The Templar's Code (20 page)

“Where should I stand?”

She glanced around then pointed to a spot to the left of her. “Over there will be just fine.” Lifting the strap over her head, she set the camera on the altar, leaning her torso on the granite slab as she determined the best position. “I’m going to first take a photo with the built-in flash. If we get too much light bouncing off the background, I can fiddle around with the aperture. Okay, lights, camera—Oh, I almost forgot, don’t move. And don’t let the kiddies try this at home.” She winked at him, her mood noticeably improved.

Caedmon obediently stood still as a flashpoint of bright light emanated from the camera.

Removing the camera from the altar, Edie walked toward him. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

Leaning over her shoulder, Caedmon peered at the small LCD screen, pleased.

“I think a Templar photo album is in order.” Edie slipped the strap over her head. Camera in hand, she slowly walked backward, stopping and starting as she peered into the viewfinder.

She snapped several photos, each accompanied by a flash of light.

“At Rosslyn Chapel in Scotland, the twenty St. Clair knights interred in the underground tombs are rumored to glow with an otherworldly light,” he conversationally mentioned.

“Thanks for the spooky sidebar.” Camera still pressed to her face, she took another backward step. “Like I wasn’t unnerved enough already, now I’m envisioning a bunch of dead guys glowing in the—”

Without warning, the ground beneath Edie’s feet suddenly gave way, the earth opening up to swallow her whole.

Unnerved, Saviour peered over the edge of the stone slab. Into the frothy, white-capped river below. Catching sight of the pickax hooked onto a jagged rock, he frowned. Baffled.

“Den katalaveno,”
he muttered. “I don’t understand. Where did they go?”

It made no sense. None whatsoever. How could they have vanished into thin air?

Noticing the abandoned knapsacks in plain view, he walked over to them. The packs suggested that the pair were planning to return.

He squatted onto his haunches and riffled through the packs. The first contained a small computer, cell phone, notebook, water bottle, and a bag of nuts. The second pack held miscellaneous digging equipment, more water, and a flare gun. In case the little lambs got lost in the woods.

Hearing an incoming call on his Bluetooth ear hook, he tapped the
Talk
button. It’d been thirty minutes since he last checked in with Mercurius, his mentor understandably curious. Hopefully, he could provide insight into this strange development.

“They’ve disappeared,” Saviour said without preamble.

“From sight or—”

“From the face of the planet,” he interjected, worried that he might be blamed for losing the sheep. For being an inattentive shepherd. “I am standing on the riverbank where they left their knapsacks. The woman mentioned a cave as well as—”

“A cave?” There was no mistaking the excitement in Mercurius’s voice. “Are you certain this is what you overheard?”

“With the parabolic dish, I can hear a rabbit fart three hundred meters away. Yes, I am certain. Hooked onto the edge of the stone slab is a pickax with a length of rope tied to the end. The entrance to the cave must be hidden beneath the river rocks, but . . . it is invisible to the naked eye.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Saviour didn’t have to see Mercurius to know that the other man had lightly grasped his chin in his right hand and that he was now slowly tapping his index finger against his lips. Lost in thought.

“Do you want me to follow them into this underwater cave?” Saviour prayed the answer was no.

“Be patient, my love. They will return. Find yourself a suitable hiding place. But I want you to contact me the moment they appear. I want to know if they have retrieved anything from this cave.”

Hearing that, Saviour exhaled a gusty sigh of relief. Although loathe to admit it, he had a dread fear of caves. They were too much like the grave. Or a dark, eerie house.

And he knew all about living in the dark house.

When he first arrived on Panos Island, he’d been an impressionable eighteen-year-old who couldn’t believe the blessing that had been bestowed upon him: He’d caught the eye of Greek shipping tycoon Evangelos Danielides. And had literally been whisked off the streets of Thessaloniki to a pampered, luxurious idyll on a sun-kissed private island in the Aegean.

He’d tried to act cool, but in truth, he’d been utterly dazzled. By the thousand-acre isle with its turquoise lagoons ringed with cedar and wild olive trees. By the opulent marble villa with its cadre of obsequious servants who would draw his bath. Clip his fingernails. Massage him with sweet-smelling oils.
Was he not a prince among men?
And, of course, most of all, he’d been dazzled by the man himself, Evangelos Danielides.

At the dawn of the twenty-first century, the booming economies of China and India had created a whole new generation of Greek tycoons who made massive fortunes transporting the world’s goods. But unlike the more famous youngbloods, Evangelos Danielides maintained a low profile, disdaining the jet set. To Saviour’s surprise, Evangelos had a laid-back style. When not attired in bathing trunks, he wore loose linen trousers paired with a white T-shirt. He drank ouzo rather than champagne. Although he did have one curious affectation—he smoked Sobranie Black Russian cigarettes. Which lent a sexy rasp to his already deep voice.

Those first weeks on Panos had been a heady experience, almost too much for Saviour to absorb. Which is why he always looked forward to the end of day when he and Evangelos would lounge beside the infinity pool, the setting sun turning the blue Aegean a fiery red.

And then things turned very ugly very quickly.

It started one day at archery practice, Evangelos—justly proud of having been on the 2000 Greek Archery Team—was instructing him on how to improve his draw. Standing directly behind him, crotch firmly planted against his ass, he’d whispered in his ear, “Pull with your shoulder.” As he spoke, Evangelos slipped a hand between Saviour’s legs. Suddenly disinterested in archery, Saviour turned his head to kiss his beloved. “I said pull with your shoulder, bitch!” Evangelos hissed in his ear as he roughly squeezed his testicles. Saviour bit back a whelp of pain, tears flooding his eyes. Uncertain what he’d done to incur the vicious outburst.

In the days to come, Evangelos took to slapping him. Kicking and shoving. Then punching him in the face. One morning he presented Saviour with a studded metal collar and a leather jockstrap. His new uniform. What had been a life of idle luxury became one of degradation. Pain and humiliation. There was no one he could turn to for help; the servants turned a deaf ear to his screams. Trapped on the private island, Saviour was Evangelos Danielides’s chattel. A piece of ass that the shipping tycoon owned. A possession. No different from his yacht. Or his prized Argentine mastiffs. His to do with as he pleased.

Or so he thought. Never imagining that his meek little lamb would turn into a vicious, snarling wolf.

And just as Saviour had done to Evangelos Danielides, he would do to the Brit when he emerged from the cave.

Readjusting the straps on his hiking pack, he headed toward an overgrown patch inundated with evergreen shrubs some fifty meters from the riverbank. An excellent place to wait for his quarry.

“Edie!”

Too terrified to answer, afraid she’d lose her grip, Edie clung to a stone nubbin that protruded from the side of the dark shaft. She frantically moved her dangling feet, hoping,
pleading
. . .

One booted foot found purchase on a miniscule pucker of rock.

“I’m down here,” she hoarsely called out. “I fell into a shaft.” She didn’t dare look up, fearful she’d lose her balance. She also didn’t look down, sensing that an inky abyss yawned beneath her.

A beam of light suddenly illuminated the shaft.

“My God, are you all right?” Caedmon’s voice echoed off the stone walls, the sound strangely distorted.

“No, I’m hanging on for dear life,” she whimpered. With her hands painfully crimped, her right foot awkwardly splayed, and her left foot limply suspended in midair, she wondered how long she could maintain her precarious perch.

“Don’t panic.”

“You’re kidding, right?” She felt a trickle of blood meander down the side of her face, having scraped her cheek when she took the unexpected plunge. Probably scraped a whole lot of body parts.

“I want you to listen very carefully.” Caedmon spoke slowly, precisely, the way one would speak to a terrified child. “You’re about six feet from the surface. Too far of a distance for me to physically reach you.”

“Oh God, no!”

“Not to fear. I will get you out of the shaft, but it’s going to take a minute or two before I can toss a lifeline down to you.” Caedmon pulled the flashlight away from the opening, the shaft instantly cast into darkness.

“Please hurry,” Edie murmured, her cheek pressed against the rusticated stone. “Any idea what the hell just happened?”

“You fell into a very cleverly designed death trap,” Caedmon’s disembodied voice replied. “My guess is that the opening was concealed with a layer of clay hardpan.”

“Which gave way when I stepped on it.”

“Precisely. The Templars obviously didn’t want anyone stealing whatever it was that had been safeguarded in the sanctuary. Quite an engineering feat, really.”

Edie made no comment. Instead she clamped her jaw together.
Tight
. Trying to stop her teeth from clattering, worried that the slightest motion would upset what had become a delicate balancing act. She knew the chitchat was Caedmon’s attempt at keeping her calm. And while she loved him for it, it wasn’t doing a damned thing to quell her fear.

The golden beam of light reappeared.

“I want you to listen very carefully to me, Edie. I’m about to lower a lifeline to you. It will pass on your right side. Understood?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered, not altogether certain what he meant by a “lifeline.”

She had her answer a few moments later when a length of soft chambray grazed her right hand. She instantly recognized the blue fabric—it was the sleeve from Caedmon’s shirt.

“I’ve tied my anorak and shirt together, contriving a lead for you to grasp. Now,
very carefully
, you are to reach out and take hold of the lead with your right hand.”

Edie visualized the instructions just given to her. Very quickly she realized that to grab hold of the lead, she’d have to let go of the rock that she was clinging to.

“I can’t!”

“You
can
,” Caedmon urged. “It won’t take but a second to grab the sleeve. Grasp it and wrap the fabric around your hand. Good and tight. While you do that, you can continue holding on to the rock with your left hand.”

“But I might lose my balance.” Her voice was little more than a terrified croak.

“The key is
not
to make any sudden movements. Maintain your center of balance by taking slow, measured breaths. Understood?”

She made no reply, terrified that she was seconds away from plunging to her death.

“Edie, this is the only way to extract you from the shaft.
Please
, love . . . I know you can do this.”

She heard a catch in his voice. That’s when she knew the calm tone was all for show. Caedmon was just as terrified as she. For some insane reason, that imbued her with a burst of courage.

Not giving herself time to change her mind, Edie released her hold on the rock, moved her fingers a scant inch to the right. Snatching hold of the dangling length of chambray, she wrapped the fabric around her hand.

She held the shirt in a death grip.