The Templar's Code

away from Rico Suave, she didn’t like putting so much distance between themselves and the gate. That being the only means of escape from the bricked enclosure.

As they leisurely strolled, Edie could feel the tensed muscles in Caedmon’s arm. And though he smiled and attentively bent his head in her direction, his eyes kept darting from side to side. Plotting. Planning.

A few moments later, plan evidently hatched, he veered away from the walkway onto a dirt path that rib- boned off at a scraggly angle, the grass beaten from years of pedestrian traffic. The arm instantly dropped from her shoulder as Caedmon snatched hold of her hand, accelerating the pace as they hurried past stone crosses, carved sarcophagi, funerary urns, and tilted headstones.

“This is as good a bulwark as any,” he muttered, dodging behind a massive granite plinth surmounted by a carved memorial obelisk. “And completely out of the bastard’s line of sight.”

Edie nestled close, well aware that they were playing a potentially deadly game of hide-and-seek.

Pressed against her backside, Caedmon peered around the granite pedestal. “Perfect… our gatekeeper is on the move.”

He’s on the move! A garbled sound — midway between a gasp and a whimper — passed between her lips. Caedmon chastened her with a cautionary glance.

“You mean that you actually want him to follow us?” she whispered.

“How else to lure him away from the exit? Which brings me to the matter of your coat. If you would be so kind as to hand it over.”

“Why do you want my trench coat?”

“It will make the perfect capote de brega. Bullfighter’s cape,” he translated.

All thumbs, Edie clumsily untied the belt and removed her coat. Clueless as to what exactly he intended to do with the fuchsia-colored garment, she handed it to him.

The last thing she expected was Caedmon to roll it into a ball and shove it under his wool sports jacket.

“Off to set the trap.”

Edie grabbed his wrist. “Please don’t tell me this is where we go our separate ways and meet up later in Prague.”

“If all goes well, I’ll only be gone a few minutes.” A determined look on his face, Caedmon reassuringly squeezed her hand. “If the bastard shows up before I return, kick him in the cubes and scream like a banshee.”

Battle orders given, he took off running, tucking his tall frame into a low crouch as he zigzagged from monument to obelisk to tree trunk. The dark clouds overhead washed the cemetery in muted shades of gray and granite. She soon lost sight of Caedmon, inciting a barrage of graphic, gory images to flash across her mind’s eye. Worst-case scenarios.

In her peripheral vision, Edie saw a blaze of fuchsia. And though she knew it was an illusion, it appeared that someone decked out in a bright pink coat was crouched behind a tombstone.

The trap had been set.

Anxiously peering around the corner of the granite plinth, she searched for Caedmon, still unable to locate him amid the stone jumble. Just then, a large hand snaked in front of her, covering her mouth. In the next instant, she was yanked against a male torso. Completely immobilized.

“Shhh! It’s me.”

Caedmon!

Relieved, Edie slumped against his chest.

“No time to chat!” he whispered, removing his hand from her mouth. “He took the bait.”

“I don’t think so! Look over there!” She pointed to a fast-moving blur. “He’s headed this way!”

That being their cue, they sprinted toward the front gate. Their pounding footfalls made a loud crunching sound on the stone walkway. Up ahead, Edie could see that the double gate was closed.

Please, please, don’t be locked!

Caedmon charged ahead of her to the gate. With a mighty tug, he swung it wide open, metal hinges loudly squeaking. Seconds later, they charged through the opened gateway, emerging onto a city pavement teeming with tourists and office workers.

Always thinking two moves ahead, Caedmon maneuvered them into the middle of a large crowd headed in the direction of the U.S. Mint.

“I don’t know about you, but I stupidly thought Rico’s ‘sell by’ date had expired,” she wheezed, her breath noticeably uneven.

“Still very much on the shelf.” Breaking away from the crowd, Caedmon stepped off the curb and raised his right hand. “Taxi!”

CHAPTER 69

Softly chuckling, Saviour Panos watched the fleeing pair get into a taxi.

Where you go, I will go. And where you stay, I will stay.

He didn’t know what that was from, but Mercurius often quoted it. Apropos given the circumstances.

Back in London, he’d followed the pair to Heath-row, where an obliging ticket clerk had informed him that they’d purchased nonstop tickets to Philadelphia. When their flight landed nine hours later, Mercurius followed them from Philadelphia International Airport to Library Hall. When Saviour arrived shortly thereafter, having caught a different flight, Mercurius had had the wise foresight to purchase a tracking device from a downtown spy shop, the sort of establishment that caters to men anxious to catch their cheating wives in the act of copulation. Giving him the tracking device, Mercurius had hugged him tight before taking his leave.

Take heart, my beloved. You are not to blame for what happened in London.

Maybe so, but Saviour was determined to make amends.

And the Creator was doing all in his power to assist him — knapsacks, purses, and briefcases were expressly forbidden inside the Reading Room. Because of the regulation, the Brit and his woman had been forced to check their satchel at the Library Hall front desk. Saviour simply had to wait for the attendant to leave her post. It’d taken but a moment to insert the small tracking device — embedded on an adhesive strip — inside the Miller woman’s bag.

He’d enjoyed the romp in the cemetery. Had enjoyed the fear that he’d seen on the bitch’s face. With the tracking device in place, the pair had become his unwitting pawns. Saviour glanced at the display screen on his PDA smartphone, able to track their every move on the interactive map.

And that meant he would be able to make amends, wanting only to please Mercurius. Particularly since he could not pleasure his beloved sexually. At least not to climax. That was never permitted, his mentor a celibate.

In the self-same point where the soul is made sensual, in the self-same point is the city of God.

Another of his mentor’s favorite sayings. Although Saviour could not comprehend the logic. According to Mercurius, a man can communicate with the Creator by manipulating the flow of sexual energy as it traverses his spine. A mystical fire that burned its way to the third eye. The one that was all seeing. When that point was flooded with sacred energy, the life force of creation, a gateway was opened between heaven and earth.

As above, so below.

Saviour was too coarse by far. He lacked the spiritual awareness to harness his own sexual energy. For him, the point of arousal was to come. Not to go. Once the blood pumped into his cock, there was but one outcome. And it did not involve the Creator.

But Mercurius was a man of deep and abiding spiritual beliefs who daily attempted to open the sacred gate. To master the lower self so he could communicate with the Creator. Saviour considered it a great honor to assist him in this endeavor.