Cross reads the handwriting aloud. Then, “Sounds like something Ernest Hemingway would write. Hang on.” He goes to his desk, pulls something off the desktop. It’s one of those telescopic monocle devices that looks like a shot glass and enlarges the print by maybe one hundred times. Or is it one thousand? Anyway, it’s probably an instrument Mr. Lepenhagen would recognize.
He places the device to his eye then, bending over, places the bottom of it onto the handwriting. When he straightens back up, he exhales.
“No doubt in my mind,” he says. “What we have here is genuine. Hemingway’s lost manuscripts.”
“How can you tell?”
“The handwriting, the aging of the pencil, and this.”
He hands me the shot glass. I put it to my right eye and lean over the manuscript. He directs me with his index finger precisely where to place it, which is directly above the word “The.”
“You see the typescript?” he says.
“Yah,” I say. “So what?”
“That’s a 1921 Remington portable, the exact make of typewriter Papa was using at the time. What’s more, the paper, judging by its stitching, is most definitely the same stock and make as that he was using on the cheap while living in a cold water flat on the Left Bank in Paris. But you know what the real convincer it, Chase?”
“What’s that?” I ask, standing up straight.
“At the time Hemingway was writing these stories, he was living above a sawmill. Guess what exists in trace amounts on the paper.”
I feel myself smiling as the answer slaps me upside the head with all the force of a Hemingway uppercut.
“Sawdust,” I say.
He makes a fist, holds it out.
“Give me the rock, mofo,” he says.
I punch his fist. At the same time, I must admit, Cross might look like a college ne'er-do-well, but he’s a freaking genius.
Carefully, he begins to sift through the pile. By the time he’s done, the table is filled with one partial novel, seven short stories, ten vignettes like the kind that would appear in the master’s In Our Time collection, plus their carbons.
“Magda, yo,” he says, tears visible in his eyes, “how’s that champagne?”
She carries it over to the desk, pours three glasses.
Cross raises his glass.
“To the literary find of the century,” he says.
We drink. I consider telling him about Vanessa, the woman who fought me almost to the death while attempting to steal the precious material from me. An act of desperation which, in itself, should have indicated the manuscripts’ authenticity. But then I think to myself, why ruin the moment for the rich young hipster?
I set my empty glass down on the edge of the desk.
“Cross,” I say, “it’s been a pleasure. You’ve got my bank information. Pay me whenever you want. But for now, I’m going to head back to my apartment and grab some much-needed sleep.” Turning my attention to Magda. “It’s also been a pleasure meeting you. Maybe we can meet for a coffee one afternoon if you’re free?”
Chase the slick.
She smiles warmly. “I would very much like that. In fact, I’m giving a lecture this evening at the NYU auditorium on the science behind Jesus’ crucifixion. Why don’t you stop by.”
“I’ll definitely try,” I say on the outside. But on the inside I’m screaming “I’ll be there!”
Turning, I take one more glance at Hemingway’s legendary, long lost writing, and I find it incredible to believe that I played a part in its recovery. Of course, I nearly got my brains blown out in the process.
Sawdust. Well, I’ll be damned . . .
I make my way to the door. Before I get to it, Cross calls out for me once more.
“Chase,” he says.
Me, turning. “What is it?”
“You can’t leave yet.”
“And why’s that, mofo?”
“Because, I’ve got another job for you.”
The look on his face is more serious than a coronary. It raises the fine hairs on my neck.
“What sort of job?” I ask.
“It makes your last job look like child’s play.”
Hemingway’s long lost manuscripts child’s play . . .
“How so?”
“A rare book. In fact, a series of rare books. So rare and ancient, they’re rediscovery just might alter the course of Christianity and the Judeo-Christian future as we know it.”
Mouth goes dry. I try to swallow, but it takes a great effort. “What exactly are we talking about, Cross?”
“The lost Bible codices, Chase,” he says. “The books of the Seventh Seal.”
For a long moment, we stand silent inside the office while, outside the window, the sound of New York City traffic fills the void. I glance at Mr. Lepenhagen. Maybe he’ll clear his throat and shatter the quiet.
“Think I’d better stay for another glass of champagne,” I say, breaking quiet on my own.
“Good idea,” Cross says.
CHAPTER 8
It takes the consumption of one entire bottle of champagne for Cross to explain the details of the assignment.
Here’s the short of it: Several years ago, it was announced that seven metal books were uncovered in a cave in a remote part of Jordan. The area is the same place Christian refugees were known to have fled to after the fall of Jerusalem in 70 AD by Titus’s Roman legions. According to Cross, the books are said to not only be the biggest find since the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls in 1947, but they also stand the chance of being bigger.
“What exactly are these seven codices or books?” I ask. “What do they look like?”
Cross digs in his pocket for his wallet. He opens it, slips out a credit card. An Amex.
“From what I’m told, the pages are no bigger than a credit card. There are images, symbols, and words embossed on them.”
“What symbols?” I say.
Magda takes a step forward, her smartphone in hand. She holds it out for me, the digital screen bearing a photo of what appears at first glance to be a tin or metal plate that has browned and rusted over time. There’s something that looks like a tree embossed on it. But the more I look at it, it takes the shape of a cross.
“You have to use your imagination a little, Chase,” she says, lowering the phone, “but the symbols described on the plate are that of the early Christian cross. It’s possible there are scenes of the crucifixion and the resurrection.”
Cross’ eyes light up.
“There’s even speculation that the word ‘Messiah’ appears several times on the plates. Plus, a detailed map of first century Jerusalem.” Digging in his pocket for his e-cig device which he flicks on and holds up to his lips. “But what’s incredible is that the scene of the crucifixion, if it does indeed exist, could very well be depicted by a firsthand witness to the event. It’s almost like finding out that a photographer was present. That’s crazy stuff, yo.”
I try to wrap my head around what they’re telling me. What amounts to a secret Bible has been discovered in the Middle East. If authentic, it contains visual proof of the historical Jesus, His crucifixion, and possibly even His resurrection. But then, so does the traditional Bible. The New Testament, anyway. So, what is it that they’re not telling me? What’s the big mystery that would make Cross come to the conclusion that the metal books are something that could alter the face of Judeo-Christianity as we know it?
It’s exactly how I put it to Cross and Magda.
He inhales on the vaping device, exhales a stream of blue steam, his demeanor noticeably more relaxed with the sudden injection of nicotine. He turns to Magda.
“Let’s open the safe,” he says.
“Herbie,” she says, crossing the room and positioning herself directly before the portrait of Herbert Lepenhagen.
Cross goes to the opposite side of the room, takes his place beside Magda, grabs hold of the gold gilded painting frame, pulls it open on its set of hidden hinges revealing a larg
e safe. The safe is equipped with an old fashioned style dial opener. Cross cups his hand around it, spins it to a fro several times in a specific series of numbers. Immediately after landing on the final number, I make out the sound of lock tumblers dropping. He twists the latch open with his opposite hand and reveals the safe’s interior.
I’m standing a few feet away, but I can make out several volumes, plus stacks of cash, a semi-automatic (a 9mm by the looks of it), and something else too. A Bible. A very big, old Bible.
Once more, placing the white gloves over his hands, he reaches in and grabs hold of the Bible, carries it with him over to the table where the Hemingway manuscripts are laid out. Magda and I follow.
“This is the old St. James Bible I told you about,” he says, opening the book with tender loving care to Revelations. He waves his hand over his shoulder. “Come closer.”
I do.
Using his finger as a pointer, he says, “What do you see here? Read it for me.”
I look down at the passage. It’s beautifully scrawled in calligraphy. But the olde English words elude my twenty-first century sensibilities.
“Looks like Greek to me, Cross,” I say.
Magda giggles.
“Oh yeah,” he says, grinning. “Not having been schooled in ancient languages and old English you might be more lost than Hansel and Gretel. I’ll read it for you.”
“Well, you are one talented motherfucker,” I say. Then, locking eyes on Magda. “Pardon my French.”
“No worries,” she smiles. “That’s his favorite word besides yo.”
Cross clears his throat.
“Chapter 6, The Scroll and the Lamb,” he reads directly from the text. “I saw a scroll in the right hand of the one who sat on the throne. It had writing on both sides and was sealed with a seventh seal. Then I saw a mighty angel who proclaimed in a loud voice, ‘Who is worthy to open the scroll and break its seal?’”
He looks up from the passage, his eyes locking onto my own.
“Are you asking me to answer the question?” I say.
“If only you could,” he says. “Revelations goes on to describe a band of four riders on four horses who are to usher in Armageddon and the end of times. The band includes a single pale rider on a pale horse. The riders will appear once the seven seals begin their sequence of being broken. But only when the final seventh seal is breached will all the truths of the universe be unveiled and, along with them, the rising up of the dead who are to be judged, and the total destruction of the earth.”
“That’s a pleasant thought,” I say.
“I’m not making this shit up,” Cross says. “So, don’t shoot the messenger.”
“So what is it you’re trying to tell me, messenger?”
“I believe the books were found for a reason.”
“That God himself wanted them to be found,” Magda interjects. “They are a warning that the end of days are upon us.”
“What do the ancient books you wish to recover have to do with the Bible passage about the seven seals?” I press.
“Don’t you get it, Chase, man?” Cross says. “The seals on six of the seven books or codices, have already been broken. They are proof positive that the Bible story is, in fact, the truth.”
“What truth?”
Magda once more places her hand on my shoulder.
“That whoever finds the book with the seventh seal intact controls the fate of the known world.”
CHAPTER 9
We open up another bottle of champagne, per my request. I need a little time to digest what they’re telling me about the good earth having finally reached the age of total destruction, and I need a couple more belts to wash it all down.
“So, let me get this straight,” I say, holding out my glass for yet another refill, “you want me to go after seven books made of metal that were written, or in this case minted, back in the year 70 AD. Each book is sealed, or was sealed, at one time or another. But now that six are no longer sealed, there must be four riders out there riding four horses, one of whom is a pale rider on a pale horse. I think I used to do bong hits to a Led Zeppelin song like that down in some kid’s basement back when I was in high school.”
“Not exactly,” Cross says. “The horse is a metaphor. According to the Bible, the only known entity to have the power to breach the seventh seal on the seventh book is something not of this earth.”
“And what would that be?”
“The Messiah. The man/God you and I both know as Jesus of Nazareth.”
Another wave of silence shrouds the room for a moment.
“Listen, Chase,” Magda jumps in after a time. “More than likely, the seals are just a bedtime story created by the author of the Book of Revelations.”
“John of Patmos,” I say. “Or, John the Divine.”
“But that doesn’t make them any less powerful to the believer,” Cross adds. “Especially the seventh seal. To some believers, breaking the seal means the heavens will reign down destruction on the earth.”
“How so?”
“Legend and the Bible has it that once the seventh seal is opened there will be events summoned by seven trumpets that will bring unbelievable devastation to our planet. Volcanoes will erupt, forests will burn, the earth will split open, tombs and graves will open up, oceans will boil, meteors will reign down from heaven and bombard the earth. But do you know what will be the biggest threat against humanity, Chase?”
I swallow something bitter. “You mean it gets worse?”
“Satan will pit man against man. He will summon up an army of evil.”
“And if said destruction just happens to be a wife’s tale?” I say.
“Then the believers will make it true.”
“In other words,” Magda says, “if the books fall into the wrong hands, such as North Korea or Al Qaeda or Isis, or simply some crazy bastard bent on world domination, it can mean a whole lot of hurt for a whole lot of people.”
“I’m beginning to see your interest in the books, Cross,” I admit.
He grins. “And of course, the fact that the codices are priceless is also reason enough to pique my interest. But rest assured, this one isn’t about money. It’s about seeing that the seventh seal is never opened.”
Magda looks me in the eye. “Don’t you see, Chase? By retrieving the seven metal codices and securing the seventh seal on the seventh book, you will be saving humanity.”
“The book would indeed make quite the prize for your collection,” I say, drinking down the rest of my champagne, crossing my arms over my chest. “Of course, it will cost you. Project like this won’t be without its dangers.”
“I’m prepared to pay handsomely, Chase, man,” he says. “You should know that by now.”
I nod. “Any idea where to start looking?”
“Accounts are conflicting. Some say they’ve been in the possession of the same Israeli family for a century or more. Other, more scholarly folks, claim they are entombed in the Holy of Holies under the Dome of the Rock which, if true, means we’re SOL. Whatever the case, they seem to have ended up in Jerusalem.”
“And you?” I ask. “What do you believe?”
“Like I said, I believe that six of the seven seals have already been broken and that six of seven angels and their trumpets are already blowing their horns, so to speak.”
“How do you know?”
“Just look at the signs, yo,” he says. “Over the past twenty years, we’ve seen the destruction of the Twin Towers in New York, the collapse of the financial markets, some of the worst hurricanes and floodings of all times, plus great civil unrest in places like Ferguson, Missouri, and Chicago . . . free man being pitted against free man. We’ve seen the uprising of Isis and the slaughter of Christians and chaos in the Middle East. Again, man being pitted against man. North Korea is threatening nuclear war and, just last week, it was announced that the Russians have developed the new SNWS or, Satan Nuclear Weapons System, which means a single missile can now t
ake out a country the size of France. Yet, all of this pales in comparison to what will happen if that seventh seal gets into the wrong hands and is used as the ultimate weapon.”
“Any idea who might also be looking for them?”
Cross shrugs his shoulders. “I would imagine that many people from many governments and institutions are secretly searching for the seven codices. But I wouldn’t be so concerned with competition.”
“What do you mean?”
“The danger you will face in your quest will be of a different nature. If that pale rider on that pale horse is real, and if he is indeed sent from hell itself, he will be the one who will try to stop you.”
“And how exactly do I recognize the pale rider, other than the shade of his skin? He carry a business card? He got driver’s license? That is, assuming the twenty-first-century version of the guy is not actually going to appear riding a horse.”
He shakes his head.
“I don’t know the answer to that,” he says. “But I can tell you this. You might have already come into contact with him and not have had the slightest clue.”
“You mean he might already be following me even though I only just found out about the existence of the seven books and the seventh seal?”
“He comes from a place that you and I cannot even begin to comprehend, and he is all knowing. The pale rider, and all the riders of the Apocalypse, wish to destroy God’s earth. It will be your job to stop them by uncovering the seven books with the seventh seal intact and bringing them to me.”
I nod like I understand everything. But truth is, the more he explains, the more lost I get. Bottom line, don’t let anyone break that seventh seal on the seventh book or the world goes boom.
“I have arranged your transport to Tel Aviv,” he adds. “From there, a driver will take you to Jerusalem. In the meantime, my people will make contact with you.”
“How will I know them, or him, or her?”
“Not to worry, Chase. My contacts will know you. If our initial research holds true, the books will be located somewhere just inside the Old City walls. Your job is a simple one. Extract them, make contact with me, and then I will arrange for your immediate transport back to the United States. Once you hand the books over to me, you will have completed your assignment.”
Chase Baker and the Seventh Seal (A Chase Baker Thriller Book 9) Page 3