13th Apostle

by Richard F. Heller

  DeVris nodded toward the third captive, still lifeless in the chair.

  “That’s Peterson, Ludlow’s assistant,” DeVris said in a voice loud enough for the unconscious Peterson to hear. “Maluka’s reward for cooperation, ehh, Robert?”

  Gil pressed his thumb into the hollow of DeVris’ neck, just below the adam’s apple, and stared meaningfully into his captive’s eyes.

  “Enough. Do you understand?” Gil asked.

  DeVris nodded, almost imperceptively. Gil let go his hold, clearly ready to resume it as needed. “Now, I’ll ask you once again. What’s happened to Sabbie?”

  “How should I know? They say you staged her kidnapping,” DeVris answered.

  “Why the hell would I do that?”

  DeVris shrugged. “It’s academic now. If they don’t have her yet, they will soon.”

  Gil grabbed DeVris on either side of his head and pushed his face close to the Director’s. The desire to crush his skull was overwhelming.

  “You don’t know that!” Gil shouted into DeVris’ face.

  “Cut it out!” DeVris wailed. “All I’m saying is that it’s just a matter of time.”

  Aijaz apparently enjoyed the show and joined in with a shout of encouragement. Gil let go of DeVris, fought the urge to take on Aijaz, and dropped his face into his hands. It was the only bit of privacy left.

  “Look, you’re fighting a losing battle,” DeVris said. “I mean, you can hold out hope if you want but, if you think they’re not going to find Sabbie one way or another, and the scroll as well, you’d better keep one thing in mind.”

  “And what’s that?” Gil asked mechanically.

  DeVris flashed a sardonic smile. “They found both of us, didn’t they?”

  Chapter 58

  Day Fourteen, morning

  Muslims for World Truth (MWT)

  Video Production Studios

  London

  Gil looked across the Thanksgiving table at Sabbie. She smiled and offered him more turkey. He couldn’t eat another bite, he said. Well, maybe just a little. It was a wonderful dream.

  George was there, too. When he had left the room for a moment and they were sure George was out of earshot, he and Sabbie had a good laugh over the huge portions that the big guy had eaten.

  Sabbie disappeared into the next room to get dessert. As she returned, apple pie in hand, she transformed into George. As she laughed at Gil’s astonishment, she stuffed great handfuls of pie into her mouth in anticipation of the final delicacy—Gil himself.

  Gil awakened and faced another predator, this one real and barreling toward him. Aijaz’s enormous hand seized Gil by the back of his collar and dragged him from the filthy mattress on which DeVris still slept. Without explanation, Aijaz hauled Gil from the room and down the hallway.

  Maluka said Aijaz didn’t like to have his TV shows interrupted.

  Aijaz slammed open the last door in the hall and unceremoniously deposited his charge into another room and onto an even filthier bed. In broken English, Aijaz informed Gil that he would be returning in a minute and that, in the event Gil made any trouble…Aijaz finished his warning with an index finger that pantomimed a horizontal slice across his own neck accompanied by a hissing “tzzt” sound.

  If it were possible to compare chambers in hell, the new room seemed somewhat less horrendous than the last. It was larger and, though the sun filtered through a wide filthy window, the room was cool.

  Three card tables had been set up, end to end, forming a serving area or workspace along the windowed wall. Each table was covered in clean white fabric that stood in sharp contrast to the shabby surroundings. A stack of papers and a plastic drinking glass that contained felt markers had been placed on one corner of the center table. The beauty of so civilized a setting made Gil ache with longing and plunged him into a deeper depression than any threat of violence could have done.

  He wanted to go home. He wanted to walk through the door and find Sabbie there, well and happy, telling him everything was okay, that she had just gone along ahead to surprise him.

  Though he risked Aijaz’s wrath, Gil slipped off the bed and headed toward the window. His eyes drank up the color and movement. Buildings, streets filled with people, cars, the city landscape, all of it spread before him in a wonderful buffet of civilization and normality.

  Yesterday, the panorama might have exemplified man’s disregard for his fellow man and unconcern for his planet. Today, Gil couldn’t have cared less about pollution, the deterioration of the work ethic, or the meaninglessness of superficial pursuits. The world outside the muddy Plexiglas windows was his world. He loved it and longed desperately to be part of it again.

  Lost in thought, Gil never heard the footsteps that approached from behind. “We’re in the middle of London but we might as well be on another planet,” she said. Gil turned.

  For a moment, he didn’t recognize her. She was bloody and bruised. Her right eye was swollen shut, and the cut on her left temple, caked with dried blood, gaped open in need of stitches. Her clothes were filthy and wet and her hair was matted with mud and blood. But she was alive. Alive! And there she stood.

  He surrounded her with his arms and pressed her to him, almost fearful that it was another dream. She cringed in pain, and he released her.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  She cocked her head to one side as if trying to understand the unabashed show of affection. “Yes. I’m okay, just some pain.”

  Gil opened his mouth to ask her what happened but she interrupted with a warm smile that lasted a total of about two seconds. Then she was all business once again.

  “Don’t say anything,” she cautioned. “I’ve got to talk fast. It all went perfectly but now we’ll have to hurry and get our stories coordinated,” she said.

  “What went perfectly?”

  Without responding, she picked up the familiar blanket-wrapped box that he had not seen behind her on the floor.

  Gil placed his hands on the box to receive its warmth. None came.

  Aijaz slammed the door open and entered. Unconcerned with their conversation, the hulk settled himself on the floor in the far corner and raised the volume on his DVD to best block out their apparently useless chatter.

  “We’ll talk as we work. Now, help me,” Sabbie said. She had been struggling to remove a fine silken cloth from the lumpy mounds it covered. The cloth, spotted with red-brown stains, caught and snagged the many thin strips that lay below it.

  “Is that blood?” Gil asked.

  A dozen cuts on her fingers, some jagged, oozed.

  “If you cut a scroll into strips, you’ve got to expect to draw some blood,” Sabbie explained with a shrug.

  “One would have expected to see less gore on Sarkami,” she added, “but he uses diamond-cutting tools, a dissecting microscope, and precision instruments.

  “These are the kinds of cuts you get from an old pair of manicuring scissors and tweezers,” she continued.

  “You’ll need a tetanus shot,” Gil said. He gently cradled her ravaged hands.

  She laughed, apparently at his concern, and continued to lay out the bands of copper.

  The strips that had once made up the scroll, lay neatly flattened in piles, each with its own numbered tag. It was like seeing a cadaver where a beautiful body had just been in soft slumber. Perhaps that was why the scroll no longer held the power that had once filled him with such warmth and joy.

  Gil’s stomach seized with a sudden realization. “So you did stage the kidnapping,” he said. “Complete with the sweater. It was all fake.”

  Sabbie held up her battered fingers. “The blood part of it was real enough,” she said with a wry smile.

  She laid out the last of the strips in earnest. “We’ve got to talk fast. Maluka thinks we’re in here translating. He has no idea as to what we have discovered and, assuming you haven’t told him anything, we can fudge it for a while.” She waited for confirmation.

  Gil nodded, thankfu
l he had not trusted Maluka’s depiction of Sabbie’s betrayal.

  “Good. I’ll go through the motions of setting these strips up for translation and you make some marks on the paper that look like you’re trying to figure it all out. While you do that, I’ll fill you in,” Sabbie said.

  Gil wrote some random numbers and words on the paper.

  “There was no way we could keep ahead of them forever,” she continued. “One way or another, either McCullum’s WATSC boys or Maluka’s men were going to find us. It was just a matter of who would get to us first. I needed time to figure out what the rest of the scroll said. That way I’d know who had the most to gain by getting hold of it. Or by destroying it,” she added.

  She carefully arranged each strip of copper on the white covered tables in numerical order from right to left.

  Gil’s gaze fell on the strips once more. The scroll had been perfect, complete, a monument to human communication and ingenuity that had survived two millennia. And she had cut it up with manicuring scissors!

  Sabbie continued to explain her sudden departure. While Gil was sleeping that last morning in the hotel, she had seen a news flash on TV about the discovery of Hassan’s body at the Monastery. Their photographs had been aired along with their names. Though she knew it had been a distinct possibility, seeing their photos on the news catapulted her into action. The newscaster announced that they were bound for London and added that Scotland Yard was asking for the public’s help in apprehending them.

  “The Yard couldn’t have it put all this together that fast,” Sabbie said. “Not only did they air our passport photos, they had pictures of me that I’ve never seen. They also had your correct name. If it had been the Yard investigating without outside help, given your passport info, they would have identified you as Arnold Ludlow, not Gil Pearson. Somebody else had to be feeding them the info.”

  “McCullum or Maluka? Why would they want the Yard in on this?” Gil asked. “It makes no sense.”

  “Hounds for the hunt,” she said. “Whoever gave them the info wanted Scotland Yard and the good people of London to point the way. Flush us out, if possible. That way, they could swoop in and pick us off. Which means either McCullum or Maluka has a source within the Yard,” she added thoughtfully.

  She knew she couldn’t fight them all, she explained, so she faked her kidnapping. At first, she planned on bloodying her own sweater to make whoever was tracking them think that someone else had already succeeded in capturing her and the scroll.

  “You didn’t do a very good job,” Gil said. “Everyone knew it was staged, including the Yard.”

  “I know. I said that it was my first plan. When I realized I didn’t have time to make it look convincing, I decided to use the obvious lack of authenticity to my advantage. I made it look totally amateurish, so they’d figure Sarkami and I had staged it so we could run off with the scroll.”

  “And leave me holding the bag.” Gil said.

  “I couldn’t tell you. I didn’t know what Maluka would do when he caught you. If you didn’t know anything…”

  “You knew he would catch me? For Christ’s sake, you might have warned me,” Gil shouted.

  Aijaz looked up, put his index finger to his lips, made a “shhh” sound and, before going back to his entertainment, frowned to show his displeasure.

  Sabbie lowered her voice. “It wouldn’t have mattered. There were too many people after you…I mean, us. This way at least I had a chance to save the scroll…”

  “I thought you were dead,” Gil interrupted.

  “…and come back for you. Which I did,” she concluded.

  “I thought you were dead,” Gil repeated.

  “I didn’t know you cared,” she said flippantly.

  He locked her in his gaze. “Well, you were wrong.”

  She looked away. “I figured without me or the scroll, they wouldn’t have much need for you. Besides, I told you, it was the only way I could buy time to find out what the rest of the scroll said.”

  Gil waited.

  Suddenly she smiled at him as she had smiled at Sarkami. “Don’t you want to know what it said?” she asked.

  Gil nodded and held his breath.

  “The last piece proves that the scroll is everything Ludlow hoped it might be—and more. It’s a doorway to history like none other before.

  Chapter 59

  “What the hell is a doorway to history?” Gil asked. Aijaz seemed to be getting impatient and Maluka might return at any minute. This wasn’t an opportune time for a detailed report.

  “Look, this is very important. You need to know it,” she said sternly.

  He stopped himself from asking why. Better to just let her talk.

  “Remember when Jesus spoke of the tzaddikim, the righteous ones? It was in the garden, the last time he and Micah ever saw each other. Jesus asked Micah to take his place when he died. But, at the same time, Jesus said that he could not claim to be a tzaddik himself because a tzaddik has no knowledge that he is, in fact, a tzaddik.”

  Gil nodded, urging her to hurry.

  “But, remember, Jesus also said he could not deny it?” she added.

  Gil shrugged.

  “Well, the question you should be asking is how could Jesus ask Micah to take his place as a tzaddik, if Jesus was not a tzaddik?” she concluded triumphantly.

  Gil shook his head. He had no idea where she was going with this one.

  “Look. Micah gives us the answer in the last thing he says to Jesus, the word Elyon.”

  The word Elyon, she explained, means the highest, as in he who ascends to God. According to ancient writings, each millennium, there is born a Tzaddik Elyon, a High Tzaddik, who is not counted among the other thirty-six but, rather, stands alone. It is on this High Tzaddik that the fate of the world rests, for he is entrusted with three great tasks. If these three tasks are not completed each thousand years, mankind will no longer be permitted to walk the face of the earth.

  “Go on,” Gil said more patiently.

  “In order for the Tzaddik Elyon to complete his tasks, he is given knowledge of his remarkable obligation. Until that time, he lives as any who strives for a life of righteousness. Others may help him along the way but, in the end, he must walk the final steps alone. If death threatens to take him before he is able to complete all three tasks, he must choose another, who has been cleansed and is pure of heart, so that the promise will yet be fulfilled. If he fails to do so, all mankind will be lost forever.”

  “You mean that if this special tzaddik…”

  “High Tzaddik,” Sabbie corrected.

  “If this High Tzaddik dies without completing certain tasks, mankind will be wiped off the face of the earth?” Gil asked incredulously.

  “It happened before,” Sabbie said. “According to Genesis, during the time of Sodom and Gomorrah, God called for fifty tzaddikim to testify to the goodness of man. By their very existence, those fifty would prove man’s worthiness to continue on the face of the earth. When fifty righteous souls could not be found, Abraham asked God to accept ten righteous souls instead. God agreed. In the end, only one righteous soul could be found and Sodom was destroyed. With that destruction, the need for a quorum of righteous souls was established. Since no tzaddik ever knows for sure if he or she is one of the chosen, each of us must act as if we were, indeed, tzaddik to insure that man’s days may be long upon this earth.”

  “And you’re saying that Micah is telling us that Jesus was a High Tzaddik because he uses the world ‘Elyon’ as his final word to Jesus?” Gil asked.

  “Yes, but he’s saying much more,” she continued excitedly. “He’s telling us why he made the scroll and what we’re supposed to do with it!”

  Her face was joyous. “Look. Micah talks with Jesus in the garden at Gethsemane. In that single conversation, Micah is entrusted with the tasks that must be completed by a High Tzaddik. That’s no accident!”

  “Then Jesus was a High Tzaddik?” Gil asked.

&nbs
p; Sabbie nodded. “Yes, and when the Twelve made it impossible for him to complete all three tasks, the Thirteenth Apostle was chosen to complete the tasks in His stead. He passed on all that was needed in the scroll, so that it would be waiting for next High Tzaddik.”

  “Then a thousand years later, it was William, Elias’ brother, who found the scroll,” Gil concluded. “So he was the next High Tzaddik?”

  “No, William was a knight. He had killed in battle. No High Tzaddik may have taken a life. William was a messenger who brought the scroll to Elias, the righteous soul for whom the scroll called out.”

  “And now?” Gil asked.

  “Now we must protect the scroll until it can be placed in the hands of the next High Tzaddik,” she said. “Before it’s too late.”

  “How long do we have?”

  “There is no fixed date according to mankind’s calendar, which changes around the world. The time must ripen according to the natural order of things, but it will happen once each millennium, more or less. Elias wasn’t called until a hundred and fifty years after the turn of the century. This time it may be sooner.”

  “How do you know?” Gil asked.

  “I can just feel it. It’s soon,” she said.

  “But how can we get the scroll to him…”

  “Or her,” Sabbie corrected.

  “But how can we get the scroll to the High Tzaddik before it’s too late, if we have no idea who the High Tzaddik is? Gil asked.

  Sabbie smiled and cocked her head. “What makes you think we don’t?”

  Chapter 60

  Gil never got the answer to the obvious next question. Maluka strode through the door and slammed it behind him. Aijaz, obviously heartened by the promise of violence, smiled widely.

  Maluka would not be stalled any longer. “I do not have time to play games,” he said. He turned and left with Aijaz at his heels, once again.