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 that 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. With a bruised and battered Neddy by his side, he would find out the truth of the matter. 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 was, 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 deja vu plagued him. And the bodyguard undoubtedly felt the same, otherwise he would not have spoken to him with such recognition. Such anger.
Such pain.
Jolted from his train of thought as they reached the noisy luggage claim, Corbin and Neddy were 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 eyed Neddy as the man collect the luggage a few feet away. “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. Disabled one of my men so severely that he’s still in the hospital. And you can see Neddy’s wounds for yourself.”
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 Neddy and 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. He would know.
*
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 Syrian 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.”
Rory was directly behind him, her hand on his perspiring back. “So you disguised yourself and hid the crown?”
He nodded faintly, the clear brown eyes focused on the dirt. They were moving away from the vapor lamps now and the foreman produced a Mag-lite, shining it on Kieran’s feet.
“I entered right after the morning prayer,” he suddenly came to a halt. Looking around, he turned to the right at a slower pace. “The mosque was vacant and I attracted no attention. But concealed within my garments was a sturdy box, and contained within that box was the diadem. Since I did not want to bury it under the feet of worshiping Muslims, I chose a location well away from their prayer floor.”
He came to another halt, pondering the dirt. Then, as a host of curious people followed, he began to move forward again. Had Rory not been so involved in his expression as well as his story, she would have noticed they were heading directly for her tent.
“There was a small alcove on the east side of the structure,” Kieran said softly, looking up for the first time and noting the familiar opening of Rory’s tent. Smiling faintly, he peeled back the tarp and peered inside. “In fact, I do believe I’ve found it.”
Rory looked up, too, her eyes widening. “I don’t believe it,” she hissed, her mouth agape as she gazed into the darkness of her tent. “It… it’s here? It’s been right beneath my feet all along?”
Kieran continued to smile, retrieving the shovel from the foreman. “You have more than likely been sleeping on it.”
He ducked into the shelter with David on his heels. Rory was so astonished that she could only stand in the doorway, watching as Kieran counted off five steps directly ahead. Rory’s bed stood in his way and he moved it aside, driving the shovel into the packed sand where the frame had formerly rested.
“Fifty paces along the wall from the entrance, forty paces to the right, and five paces east,” he turned to Rory, his smile widening. “Dig the length of my arm and you shall find your crown.”
David didn’t hesitate. Snatching the shovel, he jabbered orders to the foreman in Arabic and sent the man into a frenzy. Kieran pushed Rory out of the way as her tent was hastily dismantled in order to clear the field of excavation. Even as David dug furiously, with more energy than Rory had ever seen from the man, the only action she was capable of was simply remaining erect while it all went on around her.
“It was here all the time,” she murmured, feeling Kieran’s arm around her. “Good Lord… it was beneath me all the time!”
He nodded, watching David throw away shovels of earth as the foreman struggled to clear Rory’s possessions. “All the time, Libby. You were always protecting it.”
She turned to look at him, noticing how tired he appeared. Elated, but tired. In spite of her astonishment, she couldn’t help the smile that creased her lips. “Protecting it for your return?”
He met her smile, wearily. “For our return, sweetheart. Certainly I could not have completed my mission without you.”
She sighed heavily, attempting to shake off the amazing turn of events. Leaning against him, she was startled by a warm, wet stain on the left side of his shirt. Pulling her hand away, it was colored crimson.
“Oh, God,” she forgot all about the crown as she yanked his shirt up to reveal the large, oozing wound. “What in the… Kieran, we’ve got to get you to a hospital!”
He shook his head in a quieting gesture. “That is not necessary, sweet. I’ve simply overextended myself, ’tis all.”
“But…” the injury was truly hideous and she couldn’t help the expression of disgust on her face. “You’re bleeding again. You need medical attention!”
He tried to put his shirt down but she refused to let him. “A physic is unnecessary. It will heal. I simply need to… rest.”
Rory was beside herself, ignoring the chaotic digging going on. Her immediate concern was Kieran’s health. “You need more than rest, Kieran,” she argued hotly. “You need to see a doctor. Immediately.”
He looked away from her, gazing at David as the hole he was digging grew deeper. “Not until the diadem is uncovered,” he said quietly, his features drawn. “I will not leave until I see it again.”
Rory shook her head with disbelief, hardly able to argue with him. He had come so far and she certainly couldn’t demand he abandon everything he had worked for. Everything he had died for. “If you won’t go see a doctor, then will you at least let me wrap it?” she demanded softly.
He nodded faintly, kissing her hand. Shaken and weary, Rory left him standing in what had once been the entrance to her tent and went to David’s shelter to find the first aid kit. Bringing the entire bulky case, she proceeded to put antibiotic ointment on Kieran’s wound and pack it with a huge wad of gauze. Using an elastic athletic wrap, she bound his torso tightly.
“There,” she said, closing the first aid kit and setting it at their feet. “That should help for now. Until we can get you to a doctor.”
He put his arm around her as she rose and Rory realized it was not only an affectionate gesture, but a necessary one; he was using her for support. Her panic surged but she fought it, knowing it would be of no use to argue with him. Until the crown was recovered, he wasn’t leaving. And neither was she.
David and the foreman dug steadily into the night, their work illuminated by the big portable lights. The workers cleared away the sand as Rory and Kieran stood silently by, holding one another and waiting with anticipation. Kieran’s weight on Rory grew steadily, as if her petite stature could support his massive frame. But she never said a word, praying in one breath that his re-opened wound wasn’t serious and praying in the next that the crown would soon be found. The wait, for all of them, was frazzling.
And it grew worse as the night progressed. Kieran had begun to shake and Rory had to bite her tongue to keep from screaming. He needed to see a doctor or at the very least sit down, but he refused to move. He continued to hold her tightly, his clear brown eyes riveted to the digging and never once uttering a word of discomfort. But Rory could literally feel his distress and unable to control herself any longer, let tears of frustration fall. Then, and only then, did he agree to the idea of a chair.
Midnight came and went. Kieran remained seated, his face pale and his hands clammy. Rory was torn between her anticipation of the crown and his deteriorating health, eyeing him intermittently only to be met by an encouraging smile. He was so terribly brave, so strong, and her heart ached for the pain of his reopened wound. She simply couldn’t imagine how he had done it, considering it had been healed for centuries. But even though she had wrapped it hours ago, she could still see fresh blood oozing through the bandages.
And the reality made her sick. Literally sick. Fighting off tears and nausea, she didn’t protest when he pulled her onto his lap. His blood stained her t-shirt as she snuggled against him, her arms around his neck and her head on his shoulder. Together, they watched David and the foreman continue the dig for a crown more men had lived and died for than any other crown in history.
Past two o’clock, David and the foreman had managed to dig nearly four feet, through a hard-packed mud that David assumed to be the mosque flooring and then several more feet of debris and sand. Rory continued to sit in Kieran’s lap, deriving a great deal of comfort from his warmth and steady breathing.
But the extreme hour and her exhaustion was taking its toll. As she wait, as they all wait, Rory realized that in spite of everything she could hardly keep her eyes open. After a long, weary struggle, she allowed herself to close them for a brief moment. But the second she did so, David suddenly let out a whoop of surprise.
“I’ve found something!” he announced, tossing the spade aside. “Kieran! Look here!”
Kieran was on his feet, wavering dangerously as he rushed to David’s side. Rory was with him and together the dropped to their knees, peering down the hole.
It was a small wooden box. Plain and unassuming. Kieran took one look and nodded firmly. “That is the box,” he said, his voice strangely weak. “Give it to me.”
David obeyed without reserve. For a man who had been documenting finds the better part of his adult life, his professional training should have prevented him from handling an eight hundred year old box without first carefully recording the discovery. But he seemed to have forgotten his training as he lifted out the brittle box. Placing it in front of Kieran, he leapt from the hole.
Rory’s breath caught in her throat as she watched Kieran carefully examine the small chest. In fact, all activity surrounding the dig had come to a halt as the eyes of the weary and the anxious focused on the object of a year-long search. The only sound evident among dozens of people was the hum of the gas generator; not a breath or a movement to upset the magic of the moment.
A magic that was warm with the emotion of discovery. Rory could literally feel it. A timid hand reached out, touching the lid of the box as Kieran blew softly at the dusty coating. Casting Rory a glance that suggesting nothing other than pure triumph, he slowly removed the cover.
Brittle, yellowed linen greeted her. Eight hundred year old linen. Rory was about to comment on it when Kieran suddenly reached down, removing the linen without thought. Before Rory could chastise him, the object of years of research, of time and pain, was abruptly revealed.
Time stilled for a moment. Rory found herself gazing at a rather pathetic bundle of vines, faded and hardly spectacular. Long thorns that looked more like small branches adorned the circlet, some of them having broken off during the passage of time. But the aura radiating from the ancient wreath reached out to grab her like a vise and she gasped softly, moving in for a better look.
“Oh… Kieran,” she murmured, bending low until she was nearly level with the box. “It’s… wonderful!”
He smiled faintly. “Indeed, my lady. More than you know.”
David was staring at the vines, actually speechless. As if he could hardly believe Rory’s dig had finally produced what she had promised. In all honesty, it looked like a simple circlet of wood; no glowing light to indicate the holy stature, no voice from God announcing its identity. But David knew, without the fanfare, that it exactly what Kieran and Rory said it was. If seeing was believing, he could hardly refute the evidence.
“I’m sorry for ever doubting you, Rory,” he said softly, accepting the camera from the foreman. Lifting it to his eye, he focused on the small box. “You said it was here. And you were right.”
Rory was practically laying on her side, gazing at the crown through the eyes of wonder. “You know, even though I insisted it was here, I suppose I always had a shadow of doubt. You were right when you said I was chasing myths, Dave. I was. But is was a myth I wanted to believe in.”
Kieran was seated on his rump, his arm resting on a propped knee. He continued to stare at the crown, eight centuries of a mission unfulfilled finally coming to a close. In a sense, he felt a tremendous sense of loss now that it was over. All he had lived and died for, the determination to recover what had been entrusted to him, was now ended and he realized that his desire to complete his task had been a matter of pride more than a need. England was at peace, the diadem no longer needed to cement a truce. But the fact that he was a man unwilling to let his sworn duty go unfinished had been the most powerful factor of all.
His gaze moved from the crown to Rory, completely enthralled by the brittle wreath. Darkly, he pondered what his pride had brought her; trouble, heartache, poverty and strife. She had been determined to recover the crown as well and he had used her devotion to his advantage.
Aye, he loved her; he couldn’t remember when he hadn’t. But he had used that love more than he was willing to admit. And if it took him the rest of his life, he would make amends for what he considered his manipulative actions.
Rory was touching the crumbled linen when Kieran reached down, lifting the crown from its cradle much to the dismay of both Rory and David. When both archaeologists turned to protest his actions, they were shocked to see the knight’s eyes brimming with emotion. The conclusion of an eight hundred year old quest evident on the surface.
“Kieran?” Rory whispered, gently touching his arm. “Babe, what’s wrong?”
He shook his head, his face pale and his hands shaking as he examined the diadem. “I do not know,” he murmured. “I… I can scarcely believe I finally have it. I have it and there is nothing left for me to do with it. Bud was correct when he said it was unnecessary to retrieve the crown; my mission is over. It has been over for eight centuries.”
“That’s not true,” Rory said softly. “This is a remarkable object with world-wide significance. You can’t possibly imagine what sort of value this will have on the the archaeological community and religion in general.”
He tore his eyes away from the crown, meeting her wide-eyed gaze. “And you?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “What of you? Does this finally fill the void within your soul?”
She shook her head faintly. “You’ve already done that.”
“But what of your mother?”
“She doesn’t matter any more. Only you.”
He sighed, his hands trembling as he set the crown back to the box. “I find this recovery rather anti-climactic,” he said softly. “I had always believed that the moment I gazed upon the diadem again, unimaginable glory and honor would be mine. But now I realize that this crown cannot bring me the glory I seek. Only my heart can do that.”
She put her arms around him, holding him tightly. “You’re so wise in the ways of other, Kieran. But you’re obviously not so wise when it comes to yourself.”
His massive embrace threatened to crush her, his face in her shoulder. “I relied on this crown to bring me a sense of completion to my life, of honor and family pride. I had hoped that it would place me on a pedestal of glory for my father and Richard to worship,” he pulled his head from her neck, gazing deeply into her eyes. “I have been such a fool, Libby. I thought this crown could provide me with all I had sought, fulfillment through the adoration of others. But I see now that I was wrong. My soul was complete the moment I met you only I was too blinded by my sense of duty to realize it. And now see what I have done; you have risked everything for me. I have ruined you.”
Rory’s brow furrowed. “No, you haven’t,” she put her hand to his pale cheek. “I wanted this as badly as you did. I needed this. We needed this. Maybe if only to see how foolish our blind ambition was and that the true meaning of life is where you least expect to find it.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You are too wise, lady. Mayhap your wisdom will allow you to forgive the jeopardy I have caused you. For using your love to gain my own ends.”
“Just like I used you?” she shook her head in disagreement. “I thought we agreed on this. We needed each other; one without the other could not complete the task. There is equal blame and there is no blame. It’s what we both had to do.”
He continued to gaze into her face, kissing her sweetly as David pretended to ignore the exchange by finishing off the roll of film. But David realized one thing very clearly; Rory’s obsession for the knight in the grave had brought about a miracle. A love only dreamt of in fairy tales had come to life and if David lived for eternity, he could never hope to understand what had happened this day. But even if he never understood, he would always believe.
A strong faith that held firm as he finished with the camera and asked the foreman to videotape the find. Taking samples from the wreath and placing them in sealed tubes, he handed them over to a clerk who would forward the specimens to the laboratory facilities in Tel Aviv.
It didn’t matter that it was the middle of the night. There was work to be done and David intended to see it through. But his focus didn’t prevent him from noticing just how exhausted Kieran was, his shirt damp with blood as Rory cradled his great head against her breast. He went so far as to suggest that now would be a good time to seek medical attention and Rory almost had Kieran convinced when headlights on the distant road captured David’s attention.
He rose, peering down the hill and to the long road beyond. There were three cars, from what he could see, and he knew their time had run out.
“Rory!” he hissed. “Cars are coming. It’s probably that Corbin guy.”
Kieran was on his feet before Rory could rise, his eyes sharp in spite of his pale countenance. Rory stood beside him, her expression laced with fear.
“Oh, God,” she muttered, looking to David in panic. “We’ve got to get out of here. Back to the airport and head for England.”
“Go back to England?” David repeated. “But you’re a criminal there. You and Kieran need to fly back to the States!”
“No, David!” Rory snapped, rushing to collect the treasure that had cost so very much to retrieve. “Don’t you understand? Kieran has got to take the crown back to England as he promised. And I’ve got to return to face up the charges. I can’t spend the rest of my life running.”
“Lib,” Kieran’s expression was uncharacteristically gentle. “Mayhap we should remain. If it is Corbin…”
“If it is Corbin, then there’s no way in hell I’m letting him have you or the crown. He tried to kill you once and there’s no telling what he’ll do given a second chance,” she looked to David. “We’ve got to go back, Dave. I’ll need the jeep.”
“I’ll drive you,” David was already moving.
“No,” Rory stopped him firmly. “I don’t want you to be implicated for aiding a criminal any more than you already are. Kieran and I have got to do this alone.”
Before David could protest, Rory had Kieran by the hand and the two of them were racing toward the jeep as fast as Kieran was able. Handing him the box, Rory helped him into the passenger seat and bailed into the driver’s side. Casting David a final, heartfelt expression, she threw the car into drive and headed down the back road of the dig.
David watched them go, apprehension filling him. Turning to the oncoming line of cars, he was not surprised when they veered in pursuit of the fleeing jeep. Muttering a curse, he raced to a second jeep they hardly ever used because the transmission was bad.
With the help of the foreman, David tore the protective tarp from the vehicle and tried to start it. When it wouldn’t turn over, the foreman popped the hood and he and David struggled to find the problem like a pair of Keystone Cops.
Praying for a miracle in the meantime.