揃y God, you are afraid,?he yelled.
Ordinarily, to challenge a Moor was to invite a fight to the death. Arabs had not held power in the Iberian Peninsula by being weak. Yet these heathens merely turned and trotted their horses away. He wondered if his eyes were deceiving him. So he continued to watch until they disappeared around a bend, and all that remained was dust twisting in the air. He turned back to the nun and wanted to know, 揟he birds carved to the trees. What are the words in Arabic beneath??
Somehow he knew this woman could answer the inquiry.
揟he devil will have his own.?
揟hose are their words??
The nun nodded. 揥e adopted it from them. A warning from long ago.?
He stepped close and noticed the chain around her neck and the symbol, in silver, it supported.
A fleur-de-lys.
He抎 seen knights, kings, and dukes display them. But a nun? He pointed. 揥hy do you wear that??
She beckoned with an outstretched arm.
揅ome, and I will show you.?
Present Day
Chapter 1
Ghent, Belgium
Tuesday, May 8
8:40 p.m.
Nick Lee rushed toward the flames and smoke, growing more concerned by the moment. He抎 flown to Ghent to see a memory that had haunted him for a long time, the images of her as crisp and vivid as if from yesterday, not nine years ago. They抎 come within a week of marriage, but a life together had not been meant to be. Instead, she chose another path, one that had not, and would never, include him. His words at the time had stalled in his throat. Hers were definitive.
I have no choice.
Which seemed the story of his life.
A volatile mixture of good and bad, pleasure and pain. Right place, wrong time? Definitely. Wrong place, right time?
Damn right.
More than he liked to admit, in fact.
He抎 started in the army as an MP, then tried for the Magellan Billet at the Justice Department but was not offered a position. Instead the FBI hired him, where he stayed five years. Now he worked for the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization, more commonly known as UNESCO. Part of the UN since the beginning, its mission was to advance peace through education, science, culture, and communication. How? Mostly through initiatives like World Heritage Sites, a global digital library, international literacy days, and a thousand other programs designed to promote, preserve, and sustain human culture.
He was employed by a small appendage within that giant beast. The Cultural Liaison and Investigative Office. CLIO. A play off the Greek goddess Clio, the muse of history. Officially, he was a credentials-carrying UN representative, which definitely opened doors. In reality he was boots on the ground. Trained eyes and ears. A field operative. Sent where needed to deal with artistic and cultural issues that could not be resolved through conference calls, ceremony, or diplomacy.
Sometimes you just have to kick a little ass, one of his bosses had said.
He抎 been there right after ISIL plundered Iraqi churches, museums, and libraries. On-site in the Maldives when radicals dynamited Buddhist artifacts. In Timbuktu, after the Battle of Gao, when parts of that ancient city were ravaged by war. His job, first and foremost, was to stop any cultural destruction. But if that wasn抰 possible, then he抎 deal with the aftermath. He抎 come to learn that many so-called cultural purges were simply smoke screens for the hasty acquisition and subsequent sale of precious artifacts. Fanatics weren抰 entirely stupid. Their causes needed money. Rare objects could easily be converted to a stream of wealth that was virtually untraceable. No worries about bank accounts being seized or frozen by foreign governments. Just make a deal with reclusive buyers more than willing to supply gold, cryptocurrency, or cash in return for the seemingly unobtainable.
Thankfully, this trip to Belgium did not concern anything threatened, except perhaps his heart. He抎 been looking forward to seeing Kelsey again. She was here in Ghent doing what she did best. Art restoration. It had been a mutual love of art that had first drawn them together. Then something wholly unexpected, at least from his point of view, pried them apart. He抎 never seen it coming. Should he have?
Hard to say.
Nine years had passed since they last saw each other face-to-face. Their parting had not included any tearful farewells, hugs, handshakes, words of comfort, or encouragement. Not even an argument or anger.
Just an end.
One that had left him stunned.
Their communications since had been through social media. Not much. Electronic comments here and there. Just enough to stay in touch. She had her life and he had his, and never should the two mix. He抎 many times wondered if maintaining any contact was a good idea, but he抎 done nothing to curtail it. Was he a glutton for punishment? Or maybe he just wanted her in his life, however that might be?