13th Apostle

by Richard F. Heller

  Once he learned about the diary, George was obsessed with collecting and cataloging all correspondence and Internet searches that came from Ludlow, DeVris, Hassan, or Maluka.

  “He even kept copies of documents and searches that didn’t directly relate to the diary or to the possibility of locating the scroll at Weymouth,” Gil added. “Anything they were interested in, George was interested in.”

  “He was quite thorough,” Sarkami said matter-offactly.

  Gil stifled his irritation at what appeared to be praise and continued, intent on presenting George’s failures for Sarkami’s review as well.

  McCullum never used e-mail, Gil explained, and so remained invisible. Only when George accessed DeVris’ phone records, did he find evidence of frequent phone calls to and from WATSC headquarters.

  “That single piece of information, the fact that McCullum was involved, spurred George into action. From that point on, George’s collection of e-mails to and from Maluka, DeVris, and McCullum provided me with all I needed to know.”

  “I thought McCullum didn’t communicate by e-mail,” Sarkami said.

  “With George, McCullum broke his rule,” Gil answered. “George offered him a deal he couldn’t pass up.”

  As a first step, George contacted the three men, individually, and informed each of the activities of the other two. In order to ensure each man’s interest, George included e-mails that proved the other two were ahead in the hunt for the scroll. Then, when all three were convinced that only George could help them get to the scroll first, to each in succession, George offered the same deal at the same price.

  Each was offered exclusive inside information on all activities, e-mail communications, phone records, and computer documents related to the other two. Each man thought himself to be George’s sole partner. In exchange, each agreed that, upon discovery of the scroll, George would be given exclusive access to it for three months. After that time, the owner of the scroll would be free to dispose of it as he saw fit.

  “Interesting arrangement,” Sarkami said thoughtfully. “Why only three months?”

  “George claimed that three months was all he needed in order to pinpoint the locations of treasure detailed in The Cave 3 Scroll using the new scroll as a guide. George told them that the location of the treasure was all he cared about.”

  “And they believed him? Even Maluka?” Sarkami asked skeptically.

  “From the little I know of DeVris, George’s hunger for money would have made sense to him and McCullum, as well.

  “Maluka was a harder nut to crack, so George saved him for last. By that time, George had so much essential information on the other two players, Maluka couldn’t turn down the offer. Though, I think he always remained somewhat suspicious.”

  “So,” Sarkami concluded, “in the end, each of the three agreed to the deal they thought to be theirs alone.”

  “Yes, and George began to deliver each the information as promised.”

  “With each man receiving updated information on the other activities of the two, the chase would have grown more frenetic as the distances between their advantages closed,” Sarkami said thoughtfully.

  “And each naturally turned to George for more help,” Gil added.

  “So, George was the puppet master with no stake in who won because no matter who got the scroll, ultimately, it would be delivered to him, at least temporarily.”

  Gil nodded. “And you can be sure that George had no intention of allowing any of them to live once the prize had been secured.”

  George had a blind spot, however, Gil added, and it cost him dearly. For all his planning, George had underestimated Sabbie. “That was his biggest mistake,” Gil said.

  Even when George realized that she had accessed his computer system, George dismissed her as insignificant. It turned out to be an Achilles Heel for him and, in the end, for her as well.

  “Ironic,” Sarkami added. “Years ago, George was the one who suggested that Ludlow pressure DeVris into giving Sabbie a job at the Museum.”

  “He probably thought she’d be just another ace-in-the-hole if he ever needed it.”

  Sarkami nodded and sighed deeply. “Anything else?”

  Gil said that, even with all of the answers in place, he hadn’t been willing to call it quits, so he had probed a little deeper. Two questions had still remained. Number one: what lay hidden within the one piece of George’s e-mail that he had been unable to open? Number two: in answer to Sarkami’s previous question, why was Sabbie so worried about George being killed?

  Sarkami looked up in surprise, but motioned Gil to continue.

  The answer to the first question, Gil explained, arrived in the form of a message from George as Gil was exiting George’s system.

  A QuickTime movie appeared in the middle of the screen, complete with George’s smiling face.

  “I hate those ‘if-you’re-seeing-this-then-I’m-already-dead’ messages, don’t you?” George began. “In case you haven’t figured it out by now and—knowing that your first priority is not necessarily the potential profit in things—let me fill you in. The amazing network you have just discovered constitutes what I refer to as my peach orchard, acres of sweet fruit just ripening on the vine. Each of the Fortune 500 companies, each of the billionaires, each of the obscenely well-financed foundations that you see in my system, share one common fear, a terror of having their most intimate secrets exposed to, shall we say, unsympathetic eyes.

  “One by one,” George continued, “I have brought each of them forensic evidence of the less-than-legal actions, secret stashes, and underhanded deals they have perpetrated. I offered them the information freely, with concern, and suggested only that they protect themselves from future exposure by employing CyberNet’s services.

  “No one ever refused and as you know,” George added with a mocking laugh, “the company has done amazingly well. I have taken, as my commission, what I consider to be my fair share of the profits. It’s a greater percentage than my contract stipulates but I think I more than earned it.” George’s computer image seemed to look directly into Gil’s eyes as if, once again, they were both in his office.

  “So, Gil,” George continued, “if you’ve ever wondered why the company has such high profile customers but still does not seem to be swimming in profit, voilà, now you know that I’ve been holding a little in reserve for myself.”

  George leaned in close to the camera. “Now, I gotta tell you that being found out isn’t fun, but two things make it totally unacceptable. The first is knowing that, after uncovering all of my hard work, being the boy scout that you are, you will probably feel obliged to dismantle the most perfect data gathering system ever devised.

  “To make matters worse,” George went on, “you did not take the bait I so carefully placed in your path. That little annoying e-mail that you could not access contained an attachment, my own electronic little time bomb actually. It was set to detonate on your twelfth try, I figured you’d go for the even dozen.”

  Had Gil activated the e-mail, all record of those infected with the Darwin program would have been erased. While the program itself would continue to evolve, there would have been no way of deactivating it. George was hoping that, with some luck, the living program would have provided access for some very smart fellow in the future, someone who would make good and profitable use of it. And, when he did, George would have emerged as the ultimate winner of his game of wits with Gil.

  George’s screen image panned a dramatically sad face. “But, if you are hearing this message, you didn’t take the bait and you didn’t activate the self-destruct. That’s not like you, Gil.” George shook an index finger at the camera. “It means that, like my program, you’re evolving as well. What’s the matter, lost your old will to win, boy?”

  George backed away from the camera that had been recording his message and continued without the sarcastic tone. “You beat me, kid, but good. And I concede. But before I go, I have one last surprise. W
hile you’ve been listening with great interest to my parting thoughts, my last little Darwin has been quite busy. It has created a self-destruct subprogram that will erase all record of my activities and the identities of those infected with my Darwin program. In many ways it is quite similar to the e-mail time bomb that you did not activate, with one important exception.

  “Since you have disproved my hypotheses that people do not change, you deserve a reward. So, when Darwin’s records and connections self-destruct—in honor of your evolution—the Darwin program itself will likewise self-destruct. No continuing evolution, no future game for any future bad boy like me. We’ll call Darwin an evolutionary experiment gone sour, and you can rest assured that it will never see the light of day again. Even as you hear these words, my grandest creation, like myself, is fading into oblivion, All because you refused to play the game anymore. I hope that makes you happy.”

  The screen went black.

  “So, you figured out what George had been up to all along without detonating the e-mail time bomb,” Sarkami said. “That must make you feel very good.”

  “Of course. It makes me feel great.”

  “What about the other question?” Sarkami continued.

  “Why Sabbie didn’t want George killed? No, I don’t have a clue.”

  “That’s because you’re still looking under the street lamp,” Sarkami replied and, once again, moved toward the door.

  “Wait a minute, you!” Gil said breathlessly. His hand grabbed onto Sarkami’s shoulder to prevent the older man from taking one more step. Sarkami broke free and moved rapidly through the busy library corridor with Gil racing to catch up.

  “I haven’t done all this work just so you can give me some cryptic remark and leave,” Gil snarled.

  “No, you haven’t,” Sarkami confirmed.

  “What do you want from me?” Gil asked. Desperation was seeping into his voice. “What does it matter why Sabbie didn’t want George killed? Who cares anyway?”

  Sarkami stopped and faced Gil. The great eagle’s voice bellowed in the vast library lobby. “I care and you care, even though you would do anything to pretend you don’t. Every living soul on earth cares and they don’t even know it.”

  “Everyone on earth?” Gil scoffed.

  “Yes, all of mankind, even though they don’t know it. And you still think it doesn’t matter,” Sarkami bellowed. “There is nothing on earth that matters more!”

  The man had gone mad, Gil concluded. What could Sabbie’s last request mean to anybody but him? What could it possibly mean to anyone else, much less the entire world?

  “You might want to know one more thing,” Sarkami said, his great nose inches from Gil’s face. “Sabbie didn’t say that she didn’t want George killed, she said she didn’t want you to kill him.”

  Gil’s mind fought for an answer. The only possible conclusion was too great to even imagine. The High Tzaddik must be one who had never taken a life. If she had been trying to say that he must not kill then…

  “Then I’m the High Tzaddik,” whispered Gil.

  Sarkami looked at him in disdain. “My God, Gil. Your arrogance is astounding. You are most certainly not the High Tzaddik. I am.”

  Chapter 66

  Day Twenty-five, twilight

  The Concourse of the Israel Museum Library

  Jerusalem

  Gil waited outside on the Library steps. He squinted at his watch in the fading light. He’d give him five minutes, no more. Sarkami had said to meet him in the little conference room inside but Gil wasn’t feeling well. It took all that he had to not give in to the nausea and weakness that threatened to overtake him. The thought of a tiny room filled with hot, stale air filled Gil with a sense of panic.

  He’d catch Sarkami on the way in; there was nothing new to report anyway. The old guy had insisted that Gil take a break for two days. Two totally wasted days with nothing to do but sit on his hands and think about Sabbie.

  Gil had agreed to the hiatus only because he didn’t know what else to do next. And because, apparently, Sarkami did. Still, if Sarkami was the High Tzaddik, why hadn’t he just taken the scroll off Gil’s hands himself? Gil shrugged. The whole thing was crazy and he was feeling lousier by the minute.

  He sank to the steps and put his head between his legs.

  “Feeling badly?” Sarkami asked. Gil had neither seen nor heard him approach.

  Gil wiped the cold sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “Must be something I ate?” he answered.

  “Or something that’s eating you.”

  Gil’s head snapped up to offer protest but he had neither the will nor the energy to take on the fight. Besides, as usual, the bastard was right on target.

  He looked up into Sarkami’s eyes. Funny that he had never seen the sadness in them. Or the compassion. At least, not for him.

  Sarkami nodded and, in that single gesture, urged Gil to surrender to that which would no longer be denied.

  The pain came hard and fast. Silent twisting shrieks tore at his chest. There on the steps, in the middle of the busy Museum campus, Gil sobbed as he had never cried before. Its power took him by surprise, though Sarkami seemed to have been waiting for it.

  “Good,” Sarkami said, then waited patiently until the first wave subsided. His arm guided Gil inside, to the library conference room. The golden light seemed to welcome Gil and rather than stale, the air seemed as cool as the fresh night air outside.

  “Very good,” Sarkami said as he helped Gil into a chair.

  The older man leaned back against the table, waited patiently and asked no questions.

  “I did it,” Gil said simply. “I killed her. If I hadn’t…” There were so many sentences that started with “If I hadn’t…” he could barely keep track of them. If he hadn’t dismissed Sabbie’s concerns about George, they might have stopped him while there was still time; if Gil hadn’t laughed at the idea that Global Positioning Systems could work in two directions, he might have thrown away his PDA which, most likely, would have cut George’s access to their every move. If only he had listened to Sabbie when she said she thought George might not be dead…So many if’s and that one was the worst of them all.

  Sobs overtook Gil once again. He wept for all he had done and all he had failed to do. He wept for the consequences of his arrogance and for the life they would never share together.

  “Good. Those two days were well spent,” Sarkami whispered half to himself.

  He turned to Gil. “You’ve done well. Sacrifice cleanses the spirit. It is the first task of three that you will have to complete for the scroll to find its way to its rightful heir.”

  “I thought you were the rightful heir,” Gil said accusingly. “You said you were the High Tzaddik and Sabbie said the scroll was to be delivered to the High Tzaddik, so why don’t you just take the damn thing?”

  “Sacrifice cleanses the spirit,” Sarkami repeated as if Gil had said nothing. “It is the first task of three that you will have to complete.”

  “What are you saying? That Sabbie had to die so you could get the scroll or that her death was my sacrifice.”

  “Neither,” Sarkami answered. “Sabbie’s death was not your sacrifice. Nor was it hers, if that’s what you were thinking. Sacrifice requires the loss of yourself not another, the loss of the certainty that you are right and others are not, the loss of the illusion that you are in control.”

  Something in Sarkami’s words called to him. And terrified him at the same time.

  “Sabbie lost the person she knew herself to be with the rape and the death of her friend,” Sarkami continued. “That first transformation was not her choice and it left her a lesser, rather than a greater, person. Fortunately, she was transformed again, this time by choice, after she killed her assailant.”

  “You mean when she killed her assailant,” Gil corrected.

  “No, I meant exactly what I said. She did not lose herself when she killed the man who raped her. Killing him was
well in keeping with the person she had become after the rape. Sabbie’s sacrifice came after she had killed him.”

  “After she killed him?” Gil asked.

  “Yes. After she killed her first attacker, she chose to abandon her plan of vengeance on the others. It was a great sacrifice for her; there was little doubt that, had she chosen to, she would have been able to complete the job.”

  “But…” Gil urged.

  “But, instead, she refused to continue as the violent animal they had made her into. She chose to spend the rest of her life reaching for something greater, for something she believed in.”

  “Did you know that she said you saved her that day, the day she killed him?” Gil asked.

  “She saved herself.”

  “She said you gave her a reason to live,” Gil continued.

  “That I did and you did as well,” Sarkami added.

  “I did?”

  “Yes,” Sarkami explained. “You discovered it in Weymouth Monastery.”

  The Scroll. What Sarkami said was true. It was what she and Sarkami and Ludlow had dedicated their lives to. And he had found it for her, for them all. And for himself.

  The guilt eased within Gil’s chest. He had given Sabbie something greater than anyone else could have. Sobs of relief pressed to be let out but he pushed them down. There was more he had to know.

  “The way she looked at you. I’ve never seen such love,” Gil said simply.

  “It was far more than love,” Sarkami said. “She trusted me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of what I did when I found her with the young man she had killed,” Sarkami continued.

  “But he was scum and deserved to die. Anyone in their right mind would have allowed her to get away before the body was discovered,” Gil replied.

  “Yes, he was scum and yes, it was better that he was dead. And most certainly, it was fitting that she was allowed to flee. But, you see,” Sarkami added, “he was also my son.”

  Gil stared in disbelief.