The Templar's Code Read Free Page B

marble table supported by carved double-headed eagles. Marveling at the superb craftsmanship, he ran his palm across the top of it. As he did, he envisioned a certain blond archaeologist, naked, sprawled on top of the marble slab.
    A dagger through his heart.
    Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the security guard approach.
    “That table is a replica of one they found in the ruins at Pompeii.” The other man held his gaze a second too long.
    “I have always wanted to visit Pompeii,” Saviour replied. Then, exploiting the overture, he lowered his voice to a husky whisper. “I was supposed to meet a friend here. Perhaps you saw him, a blond-haired man.”
    There was no mistaking the flash of disappointment. “Yeah, I saw him. He came through a few minutes ago. Asked where the lecture was being held.” He motioned to a placard set on an easel near the entryway.
    Saviour examined the publicity photo of a red-haired man. “ ‘The Egyptian Origins of the Ark. A Lecture by Author Caedmon Aisquith.’ This lecture, where is it being held?”
    The guard pointed to a hall on the other side of the atrium. “Take the stairs to the basement level. Then walk through the portrait gallery. The reading room’s on the right. Can’t miss it.”
    “It is a beautiful sanctuary,” Saviour murmured, glancing about one last time. “You, my friend, have an enviable job.”
    The other man shrugged. “There are better jobs.”
    “Trust me, brother, there are far worse ways to earn a living.” Degrading, humiliating ways. For a few coins, the price of two oranges at the fruit vendor’s stall, he’d learned that man’s depravity knew no bounds.
    Saviour shoved the unpleasant memories aside. Those days had passed. He had reinvented himself. A feat no other wharf rat could lay claim to.
    He stepped toward the staircase, his stride purposeful. Perhaps it was the energy exuded by the exotic chamber, but suddenly he was excited. Invigorated. A Greek warrior about to launch an attack against the unsuspecting Trojans.
    He’d been following the blond-haired man for the last week. Ever since the archaeologist dug up the mass grave site. There could be no witnesses to the massacre. Not even five hundred years after the fact.
    Not now.
    Not ever.

CHAPTER 4
    “Shit, where are my manners? Like I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Jason Lovett. Doctor Jason Lovett,” the blond-haired man quickly amended. “Which makes me a bona fide archaeologist rather than some Templar nut job.”
    A statement no doubt meant to assuage any misgivings or preconceived notions.
    Misgivings aplenty, Caedmon politely nodded as he shook Dr. Lovett’s right hand. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”
    He detected a tremor in Lovett’s arm. The man’s a tangled package of nerves. Like a downed electric wire flapping in a gale-force wind.
    “Okay, I know that what I wrote on the inscription page is way out there”—the shabbily dressed archaeologist jutted his head at the copy of Isis Revealed still clutched in Caedmon’s hand—“but I found it. Or rather, I’m really close to finding it. I just have to decipher some Templar symbols. Which is why I need someone who’s not only well versed in Templar symbolism but who can think outside the box. Dude, you’re an academic renegade. I couldn’t put that damned book down. And I’m not even a big fan of Egyptian mysticism.”
    “Such high praise puts the blush to my cheek. But returning to your assertion regarding the Ark of the Covenant. . .” He let the opening dangle, hoping to steer the anxious archaeologist back on course.
    “The Ark. Right. I checked out your Web page and saw that you’re a Templar expert. So, I won’t bore you with any details about the Templars and their sordid tale. You know the facts better than most.”
    Indeed, he was well acquainted with the “sordid tale.” An order of warrior monks, the Knights Templar were founded during the Crusades, the church-sanctioned