The Templar's Code

Caedmon quickly passed the map and pen to her. Anxious, hoping this truly proved a eureka! moment, he watched as Edie confidently drew two lines on the map, making a right-angle triangle.

“From the Jefferson Pier, head due north on Sixteenth Street, aka God’s line of longitude. Go approximately two miles and you come to”—she handed the map back to him—“Meridian Hill Park. As you can see, the Adams Annex, the Jefferson Pier, and Meridian Hill Park are the three vertices of a perfect right triangle.”

Bowled over, he stared at the drawing.

“ ‘I must find the catheti to my hypotenuse,’ ” he murmured, the disparate pieces falling into place. “That’s what the wily bastard Franklin wrote in The Book of Moses.”

“He did?”

“Indeed. And, in geometry, the catheti are the two shorter sides of a right triangle.”

“The hypotenuse being the longest of the three sides.”

“At the time, I thought it a figurative turn of phrase, Franklin wanting to find two younger men to do his legwork.” He waved away the flawed deduction.

Overhead, a dark flock flew across the sky in perfect avian formation. Of one mind, they suddenly swung to the left, not an errant bird among them.

He summoned a smile. “Triad. Triangle. Thoth the Thrice Great. Perfect symmetry.”

“Okay. Try this on… Suppose we actually find the Emerald Tablet. What happens then?”

Mmmm… an excellent question. For which there were two distinctly different answers: He could keep the sacred artifact for himself, hidden from the scholars, schemers, and occult fanatics who would descend like vultures. Or he could share his discovery with the world and let fate sort the clean laundry from the soiled sheets. Each of the scenarios had merit, Caedmon undecided.

“I seek neither fame nor fortune. That said, the quest for the Emerald Tablet is a search for wisdom, the ancient relic reputed to contain the knowledge of the Ages. The secret of creation itself.”

“The secret of creation?” Clearly put off by his reply, Edie pointed to an inscribed equation on the bronze statue. “E equals MC squared. As you no doubt know, that is often referred to as the mathematical equation for Genesis. It boggles the mind — well, my mind — anyway, to think that a teensy amount of mass can produce a huge amount of destructive energy. Poor Uncle Albert.”

“Indeed, Einstein discovered firsthand the horrific destruction that can ensue when man takes on the mantle of God.”

“I’ve often wondered how he slept at night knowing that the blast at Hiroshima killed one hundred thousand people,” Edie said, echoing his thoughts. “Create or annihilate… Why do I have this dreadful feeling that the Genesis code contained within the Emerald Tablet can do either?”

“Benjamin Franklin went to great lengths to keep his powerful discovery out of the hands of men who would misuse it.”

Her movements slow and deliberate, Edie returned her gaze to the bronze statute. “And Albert Einstein went to his grave regretting the fact that he didn’t.”

CHAPTER 74

“According to this plaque, there used to be a granite pier at Meridian Hill Park just like the one that’s on the Washington Monument grounds.” Edie turned toward the busy thoroughfare behind them. “With all the congestion, it’s hard to envision Sixteenth Street as God’s line of longitude.”

Caedmon reread the bronze plate affixed to the tall concrete wall that bordered the park. “It states that the pier marking the seventy-seventh meridian was situated precisely fifty-two feet and nine inches from where we’re currently standing.” Placing it in the center of what was now four lanes of fast-moving traffic. Damn. First a defaced pier, now one that’s gone missing. While his hopes weren’t dashed, they were dented.

“Back in the day, that being the year 1800 when Adams and Jefferson stashed their cache, this was nothing but a wild hinterland. In fact, the original L’Enfant plan for the new capital city never included the remote bluffs north of the downtown area.”

“And the park, when was it constructed?”

“Sometime in the 1920s. That’s when the area became a residential hub, folks moving up here in droves to escape the heat and humidity.” If Edie was disappointed by the missing pier, she gave no indication.

“Shall we?” Caedmon motioned to the covered stairway that led into the park.

An impressive bit of workmanship, the entry was reminiscent of a European citadel. But with a decidedly occult aspect, a flight of steps the age-old symbol of spiritual ascension. Moreover, the darkened passageway bespoke of the primordial chaos from which mankind evolved. The stairs inside Solomon’s Temple that led to the Middle Chamber.

When he heard the echo of tom-tom drums in the distance, he glanced at the sunlit street behind them, wondering where the sound emanated.

“I’ve been to Meridian Hill Park numerous times and every time I walk up these steps, I feel like a devotee making a spiritual pilgrimage.”

“A spot-on observation,” he murmured, the sound of beating drums becoming louder.

No sooner did they exit the enclosed staircase than they had to shield their eyes with their hands. Afternoon sunlight bounced off the pebbles and bits of mica embedded in the concrete aggregate pavement, the shimmery effect too intense to be happenstance. Someone purposely designed the enclosed passageway so that the initiate would ascend through the dark void into a state of illumination.

Wondering who that someone might be, he turned slightly — and gasped.

In the distance, perfectly framed between a majestic allee of linden trees, was the most famous Egyptian obelisk in the world, the Washington Monument. Like the glittering effect at the top of the stairs, the dramatic vista was too contrived not to be intentional.

“Guess you figured out, Toto, that we’re not in Kansas anymore.” Chuckling, Edie gave him a companionable nudge. “Your reaction, by the way, was priceless. Well, what do you think?” She expansively gestured to the acres of surrounding parkland.

In truth, he didn’t know what to think, surprised to be standing at one end of a neoclassical promenade flanked by two monumental fountains that had the look and feel of an old-world pleasure park. But not the sound: The New World version hosted a raucous percussion performance attended by an eclectic crowd of bobbing, dancing, whirling attendees. He estimated there were at least forty drummers playing every type of percussion instrument imaginable. A wood djembe, conga drums, an old-school drum set with crash symbol and hi-hat. There was even a bloke on the end playing a xylophone. Add to that the odd cowbell, whistle, and tambourine and it made for a cacophonous fusion of sight and sound.

Beginning to think that he really had been plunked down in Oz, he turned to Edie, hoping she could supply an explanation for the frenzy.

“What can I say? I just want to bang on the drum all day.” Swaying slightly, Edie bobbed her head with the thunderous beat. “The drum circle is something of a neighborhood institution.”

And a perfect diversion. At least a hundred people giving uninhibited expression to their inner child. No one would pay him and Edie any mind as they traipsed through the park and peered under statuary and stone.

Needing to focus his thoughts, he turned his back on the drum circle. “Tell me everything that you know about the layout and design of Meridian Hill Park.” Not only did Edie hail from Washington, but she also lived a mere eight blocks away.

His companion immediately stopped swaying. Assuming the classic tour guide pose, right arm raised to point out places of interest, she said, “Basically, it’s two separate parks. We’re currently standing on the upper level, which, as you can see, is a flat escarpment with lots of trees, benches, and walkways. Very French. Think Tuileries