The Templar's Code

actually have possessed the bloody thing—the most sacred relic in the whole of ancient Egypt.”

Edie rejoined him at the table. “The Emerald Tablet. Um, sounds familiar. Just having a little trouble accessing the correct memory bank.”

“In a nutshell, the mystery religion of ancient Egypt adheres to the premise that our physical reality is created by a Divine Mind. What you and I call ‘God.’ Through an extensive process of spiritual transformation, mankind can have direct knowledge of God and in so doing alter or re-create the material world.”

“Emphasis on the word knowledge.” She was finally beginning to understand the centuries-long hullabaloo. “And the knowledge that we’re talking about is the secret of creation. Wonder if Tonto Sinclair knows that Yawgoog’s Stone is really the Emerald Tablet.”

Caedmon snatched his cell phone off the table.

“Who are you calling?”

“I’m ringing Rubin.” Their host maintained a private residence two floors above the bookshop. The guest suite was one floor above Rubin’s apartment.

Edie glanced at the bedside clock. “It’s kinda late for—”

“Wakey, wakey,” Caedmon boomed in an obnoxiously loud voice. Activating the speaker feature, he put his cell phone back on the table.

“Who the hell is ringing at this hour?” a very irritable Rubin barked back.

“It’s the town crier.” Caedmon grinned. “Put on the kettle. We deciphered the frontispiece.”

CHAPTER 51

Garbed in dressing gowns and bedroom slippers, Caedmon and Edie trudged down the steps to Rubin’s private residence on the second floor. Caedmon had the Mylar-encased frontispiece and the decoded encryption clutched in his right hand.

As they approached Rubin’s flat, the door flung wide open.

“Comrades! The battle is joined. Time to gin up the troops.” Rubin, wearing a black velvet smoking jacket, complete with monogrammed breast pocket and silk ascot, handed each of them a full martini glass. If one ignored the spiky punk coif, he looked like the lead character in a Noel Coward play. At seeing Caedmon’s askance expression, Rubin sheepishly smiled. “I couldn’t locate the teakettle.”

“It’s usually found on top of the Aga.” Caedmon ushered Edie through the doorway. Stepping inside the ultramodern flat, he pointedly directed his gaze toward the kitchen, a sleek chrome kettle in plain sight.

Rubin walked over to the built-in bar and retrieved a third cocktail glass. Raising his glass in their direction, he cheerfully said, “I’m absolutely over the moon that you deciphered the frontispiece. Well done, Sir Peter. And kudos to the lovely Edie as well. Mazel tov.”

Edie’s eyes opened wide. “Boy, he is in good spirits,” she murmured under her breath.

“Dear Peter, I’m about to collapse with anticipation. Do tell! What is the encrypted message that Sir Francis left for posterity?”

Barely able to contain a triumphant smirk, Caedmon handed Rubin the sheet of paper with the decoded encryption.

Moses Egypticus mined Thoth’s stone.

The other man’s eyes narrowed. “You’re certain?”

Caedmon wordlessly nodded.

“Unbelievable. Francis Bacon actually had the sacred Emerald Tablet in his possession.” Rubin’s left hand noticeably shook, gin and vermouth sloshing over the side of his martini glass. “I am utterly staggered.”

Yes, it is staggering, Caedmon thought, still marveling at the revelation. Sought after by pharaohs. Confiscated by Moses. Uncovered by the Knights Templar. And rediscovered by Walter Ralegh. The damned thing had been secretly bandied about for centuries.

The Emerald Tablet.

Nearly fourteen years after the disgrace at Oxford, he’d discovered a missing link actually existed that connected the Knights Templar to ancient Egypt. A missing link that would validate his derided dissertation.

He had only to find the relic.

Visibly agog, their host motioned them toward a low-slung white divan. Mounted on the wall directly behind the settee was a triptych by the twentieth-century abstract painter Francis Bacon. A ghoulishly ironic homage to the famed artist’s namesake. In the near corner a white baby grand piano took center stage.

Bustling over to the kitchen, Rubin retrieved a cerulean blue serving plate piled high with coconut macaroons. “A celebration is in order.” All smiles, he gallantly extended the plate in Edie’s direction.

“Gosh, thanks.” If she thought martinis and macaroons a curious pairing, she hid it well. “And one for the road,” she added, plucking a second macaroon off the plate.

“The only pleasant memory that I have from childhood,” Rubin confided as he set the plate of confections on the glass-topped Noguchi cocktail table, “is Aunt Tovah’s Passover macaroons. Being a smart lad with a voracious sweet tooth, I charmed her out of the recipe before she met her just desserts.” As he sat down on the armchair opposite, he giggled at the tactless pun.

Seating herself on the divan, Edie tucked one leg under her bum, the silk kimono a splash of color against the white leather. A vibrant red poppy in impish full bloom. “I’m still confused as to why the Emerald Tablet is considered a sacred object. If it’s a big emerald, then, yeah, I can see why it’s priceless. But that’s not the same thing as being sacred.”

“According to legend, the Emerald Tablet isn’t made of emeralds but was instead fashioned from a green crystalline substance. Thus the confusing moniker.” Caedmon crossed his legs at the knee. Noticing a hairy shin, he frowned. While Edie and Rubin both seemed perfectly at ease, he felt slightly ridiculous gadding about in his bedclothes.

“Which doesn’t answer the lady’s query,” Rubin said around a chewy mouthful, the man already on his third macaroon. “The Emerald Tablet is not considered sacred; it is sacred. One does not have to believe in a god to respect the sanctity of creation. Oh, for God’s sake! Drink up!” He jutted his chin at their untouched martini glasses. “You’re acting like a pair of Calvinists at a prayer meeting.”

Edie obediently raised her glass. “Earlier, when we were upstairs, Caedmon also mentioned something about the secret of creation. Do you guys mean the Creation with a capital C?”

Rubin spread his arms wide as he gazed at the ceiling, his expression theatrically pious. “ ‘In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.’ Yes, my dear, capital C.” He lowered his arms and smiled. As pleased as Punchinello after he’d committed a truly heinous act. “The Emerald Tablet contains the code to set the whole of Creation into motion.”

“Unlock the code and one can create the primeval atom from which the fabric of time and space comes into existence,” Caedmon explained.

At hearing that, Edie’s jaw nearly came unhinged. “Whoa! You’re talking about the Big Bang, right? Admittedly, quantum physics isn’t my strong suit, but according to the theory, the universe was created when one incredibly dense atom exploded.” No sooner were the words spoken than her brow furrowed. “Now I’m really confused. Is the Emerald Tablet a device of some sort?”

“No, it’s not a device. It is a relic. And as Rubin so aptly put it, the relic contains the code for creation. Sequenced steps to put the process into motion.” Caedmon raised the martini glass to his lips. “A Genesis code, if you will.”

“Okay, we know from the frontispiece that Moses mined the Emerald Tablet, but who made it? How did it become, well, the Emerald Tablet?” Edie’s gaze ricocheted between Caedmon and Rubin, signaling she’d take an answer from either court.

Rubin was the first to hit the ball. “References to the Emerald Tablet have turned up in several Egyptian source materials, most notably the Book of the Dead, which dates to 1500 B.C. And while it’s true that the relic’s authorship is unknown, the honor is most often accorded to the Egyptian god Thoth whom the ancients considered