Free The Templar's Secret (The Templar Series) by C.M. Palov Page B

stop on a tree-lined residential street.
    Because the house in question was obscured by an eight -foot-high stucco wall and there wasn’t an address plate in sight, Caedmon couldn’t rightly say.
    ‘ We’ll soon find out,’ he muttered, hitching a hip and removing his wallet from his trouser pocket.
    Getting out of the cab, he handed the driver a twenty -rupee note and nodded obligingly, unable to comprehend the man’s pidgin English. As he walked towards the mahogany gate, an older woman attired in a plain cotton sari and holding aloft a dusty black umbrella strolled past. Wiping the back of his hand across his beaded brow, Caedmon thought the makeshift parasol a damned good idea.
    Dismayed to find the gate unlocked, he pushed open the heavy double-doors, disturbing a scrawny three-legged cat that had been napping on the other side of the entry. The cat arched its back and hissed its displeasure before scampering off, the motley beast astonishingly nimble.
    In a hurry, Caedmon strode down a pathway that wound through a manicured garden. A two-story colonial bungalow painted a decidedly feminine shade of coral pink with white trim was situated at the end of the cobbled path. A massive banyan tree provided welcome shade. Frowning, he could see that its tangled branches also provided an easy means for an intruder to climb on to the upper balcony and trespass undetected.
    Taking a deep breath, he approached the front door. In lieu of a knocker, there was a domed bell attached to one side of the door frame. He reached up and yanked on the leather strap that dangled jauntily, the resounding clamor causing him to grit his teeth. While he waited for the summons to be answered, he spotted a pair of women’s sandals on a mat near the door.
    ‘ When in Rome,’ he murmured, toeing off his leather monk shoes, not bothering with undoing the buckle. Bending at the waist, he snatched off a sock and stuffed it into a shoe. Just as he was about to remove the second sock, the front door swung wide open.
    ‘ Afraid that you’ve caught me in a state of déshabillé,’ he deadpanned. Still bent over, he glanced up, taken aback to see that Gita was garbed in a traditional sari. He was even more surprised to see the small red bindi dot between her eyes. He’d never seen her in anything but Western-style clothing.
    ‘ How was your flight?’ she asked, stepping back and motioning him inside the house.
    ‘ Er, fine.’ Not altogether certain how one should greet the estranged mother of one’s child, he put a hand on her shoulder and gave her the obligatory French faire la bise.
    Clearly taken aback by the cheek kiss, Gita smiled nervously. ‘Would you like something to drink? I could put on the kettle and make some –’
    ‘ Nothing for me,’ he interjected with a wave of the hand. ‘I grabbed a cup of coffee at the airport.’ As he spoke, Caedmon glanced around the dimly lit foyer, his gaze drawn to a corner of the reception area where there was a bronze statue of Shiva set into a large niche. A trio of votary candles cast flickering shadows on to a framed photograph of Anala that was set in front of the cosmic dancer.
    Tearing his gaze away from that distinctly morbid display, he said, ‘Have Anala’s abductors made contact with you since we last spoke?’
    ‘ A man who refused to identify himself rang me yesterday and inquired if I’d made any progress in finding the Evangelium Gaspar . I assured him that I was doing everything in my power to locate the lost gospel. Then, as you instructed in Paris, I asked for proof of life.’ Stepping over to an ornately carved side table, Gita picked up a mobile phone. ‘This is what he sent me,’ she said in a barely audible voice as she handed the mobile to Caedmon.
    Bracing himself, Caedmon examined the small LCD screen. Even in miniature, the photo of a young woman, sitting on the edge of a metal-framed bed, bound and gagged, was sickening. In that instant, his belly painfully