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SOLOMON AIMED HIS gun at Creed's chest and pulled the trigger.
Nicolas fired his gun at Ben, satisfied that Harper would die by his hands for all the trouble and pain he had caused him.
Creed chose Solomon as his target and fired.
Ben aimed the shotgun in the general direction of Nicolas and pulled the trigger.
Solomon felt the bullet enter his chest and during the seconds before he died, he realized, with much sadness and frustration, his long-laid plans would never be fulfilled.
Nicolas never felt the feeling of defeat and died thinking he would be triumphant. The shotgun blast disintegrated most of his face, killing him instantly. He crashed into the wall behind and flopped to the floor.
In his inexperienced hands, the force of the shotgun's recoil shot Ben backward. He crashed into Creed and knocked him to the floor, saving both their lives in the process. The two bullets meant to take their lives buried themselves harmlessly in the wood-paneled walls.
As the room fell to silence, Ben glanced down at his friend. “Are you okay?”
“I'm fine.” Creed climbed to his feet and glanced across the room; he saw no sign of the intruders. “Wait here while I check if they're dead.”
Creed made to take a step forward but stopped and turned to Ben. “I think it's best if I take this.” He swapped the shotgun for his pistol and loaded fresh cartridges into the chamber before cautiously moving around the couch. He glanced at the neat bullet hole in Solomon's chest, dead center of his heart and smiled. When he shifted his gaze to Ben's victim, he balked at the carnage that greeted him. Over half of the man's face was missing. Blood, brain, and gore littered the wall nearby. He turned to look at Ben. “It's okay. Both are dead.”
Ben joined him and looked at the damage his shot had caused to Nicolas's face. The sight made him gag, and he turned away.
Creed shook his head. “I said aim for the chest.”
“I did!”
Creed smiled and patted Ben on the shoulder, “Dead is dead, it's just rather a lot of mess to clean up. I need a drink, what about you?”
“Thanks. Whiskey would be most welcome.”
Creed poured them both a drink, and they sat together on the sofa.
“How the hell did Nicolas survive the car crash?” Creed pondered.
“Maybe he was thrown clear or just lucky.”
“If it was good luck that saved him, it's run out now.”
“What about the bodies?” Ben asked. “I assume this incident won't be reported to the police?”
“Correct. I have a big garden with plenty of room to bury those two.”
Ben took another sip of whiskey. “What about the artifacts? They won't be safe here now.”
“I’d reached the same conclusion. We'll have to find somewhere else to hide them; somewhere safe where they can rest in secret. Whatever my feelings are for the Catholic Church, none of them good, revealing that part of their faith is based on a lie would hurt too many innocent people.”
“Also, the Ark is the most sacred artifact there is. If it became known that it has surfaced, there would be bloodshed in Jerusalem. Solomon was right on that score. Plans are already in place to attack the Holy Sepulchre, kill the Muslims, demolish the mosque and reconstruct the Temple of Solomon if the Ark or Menorah ever surfaced. Perhaps with hindsight, it would've been better leaving them where they were after all?”
“You might be right, Ben, but that horse has now bolted. We'll think of something.”
Ben thought for a few moments. “I think I already have.