The Nostradamus File (16 page)

Harrison intended to see that mistake put right. Boyd and Croft
saw war as a way to increase their wealth. They assumed the same was true for him. But Harrison was focused on doing God's work. He was certain that what was needed, what God wanted, was a new crusade. Harrison believed that the Holy Land needed to be cleansed of the stain of Islam and the sacred sites of Christianity reclaimed, once and for all. His Puritan ancestors would have approved, he was certain.

H
arrison watched a motor launch nearing the island, bringing Boyd and Croft from the mainland. He set his glass on the table beside him and walked down to the landing to greet them.

"Phillip, how are you?"

"Well, Arthur, thank you." The three men shook hands. "There's a light lunch waiting in the house."

They walked up the perfect lawn and into the house. Harrison led the way to the conservatory where the
food was laid out on white linen. When the servants had left, Harrison began.

"We have the other part of the Nostradamus file."

"Excellent," Croft said. "Were there any problems?"

Harrison sipped his whiskey. "Two
men were killed. It's of no importance. They were disposable. The third man showed initiative. I'm moving him up a bit."

"How soon will we have a location?" Boyd asked.

"Once the quatrains are translated, we'll follow up on the new ones. If the pattern holds, Nostradamus left a clue that will give us the right place to look."

"And if the Ark
can't be found?"

"If not, we'll proceed with our alternative plan."

"The assassinations," Croft said.

"Yes. It shouldn't take more than a few weeks to get the pot boiling. Then we tip it over."

"Why don't we just get on with it?" Boyd said.

Harrison was annoyed. "We've been over this, Stephen. It's much better if we can use the Ark. The fanatics will do our work for us. There won't be any possibility of a trail back here. If there's any chance the Templar hoard still exists, or the Ark, we need to secure that first. Once
the war begins it will be much more difficult."

Boyd said, "I suppose you're right, Phillip."

"Of course I am."

"What about the President's group, the Project?"

"They've been annoying, I admit. They're following the same trail we are. They may have a copy of the second part of the manuscript. If they don't, what they do doesn't matter. If they do, we'll be prepared. Next time they don't walk away."

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

The First District station of the Washington Metro Police was in a converted school building on M Street SW. It housed a state of the art forensic lab, offered community outreach programs and provided evidence storage. The D.C. police needed a lot of storage.

Selena parked her Mercedes next to a row of cruisers with the stylized flag logo of D.C. She put a card on the dash that identified her car as being on government business. Maybe it wouldn't draw a ticket.

The desk sergeant told her to wait for Detective Hanson to come and escort her. The station had a faint, stale odor of fear and stress and sweat, along with the kind of smell that seemed to be poured into institutional buildings with the concrete. After a few minutes a man came through a set of swinging doors on her left. He wore an off the rack gray suit and black shoes and had a pair of thick binders under his arm. He walked over to her. She stood.

"Doctor Connor? I'm Detective Hanson. Thanks for coming down."

He held out his hand. His grip was warm, firm.

Hanson was about Nick's height, six feet tall. He had black hair and blue eyes and a face that looked as though you might not want to get on the wrong side of him. His eyes had the same kind of look as Nick's, as if they'd seen much more than they'd wanted, none of it good. There was a thin scar on the bottom of his chin. She caught a faint whiff of aftershave.

"This way," Hanson said.

He led her through the doors and down a hallway to a room with a table and a large one way window on the wall. There were two chairs. There was a camera on the ceiling. The table was bolted to the floor. Hanson set the binders down on the table.

"Grab a seat. This is one of the rooms we use for interrogations. It's a lot quieter than the squad room and we won't be distracted here. Have you ever done this before?"

His voice was deep, pleasant. Selena liked it.

"No."

"It's straightforward." Hanson opened one of the binders. "These are photos of people you don't want to meet. We've got thousands of them, but I figured the best shot was to pull known associates of the men who
attacked you."

He stopped and gave her an appraising look. "That was good work, by the way. Most women would be dead. Hell, most of the men I know would be dead. How did you do it?"

The question made her uncomfortable. "Oh, training. And luck."

"Sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

Sensitive.
Who would have guessed? He picked right up on how I felt. An interesting man.

"That's all right. I study martial arts."

"Guess that explains it. Okay." All business, now. "You can see, each page has pictures. Take your time, see if any of them look like the third man who was there. Would you like something to drink? Coffee, a soda?"

"Coffee would be fine."

"How do you take it?"

She felt something stirring
. He's asking you about coffee
. With something of a shock, she realized she was attracted to him. She hadn't been attracted to anyone since she'd met Nick.

"Cream, no sugar."

"Coffee's not great here, but it's hot. I'll be right back."

He left the room. Her thoughts were confused. Something had just happened, and she knew enough about herself to realize she would have to deal with it. But not now. She pulled the book of pictures
closer and began studying the photos.

CHAPTER THIRTY-
EIGHT

"Him," Selena said.

She put her finger on a photo. She'd been looking at pictures for the past two hours. Hanson had brought more binders in after she'd failed to recognize anyone in the first two.

"You're sure?"

"Yes. I got a good look at him. There's something about his face. Cruel."

The man in the photo had wide ears that stuck out from his head and eyes that looked dead.

"Elbert Sturrock. Armed robbery, assault, attempted murder. He did fifteen upstate. Got out about six months ago."

"Why do they keep letting these people out?" she said.

"You shouldn't ask a cop that, unless you want to see him get mad." Hanson smiled. "Politics, budgets and do-gooders, mostly. Loopholes in the law and bottom feeding lawyers that exploit them."

He closed the binder. "Now that we have an ID, we'll find him. We get him in here, we can sweat him a little."

"You think you can find out who hired him?"

"I'll do my best." Hanson looked at his watch. "
I'm off in ten. How about a drink? There's a place a couple of blocks away."

Why not?
she thought. Then,
No
.

"Not today. Maybe another time."
Why had she said that? She'd left the door open, just a crack.

Hanson kept the disappointment out of his voice. "Another time would be great. You have a number I can reach you at? I'll let you know what we find out."

"You have a piece of paper?"

Are you really going to give him your number?

Hanson took out a notebook, handed it to her. She wrote down a number. It wasn't the number Nick and the others used to reach her. "It goes to a machine," she said. "I don't usually pick up. Just leave a message."

Back out on the street, she wondered what she was doing.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Elizabeth came into her office. Burps was asleep on her chair, drooling. She'd never been a cat person. Even so, she found the presence of the cat comforting. There was something about this ragged lump of orange that she liked. She lifted him off the chair and walked over to the garden door and set him down. She opened the door.

"Go," she said. She pointed.

Burps looked at her, yawned and moved leisurely into the garden. She closed the door. She used a tissue to wipe off her chair
and sat down. The others came into the room and took seats.

"I think I know who Nostradamus meant," Stephanie said, "in the lines about giving a hostage and all that." She looked pleased with herself.

"Who is it?" Selena asked.

"If I'm right, the first Earl of Pembroke, William Marshal. He's buried in the nave of Temple Church, in London." She pulled up a picture on the big monitor. It showed a damaged stone figure of a knight in mail lying on his back. His right hand grasped his sword. The stone blade was broken.

"He was a Templar?"

"Yes."

"Why do you think it's him?" Harker asked.

"
Marshal was one of the most powerful men in England. His son was held hostage by King John to make sure he stayed loyal. That fits with the quatrain. And he's holding a broken sword. If that isn't enough, his effigy is one of nine. There are eight others in the Temple Church, all close by, all Templar knights."

"Temple Church is famous
, a big tourist attraction," Selena said. "It was the London Templar headquarters when they were at the height of their power."

"When did this guy die?" Ronnie asked.

"1219," Stephanie answered. "He was the real thing. His life could be the model for the heroic knight."

"Doesn't do him much good now," Ronnie said.
"All he's got is a fancy tomb to show for it."

"
One day they could make one for you, Ronnie," Nick said. "Carve out a grenade launcher instead of a sword."

"That's enough," Elizabeth said. "How are we going to find out what's in that tomb?"

"Pretty clear. Nostradamus says there's something there. We have to get into the church and open it."

Elizabeth coughed into a tissue. "Let me get this straight," she said. "You want to break into a major English historical attraction, vandalize a famous tomb with a slab on it that probably weighs
hundreds of pounds and root through the bones or whatever, all in hope of finding a clue that might not even be there."

Nick nodded. "That's about right."

Elizabeth sighed. "There will be guards. You can't hurt them."

"We'll think of something," Nick said.

CHAPTER
FORTY

"How do we know which one is Pembroke?" Nick asked.

"The tombs are marked," Selena said. "We just read the signs."

They stood in the circular nave of
Temple Church in London. It was three in the afternoon. Sunlight streamed through tall, stained glass windows, throwing spatters of rainbow light on the stone floor and across the silent effigies of the Templar knights.

Temple Church had two sections, the round nave and a larger, rectangular chancel, built a half century later. From the air, the building looked like a giant exclamation point laid down between Fleet Street and the Thames River, with the round Templar church forming the dot.

The building was a fine example of gothic architecture. The ceiling of the church was arched and groined. Arched alcoves completely circled the nave. The wall above the alcoves was decorated by a continuous row of stone faces that leered out with grotesque expressions. The eyes seemed to follow Nick around the room.

The n
ine effigies of Templar knights lay on the floor in the middle of the nave. A central, round tower rose above, supported by arches of stone and massive columns of dark marble. High overhead, the ceiling of the tower was made of closely fitted wood.

Each
tomb was identified with a simple black sign etched in white. They found the one for William Marshal. The effigy was damaged with the passage of 900 years, the stone sword broken in several places. His face looked tired, worn. A line of white ran all around the carved slab.

"It's cemented down," Ronnie said. He kept his voice low. "No way it moves without making a lot of noise."

"We figured on that," Nick said. "The seal is probably not very thick, just enough to keep it in place."

"We might get in through that door." Ronnie nodded at a
wooden door set in the west wall under a circular stained glass window. "It leads outside. We wouldn't have to come through the rest of the building."