Chase Baker and the Seventh Seal (A Chase Baker Thriller Book 9)

by Vincent Zandri

  At one point, we turn the corner on the eastern wall and begin making our way down the Aqabat Al-Manzil Road beside the tram tracks. A gang of youths toss empty beer bottles at a crew of regular army who are exiting an armored van. The soldiers quickly go after the youths, assault weapons locked and loaded, poised to shoot. The boys are quickly apprehended, tossed onto their stomachs and handcuffed. That’s our cue to pick up the pace on our way to James’ Land Cruiser.

  Making our way past the melee, I half expect Mahdi to scream out, “Help me!” But then, I recall his duct tape gag and no doubt the Orthodox girls are reminding him of the Uzis they carry under their loose blouses. When the white 4X4 is in sight, James pulls the keys from his pocket, flicks the electronic locks.

  “Let’s hurry,” he says, clearly relieved we’ve made it this far.

  We pile in, me in the front shotgun seat, the bag filled with the codices set on my lap. The two Orthodox girls bookend Mahdi who’s been seated in the back in the middle. His head is still covered with the Burka, but his steely blue eyes stare at me. When I turn around and lock onto his gaze, I feel his eyes more than see them. Magda now occupies the back cargo area where she lays herself out as if to catch some much-needed rest or to somehow wrap her brain around the incident down inside the old tunnel with the giant spider and poor Abba.

  James turns the engine over, pulls out of the parking spot in front of the Herod Gate, makes a U-turn, begins heading back up the Sultan Sulaiman which connects with the Aqabat Al-Manzil in the turn-about outside the Damascus Gate. Passing by the soldiers and police as they take the teenage lawbreakers into custody, I feel my heart break for a city that may never know peace in my lifetime or anyone’s lifetime, for that matter.

  We drive in silence for nearly the entire ride into the West Bank. In the meantime, I text Cross, tell him to have the plane ready in Tel Aviv. And to arrange transportation to get us there.

  He texts back, Did you get them?

  —Got them

  —I knew you da man, Chase

  —I be da man when you get us the hell out of here. Moshe’s been shot. He’ll need medical attention as soon as we get on the plane.

  —Consider it done. Where’s your extraction point?

  I pose the question to James. He tells me, and I text the address to Cross.

  —That’s West Bank territory, yo

  —You know your Israel Geography well, mofo

  —I know everything well. See you soon, Chase man

  I pocket the smartphone in the upper left-hand pocket on my bush jacket, place both my hands back on top of the codices as if to protect them better. Cross doesn’t realize it yet, and, in the end, it might cost me my payment, but once we land in NYC, the codices are already going to be on their way to a library and/or museum for study. Now it’s just a matter of deciding which library and/or museum to go with so I can contact them sooner rather than later. The final call will have to come from Magda who, at present, is seated all the way in the back cargo area of the Land Cruiser.

  When we come to the turn onto the dirt road that will lead us up to James’ trailer, he turns to me.

  “Hopefully, your man, Moshe, is well enough to travel,” he says.

  “Doesn’t matter how well he is,” I say. “He’s traveling, one way or another.”

  “Do you need me to take you to Tel Aviv?” he asks.

  “You’ve done enough already,” I say. “My employer is sending someone for us now.”

  “Whatever you say, Chase,” he says. “Those ancient books, they are worth a lot of money. But they are also dangerous.”

  “How so?”

  “They are a direct connection to God. And to Satan. In the wrong hands, they can mean total destruction to everything we know and love. But then, you are already aware of that possibility.”

  “They’re in the right hands, right now, James,” I say. “And that’s the way it’s going to stay.”

  “Never let them go,” he says, as we turn the corner, to the bright red-orange light of the fire.

  CHAPTER 35

  The entire structure is engulfed in flames.

  James slams on the brakes, throws the tranny in park, opens the door, jumps out. I see him pull out his semi-automatic like he knows without having to investigate anything or anyone that the fire has been deliberately set.

  Turning to the girls in back.

  “Stay with Mahdi,” I say. “Don’t let him out of your sight.”

  Magda is staring at me wide-eyed over Mahdi’s shoulder.

  “Moshe and Itzy,” she says.

  “I’ll come around, let you out,” I say.

  Slipping out of the 4X4, I go around, open up the back tailgate. Magda gets out, pulls out her gun. I do the same. We approach the trailer. The closer we come to it, the more oppressive the wall of heat becomes. The fire is spreading and growing that fast.

  “James!” I shout. “James!”

  But I get no response.

  “Jesus, he’s inside,” I say. “I’m going in after him.”

  “Chase,” Magda says grabbing hold of my arm. “You could be killed in there.”

  I place my hand on hers. Maybe she’s afraid for me. Afraid for us. But despite the danger, her face looks beautiful in the firelight.

  “Yeah, I could be killed,” I say. “But not tonight.”

  Pulling her hand away, I go into the fire.

  The entire right side of the trailer is aflame.

  “James!” I shout. “Moshe! Itzhak!”

  I look to my left. But all I can make out is a haze of gray-black smoke. Looking to my right, I see open flames, which is no surprise. But it’s what I see inside the flames that nearly robs me of my breath more than the fire. I see a woman, veiled and alive, standing in the middle of it.

  Vanessa.

  But how can that possibly be? Isn’t she made of human flesh and bone?

  She stares into my eyes with her deep, wet blue eyes and she smiles.

  “The seven codices belong to me,” she says. “You’ve known it to be true all along.”

  She laughs and then disappears.

  That’s when I hear commotion coming from out of the smoke in the direction of the back bedroom. It’s James. He’s carrying Moshe in a classic fireman’s hold, the big man draped over his right shoulder.

  “Itzhak is still in there!” he shouts. “I don’t know if he’s alive.”

  “I’ll get him,” I say, shooting around him into the back bedroom.

  I find Itzy on his back on the floor. Dropping to my knees, I bring my ear to his chest. Making out a heartbeat is impossible. But I shove my hands beneath him, heft him up onto my shoulder, and follow James out of the trailer, lay him out onto the cool gravel.

  Once more, I bring my ear to his chest. Again, no heartbeat. I pound his chest, breathe into his mouth, listen to his heart. Nothing. Repeat the process. Pound the chest, breathe into his mouth, listen to his heart.

  Then, above the roar of the flame, I begin to make out the beating of a heart. Press fingers to his wrist, feel a pulse.

  Itzy’s eyes open up.

  “What the fuck happened?” he mumbles, his long locks trembling beside his face. In all the confusion, I forgot to retrieve his Stetson. He pats the top of his head, as though his hat is more important than the fact that his heart stopped for God knows how long. “Moshe,” he whispers.

  I look around for his partner. He’s sitting up on the gravel, his bare, injured leg extended out before him.

  “He’s okay,” I say.

  Out the corner of my eye, I see James trying to douse the flames with a common garden hose, but it’s a lost cause. Already, the roof has caved in, and the entire trailer is engulfed. Knowing the trailer more than likely contains many mementos of a long life lived well, my heart breaks for him.

  Coming up on me from behind, the two Orthodox girls. I turn to greet them.

  “Chase,” the shorter one says. “We have a problem.”

  �
�It’s Mahdi,” the taller one says.

  The suddenly alive Itzy jumps up from the ground like he’s as healthy as an ox. Then, I see Moshe, forcing himself up from the gravel, and limping his way to me.

  “Chase,” Itzy says straightening out his hair as best he can, his eyes bright, “aren’t you going introduce us?”

  Moshe holds out his hand to the taller girl.

  “My name is Moshe,” he says. “I’m from New York, and I’ve been shot.”

  Tall Orthodox Girl smiles back at him, but I can tell she’s not happy. She looks at me.

  “He’s gone, Chase,” she says. “Mahdi is gone.”

  CHAPTER 36

  I could ask her, or even demand to know what the hell happened. But what good would that do? They’ve already lost a good friend today in the form of Abba, and they have been a great help in my getting hold of the codices which, despite the calamity, are still safely packed away in the bag strapped to my shoulders.

  It dawns on me, however, that I haven’t seen Magda since I got out of the Land Cruiser to assist the Hasidic brothers. But the mystery of her whereabouts does not last long.

  “Chase Baker!” comes the booming voice of a man. “Chase Baker you have something that belongs to me!”

  It’s Mahdi.

  He’s standing maybe twenty feet away from the fire, his face and big robed body lit up in the firelight, his right hand clenching Magda by her hair, a half-moon shaped dagger pressed against her throat once more.

  James drops the hose, draws his semi-automatic.

  “I would not bother with that, James,” Mahdi says. “The knife is very sharp and the neck on this young woman very tender.”

  James drops the gun.

  The trailer beside me is on fire, but the ground under my feet seems to be trembling. Then, emerging from out of the distance, someone on horseback. The person has long hair that flows like a wind-filled sail as the horse approaches Mahdi’s back. The closer the person on horseback comes toward me, the easier it is to see that it’s Vanessa.

  “My God,” I whisper. “She is the pale rider on the pale horse. The one promised in Revelations.”

  Behind her, an army of soldiers appear, marching in formation, some of them on foot, others riding in the backs of pickup trucks and two and a half ton, deuce-and-a-half, trucks. The collective noise the army makes with their stomping feet and equipment drowns out the roar of the fire. The halogen headlamps on their trucks burn my eyes.

  How did you know we were coming here, to this place beside the church of St. Stephen?

  Like I said, the bag wrapped around my shoulder contains the seven codices. But it also contains Mahdi’s cell phone. The army was able to trace the GPS signal. Or perhaps, Mahdi and Vanessa don’t need any stinking GPS signals to know precisely where anyone is at any given time. Vanessa knew enough to try and stop me while I was on the train speeding through the Austrian Alps. Why she didn’t just kill me then, I have no idea. Or maybe she wasn’t capable of it then, and despite her apparent supernatural strengths, still isn’t capable of it.

  Mahdi turns to Vanessa.

  “What shall we do with these people who have stolen our books?”

  “Bring them to Megiddo,” Vanessa insists from atop of her horse. “Let them be witnesses to the final day and the birth of the tortured souls.”

  Mahdi now turns to his soldiers.

  “The bag,” he says.

  Three soldiers jump down from the back of a pickup, approach me on foot. They slap the .45 out of my hand, pull the bag from my shoulders, then knock me to the ground. Looking up from down on my belly, I see maybe a dozen soldiers apprehending Moshe and Itze along with the Orthodox girls. They also grab hold of James. He struggles, but the resistance is useless. They are too strong, and there are too many of them.

  I’m forced up off the ground, carted to one of the deuce-and-a-half trucks parked on the perimeter. We are all handcuffed with plastic ties and forced into the back of the truck. Two armed Soldiers of the Army of the Expected One are stationed in the back of the truck with us so that we don’t decide to jump out as soon as we start moving.

  It’s still dark out, but, by the looks of it, the dawn of the apocalypse has finally arrived.

  As the sun begins to reveal itself on the eastern horizon, we head north along the eastern border of the West Bank and up into the fertile Jezreel Valley. We remain quiet during much of the drive while the ever vigilant soldiers’ eyes never stop scanning us. It’s as if they don’t even need to blink.

  Moshe is in pain, his face pale from blood loss. He needed a proper hospital hours ago. The longer he goes without medical treatment, the better the chance he has of losing his leg. The girls keep their heads down, chin against chest, trying their best not to make eye contact with the soldiers. To them, the soldiers’ gaze will be evil. Unclean. Unholy.

  Itzy keeps his eyes poised on his Hasidic partner, or should I say, brother. The pain Moshe is experiencing isn’t lost on Itzy. That much is plainly apparent to me.

  James sits directly across from me.

  That’s the soldier’s first mistake.

  Their second mistake is keeping us alive.

  I stare at James, hoping he’ll feel my gaze. For now, anyway, he’s got his head down, the brim of his worn outback hat shielding his eyes. But like anyone who’s survived more than their fair share of attacks, he eventually senses my stare, looks up and into my eyes.

  I roll my eyes counterclockwise as if indicating the obvious: We must find a way to take out the soldiers. But James makes his eyes wide, and gives his head the subtlest of shakes as if it’s not he who is making his head move, but the vibrations of the truck moving on the uneven road beneath us.

  His meaning comes through loud and clear. We don’t risk jumping the guards now. Not while they have their weapons poised at us and our arms tied behind out backs. Not when there are two young women whose lives are at risk, plus one man who is already on the verge of death. Not when Mahdi himself has taken Magda — James’s Goddaughter — hostage.

  Not yet, anyway. Because, included in the subtle shake of James’s head is an ever so slight corner-of-the-mouth grin.

  The grin tells me this: Soon, the sons of bitches who wish to bring darkness to all humanity by severing the seventh seal will get their sorry asses kicked. And James and me will be doing the bulk of the ass kicking.

  CHAPTER 37

  Maybe an hour passes before the truck stops and the soldiers rise, point their weapons at us, and demand we exit the vehicle. When I attempt to assist Moshe down off the tailgate that must be at least four feet above the solid ground, the soldier on my left shoves the butt of his rifle into my back, and I go sailing. With my wrists bound behind my back, I land hard on my chest and belly, and for a full minute, the air is knocked out of me.

  You bastards, I will get you for this . . .

  We are escorted across a vast plain of green grass surrounded by Date trees and small foothills off in the distance. I know this place. It’s the place from my dreams. The Megiddo Valley where Armageddon is supposed to take place. That is, according to the Bible, both New and Old Testaments. But, if my memory of the texts proves me correct, scripture says nothing of the fall of mankind occurring on behalf of a power hungry madman who wishes to call up Satan in order to breach the seventh seal.

  Maybe the world doesn’t end with a whimper after all. But, instead, the collective scream that will surely occur from the voices of billions of innocent men, women, and children should that seal break.

  An army of maybe five soldiers stands in formation beside their vehicles and fighting equipment to my right-hand side while, to my direct left, stands James, and beside him, the two Orthodox girls and Moshe, who is leaning on Itzy for support, his naked, injured leg resembling raw hamburger.

  Standing in the center of the massive field, Mahdi.

  He’s got my black bag which contains the seven codices wrapped around his shoulders while Magda kneels on the gr
assy floor before him. I have no doubt that she is about to be offered up as a sacrifice. Thus far, anyway, Vanessa and her pale horse are nowhere to be seen. But that doesn’t mean she isn’t somehow present.

  A plane appears on the horizon.

  What looks from my vantage point like a twin-engine Cessna. The plane circles the field, losing altitude with each circle. When it’s low enough, it finally puts down at the end of the field and taxis its way towards the center where Mahdi is standing before the kneeling Magda.

  When the passenger side door opens, a man gets out. Even from a distance of one hundred meters, I can see that it’s a young man, just by the way he walks and the swagger he displays while doing it. The closer he comes towards Mahdi, I can tell he’s wearing skinny jeans and a blue on white T-shirt that’s got “Feel the Bern” on it from the now defunct 2016 Bernie Sanders for President campaign. His hair is thick, dark, and his face scruffy.

  He is my employer.

  Cross.

  He eyes me.

  “Chase man!” he barks, “How the hell’s it hangin’, yo?”

  He jogs the rest of the distance that separates the two of us, and when he’s finally in front of me, he holds out his fist.

  “Give me the rock, bro,” he says. “You’ve done a man’s job.”

  I’m feeling the Bern all right. Feeling it kindling at the tips of my toes and taking on fuel as it makes its way up my veins and finally flashes inside my overheated brain.

  “When I finally get my hands free, Cross,” I say, “I’m gonna give you a rock like you’ve never felt before. In fact, I might kick you in the balls right now. They’re certainly big enough. I can’t miss.”

  He lowers his fisted hand.

  “Oh yeah,” he says, that smile still occupying his face, “you’re a little tied up at the moment.”