13th Apostle

by Richard F. Heller

  Pain shot from deep within his groin; a paralyzing ache that grabbed his spine and twisted. He moaned.

  “The toilet’s in there,” the small man said, pointing to a gray door at the far side of the room.

  Gil leaped from the bed and bolted into the bathroom, dry heaved into a filthy toilet, then urinated for a full minute. The pain vanished.

  God. It must have been a year since I peed.

  Some vague memory of a hulk of a man flashed across his mind then disappeared.

  A jackhammer began in the back of his head, and he leaned his forehead against the cool bathroom wall. It felt good. He wanted to stay there forever. Feeling the softening growth of beard, he judged it had been more than two days since his last shave, which meant he’d been here for at least twenty-four hours, maybe thirty-six. He was weak and his stomach cramped with hunger. It must have been that long since he had eaten.

  The voice from the other room interrupted his thoughts. “There’s water and food waiting for you when you’re done.”

  Gil strained to identify the accent. It sounded British. From the quick look he had managed on his rush to the toilet, he assumed the accent would be Middle Eastern.

  Formal training. He probably comes from oil wealth. So what is he doing in this pit?

  Hunger twisted in his stomach. With a promise to himself that he would not speak—no matter what the consequences—Gil returned to his kidnapper and to the food and drink that waited.

  Beyond noncompliance, his plan was simple. He would accept nourishment in order to retain his strength. He would gather any information he could, wait for the right time and place, then make a move to break free. He wasn’t fooling himself; he knew it wasn’t much of a plan, but it made him feel less panicky. Most of all, it allowed him to satisfy the nagging voice that accused him of selling out to the enemy for the price of a little food.

  Returning to the filthy bed, Gil tried to focus on the face of his kidnapper. A crescent scar was set deeply into his dark cheek. He wore a camel hair sport jacket that looked as if it had been tailored to fit his well-toned body. His captor smiled pleasantly. This was not the expected image of a ruthless killer.

  The image of Sabbie’s bloodstained sweater flashed across Gil’s mind. This man had taken Sarkami, waited for Sabbie, and had done God’s know what with her. Then he had lain in wait for Gil and had kidnapped him. This was the one that Sabbie had spotted outside of Ludlow’s apartment. This was the new player that had her so worried.

  Gil knew it with a certainty that sickened him more than his empty stomach. Wherever this man went, death followed. Now the perfectly dressed little killer had him in the palm of his hand.

  Gil looked into the eyes of his abductor. The man stared back with obvious amusement, introduced himself as Abdul Maluka, then offered Gil a cold bottle of Perrier and a plate of crackers.

  “These will ease your stomach. When you can tolerate more, it will be brought,” Maluka said. “We take care of our guests.”

  Guest my ass. I’m your prisoner.

  Gil’s mind snapped to attention.

  He said “guests.” Plural. Who else are they holding? Sabbie perhaps. Or Sarkami.

  Gil accepted the food and drink and tried hard not to show his desperation. He turned from his kidnapper and allowed his eyes to scan the room as he ate.

  The gray walls were twenty-feet high; twice that in width. No windows and just two doors, one of which led to the bathroom. The only light came from overhead florescent lights. His prison looked like any of a million warehouse rooms. He could be anywhere.

  “You have been drugged,” Maluka began. “You will experience a variety of unpleasant aftereffects including cramps and nausea but they will wear off in time.”

  In time! Well, at least you’re not intending to kill me straight away.

  “The pain in your head and neck are due to the impact you sustained from Aijaz,” Maluka continued. He pointed to the hulk of a man who stood at the door. Maluka nodded and Aijaz disappeared.

  Gil turned and faced Maluka. “What have you done with Sabbie?”

  Maluka’s eyes narrowed as he nodded his head approvingly. “Very clever, Mr. Pearson, but that approach won’t work on me.”

  Gil tried to make sense of the response.

  “Within moments of our hasty departure from Sarkami’s home, the police arrived. Even they were not fooled,” Maluka went on. “It was a very amateurish crime scene, you know. Obviously staged.”

  “What crime scene?” Gil asked.

  A thin smile formed on Maluka’s lips. “The one that Sarkami and Sabbie staged to make it look as if she had been injured and captured, of course. But, now, we have more important things to discuss.”

  “Why the hell would Sabbie and Sarkami stage a crime scene?”

  “I must assume that you were truly ignorant of their plans or you would have left with them. I cannot, however, bring myself to believe that upon seeing the evidence, you did not conclude that you had been duped,” Sarkami concluded.

  “She wouldn’t do that,” Gil said simply. He hoped his words carried more conviction than he felt. “Look, I know you took her. Why don’t you just tell me the truth? I can’t do anything to you.”

  “Exactly. Neither could she, so why should we murder her?”

  The image of Maluka’s man, lying flat in the Monastery courtyard, flashed across Gil’s mind. If Sabbie had killed him, Gil felt certain Maluka would not hesitate to take revenge.

  “Hassan’s death was an unfortunate accident,” Maluka answered as if he heard Gil’s thoughts. “He had a bad heart, an affliction that I learned about only after his recent demise. Besides, I do not kill for revenge.”

  Then you do kill for other reasons. Well, that’s certainly comforting.

  The whole thing made no sense. Maluka obviously had no clue as to Sabbie’s whereabouts. Why else would he be asking him? And if Maluka had the scroll, which he would have captured along with Sabbie, Gil wouldn’t be sitting there. So Maluka needed something from him. The question was, what was it?

  “And what about Ludlow?” Gil asked. The best way to learn about someone was to ask them a question to which you already know the answer.

  “Ludlow’s death was not of my doing. I should think Dr. DeVris would be the more appropriate person to ask.”

  DeVris!

  Gil had expected Maluka to place the blame for Ludlow’s death on McCullum. That would have confirmed Sabbie’s report to Sarkami. But DeVris!

  There was only one conclusion: Maluka didn’t know about WATSC’s involvement. Without knowing about McCullum, it would have been a safe assumption that DeVris had been directly involved in Ludlow’s death. It was the most reasonable and logical conclusion. And it showed where Maluka’s blind spot was.

  But why doesn’t Maluka know about McCullum? Or is he just putting on a good show to see if he can catch me in a lie?

  Gil’s life could depend on the answer. If, on one hand, Maluka was just pretending to have no knowledge of McCullum, then withholding that info could prove to Maluka that Gil could not be trusted. Gil, then, would be expendable.

  If, on the other hand, Maluka truly had no knowledge of McCullum, providing information about McCullum could give Maluka all that he needed. Once again, Gil would be expendable.

  What was it Sabbie said to Sarkami? McCullum must have stopped using e-mail and was, therefore, invisible to her detection. McCullum must have remained invisible to Hassan as well. That would have left Maluka without a clue as to McCullum’s involvement.

  Maluka spoke more sternly. “Now, I think I’ve been extremely patient. I could use drugs to obtain the information I need, but I rather think you might be bright enough to resist them. Besides, I prefer a good match of wits. In any case, I would hope that you cooperate so that there will be no need to bring Aijaz in to assist. He’s watching television right now, and when he’s disturbed, he can get very cranky.”

  Maluka’s demands were very simple:
a complete recital of all that had transpired between Sabbie and Sarkami. “If there were times when you were not privy to their communication, I need to know that as well.”

  He reminded Gil that he believed Sabbie and Sarkami had not included Gil in their little conspiracy, but explained that he thought Gil knew more than even he might be aware.

  “Whatever you saw, heard, even what crossed your mind, may be of great use to me,” Maluka said. “Your job is to tell me what you’ve seen and heard. Mine is to interpret.”

  Gil needed time to think, time to figure out what the hell was going on. Was it possible that Sabbie and Sarkami had staged the whole thing? Was the bloody sweater nothing more than a ploy to throw him off track?

  Why else would Sabbie have had to leave the room to talk to Sarkami in private?

  Everything indicated that he was being played for a fool. Her secrets, her aloofness, her intimacy with Sarkami. The last thought cut like a knife. She left him at the hotel and had taken off with Sarkami and the scroll.

  And left me holding the bag!

  A single thought played at the back of Gil’s mind.

  McCullum’s boys.

  Suppose McCullum’s boys had taken her and Sarkami and the scroll. Gil had no proof of either scenario yet each would dictate a completely different way of dealing with Maluka.

  If she had gone with Sarkami of her own free will, she could be expected to sell the scroll to the highest bidder. Since there were people who would pay a lot more to hide something than to reveal it, the scroll would most likely never see the light of day again. In that case, Gil had nothing to lose by telling Maluka all he wanted to know. At least with Maluka, there was a chance, depending on what the scroll might yet reveal, that its message might still be shared with the world.

  On the other hand, if Sabbie had been taken by McCullum’s boys, everything could be lost by telling Maluka all he knew. Just the mention of McCullum’s name might give Maluka the information he needed to put Sabbie’s life, Sarkami’s life, and the scroll’s message in jeopardy. It was a lose-lose situation with nothing to go on, everything at stake, and seconds to make a decision.

  Chapter 56

  A few minutes later

  It was a stupid decision, but he had no other choice. There was no way he was going to tell Maluka the truth. Screw the evidence, there was no way she had betrayed him. Or the scroll. It simply was not possible. And if she had, nothing else mattered anyway. He was going to bluff the bastard all the way or die trying.

  Wrong choice of words.

  The hours that followed were filled with the most creative line of bullshit Gil had ever manufactured. Fueled by what he pretended to be his fury at being duped, Gil recalled imaginary conversations about fictitious parties.

  Gil had no difficulty keeping track of the lies. He simply assigned each imaginary person a method, means, and opportunity for a given outcome, then wove their actions into patterns that were easily remembered. More than one of Gil’s previously apprehended suspects, complete with new names and motivations, made their way into his supposedly recalled conversations.

  At first, Gil wasn’t certain that his captor would buy his well-crafted lies but, as the hours passed, and Gil was able to keep his facts consistent and believable, it looked like he was going to pull it off.

  Luck had been with Gil from the start. He had begun by prefacing his bogus report on information he had supposedly gleaned from Sarkami’s conversation with Sabbie. It had been a particularly fortuitous premise. Like McCullum, Sarkami was a blind spot for Maluka. Sarkami’s comings and goings, his connections, his dealings, were all unknown to Maluka. Gil’s information, then, could neither be verified nor disproved.

  Had Gil chosen Sabbie as his source, Maluka might have known instantly that he was lying. Assuming that Maluka was holding her captive as well, Gil had no desire to linger on what those consequences might have entailed. Or, for that matter, what might be waiting for him when he was no longer considered useful to Maluka.

  No matter. He had no control over that. For now, he’d keep spinning his tales and hope that he didn’t lose track of the dozens of threads he was weaving.

  Maluka had been quizzing Gil on the details of Sarkami’s information for at least four hours. Probably more. Gil closed his eyes. He needed rest. He needed it desperately.

  The food he had been promised had never arrived.

  “We’re in the warehouse above my production office,” Maluka had explained. “You will be getting food shortly, as soon as the late shift retires for the evening.”

  He wasn’t certain how long he could keep his mind clear. Twice in the last half hour he had caught himself just before he contradicted himself on a previous lie. Maluka was quick, but he was quicker. At least for the moment.

  Maluka checked over his notes. Gil waited for him to make his next move. It came not from Maluka, however, but from the sound of the door being slammed open.

  Aijaz unceremoniously dumped the body before them like a rag doll. The man’s hair was gray and greasy, his face was pale and slack. Aijaz smiled with childlike affection at Maluka, much like a cat that had delivered a tattered mouse to the feet of his owner.

  “He don’t know nothin’,” the mountain of a man reported, then he waited for confirmation.

  Maluka rose, walked over, and lightly kicked his semiconscious captive in his ribs. Satisfied that his victim was alive enough to groan, Maluka nodded.

  “You want me to take him out ’til he comes around?” Aijaz asked.

  “No,” Maluka answered. “But pick him up and prop him in a chair if you would.”

  Maluka returned to his seat and faced Gil. “This unfortunate soul is Robert Peterson, former assistant to the now deceased Professor Arnold Ludlow. Mr. Peterson’s condition is the result of his regrettable unwillingness to be forthcoming with the truth when first asked. I don’t ask twice,” Maluka added, then returned to the stack of lies Gil had just dictated.

  Maluka looked up from his notes. “There is one thing that puzzles me,” he said. “Why would Sarkami reveal all of this to you if he and Sabbie intended to walk out on you the following day?”

  Gil frantically fought to come up with some logical answer to Maluka’s question but, before he could speak, the door opened again.

  Saved by the bell.

  Aijaz stood in the door and pointed to the cell phone he held in his ham-hock hand. Maluka approached and Aijaz whispered in his ear.

  Maluka turned to Gil. “Good news,” he announced, then left the room with Aijaz at his heels.

  Chapter 57

  An hour later

  The door didn’t open again for quite a while. In all that time, Gil’s fellow victim never stirred. Peterson lay in the chair into which Aijaz had dumped him, his head back, mouth open. At one point, Gil tried to rouse him, to offer him a bit of the remains of his water, to find out anything that might prove useful. Peterson awakened for a moment, sobbed, then slipped back into a merciful stupor. Gil returned to his filthy bed, feeling far more anxious than he thought possible.

  Aijaz returned, bearing yet another semi-lifeless form.

  What’s he got, a factory back there?

  The newest addition bore a striking, though decidedly unkempt, resemblance to the person Gil once knew as DeVris. Aijaz pulled the Director of Acquisitions to his feet and smacked him lightly on both cheeks.

  “Wake up, you piece of shit,” Aijaz said with a laugh, then attempted to heave DeVris across the room. The Director balanced precariously for a moment, then collapsed against Aijaz’s ample chest, clinging to the large man for support.

  “Get off me,” Aijaz snarled. He flung DeVris’ limp body headfirst onto the bed and Gil.

  Gil struggled to get DeVris’ dead weight off of him.

  Aijaz watched in amusement for a moment, then drew up a box from the opposite corner and settled down on it. He pulled out a package of bubble gum from his pocket and stuffed five pieces into his mouth. Smiling with p
ride at the greatness of this feat, he grunted and chewed at the wad while Gil quietly waited for the next episode in his bizarre nightmare.

  Unsatisfied with the entertainment level of massive gum chewing, the hulk left the room and returned with a portable DVD player that blared the antics of the Three Stooges.

  Perfect. Just perfect.

  DeVris roused himself quietly, apparently not so insensible as he had been pretending to be. He eyed their guard and spoke to Gil in a loud whisper.

  “They call this one Aijaz. He barely speaks English. You can say anything you want in front of him.”

  At the mention of his name, Aijaz flashed his best semi-toothless smile. Having mastered the art of gum chewing, he removed the wad and unceremoniously plastered it onto the side of the box on which he sat. He seemed to rethink the matter, most likely reviewing Maluka’s response to such untidiness, then meticulously unstuck the gum with a tissue and deposited it in the trash basket.

  All of this Aijaz did with the pride of a prima ballerina, aware that every move was being watched by those who held great interest in his actions. He licked the sticky residue off each of his sausage fingers, then returned to the box and involved himself in the intricate task of peeling a large orange, a fruit that from Gil’s estimate was likely to have an IQ greater than the man who now consumed it.

  “You give me trouble, I peel you, too!” Aijaz said. Apparently enjoying his witticism, Aijaz repeated the joke in his native tongue for his own amusement and turned back to his DVD player.

  Gil rolled on his side and faced DeVris.

  “Where’s Sabbie?” Gil demanded, then glanced to see if Aijaz had heard him.

  “I told you he can’t understand us,” DeVris repeated.

  Eyes fixed on Aijaz, Gil remained silent.

  To demonstrate, DeVris called to Aijaz and, in English, told the Muslim that he should eat his juicy mother in the same way as he did the orange.

  The big man recognized only his name and the word “orange” and laughed. He apparently assumed that DeVris wanted some of his much-coveted fruit and, shaking his head, he teasingly held up the bit of remaining fruit before popping it into his mouth.