Jude

by Jeff Nesbit

  I would have paid close attention to all of this once. I would have wondered about it, thought about it, pulled it apart intellectually, and tried to sort through what it all really meant. But I didn’t. Not now.

  In another era and time, Jude would have made for a perfect emperor god. He’d mastered the banking, financial, economic, and business worlds. All that was left, really, was the political realm, and that would fall in relatively short order, I knew.

  But the days of emperor gods had passed. Now someone like Jude needed to find other ways to amuse himself and control nation-states on a global basis. The game had changed in the past couple thousand years for the principalities and powers who wanted to rule the modern world.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  I made three phone calls while I waited for my flight out of the American Redoubt. I had one more trip to take before heading home to New York.

  The first call was to John Hargrove, my editor.

  “Did you find what you were looking for?” he asked me. “And more important, have you written it up? Am I going to see anything in print here at the paper?”

  That was a good question. I hadn’t yet made up my mind. It depended on whether I thought anyone would actually believe what I had to say.

  “I have one more interview left,” I answered. “I’ll let you know when I’m done with it.”

  “But what did you find on your sabbatical? You were gone a while. You dropped off the grid. We wondered where you’d gone.”

  “Off the grid.” I laughed. “Now that’s funny.”

  “Yeah? Why?”

  “It’ll be in the story I file,” I answered.

  “So you are going to file something about what you found?”

  “Maybe. Probably. We’ll see,” I said.

  I could almost hear the questions that he really wanted to ask. But like everyone, he didn’t want to pry into my personal life.

  “So are you coming back to work at the newspaper?” he asked me finally. “I know you don’t need the work. Good heavens, you can buy the paper with your spare change, most likely. But you’re a good writer, Thomas. And we miss your perspective around here. It’s … Well, it’s different than what we would see otherwise.”

  That was an understatement. “Yeah, I’ll be back, John. It’s not like I have anything better to do. Might as well make you miserable.”

  My second call was to Frank Gore.

  “So why didn’t you just tell me about Fortress?” I asked him. “Why did you let me think the worst of a place like that?”

  “Would you have believed me?” he asked. “You were so certain of what you’d find there. I figured it was easier for you to see it for yourself.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I appreciate it. Really. It renewed my faith in the basic goodness of humanity. I didn’t think that was even possible. And I especially didn’t think it would be possible there, in a part of the country that seems hell-bent on hiding from the world’s troubles. It’s nice to know that a place like that even exists—an open-source community.”

  “My pleasure,” Frank said. “So what have you decided to write about? Do you know yet?”

  I exhaled. “My editor just asked me that. Honestly, I don’t know. Maybe just a piece of fiction, pretending to reveal truth. I guess it depends on how gullible people are and whether they prefer conspiracy theories over actual truth.”

  “Did you find the answers you were looking for on the Christian Brigades?” he asked. “I know that was frustrating you—what they’re all about and how they figured into that attempt on your brother’s life at the start of his political campaign.”

  “You know, I didn’t—not really,” I told him. “But I have one more interview left, and we’ll see how far that takes me.”

  My third call was to Sandy.

  “I miss you. I’m coming home,” I said, glad to hear her voice.

  “And will you be here for a while?” she asked. “Have you wandered around the country enough? Is it all out of your system now?”

  “For the time being.” I chuckled. “Next time, you’re coming with me. I promise. There’s a pretty spectacular place I want to show you. It’s on the side of a mountain in Montana.”

  “Hmm,” she said. “Sounds a bit dodgy.”

  “It isn’t. It’s anything but. You’ll like it. Trust me. It isn’t what you’d expect.”

  “If it’s a place you like,” she said, “that’s enough for me. Sign me up. I’m happy to follow you to the ends of the earth, if that’s what it takes to keep up with you.”

  “No need for that,” I said, laughing. “But you’ll like this place. It’s extraordinary. Magical.”

  “Well, good,” Sandy said. “I vote for magical any day.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  I was surprised that he’d even agreed to see me. I was even more surprised that he seemed lucid when I arrived at the small, windowless room at the far corner of the federal penitentiary reserved for high-profile prisoners in Reno, Nevada.

  Samuel Chambers wasn’t a typical prisoner, the warden told me beforehand. Most of the prisoners at their facility hadn’t made it out of high school. Chambers, he told me, had a master’s degree in religious philosophy from a good university and had already informed the prison’s distance-learning staff that he intended to get his doctorate in divinity while he was incarcerated.

  Chambers may have been crazy, but he wasn’t stupid.

  I’d read the transcripts of the FBI interviews with Chambers before I arrived at the prison for my own interview. There wasn’t much there. He’d been silent and defiant, mostly, throughout those interviews.

  Chambers had said next to nothing about either the Christian Brigades or why he’d tried to assassinate Jude that day in Battery Park. He also hadn’t expressed any remorse whatsoever for the shooting.

  I wasn’t terribly hopeful that I’d find out anything useful during the course of my interview with him. But I had to at least try. I owed at least that to Jude, if nothing else. It was one final debt I felt compelled to pay.

  Chambers was sitting patiently on a bench at a plain, gray table, his hands shackled and folded in front of him. His orange jumpsuit hung loosely around his thin frame. His eyes followed my movements closely as we came into the room.

  The prison guard who escorted me told me to knock when I was ready to leave. I thanked him as he left and closed the door behind him. I looked at Chambers and glanced down at the floor. His ankles were shackled as well. They weren’t taking any chances with this prisoner.

  “Mr. Chambers, I wanted to thank you for taking the time today to visit with me,” I began. I took a seat across the table. I pulled out my notebook, opened it, and then uncapped my pen and placed it beside me on the table. I turned on my digital recorder.

  “My pleasure,” he said. “I didn’t have anything better to do today.”

  I smiled at him. Chambers didn’t smile back. He just glared at me, sizing me up. I could tell he didn’t know what to make of this visit yet.

  “So I’m curious,” I said. “I read your FBI interviews. You didn’t say much during them.”

  “They weren’t especially good questions,” he said.

  “You mean the questions were poor? Or they were the wrong ones?”

  “Both. They just kept asking me why I’d done it, over and over. They made assumptions about both my motivations and my actions. And they were the wrong assumptions. So they kept getting the wrong answers.”

  “I see,” I said thoughtfully. “I guess we’re all a bit guilty of that at some point in our lives. For instance, I made some assumptions about the Christian Brigades before I went out West to look into it a bit. And what I found surprised me.”

  “I’ll bet,” Chamber snorted. “Especially when you consider that the Christian Brigades can’t actually be found in a p
hysical place.”

  “Not in a physical place?”

  “You can’t go find them somewhere, no more than anyone has ever been able to find the Knights Templar,” Chambers said angrily.

  I leaned forward. “But you’re wrong, Samuel,” I said carefully. “People did find the Knights Templar. They were in Jerusalem for years. They fought in the Crusades. They built things, ran banks. Many of them were burned at the stake for heresy before the pope disbanded their order. They were flesh and blood. And both church and state knew precisely who they were and where to find them.”

  Chambers took a deep breath. I thought, for a moment, that he would simply stop talking. He blinked furiously several times.

  “I’m talking about now. Today,” he said finally. “It’s why the Christian Brigades exist on the earth. We exist in order to right the wrongs by any means necessary. We are the protectors. This is what we are meant to do.”

  Now we’re getting somewhere, even if it’s based on conspiracy theories, I thought. “So you think the Knights Templar order still exists today?” I asked. “You believe there are secret societies that control the world in some mysterious way? The Illuminati, Freemasons, the Bilderberg Group … secret orders and societies that rule the planet?”

  Chambers laughed. It came out more like a guttural croak. “You know,” he said, “you, of all people, should watch what you say. If anyone knows the truth, it’s you. They’ve had their eye on you for some time. They know all about you.” He sat back then and just stared at me. I wasn’t quite sure what he meant.

  “I see,” I said. “So you know about me. But what about Jude? How long have you had your eye on him? When did you, or the Christian Brigades, decide to assassinate my brother? When did you make that decision?”

  This time, it was Chambers who leaned forward. His eyes glowed with an intensity that I hadn’t seen until this very moment.

  “See,” he said with a fierceness that startled me, “that’s just what I’m talking about. Of course they know all about Jude. They’ve known for a very long time. But what you’re asking is precisely the wrong question. And if you keep asking it, you’ll keep getting the wrong answer.”

  I did my best to stare down the palpable, unrestrained hatred welling up just a few feet from me. “So, Mr. Chambers, if I’m asking the wrong question, perhaps you can enlighten me. Help me out, please. What is the right question?”

  Chambers smiled for the first time in our interview. This, too, surprised me. “You might start by asking me whom I was there to stop that day in Battery Park,” he said. “You might ask me whom they told me I had to remove, because he was the only real threat standing in the way of what needs to be accomplished to bring order back into the world.”

  A slight chill settled in the room. “And who would that be?” I asked, fearful of the answer. “Who were you trying to kill that day in Battery Park, Mr. Chambers?”

  “Why, it’s you, of course,” he said calmly. “I was there to stop you. That’s what they told me to do. You’re the one person anywhere on earth who could get in the way, who could keep him from doing what needs to be done and restore order. Because you know the truth. No one else is capable of stopping him. Only you.”

  I looked at Samuel Chambers sitting calmly across the table. I put my pen down and closed my notebook. I reached over and turned off the recorder.

  I had my answer. It wasn’t what I’d hoped for or even expected. But I had my answer. And, for now, that was enough.

  If you enjoyed Jude, I would be honored if you would tell others by writing a review. Go here to write a review on Goodreads.

  Thank you!

  —Jeff Nesbit

  JUDE

  Published by David C Cook

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  David C Cook U.K., Kingsway Communications

  Eastbourne, East Sussex BN23 6NT, England

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  All rights reserved. No part of this ebook may be reproduced, scanned, resold, or distributed by or through any print or electronic medium without written permission from the publisher. This ebook is licensed solely for the personal and noncommercial use of the original authorized purchaser, subject to the terms of use under which it was purchased. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

  The website addresses recommended throughout this book are offered as a resource to you. These websites are not intended in any way to be or imply an endorsement on the part of David C Cook, nor do we vouch for their content.

  This story is a work of fiction. Characters and events are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is coincidental.

  ISBN 978-0-7814-1133-2

  eISBN 978-1-4347-0760-4

  © 2013 Jeff Nesbit

  The Team: Don Pape, Ramona Tucker, Amy Konyndyk, Nick Lee, Tonya Osterhouse, Karen Athen

  Cover Design: Nick Lee

  Cover Photo: Shutterstock

  First Edition 2013

  Photo by Josh Landis

  JEFF NESBIT was the White House communications director for Vice President Dan Quayle, director of public affairs for two federal science agencies, and a national journalist with Knight Ridder and others. He now writes a weekly science column, “At the Edge,” for U.S. News and World Report (www.usnews.com/news/blogs/at-the-edge) and is executive director of Climate Nexus.

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