Skeleton 03 - The Constantine Codex Read Online Free PDF Page B

you suggest?”
    “Since the FBI covers the home front and we the international, we asked them to send over a security detail immediately. In fact, they’d probably have been there by now if your secretary had told us where you are.”
    Thank you, Marylou! Jon mused. Then he replied, “No, not here. It would disrupt the peace of the neighborhood. . . . All right, my wife and I will return to our home in Weston, and you can incarcerate us there.”
    “Well, we certainly don’t intend to—”
    “Strike that; bad humor on my part. But seriously now, we’re grateful for your concern.”
    “We do have your home address in Weston, but we’d really prefer to have you escorted there by—”
    “No, I absolutely decline that. Categorically. But thank you, Mr. Dillingham. We’ll be leaving first thing in the morning and should return to Weston by, say, early afternoon.”
    “I’d feel better if you left this evening.”
    “No, morning will do just fine. The fatwa hasn’t been announced over here yet, evidently.”
    “Well . . . all right. Thanks for your cooperation, Professor Weber.”
    “Yours too. Good night.”
    Jon hung up and turned to Shannon, who was hovering nearby with a worried look on her face.
    “What is it, Jon? A fatwa? On you? You’re kidding, right?”
    “I’m afraid not, sweetheart. That was the CIA. They want us to head home so they can put us under official protection, at least until this thing blows over.”
    “Jon, fatwas don’t ‘blow over.’ At least Rushdie’s didn’t. What about our trip? Our work? Oh, this is just ridiculous.”
    “I know; I know. But when the truth finally sinks in at Tehran, they’ll lift it, I’m sure.”
    “And if they don’t?”
    Jon saw a tear or two glistening in her eyes. He tucked two fingers under her classically chiseled chin and said, “Then we’ll flee Weston and fly to Tahiti.”

    Shannon made a conscious effort to shrug off the curdling climate of fear in their lives as they drove eastward to Chatham. She appreciated Jon’s attempts to cheer her up with a seafood dinner overlooking the Atlantic—one of her favorite things to do when they were staying at the beach house. It began with obligatory Lambrusco—the vintage they had shared on their wedding night—and went on to lobster for him, crab cakes for her.
    Was it the edge supplied by danger? The wine at dinner? The gorgeous full moon floating over the eastern seascape? Whatever. The evening was a success as far as Shannon was concerned. By the time they returned to their hideaway, she had managed to put the fear and danger out of her mind. It was heavenly to return to their beachfront hideaway and forget, at least for the night, that anyone else existed outside the circle of their love.

They had missed the 11 p.m. news, of course. But during the morning drive back to Weston, they heard it all on the car radio. In the name of Allah, the Iranian clergy had declared an official fatwa on American professor Jonathan Weber of Harvard University in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Muslim faithful were duty-bound to seek him out for apprehension, trial, judgment, and condemnation. And the penalty for insulting the Prophet, as Professor Weber had done? Death.
    Jon and Shannon’s new roles as moving targets? Not a felicitous feeling. Jon was quiet, but he seemed to be checking the rearview mirror more often than usual, while Shannon found herself scanning each approaching vehicle with uncharacteristic scrutiny.
    Jon finally broke the silence. “Well, it’s much too soon for anyone to try anything, sweetheart.”
    “Oh, that’s some consolation,” she replied with a bite. “But in a short time, it’ll be open season on the Webers. So much for the joy you promised in our wedded life!”
    “Think you made a mistake, Shannon?” His eyebrows were a pair of arches.
    She put on her best imitation of a frown. “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time.” Then she whispered, “Oh, Jon, despite