Simantov

by Asaf Ashery

  “What about Attorney Hagar Abizu?”

  “What about her?”

  “Did you love her?”

  Barakiel burst out laughing. What could he tell her about love and Hagar? Nothing. What you didn’t know, they couldn’t get out of you. This woman was so careless, throwing about names as if they were worthless, spelling them out deliberately. Well, what did she know?

  Mazzy returned to the form she was holding, filling out the details, trying to pigeonhole him using his answers.

  “Are you married?”

  “No.”

  “A widower?”

  “No.”

  “Divorced?”

  “No.”

  “Single?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you believe in God?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know the Ten Commandments?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thou shalt not covet, thou shalt not steal, thou shalt not kill? All of them?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you think God will say to you when you next meet Him?”

  He knew he had to keep mum, but he couldn’t help himself.

  “I’ll tell you when I see Him.”

  For whatever reason, Mazzy’s questions seemed to have hit a nerve, cracking Almadon’s frozen mask.

  Yariv’s beeper began to dance on the desk. When he ignored it, the cellphone in his pocket joined in. There, he found the sealed evidence bag containing the black feather. He had been carrying it with him all the time, not really sure why; somehow, the feather gave him confidence.

  Yariv read a text from Doron, alerting him to a new finding. Perhaps it would bring the hoped-for breakthrough in the investigation. Almadon in the meantime would be lulled into a sense of security, and they could spring some airtight proof of guilt on him.

  Barak Almadon’s alibis were good. He was not on stage when Milka Umm-Alzabian was abducted. This had been established. On the other hand, if he were in the audience, whose hair was scattered on the stage? Who put it there? And why? There was no logical reason for planting incriminating evidence at the scene of the crime.

  Yariv hoped that Doron would have at least some of the answers to these questions.

  But instead of answers, Doron presented him with a piece of bone covered in some strange green material. According to the tests he had conducted, the proud owner of the bone had lived five thousand years ago.

  “I don’t have carbon dating; for this I need confirmation by archeologists. But this is a very ancient bone, absurdly old,” said Doron.

  “And you got it from Libby? Where is she?”

  Doron shrugged. Yariv got impatient. “Sima!” he called.

  “What? Why are you shouting?”

  “I want Libby here ASAP. Not today, not in an hour, NOW. She can’t just drop forensic evidence on us and vanish, without reporting, without explaining the circumstances.”

  Sima went back to her cubicle. Yariv knew she’d locate the policewoman wherever she was hiding.

  “She should also fill out the deposit forms by herself,” he added.

  Doron moved inside Yariv’s field of vision, obscuring Sima and grabbing his attention.

  “Forget about the forms. Maybe this is the clue we need. He’s one of those arrogant bastards who think they’re superior to everybody. We have proof he was there. Maybe we need a little trigger, something to crack his armor so we can penetrate and break him. All I need to check is if he has a broken rib and if he has platinum there instead of calcium.”

  “Why did you decide to pin this on Almadon?”

  “He’s our only suspect. Everything points in his direction; he’s our best bet. Whose DNA did you want me to match it with? All we need now is to give him an X-ray…”

  “It doesn’t matter if he has a broken rib or not.”

  “Why not?”

  “No two people have exactly the same DNA. A man can’t have a five thousand year-old bone in his body. You present this in court and the judge will laugh his head off.”

  Doron did not look amused. He found no humor in the situation. Yariv continued.

  “If the bone contains Almadon’s DNA, then it can’t be five thousand years old. Somebody tampered with it to give such a misleading result. I don’t need to know how it was done to confront him with this info. I’ll just put the bone on the table. Obviously it was crucial for somebody to conceal the evidence by warping the data. That’s good enough for me.”

  “In which case, I have something else to show you,” said Doron.

  “What?”

  “I identified the substance covering the bone.”

  “What is it?”

  “A compound of copper, cobalt, and hydrogen peroxide, crystallized in a monoclinic structure, with three unequal axes at right angles to each other. It’s not very hard or rigid in consistency.”

  “Speak in simple language.”

  “It’s a question of density and brittleness.”

  “Doron, give me a break.”

  “Never mind. This fits in with your theory that someone planted this bone or let it crystallize there, in order to hide something, or to try to wear it away. Delude us into thinking it dates back that far.”

  Yariv smiled. Up until now he had a pretty good hand in the poker game with Almadon, but now he had better cards to bluff with. He returned to the investigation room, only to sense a heavy silence hanging in the air, like an oppressively humid day in Tel Aviv. Barak was staring at the desk, and Mazzy was staring at Barak.

  “What’s going on? I leave you alone and you don’t want to play?”

  No one spoke. Yariv calculated his next move. He had prepared a question for Barakiel.

  “Where did you go on Seder night?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Try.”

  “I guess I was at a Seder.”

  “With family?”

  Mazzy crossed her legs. If you didn’t know her, you wouldn’t realize that she was very pleased with the question and concealed a smile. But Yariv knew her well.

  “Yes.”

  “You have family?”

  “People who are like family.”

  “Friends?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good friends, like family.”

  Yariv let the answer echo in the room, to amplify how dumb it sounded.

  “Cut the crap,” Mazzy interrupted. “Abizu, Milka, and Professor Odem were kidnapped by the same person. We have DNA evidence. You can’t argue with DNA. This guy is going to jail for a long, long time. Consecutive life sentences.”

  “If he’s detained or barred from giving the missing women food or water, they’ll die within seventy-two hours, and then it’s premeditated murder. Times four,” added Yariv.

  “I didn’t kidnap anyone, and you have no proof that I have any connection to this.”

  “So how did you do it? You cloned yourself? Where does the DNA come from?”

  “If you can clone DNA, then you’re in a league of your own and we can’t nail you.”

  “And you don’t have an identical twin out there.”

  Yariv picked up the box that lay at his feet, took out the bone and threw it on the desk. Barakiel recognized the smell immediately. The smell of malachite.

  An ancient smell. Oh, these stupid humans! Somebody was dead. One of the Nephilim. Lilith’s Daughters must have killed him, or worse. When a Naphil died, everyone paid the price. Except that he was stuck here and didn’t know what the price was.

  Now it wasn’t just a tingle. Barakiel’s stomach was in knots.

  The smell that hit his nostrils was as an amalgam of all the toxic human odors that had seeped into the divine bodies of the Nephilim and polluted them: the stench of sweat and urine; blood and semen; oily secretions; decaying teeth; putrid, pus-filled lesions; excrement and vomit – all the odors that human flesh pollutes the earth with.

  Barakiel rose from his seat, visibly disgusted, distancing himself from the bone. H
e grabbed hold of the desk to steady himself when a sudden dizziness came over him. He had to hold out only until the next abduction.

  “You’ve got nothing on me,” he spat at the detective. “You want me to help you, to pull you out of the hole you’re in.”

  “You know the saying, God helps those who help themselves? Well, this is the time to help yourself, or else, God help you! And for someone who snatches women and threatens their lives, I wouldn’t count on Him. You were so busy playing God yourself, you forgot that the real God resents such behavior. It’s over, we know who you are.”

  Silence filled the room. The detective watched Barakiel, who was trying to hide the storm raging inside him. The fact that they knew who he was wouldn’t have made any difference had he been outside. But he was inside, facing them and, again, he was the one paying the price. Could they really be on to him? Then once more he was the scapegoat. Azazel and Shamhazai wouldn’t hesitate to abandon him, to humiliate him before humans, as they had done once before, with Hagar Abizu.

  The Naphil and the lawyer had broken all the written and unwritten laws, and they both knew it. But at the end of the day, he was the one sent to the Athaliah to apologize, to offer contrition to a Lilith Daughter! If they didn’t intend to remain here, then he was the only one liable to lose. Perhaps it was a test. A test of courage. This time he’d show Shamhazai what he was made of.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “We’ve got all we need to wrap up this case. You missed your chance. Sorry.”

  “So you don’t need me.”

  “Look, nothing will get you off the hook here. So give us the location where the women are being kept. This is the only thing we’re missing now. Give me the location, and we’ll see what we can do.”

  Barakiel nodded and gave the detective a look of resignation. He waited. Yariv took out a statement form, put it in front of Barakiel and handed him a pen.

  Barakiel scribbled a few words across the page.

  Yariv showed the paper to Mazzy who gave Barakiel a contemptuous look.

  “So you’re pleading temporary insanity? You think that will get you out?”

  “I said all I have to say. You read what I had to write.”

  He exuded an eerie calm, as if a great load had been lifted from his chest. To the two of them he looked quite sane.

  “The Gate of Heaven is about to open.”

  THE SIXTH GATE

  JUDGMENT

  THE THIRTY-SIXTH DAY

  FIVE WEEKS AND A DAY OF THE COUNTING OF THE OMER.

  “If there arise a matter too hard for thee in judgment, between blood and blood, between plea and plea, and between stroke and stroke, being matters of controversy within thy gates: then shalt thou arise, and get thee up into the place which the Lord thy God shall choose.”

  DEUTERONOMY 17:8

  Two days had passed since Libby saw Doula Ashtribu disappear into the clouds, carried off by the Nephilim. Since giving Doron the bone fragment, she could not sleep easy and only dozed for an hour or two at a time, her mind haunted by images of Nephilim on the horizon.

  Even though Barakiel was at the police station, along with the bone and black feather, the complete picture still eluded the detectives. The primeval world which saw the dissolution of the covenant between Lilith’s Daughters and the Nephilim was so distant that even the clearest signal could not apprise the sons of Adam and Eve the extent of the danger.

  Dazed, Libby walked alongside the Athaliah in the hallway, where her assistants scurried and slithered like lizards trying to shed their tails in desperation.

  “You didn’t see what went on there.”

  “I was at the ranch, or what was left of it. I saw what they’re capable of; it was nothing new; we know their power. Whoever needs to know, knows. This was the reason we made the pact with them in the first place. Right now, nothing can be done about it.”

  Libby was about to erupt. The fact that even the Athaliah had to hark back to the distant past for an explanation almost drove her crazy. More papers were shoved into the Athaliah’s hands as she passed through the hallways, more reports and intelligence assessments. No action.

  “I don’t intend to give them any more information; just put what they’ve already got in order.”

  “Who will you talk to?”

  “Whoever will listen. Mazzy. Her team is involved. They’re pretty good. More and more cases are solved thanks to them. There’s information there. Perhaps they can even help us with the names.”

  “That’s nonsense! Your job is to make sure she stays out, not to get her involved.”

  Libby felt an urge to grab the head of The Order and shake her. The Athaliah didn’t get it because she hadn’t been there. She couldn’t understand the desperation, the slimy, searing feeling that grips you when you confront a cocksure Naphil who then hands you a piece of his body and mocks you. A Naphil who lets you know the real score, not how The Order prefers to interpret it.

  “I know my job: to keep The Order safe.”

  “There is this pesky thing about secret orders: for some reason, we insist on keeping them secret.”

  Libby realized that if she continued to badger the head of The Order, the Athaliah would simply dismiss her. She had done all she could, and then some. It was time to let The Order act. She would operate on her own.

  “Any idea when all this will end? Or when the next abduction might occur?” It sounded as if the Athaliah was thinking aloud.

  Libby thought she had gotten across to the Athaliah, but now the latter’s tone had changed. She reverted to her cold, peremptory tone. The young policewoman encountered a steady pair of eyes.

  “All you need know is that The Order will overcome this tribulation, too. We shall renew our days as of old.”

  The old slogans were repeating themselves; The Order kept telling anyone who would listen that everything was all right; these were just some bumps in the road, a temporary contretemps along the way back to Kedem. For the first time in her life, Libby wondered whether calls to her office were being recorded. For political reasons. Unofficial documentation the Athaliah could use when called to the Great Chamber of Mothers.

  “Yes, the Athaliah.”

  “Fine. Now run off. Go do your job.”

  With perfect timing, one of the guards opened the main door, letting in a gust of cold reality. Libby tried to hide her hurt feelings. She had to calm down. The tension was already affecting her. She was determined to talk to Mazzy, at whatever cost. If the Order didn’t realize things had changed, she’d have to do what Doula Ashtribu had taught her. No single member of The Order was more important than its fate.

  The Athaliah watched Libby walk away. She was aware of the despair she had sown in her; she had recognized the fear that The Order might disappear from the face of the Earth.

  But the Athaliah had no time for fear and premonitions.

  She knew that the timing of the great battle for the future of The Order would be decided by those who had control of events: the Nephilim.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Mazzy and Yariv poured over the documents and the data for the umpteenth time, trying to penetrate the warped mind of the predator they had subdued and caged. They didn’t know who or what he was, but his – or his accomplices’– ability to carry out the abductions with such ease, and without leaving a trace, was awe inspiring. After going over the information yielded by the bone fragment, they had been forced to revisit the time they had spent with the apex predator, an evolutionary specimen that had ascended the ladder.

  The statement he had given them was passed on to Elisha Itzkovitch, but the response he gave through the speakerphone was neither encouraging nor helpful.

  “The sum of the phrase ‘The Gate of Heaven is about to open’ is equal to ‘Pray for Heaven’s mercy.’ But the addition can go in more than one direction. One thousand six hundred and eighteen. Eighteen is always two-directional, ambiguous. One thousand six hundred
is equal to the chain of letters in the verse, ‘He that is the first in his own cause seems just, but his neighbor cometh and searcheth him.’”

  “So this means that he is the just one in the story? After he abducted all those women?” Yariv interjected.

  “That’s why I say it could come up to one thousand six hundred and eighteen, which is equal to ‘O Lord my God, in Thee do I put my trust; save me from all them that persecute me and deliver me.’ Maybe this is bigger than what we can answer now. At this moment, the letters tell us to trust the Master of the Universe.”

  “So your advice is to pray? This is your professional advice?” Yariv couldn’t mask the derision in his voice.

  “At the moment? Yes.”

  Yariv almost ripped into Itzkovitch down the phone, but Mazzy stayed his arm. She sensed the storm had only just begun to rage in him.

  “Okay, Elisha, we’ll let you do your work. As soon as you come up with something, I want you over here,” she said, and hung up before Yariv could add anything else.

  The legal aspect of the case would be resolved in the next few weeks, but the chances of finding the missing women were fast diminishing. When they had detained Almadon, they considered the possibility they might fail in their mission. A series of skillfully executed abductions did not leave much hope for the victims’ survival. Barak Almadon might be an angel of death who had sealed the fate of these women long before he entered the interrogation room.

  At this stage of their careers, Mazzy and Yariv knew that such cases, those that began with a big bang, usually ended with a whimper, with nobody remembering what all the fuss had been about.

  They felt they needed a break from the findings and from the confrontation with Almadon, to slow down the flow of adrenalin and restore a healthy pulse.

  Mazzy conjured up divers plunging into shark-infested waters without a protective cage. She was beginning to appreciate the renewed zest for life that encounters with such primeval forces produced.

  The silence in the room was becoming oppressive. Yariv was the first to break it.

  “So we clinched the case for the kidnapper, but not for the victims.”