The Crusader ("The Crusader" Prequel to "Kingdom Come") (44 page)

Rory
swallowed hard, feeling the familiar tightening of anxiety grab her.
"What's that?"

Bud
paused a moment. "He thinks you stole Sir Kieran's body because you were
smuggling artifacts inside the corpse. The police aren't buying it as far as I
can tell, but Corbin is convinced you're hiding something."

Rory
closed her eyes to the horrifying new dimension of the situation. "And
he's coming here to find out?"

"He's
coming to get you."

Her
nostrils flared with emotion. "No!" she almost shouted. "We're
within striking distance of the crown and I refuse to... oh, Bud, what are we
going to do? If Corbin gets here before…."

"I'm
about four hours away, maybe more," Bud said, feeling her panic through
the phone. "But I'll be there, honey, I swear it."

Rory was
genuinely surprised. "You're... coming?" she said in awe.
"You're already here? But, Bud, I thought you were still in England. You said
you were finished with this."

Bud drew
in a deep breath. How many times had he resisted her pleas, denied her
requests, only to give in? "I never could stay away from you no matter
what," he muttered, feeling like an idiot. "Give the phone to Dave so
I can tell him what's happening. Until I can get there, he's the line of
defense between you and Corbin."

A faint
smile creased her lips, feeling the warmth and devotion from Bud as she always
had. "Thanks, Bud," she murmured. "You're really not such a bad
guy, after all."

After
the phone call that would cost him a small fortune was complete, David put the
phone back into his pocket.

"So
this Corbin guy," he began, displeased with the idea of the man in pursuit
of Rory and Kieran. "Bud says he's a mean bastard. A lawyer, huh?"

Rory
nodded, her expression tense. "A shark, Dave. Unscrupulous as they
come."

Next to
her, Kieran sighed heavily, his square jaw ticking. "Simon was never
particularly unscrupulous until Henry's men convinced him that utter victory
over Saladin was the only honorable ending," he murmured, looking to Rory
and David. "'Tis not only the reincarnation of Simon that follows me, but
his soul as well. Whereas God is working on our side, my lady, I am afraid that
Lucifer is working for Simon. He is coming and he will not stop until he has
me."

"Simon?"
David repeated, remembering what Kieran had told him on the ride from Tel Aviv.
"The guy who tried to kill you?"

Rory
ignored David's question, staring at Kieran as tears stung her eyes. "He's
not going to get you," she said firmly. "We'll find the crown and
return to England and face up to whatever consequences there are. David and Bud
will help us, Kieran. You must believe that."

"I
do," he said, reaching out to touch her beloved face. "But I feel
strangely now, as I have since our arrival. A sensation of forboding and
emptyness that I can scarcely comprehend. And my wound... it pains me
oddly."

Rory
frowned, untucking his shirt from his pants and gasping when she gazed upon the
swollen, throbbing scar. Bewildered and frightened, she met Kieran's gaze.

"What's
wrong?" she hissed, fighting off the tears. "Why is it acting
up?"

He shook
his head, retucking his shirt because the sight of his injury upset her so. "I
do not know," he murmured, pulling her into his arms. "But I feel...
I feel as I did the night Simon came for me at the inn, a powerful sensation of
evil pursuing me, closing in on me no matter where I go. And my wound... mayhap
it is reminding me that my task is not over yet. I must complete it before
Simon finds me. Again."

Clouds
were gathering over head, the wind picking up. Her chest constricted with fear,
Rory struggled to overcome the foreboding she too was feeling.

With Rory
in his grasp, Kieran didn't waste any time in continuing his task; pacing off
the perimeter of the Muslim mosque, he struggled to maintain a clear focus as
to what he must do. The sense of urgency was greater now than ever before.

Simon was
closing in.

CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN

The
flight from London had been exceedingly turbulent. The moment Steven Corbin
disembarked at Tel Aviv, he realized he was glad to be off the plane. Gazing
over the dusky landscape of Israel, the smile on his face had nothing to do
with the end of his flight. Osgrove was close.
Very
close.

The
flight he had assumed her to be on was held over in Rome. His flight had gone
straight through. Even if he was trailing her, he wasn't far behind and he
swore that he would have her by morning and find out for himself why men had
been willing to fight, lie and steal to protect her and an ancient corpse.

A corpse
that was still missing. Even more than discovering what she had done with it,
the desire to know the secret she was hiding was overpowering. And frankly, he
detested mysteries. Dietrich was no where to be found and unable to protect her
from the wrath preparing to fall.

Except
for the massive bodyguard that was apparently traveling with her.
Simon
,
the man had called him. So positive that Corbin had been this Simon that he had
been willing to surrender himself in order to save Osgrove, arguing about some
ridiculous subject Corbin could hardly understand. As baffling as the encounter
had been, he hadn't thought on it overly with all of the other pressing
problems until he'd had a chance to reflect on the plane. And that's when it
occurred to him.

Somehow...
he knew this man. Or, at least, he thought he might have met him once. There
was such a familiarity about him that he couldn't begin to describe it; still,
the persistent sense of deja vu plagued him.

Jolted
from his train of thought as they reached the noisy luggage claim, Corbin was
immediately approached by a small man in a suit and several soldiers in
fatigues. Embassy men, he correctly assumed, as the suited man extended his
hand in greeting.

"Mr.
Corbin?" he asked politely. "I'm Justin Darlow from the embassy. We
received your wire, sir, and are prepared to assist."

Corbin
shook the man's hand. "Thank you for your assistance. Since Scotland Yard
only considers Dr. Osgrove a suspect, they have left it up to me to bring her
back. Somehow, they still have difficulty believing she was capable of removing
a body twice her size from a morgue," he glanced around at the luggage
claim area. "Did she come through customs?"

Darlow
nodded. "We checked the manifest. She came through with a man by the name
of Britson. Ring a bell?"

"Not
really. But I was told by the ticket agent at Heathrow that she was traveling
with a man, a very large man whom I've had the misfortune to meet.  He disabled
one of my men so severely that he's still in the hospital."

Darlow
nodded faintly, sensing nothing but coldness from the piercing-eyed lawyer. He
had been briefed on the history of Osgrove's crimes, remembering the beautiful
woman from the Nahariya site and hardly believing she was capable of such
lawbreaking. But the evidence, from what he had been told, was strong and the
fact that she had returned to the dig must mean something significant. But
Darlow couldn't imagine what, exactly. Still, he had been asked to help. And
help he would.

"Very
well," Darlow turned away from Corbin and gestured to the marines.
"We've a convoy ready to take us to Nahariya if you'll collect your
luggage. Dr. Osgrove has a several hour head-start on us."

Corbin
followed Darlow into the waning Israeli sunshine where three Rovers wait in a
line at the curb. He and Darlow and a marine took the first cruiser while the
rest of the marines disbursed themselves between the remaining two. Three
vehicles with twelve men among them pulled away from the curb and headed away
from the airport.

"I
take it that Osgrove is in a lot of trouble," Darlow said from the front
seat as they headed out onto the highway.

In the
backseat, Corbin nodded faintly. "Quite a bit."

Darlow
shook his head. "She seemed like a rather nice young woman. A bit
emotional, but pleasant enough. I simply cannot believe she would do something
as bizarre as stealing a corpse."

Corbin
looked at the embassy aide, a thought coming to mind. "Did you ever see
the body, Mr. Darlow?"

"Absolutely.
A magnificent find."

Corbin
cocked an eyebrow. "Did you examine it thoroughly?"

"Of
course not. I'm not a scientist."

"Then
you simply viewed it after the American's had tampered with it?"

Darlow
turned to look at him. "Tampered? What do you mean?"

Corbin
was silent a minute, picking at his nails. "Nothing, I suppose. But I take
it Dr. Osgrove was resistant to the idea of returning it to England?"

"Terribly.
She carried on as if I had suggested giving her own child up for
adoption."

"Then
she was attached to the corpse even then."

"I
suppose so. She wouldn't even let me take pictures of it. A pity, really. Sir
Kieran was a very handsome man. A square jaw, even-featured from what I could
tell, and exceedingly large."

Something
about that statement made Corbin look up from his nails. "Large, did you
say?"

Darlow
nodded. "Massive. She said the man was six feet three or four and weighed
well over two hundred pounds in his prime."

Corbin
thought it strange that Darlow had just described Osgrove's bodyguard
perfectly. But he shrugged it off, knowing the notion was impossible. As the
land cruiser sped over miles of Israeli highway, Corbin's thoughts returned to
the beautiful young doctor who was in a great deal of trouble. And with every
mile that passed, he was coming closer and closer to her dark little secret.

Bodyguard
or no, he would have his answers.

***

It
wasn't easy picking up where he had left off eight hundred years ago.  As
Kieran paced off the perimeter of the mosque, he realized quite a few things
had changed since his day. Not merely the obvious.

There
had been a wide avenue flanking the mosque, filled with shops and vendors. He
could still smell the dung from the pack animals as his new boots, now covered
with dust, plodded in what he hoped was the right direction. With barely a
sliver moon and a gathering of clouds impeding his view, his return for the
crown was more difficult than he had hoped.

Finally,
he gave up in his attempt to use his sight. His only hope of regaining his
bearings would be to return to the place and time that was most familiar to
him. Rory and David had long since given up following him about and simply
stood by, watching him work out the logistics of the situation. And they
continued to watch as he turned away from the camp and faced in the direction
of the Mediterranean. Closing his eyes, he took a cleansing breath and dreamed
of a time long, long ago.

"What's
he doing?" David whispered to Rory.

She
shook her head, watching as Kieran seemed to slip into a trance. He was so
terribly still. Seconds stretched into minutes as he continued to concentrate,
his breathing even and his body relaxed. The Harvard-educated foreman came to
stand beside Rory, his young face inquisitive and a shovel in his hand. The
three of them wait silently as the knight from the shallow grave drew closer to
the object of his quest.

Just
when the pause grew oppressive, Kieran suddenly opened his eyes. Blinking as if
emerging from a deep sleep, he whirled in the direction of the camp and
immediately put his hands up in a descriptive gesture.

"There
was an avenue here, packed with straw and animal dung," he suddenly took
two large steps forward, causing both Rory and David to start. They could sense
his excitement. "The door to the mosque should have been here, whitewashed
and bright. And the walls...."

He
stepped forward again, moving toward the mess tent. When the canvas wall got in
his way, he simply lifted it up and went under. Rory, David, the foreman and
now a few workers followed.

"The
walls were thick, mud bricks that were able to maintain a cool temperature in
the hottest of days," his voice had quieted, his eyes seeing walls that no
one else could. "They were quite tall, the Moorish influence evident in
their design."

He was
moving along the side of the tent, not bothering to use the designated exit
when he reached the end. He lifted up the side and walked beneath it. His entourage
followed closely, picking up more and more people as they went.

They
were in a small clearing as Kieran continued to describe the structure
contained in his mind. "I had come to the mosque early in the day, wrapped
in the traditional white garments that the Muslims favored to conceal my
identity," he said. "I had witnessed Simon and his outlaws the
previous eve and knew it would only be a matter of time before they found me.
My charger went lame and short of fleeing on foot, I had no choice but to hide.
I knew I would be no match for them without my steed."