Legion: The Many Lives of Stephen Leeds

by Brandon Sanderson

  “What?” Monica asked me.

  “I’d hoped they’d forbid flash photography,” I said. “Most places like this do.” If Razon had tried to use his, it would have made it more likely that someone had spotted him.

  Perhaps it was forbidden, but the police officers standing nearby didn’t seem to care what people did.

  “We’ll start looking,” Monica said, gesturing curtly to her men. The three of them moved through the crowd, going about our fragile plan—which was to try to find someone at one of the holy sites who remembered seeing Razon.

  I waited, noticing that a couple of the police officers nearby were chatting in Hebrew. One waved to the other, apparently going off duty, and began to walk away.

  “Kalyani,” I said. “With me.”

  “Of course, of course, Mr. Steve.” She joined me with a hop in her step as we walked up to the departing officer.

  The officer gave me a tired look.

  “Hello,” I said in Hebrew with Kalyani’s help. I’d first mutter under my breath what I wanted to say, so she could translate it for me. “I apologize for my terrible Hebrew!”

  He paused, then smiled. “It’s not so bad.”

  “It’s dreadful.”

  “You are Jewish?” he guessed. “From the States?”

  “Actually, I’m not Jewish, though I am from the States. I just think a man should try to learn a country’s language before he visits.”

  The officer smiled. He seemed an amiable enough fellow; of course, most people were. And they liked to see foreigners trying their own language. We chatted some more as he walked, and I found that he was indeed going off duty. Someone was coming to pick him up, but he didn’t seem to mind talking to me while he waited. I tried to make it obvious that I wanted to practice my language by speaking with a native.

  His name was Moshe, and he worked this same shift almost every day. His job was to watch for people doing stupid things, then stop them—though he confided that his more important duty was to make sure no terrorist strikes happened in the church. His usual police beat was elsewhere in the city, but he’d been moved here for the holidays, when the government worried about violence and wanted a more visible presence in tourist sites. This church was, after all, in contested territory.

  A few minutes in, I started moving the conversation toward Razon. “I’m sure you must see some interesting things,” I said. “Before we came here, we were at the Garden Tomb. There was this crazy Asian guy there, yelling at everybody.”

  “Yeah?” Moshe asked.

  “Yeah. Pretty sure he was American from his accent, but he had Asian features. Anyway, he had this big camera set up on a tripod—as if he were the most important person around, and nobody else deserved to take pictures. Got in this big argument with a police officer who didn’t want him using his flash.”

  Moshe laughed. “He was here too.”

  Kalyani chuckled after translating that. “Oh, you’re good, Mr. Steve.”

  “Really?” I asked, casually.

  “Sure was,” Moshe said. “Must be the same guy. He was here … oh, two days back. Kept cursing out everyone who jostled him, tried to bribe me to move them all away and give him space. Thing is, when he started taking pictures, he didn’t mind if anyone stepped in front of him. And he took shots all over the church, even outside, pointed at the dumbest locations!”

  “Real loon, eh?”

  “Yes,” the officer said, chuckling. “I see tourists like him all the time. Big fancy cameras that they spent a ridiculous amount on, but they don’t have a bit of photography training. This guy, he didn’t know when to turn off his flash, you know? Used it on every shot—even out in the sun, and on the altar over there, with all the lights on it!”

  I laughed.

  “I know!” he said. “Americans!” Then he hesitated. “Oh, uh, no offense meant.”

  “None taken,” I said, relaying immediately what Kalyani said in response. “I’m Indian.”

  He hesitated, then cocked his head at me.

  “Oh!” Kalyani said. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Steve! I wasn’t thinking.”

  “It’s all right.”

  The officer laughed. “You are good at Hebrew, but I do not think that means what you think!”

  I laughed as well, and noticed a woman moving toward him, waving. I thanked him for the conversation, then inspected the church some more. Monica and her flunkies eventually found me, one of them tucking away some photos of Razon. “Nobody here has seen him, Leeds,” she said. “This is a dead end.”

  “Is that so?” I asked, strolling toward the exit.

  Tobias joined us, hands clasped behind his back. “Such a marvel, Stephen,” he said to me. He nodded toward an armed police officer at the doorway. “Jerusalem, a city whose name literally means ‘peace.’ It is filled with islands of serenity like this one, which have seen the solemn worship of men for longer than most countries have existed. Yet here, violence is never more than a few steps away.”

  Violence …

  “Monica,” I said, frowning. “You said you’d searched for Razon on your own, before you came to me. Did that include checking to see if he was on any flights out of the States?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “We have some contacts in Homeland Security. Nobody by Razon’s name flew out of the country, but false IDs aren’t that hard to find.”

  “Could a fake passport get you into Israel? One of the most secure countries on the planet?”

  She frowned. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “It seems risky,” I said.

  “Well, this is a fine time to bring it up, Leeds. Are you saying he’s not here after all? We’ve wasted—”

  “Oh, he’s here,” I said absently. “I found a policeman who spoke to him. Razon took pictures all over the place.”

  “Nobody we talked to saw him.”

  “The police and clergy in this place see thousands of visitors a day, Monica. You can’t show them a picture and expect them to remember. You have to focus on something memorable.”

  “But—”

  “Hush for a moment,” I said, holding up my hand. He got into the country. A mousy little engineer with extremely valuable equipment, using a fake passport. He had a gun back at his apartment, but hadn’t ever fired it. How did he get it?

  Idiot. “Can you find out when Razon bought that gun?” I asked her. “Gun laws in the state should make it traceable, right?”

  “Sure. I’ll look into it when we get to a hotel.”

  “Do it now.”

  “Now? Do you realize what time it is in the—”

  “Do it anyway. Wake people. Get the answers.”

  She glared at me, but moved off and made a few phone calls. Some angry conversations followed.

  “We should have seen this earlier,” Tobias said, shaking his head.

  “I know.”

  Eventually, Monica moved back, slapping closed her phone. “There is no record of Razon buying a gun, ever. The one in his apartment isn’t registered anywhere.”

  He had help. Of course he had help. He’d been planning this for years, and he had access to all those photos to use in proving that he was legitimate.

  He’d found someone to supply him. Protect him. Someone who had given him that gun, some fake identification. They’d helped him sneak into Israel.

  So whom had he approached? Who was helping him?

  “Ivy,” I said. “We need…” I trailed off. “Where’s Ivy?”

  “No idea,” Tobias said. Kalyani shrugged.

  “You’ve lost one of your hallucinations?” Monica asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, summon her back.”

  “It doesn’t work that way,” I said, and poked through the church, looking around. I got some funny looks from clergy until I finally peeked into a nook and stopped flat.

  J.C. and Ivy hastily broke apart from their kissing. Her makeup was mussed, and—incredibly—J.C. had set his gun to the side, ignoring it
. That was a first.

  “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” I said, raising a hand to my face. “You two? What are you doing?”

  “I wasn’t aware we had to report the nature of our relationship to you,” Ivy said coldly.

  J.C. gave me a big thumbs-up and a grin.

  “Whatever,” I said. “Time to go. Ivy, I don’t think Razon was working alone. He came into the country on a fake passport, and other factors don’t add up. Could he have had some sort of aid here? Maybe a local organization to help him escape suspicion and move in the city?”

  “Possible,” she said, hurrying to keep up. “I would point out it’s not impossible that he’s working alone, but it does seem unlikely, upon consideration. You thought that through on your own? Nice work!”

  “Thanks. And your hair is a mess.”

  We eventually reached the cars and climbed in, me with Monica, Ivy, and J.C. The two suits and my other aspects took the forward car.

  “You could be right on this point,” Monica said as the cars started off.

  “Razon is a smart man,” I said. “He would have wanted allies. It could be another company, perhaps an Israeli one. Do any of your rivals know about this technology?”

  “Not that we know of.”

  “Steve,” Ivy said, sitting between us. She put her lipstick away, her hair fixed. She was obviously trying to ignore what I’d seen between her and J.C.

  Damn, I thought. I’d assumed the two hated each other. Think about that later. “Yes?” I asked.

  “Ask Monica something for me. Did Razon ever approach her company about a project like this? Taking photos to prove Christianity?”

  I relayed the question.

  “No,” Monica said. “If he had, I’d have told you. It would have led us here faster. He never came to us.”

  “That’s an oddity,” Ivy said. “The more we work on this case, the more we find that Razon went to incredible lengths in order to come here, to Jerusalem. Why not use the resource he already had? Azari Laboratories.”

  “Maybe he wanted freedom,” I said. “To use his invention as he wished.”

  “If that’s the case,” Ivy said, “he wouldn’t have approached a rival company, as you proposed. Doing so would have put him back in the same situation. Prod Monica. She looks like she’s thinking about something.”

  “What?” I asked Monica. “You have something to add?”

  “Well,” Monica said, “once we knew the camera was working, Razon did ask us about some projects he wanted to attempt. Revealing the truth of the Kennedy assassination, debunking or verifying the Patterson-Gimlin bigfoot video, things like that.”

  “And you shot him down,” I guessed.

  “I don’t know if you’ve spent much time considering the ramifications of this device, Mr. Leeds,” Monica said. “Your questions to me on the plane indicate you’ve at least started to. Well, we have. And we’re terrified.

  “This thing will change the world. It’s about more than proving mysteries. It means an end to privacy as we know it. If someone can gain access to any place where you have ever been naked, they can take photos of you in the nude. Imagine the ramifications for the paparazzi.

  “Our entire justice system will be upended. No more juries, no more judges, lawyers, or courts. Law enforcement will simply need to go to the scene of the crime and take photos. If you’re suspected, you provide an alibi—and they can prove whether or not you were where you claim.”

  She shook her head, looking haunted. “And what of history? National security? Secrets become much harder to keep. States will have to lock down sites where important information was once presented. You won’t be able to write things down. A courier carrying sensitive documents has passed down the street? The next day, you can get into just the right position and take a picture inside the envelope. We tested that. Imagine having such power. Now imagine every person on the planet having it.”

  “Dang,” Ivy whispered.

  “So no,” Monica said. “No, we wouldn’t have let Mr. Razon go and take photos to prove or disprove Christianity. Not yet. Not until we’d done a lot of discussion about the matter. He knew this, I think. It explains why he ran.”

  “That didn’t stop you from preparing ways to bait me into entering into a business arrangement with you,” I said. “I suspect if you did it for me, you did it for other important people as well. You’ve been gathering resources to get yourself some strategic allies, haven’t you? Maybe some of the world’s rich and elite? To help you ride this wave, once the technology goes out?”

  She drew her lips into a line, eyes straight forward.

  “That probably looked self-serving to Razon,” I said. “You won’t help him with bringing the truth to mankind, but you’ll gather bribery material? Even blackmail material.”

  “I’m not at liberty to continue this conversation,” Monica said.

  Ivy sniffed. “Well, we know why he left. I still don’t think he’d have gone to a rival company, but he would have gone to someone. The Israeli government, maybe? Or—”

  Everything went black.

  SEVEN

  I awoke, dazed. My vision was blurry.

  “Explosion,” J.C. said. He crouched beside me. I was … I was tied up somewhere. In a chair. Hands bound behind me.

  “Stay calm, Skinny,” J.C. said. “Calm. They blew the car in front of us. We swerved. Hit a building at the side of the road. Do you remember?”

  I barely did. It was vague.

  “Monica?” I croaked, looking about.

  She was tied to a chair beside me. Kalyani, Ivy, and Tobias were there as well, tied and gagged. Monica’s security men weren’t there.

  “I managed to crawl free of the wreckage,” J.C. said. “But I can’t get you out.”

  “I know,” I said. It was best not to push J.C. on the fact that he was a hallucination. I’m pretty sure he knew, deep down, exactly what he was. He just didn’t like admitting it.

  “Listen,” J.C. said. “This is a bad situation, but you will keep your head, and you will escape alive. Understand, soldier?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Say it again.”

  “Yes,” I said, quiet but intense.

  “Good man,” J.C. said. “I’m going to go untie the others.” He moved over, letting my other aspects free.

  Monica groaned, shaking her head. “What…”

  “I think we’ve made a gross miscalculation,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

  I was surprised at how evenly that came out, considering how terrified I was. I’m an academic at heart—at least most of my aspects are. I’m not good with violence.

  “What do you see?” I asked. This time, my voice quivered.

  “Small room,” Ivy said, rubbing her wrists. “No windows. I can hear plumbing and faint sounds of traffic outside. We’re still in the city.”

  “Such lovely places you take us, Stephen,” Tobias said, nodding in thanks as J.C. helped him to his feet. Tobias was getting on in years now.

  “That’s Arabic I hear outside,” Kalyani said.

  “Yes,” Tobias said, eyes closed. “A passing train. Slowing. Stopping … Something about the way it’s pausing there … Not a station, but a stop of some other sort. Cars, people talking. Church bells. Is that Yiddish? And a muezzin, sounding the call to prayer?” He snapped his eyes open. “We’re somewhere along the Shivtei Israel Street, near the Old City. This is a busy area. Screaming might draw help.”

  “Or might get us killed,” J.C. said. “Those ropes are tight, Skinny. Monica’s are too.”

  “What’s going on?” Monica asked. “What happened?”

  “The pictures,” Ivy said.

  I looked at her.

  “Monica and her goons showed off those pictures of Razon, walking around the church,” Ivy said. “They probably asked every person there if they’d seen him. If he was working with someone…”

  I groaned. Of course. Razon’s allies would have been watching for anyone
hunting him. Monica had drawn a big red bull’s-eye on us.

  “All right,” I said. “J.C. You’re going to have to get us out of this. What should—”

  The door opened.

  I immediately turned toward our captors. I didn’t find what I’d expected. Instead of Islamic terrorists of some sort, we were faced by a group of Filipino men in suits.

  “Ah…” Tobias said.

  “Mr. Leeds,” said the man in the front, speaking with an accented voice. He flipped through a folder full of papers. “By all accounts, you are a very interesting and very … reasonable person. We apologize for your treatment so far, and would like to see you placed in much more comfortable conditions.”

  “I sense a deal coming on,” Ivy warned.

  “I am called Salic,” the man said. “I represent a certain group with interests that may align with your own. Have you heard of the MNLF, Mr. Leeds?”

  “The Moro National Liberation Front,” Tobias said. “It is a Filipino revolutionary group seeking to split off and create its own nation-state.”

  “I’ve heard of it,” I said.

  “Well,” Salic said. “I have a proposal for you. We have the device for which you are searching, but we have run into some difficulties in operating it. How much would it cost us to enlist your aid?”

  “One million, US,” I said without missing a beat.

  “Traitor!” Monica sputtered.

  “You aren’t even paying me, Monica,” I said, amused. “You can’t blame me for taking a better deal.”

  Salic smiled. He fully believed I’d sell out Monica. Sometimes it is very useful to have a reputation for being a reclusive, amoral jerk.

  The thing is, I’m really only the reclusive part. And maybe, admittedly, the jerk part. When you have that mix, people generally assume you don’t have morals either.

  “The MNLF is a paramilitary organization,” Tobias continued. “There hasn’t been much in the way of violence on their part, however, so this is surprising to see. Their fundamental difference with the main Filipino government is over religion.”