The Adept Book 2 The Lodge Of The Lynx (51 page)

“Well, I’d certainly agree with that. One of the arguments put forward by their critics is that Freemasons use their Masonic connections to take unfair advantage in the workplace, giving jobs and promotions and contracts to other Masons in preference to non-Masons. That may be true in some cases, human nature being what it is, but the Masons I’ve known, who really live the Masonic ideal, say that the Masonic factor wouldn’t enter into the equation unless all other qualifications were equal. And then, if you’ve got a choice between a non-Mason whom you don’t know and a Mason who at least has pledged outward adherence to a certain moral code of excellence—well, I don’t think it’s unreasonable that a Mason would tend to get the nod over a non-Mason.”

She snorted. “I’ve heard that argument in the States, too—usually from someone who
wasn’t
as qualified. They do a lot of good work, though, through their charities and such. For some of them, it’s almost like an extension of their religion.”

“I’d tend to agree. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that in some respects, Freemasonry helps to fill in the gaps left by organized religion—contributing to that umbrella of good vibes, if you will, that’s generated by men and women of good will all over the planet, that helps to keep evil from getting out of hand.”

“Do you see evil as a tangible force, then?” she asked.

“It certainly can be,” he replied, thinking of what he had sensed up in the Cairngorms. “In general, though, I think that what we perceive as evil in the world is more often indifference or preoccupation gotten out of hand. It isn’t only the things we’ve done but the things we’ve left
undone,
as the General Confession puts it. I tend to believe that most people do want to do what’s right.”

He slowed as they made the transition onto the A609I, following the signs toward Melrose.

“But this is hardly the time to get into a philosophical discussion on the nature of evil. I’m hoping you’ll enjoy this little taste of Scottish heritage, even if the reason for coming here is a little sad. Have you been to Melrose before?”

“No, I haven’t had as much time as I’d like to explore the country. It’s been mostly work since I got here last June.”

“Well, you’ll have to come down here again, when there’s light to see,” Adam replied, heading past the Waverly Castle Hotel and on toward the Merkat Square. “The Eildon Hills are one of the lovelier areas of the Borders—and of course, you’ve got the other Border abbeys all within less than twenty miles of here: Dryburgh, Jedburgh, and Kelso. They’re all spectacular, in their own ways, but I have to admit to a special fondness for Melrose, myself.”

The Merkat Square was more of a long triangle than a square, paved throughout, but with parking allocated in most of the center. The Merkat Cross was at the far end, at the center of a roundabout, but Adam stopped well short of the Cross to ease the Toyota into a parking space beside McLeod’s familiar black BMW, just outside Burt’s Hotel. Noel and Jane McLeod were already drinking in the downstairs bar, and McLeod raised a hand in pleased greeting as Adam and Ximena came in, stamping snow from their boots. McLeod wore the apron and collar of a Master Mason under his open overcoat, and Jane was clad in sensible tweeds.

“Well, there you are,” McLeod said, signaling the barman.

“You’ve just got time for a hot toddy before we have to go out and brave the cold again. And you must be the intrepid Dr. Lockhart, who patched up our wayward friend here,” he added, extending a hand to Ximena.

“Noel and Jane McLeod, Dr. Ximena Lockhart,” Adam said, by way of introduction, exchanging a kiss with Jane. “And we’ve promised not to talk shop tonight. Ximena’s just come off about five days on call, and through Christmas, and is only just catching her breath after a good sleep-in today.”

“Good gracious,” Jane said, shaking Ximena’s hand. “You keep as awful hours as Noel does.”

Their chatter kept to inconsequentials for the next twenty minutes, with McLeod forging off occasionally to greet another of his Masonic brothers and give an opinion about the order of march or help adjust a piece of regalia, and in between, advising his three companions on the best places from which to watch. Very shortly, though, he bade them adieu and went outside with the rest of the Masons who were vacating the bar.

After finishing their drinks, Adam, Ximena, and Jane went outside as well, pulling on hats and gloves and buttoning up coats as they repaired to a vantage point over near the Merkat Cross. A police car in the white-with-blue livery of Lothian and Borders Police was pulled up at the curb nearby to provide crowd control, but perhaps because of the weather, most of what crowd there was seemed to be participants in the event rather than observers, gathering by torchlight at the far end of the square, outside the Masonic Hall, while a pipe band started warming up.

Sharp on six-thirty, the procession began to move toward the Merkat Cross in a double line—a motley assortment of torch bearing men from twenty to ninety-plus, in every variety of winter foul weather attire, most of them wearing their Masonic accoutrements over their outer clothing. A dark, handsome young man in a top hat and bearing a drawn sword led the procession—a Tyler, Ximena explained with an air of some authority-and marshals shepherded the company to either side with long white wands, as the pipe band played a jaunty marching air that Jane identified as “Merry Masons.”

There were five or six pipers and a like number of drummers, all of them looking cold. The line of the marching Masons stretched the full length of the square before the front end began twining around the Merkat Cross in a clockwise direction, torches borne solemnly above their heads. McLeod was about halfway along the line, marching beside a very thoughtful looking Donald Cochrane. A few of the men wore kilts, which Ximena thought looked very odd with a top hat, and many wore the traditional bowler hat often associated with formal Masonic attire. The variety of aprons and collars and other accoutrements was astonishing, reflecting the traditions of literally dozens of Masonic Lodges, and the company formed a kaleidoscopic whirl of color and movement as they circled three times round the Merkat Cross, always in time to the pipes and the drums.

Jane grinned and took an arm each between Adam and Ximena as the Tyler began to lead the procession out of the circle around the Merkat Cross, heading straight for them and the street that led on to the abbey, a few blocks away.

“We’ll scuttle on ahead to the abbey now,” she said, “so we can get a good spot to watch. They won’t be long, so we’ve got to hurry.”

* * *

And as Adam and the two women strode briskly down Abbey Street, toward the lit-up abbey at the end, and the last of the Masons entered the street, following after, a man who had been watching from the shadows beside Burt’s Hotel passed casually between a black BMW and a white Toyota Land Cruiser parked in front of the hotel, pausing with a hand on the latter as if to check something on his shoe, then deposited something silvery in the snow piled on top of the hood, just beyond the windscreen wipers. The chain he wound once around the base of the wiper itself, snaking the free end to fall through one of the narrow vent openings cut into that part of the hood. What was attached to the chain was not apt to slide off or be detected before it served its purpose.

A quick crouch to scoop up a double handful of snow, and the work was covered, the man on his way. He headed along another street that led toward the abbey, jogging once he was out of sight of the square, knowing he must inform his partner of the change of plans before it was too late. Deciding which of the two cars to choose had given him several minutes hard reflection, for either had its attractions, but he was confident his final choice represented a far finer target than the one previously selected.

He reached the wrought iron fence surrounding the abbey grounds just as the front end of the Masonic procession was disappearing into the abbey’s south transept entrance, the rest strung all along the snow-shrouded burial ground to the abbey’s south side. The pipe band was marking time just outside the gate, still playing, but the pipe major had followed on at the tail end of the procession, his pipes furled under his arm. The golden glow of the outside lights cast long, stark shadows behind the ancient tombstones, a slight snowfall shimmering in the illumination and touching the fair hair of a man in a handsome camel-colored overcoat standing to gaze near the caretaker’s hut at the now-closed main entrance.

Inspector Charles Napier braced himself, drawing his own coat collar up closer around his neck, as he approached the younger man. Raeburn was going to be angry at first, but Napier was sure he would approve of the change of plans.

Raeburn turned at the sound of footsteps crunching on the new-fallen snow, his eyes widening in surprise and shock as he recognized the other man.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” he whispered. “Is the medallion set?”

“Oh, it’s set,” Napier said, blowing on his gloved hands to warm them, “but not in the abbey. Sinclair’s here. I saw him get out of his car in the square. McLeod’s here, too, as I suspected he might be, but Sinclair is the better target.”

Raeburn looked as if he could not believe what he was hearing. “You mean you took it upon yourself to change the target?” Napier kept his gaze even and unwavering, though it was hard in the force of Raeburn’s mounting anger.

“We can wipe out Masons any time. We may not get such a good crack at Sinclair for a long time. He should be a most acceptable offering. And without its Master, the Hunting Lodge will be out of our way for some time—long enough for the Head-Master’s plans to come to fulfillment.”

Raeburn looked as if he cheerfully would have liked to throttle Napier then and there.

“I very much hope we can pull this off, Mr. Napier,” he said softly, between clenched teeth. “If anything goes wrong, we’ll both have to face the Head-Master’s wrath, but I intend to make it quite clear who was to blame.”

“If you do what’s required with that necklace,” Napier gestured toward the torc peeping from beneath Raeburn’s scarf, “I intend to claim the credit that’s due for eliminating Sinclair. Come on. We need to stake out the car, so that we’ll be ready when he’s ready to leave.”

* * *

Inside Melrose Abbey, the last strains of “Flowers of the Forest” died away amid the ruined walls, with snowflakes drifting down against the glare from the lights outside. The Masonic procession began to wind more informally out of the nave, out the south transept door and through the burying ground again, then out the gate and right this time, returning to the Merkat Square by a route that brought it out at the end nearest the Masonic Hall.

Adam and the women circled on ahead again to get the best vantage point, walking back part of the way through an alley short-cut with a young uniformed constable whom Adam recognized from his last visit to Melrose. They emerged from a side street in time to see the procession round the Merkat Cross one time, then march back toward the Masonic Hall, though the Tyler stopped before they reached it. Then the pairs of men drew apart to form an aisle down which the lead Tyler and two marshals with white wands came marching in lone procession, while the pipe band continued to play “Merry Masons” and the drums kept up a strong marching beat. Waiting at the end were the three senior Masters present, white-whiskered and top-hatted, the most senior of them leaning on the arms of his two juniors.

These the escort saluted and then led back up the aisle, as the Masons to either side doffed their hats and fell in behind, the line turning in on itself. It made a pretty picture by torchlight, with the skirling of the pipes and the beat of the drums behind. When the Masters reached the end, they passed under an arch made by the white staves of two more marshals and led on into the hall and the following procession gradually dispersed at that end of the square.

“Well, Randall would have liked that,” Jane said, as they headed back across the square to wait for McLeod. “It was very nicely done, though the weather kept some away who otherwise would have come, I suspect. Still and all, a fitting tribute. Did you enjoy it, Ximena?”

“Indeed, I did,” she replied. “I’m grateful that Adam allowed me to tag along. Are you and Noel joining us for some supper?”

“Thank you, my dear, but I’m going to take my husband home and unplug the phone,” Jane said frankly. “This is the first night we’ve had to ourselves in weeks, and I intend to take full advantage. Adam, don’t you even think about dumping some new crisis on his plate, or I shall never speak to you again!”

Adam chuckled and slipped an arm around Ximena. “I promise not to intrude on your planned night of wedded bliss. Does Noel know about this?”

“I think he might suspect,” she said coyly.

“I see. Then I don’t suppose you want to join us for a drink before you take off, or even a coffee?”

“Nope,” Jane said flatly. “I have a bottle of champagne waiting in the refrigerator, and I don’t want him falling asleep on me. Lovely to meet you, Ximena. I hope we’ll see more of you in the future.”

On that note, Jane headed off toward the cars, hailing her husband as he approached and diverting him toward the black BMW. McLeod raised a hand in farewell as he saw them passing a few cars down, giving a shrug as if to say that the situation was beyond his control, but he had a sheepish look on his face, and put up no argument as Jane bundled him into the passenger seat and then went around to drive. Adam was chuckling as he and Ximena went into the hotel to seek out the dining room.

“It must be rough, being married to a cop,” she said, when they were seated.

“Oh, I think they’ve worked out something reasonably satisfactory,” he replied. “They’ve been married for nearly thirty years. Ah, I see that venison is on the menu tonight. I heartily recommend it.”

An hour later, they had tucked away a very creditable meal, washed down with a glass apiece of delightfully smooth Mondavi Cabernet that Ximena recommended. Adam was feeling pleasantly replete as they went out to the car. After seeing Ximena in, he pulled off his sheepskin coat and tossed it in the back seat before getting in on the driver’s side. The Merkat Square was’ mostly deserted by now, most of the Masonic revelers having gone on about their business after the Walk.