The Templar's Code

those three iconic images each conveyed the essence of creation made manifest in the material world.”

“Yada, yada, yada. Let’s see if we can find a connection between Thoth and any of our Triad members.” Edie Googled “Benjamin Franklin + Thoth.” “Nada on the yada,” she muttered when “No results found” popped up on the computer. “Ditto for Jefferson. Who, by the way, happens to be my second favorite redhead.” She punctuated the playful addendum with a wink. “And lastly, the portly man from Quincy.” A moment later, slack-jawed, brown eyes opened wide, she turned to him. “Ohmygod… we got a hit.”

Squinting, he leaned closer to the computer. “Are you certain?”

“Oh, yeah. Look, it’s a bronze bas-relief sculpture of Thoth on an exterior door. The door in question is hinged onto the John Adams Building in Washington, D.C. Which, in case you don’t know, is an annex building for the Library of Congress.”

He stared, dumbfounded. Thoth, the ibis-headed Egyptian god, depicted not in a temple on the Nile but in the American capital on the Potomac.

Washington, the city of secrets. Past and present.

“And did you happen to notice what the bird-man is holding aloft in his right hand?”

“I do believe that our Egyptian friend is clutching the Emerald Tablet.” Amazed by the startling image, he could do little more than shake his head and gawk.

“Ruh-roh.” Edie pointed to a section of text that accompanied the online image. “According to this, the Adams Annex was constructed in 1938. One hundred and twelve years after John Adams died.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Unconcerned by the incongruous date, he elaborated. “Dr. Franklin indicated in The Book of Moses that he intended for the Triad to germinate itself, each member responsible for selecting his own successor. In that way, the Triad would continue in perpetuity. Blooming anew each generation.”

“If that’s true, then at some point the Emerald Tablet was transported from Philadelphia to Washington.”

“A bas-relief sculpture is hardly proof positive.”

“ ‘Biblicil aten stone to Gods eye do not err,’ ” she iterated, an exasperated edge to her voice. “Not only do we have an image of Thoth holding the Emerald Tablet, but I think I know who was responsible for moving the relic to the capital city.”

“Indeed?” He wondered how, sans a crystal ball, she could know such a thing.

“Guess who first broached the idea of turning a swampy parcel on the Potomac into the nation’s capital?”

“Admittedly, my grasp of American history is sketchy, but I thought that George Washington was the culprit, aided by the French-born city planner Pierre Charles L’Enfant. Both of whom were Freemasons.”

“That’s the story the Freemasons would like you to believe,” Edie informed him. “The truth of the matter is that Thomas Jefferson strenuously lobbied Congress to purchase land along the Potomac River to serve as the site for the new capital. And he did this before the Revolution ended in 1781. An amateur architect, he even drew up a plan for the city layout.”

“Did Franklin have anything to do with the design of Washington?” he asked, admittedly intrigued.

“Not according to the history books. Benjamin Franklin died the same year that Washington was founded in 1790. But given that it was Jefferson who chose the site, Jefferson who oversaw the city survey, and Jefferson who managed the entire construction project when he was secretary of state, I’m wondering if the three members of the Triad — Franklin, Adams, and Jefferson — didn’t hatch the plan to build the new capital on the Potomac long before it became a reality. Because, yes, you guessed it, that’s where they all along intended to hide the Emerald Tablet.”

Her supposition certainly had merit. Curious — Edie’s wealth of knowledge impressive — he inquired, “How is it that you’re so well informed on these matters?”

Grabbing the netbook, she set it on her lap. “The summer between junior and senior year in college, I worked as a guide for the Washington Tourmobile company. Making me a walking encyclopedia when it comes to D.C. history and lore.”

“And have you seen this bronze bas-relief sculpture of Thoth in situ?”

“I’ve seen the building, but not the bronze doors. Do you think the Emerald Tablet could possibly be hidden in the Adams Annex?” she inquired as she shut down the computer.

“It’s possible. We won’t know until we examine the bas-relief sculpture on the Adams Annex.”

“Then it’s homeward bound. Kind of ironic that we’re going full circle, huh?” Closing the lid on the computer, Edie shoved it into her satchel. “Ever give any thought to what you want on your epitaph?”

“I’ve given little thought to shucking the mortal coil. Although, like Dr. Franklin, perhaps something pithy and—”

“Oh my God!” Edie gasped, grabbing his arm. “I just saw Rico Suave!”

CHAPTER 68

“At least I think I saw him,” Edie amended, having caught sight of a dark-haired, well-dressed blur out of the corner of her eye. “Whatever I saw, we need to get out of here!” Particularly since the cemetery was eerily deserted.

Outwardly calm, Caedmon leaned in close like a man about to whisper sweet-nothings into his lover’s ear. “Keep your voice down. We don’t want to alert our foe.”

A command easier said than done, her nerves like vibrating guitar strings. A frenzied flamenco come to life.

“I need to know where precisely you saw the bastard.”

“To my left, about fifty yards back.” Although tempted to turn and point, she didn’t.

“Do you by any chance have a mirror in your satchel?”

“Um, yeah, I think so.” Opening her shoulder bag, she hurriedly ransacked the contents. A few seconds later, she removed an old cosmetic compact. Fumbling a bit with the latch, she opened it, wordlessly passing it to him.

The mirror enabled Caedmon to scan the cemetery without turning his head. “Damn. The bastard’s too far away to identify. Although he appears to be manning the front gate. Since the cemetery is enclosed by a seven- foot-high brick wall and that gate is the only way out of here, I suspect he’s waiting for us to come to him.”

At which time Rico Suave could shoot them, stab them, or even hit them in the head with a metal pipe. And there wasn’t anything they could do to stop him.

“Admittedly, our options are limited.” Closing the compact, Caedmon returned it to her.

“God, I’m so stupid! I’ve got a cell phone. I can dial 911,” she exclaimed, riding a big Waikiki wave of relief. “One call and the cops will be here in a jiff.”

“If they show up.”

“Why wouldn’t they?”

Caedmon raised a dubious brow. “What exactly do you plan on telling the police? That a lone man, who has done nothing untoward or threatening, is milling about, minding his own business. No crime in that.”

“He’s murdered two men!” Edie hissed. Being cool under pressure was one thing. Being blase in the face of danger another matter altogether. “In this country, that’s a capital offense.”

“For which we have no proof.” Caedmon stood up. Grabbing the satchel, he wrapped his other hand around her upper arm, pulling her upright. He gave her a tight smile. “Time to put on your jolly face.”

“And this is going to help us how?”

He made no reply. Instead, he slung a companionable arm around her shoulder as he shepherded her along the crushed-stone walkway. In the complete opposite direction from the cemetery gate. While relieved to be moving