerked her back into place.

No time to inquire how she fared, he stomped down on the accelerator as he swerved into the opposite lane, entreating the powers that be to grant them safe passage. At seventy-five miles per hour, they’d never survive a head-on smashup.

“Godspeed is suddenly taking on a whole new meaning,” Edie rasped, her right hand cinched around the door handle, the left clutching the armrest.

Safely passing the truck, he peered into the rearview mirror, verifying what he already suspected; that the Audi had also successfully navigated around the slow-moving obstacle.

“It appears that we’re about to have an unexpected visitor,” he informed Edie, the Audi zooming toward them, still in the left lane. He wound down the driver’s-side window. “Quick! Hand me your mobile phone!”

“By the time the state troopers get here, we’ll be roadside fatalities. In case you haven’t noticed, his is bigger. Meaning he can easily ram us off the road.”

“Just hand me the blasted mobile!” he impolitely ordered, thinking Edie’s truculence strangely misplaced.

She passed her iPhone just as the Audi came parallel to them. Snatching the device in his right hand, he held it like he would a pistol. Then, his left arm rigidly positioned at a ninety-degree angle from his body — hopefully obscuring the fact that he wielded a mobile phone rather than a loaded weapon — he took aim at the parallel vehicle.

The illusion worked, the driver of the Audi hitting the brakes as he repositioned his vehicle directly behind them.

Admittedly relieved, he returned the iPhone.

Beside him, Edie insistently jabbed her finger in the air. “Look! Up ahead on the right! It’s a golf course!”

“Perfect.” He abruptly swerved to the right, the back end of the Yaris fanning, first to the left, then to the right, as they made the turn. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he watched as the sleek Audi followed on their heels.

Passing the clubhouse, he headed straight for the green turf.

Mercifully, the course was closed for the season, the links deserted. Overhead an osprey and an eagle glided through the air, casting their shadows onto the green-way, the two birds of prey vying for the same quarry.

“Oh God! He’s gaining on us!” Edie worriedly exclaimed as they sped along the fairway.

Caedmon peered into his side mirror. Repeating the move he’d made on the two-lane highway, the Audi pulled up beside them. This time, however, the driver used the much sturdier vehicle like a battering ram.

The Yaris shook on its flimsy metal frame, knocked in the direction of the towering pines that rimmed the fairway.

Caedmon slammed on the brakes. Rubber tires dug into the thick grass, leaving pulpy furrows in its wake.

Just as he hoped, the Audi sped ahead of them, the driver, finally, thrown off his stride by the unexpected maneuver. Caedmon jammed his foot on the gas pedal. The fourteen-inch tires spun on the turf before they were spasmodically propelled forward.

They crested a green rise.

Only to be met by a glassy pond on the opposite bank.

“Bugger!” Beginning to think the golf course a less-than-inspired idea, he barely managed to escape the watery snare.

“The Audi is right behind us!” Edie informed him.

“These nine holes may prove our undoing. Brace for impact,” he ordered, sighting an ominous granite outcropping on the edge of the green.

To Caedmon’s surprise, his copilot did the exact opposite, releasing the clasp on her seat belt. Twisting in her seat, Edie snatched an overnight bag from the foot well.

He heard the metallic rrrhh of a zipper.

“Come on! Come on!” she muttered, frantically rummaging through the duffel. “There’s got to be something in here that I can — Yes!” She unfurled a folded bath towel. Then she unwound the passenger’s-side window and heaved her upper body through the opening.

“What in God’s name are you doing?”

His shouted question went unanswered. A half second later, Edie released the oversized terry-cloth towel.

Like the eagle and osprey that soared overhead, the snowy white towel glided through the air. Only to crash land directly onto the Audi’s windshield. Completely obscuring the driver’s vision.

The Audi zigged. Then zagged. A moment later, the luxury sedan cruised over a grassy incline. Airborne, the vehicle landed with what had to be a bone-jarring thud. Right into a sand trap.

Caedmon brought the Yaris to a full stop, he and Edie watching as the driver of the Audi, his upper body hampered by a white air bag, tried to extricate his vehicle from the pit. The powerful engine roared, but the Audi wouldn’t budge, rubber tires impotently spinning in the sand.

“Yeah, boy!” Edie whooped.

More relieved than exuberant, Caedmon wasted no time driving back toward the clubhouse. “That should buy us some time.”

Although not a large supply.

CHAPTER 22

Caedmon opened the passenger car door. “We mustn’t tarry.”

“I know. Just a quick sneak and peek to find Lovett’s research notes. Assuming we can figure out what aqua sanctus means.” As she exited the Yaris, Edie pulled the two sides of her jean jacket closer together. Though it was early spring, there was a chill in the air. “We left the golf course about an hour ago and I’m guessing it’ll take at least that long for Rico Suave to get towed out of the sand pit.”

“Meaning we have a very narrow window.”

Edie assessed the one-story 1950s cottage set some fifty yards from the main road. Situated in the midst of a towering pine grove, it looked ridiculously small. One menacing pine, heavy with sap, was bowed in a gravity- defying arch, it limbs brazenly brushing against the asphalt shingle roof. In addition to the cottage, there were a half dozen derelict trailers scattered across the grove.

“According to the chap at the local petrol station, this is Lovett’s rental cottage,” Caedmon remarked.

As they walked along the dirt lane that served as a driveway, Edie cast a sideways glance at the nearest trailer. A rickety wood deck had been added to the front of the turquoise-blue single-wide. Overtop of that hung a faded black-and-white-striped canvas awning. She knew without being told that the interior boasted threadbare wall-to-wall carpet, chipped Formica countertops, and jalousie windows that had long since rusted shut. She knew this because when she was six years old, she and her mother lived in a trailer park outside Orlando, Florida. Her mother, Melissa, manned a ticket booth at Disney World and would frequently leave Edie unattended, unable to