by Ronie Kendig
“But that’s my point. What if you only see what you want to see?”
So she was just imagining Cole’s honor? “You’re wrong. You don’t know all the things he did for me when he didn’t have to. When I was twelve, Cole took up a fight with a bully for me. He cared.”
“And now he doesn’t care, and that’s ripping your heart out.” Levi sighed. “I can’t take much more of watching it happen.”
Cole propped up a wall near the door, his arms folded. Tzivia to his left, both staying separate from the rest of the team that gathered on the floor and dug into the food and tea.
The fifty-something Mr. Tzaddik entered, talking with Dr. Cathey as they made their way into the sitting area. Dr. Cathey pulled a book free and moved to a quiet corner as Cole’s men made room for Mr. Tzaddik. He had a strong presence and seemed to know it. Broad-shouldered, tall as Cole, he moved with confidence and assuredness. His dark hair was lightly streaked with gray around the temples, and he reminded her of old movie stars like Sean Connery and Gregory Peck.
“You have come about the Codex.” Mr. Tzaddik captured the attention of the team, silencing them as he glanced at Cole. It was weird, but Kasey felt there was some unspoken war between the two.
“Rebbe Sokolov suggested we speak to you,” Ram said from Mr. Tzaddik’s left.
“Ah, Natan.” Mr. Tzaddik smiled. “A good man.”
“He said we should read Tiberius’s Writings.” The planes of Cole’s face had gone hard.
Chiji edged closer, his demeanor serene. Cole shook his head, as if knowing his friend wanted to calm him.
Mr. Tzaddik shifted, his smile slipping for a second. “Writings . . .” He gave a breathy laugh before wagging his head and stealing his gaze away. “That Natan . . .”
“There a problem?” Hands on his belt, Cole was ready to face off.
Something spirited through Mr. Tzaddik’s expression that made Kasey draw back. He and Cole were like two negative sides of a battery touching. They repelled each other.
A compulsion to salvage the situation pushed her into the conversation. “Do you know anything that might assist us, Mr. Tzaddik? We are trying to stop a deadly plague.”
“My dear—aren’t most plagues deadly?”
“Not all, but with this one”—Tzivia nodded from her post beside Cole—“victims die within thirty-six hours. Our timeline is short.”
“Then let’s stop wasting time.”
Cole came off the wall, apparently upset at the implication that this was his doing.
“Ndidi,” Chiji rumbled, touching his arm.
Cole wrangled free. “No.” He turned to Tzaddik.
“I am not your enemy, Cole Russell.”
As if someone had pushed a button, the tension in the room went nuclear. Team members grew rigid. Cole roiled in fight-readiness mode. Kasey’s own heart pounded as she realized why—when had Tzaddik learned Cole’s name?
Laughter seeped through the air. “You think I am not aware when a black ops team comes to me?” Mr. Tzaddik chuckled. “Your friend Mr. Khalon will verify there is little I do not know. Even less I cannot find out.”
“Why don’t you start with why your name was in the journal of a man who stole a censer implicated in unleashing a plague—the same one that killed him?”
“Bhavin?” Tzaddik wasn’t ruffled and waved a hand. “Bhavin contacted me about these artifacts. I gave him information.”
“Who are you that you have information on what he found and on our identities?” Cole asked, his tone measured. The real question wasn’t Mr. Tzaddik’s name. It was who he could be that he’d have access to classified information. That he could reach into cyberspace and extract whatever data he wanted or needed.
“Why, Mr. Russell, I am Ti Tzaddik.” Chuckling, he waved and stood. “Relax, relax. You have come to the right place. As I said, I am not your enemy.”
“Neither are you a friend,” Cole countered.
Rustling fabric and squeaks of boots against the floor riffled the air, amplifying the fact that nobody was speaking. Ram said nothing, his posture one of contrition. The others were inching closer to Cole, clearly not pleased with the power grab by Mr. Tzaddik.
Shaking his head as he let out a long sigh, Mr. Tzaddik crossed the room. “I would’ve preferred, Mr. Russell, that you had said our friendship remains to be seen. In fact, I could even ask, how can I know to trust you? In truth, what do you know about me? Nothing. I risk much by even having Christians in my home here.”
Whispers skittered around the room as he reached for a door and opened it. “But as I realize these are perilous and uncertain times, even friends can be enemies, can they not?”
“An enemy of my enemy is my friend,” Cole muttered.
Mr. Tzaddik shrugged as he stepped sideways into the closet, reached up behind a steel pole that held several jackets, and pulled down. Click! “Let’s get on with things, shall we?”
Cole closed in behind him. “How do you know to trust us?”
Mr. Tzaddik turned, something wild and unpredictable in his brown eyes as he smiled. But even his smile wasn’t friendly—it was primal, like a dog sniffing out an untrustworthy person. “I know.”
Tinkling of fluorescents preceded a progressive blooming of light, as row after row of long bulbs sprang to life. Bewildered, Kasey tried to make sense of the revealed room and how there was so much space in such a compact home. They must have built a small bunker into the side of the hill. To enter the hidden compartment, the men had to bend down. Even Kasey felt the doorpost brush her hair as she ducked in. The area was surprisingly lavish. Couch, recliners, and a long table with a half-dozen chairs around it. Green reading lamps cast a warm glow over the rich, dark wood. It felt oddly European.
“My weakness,” Mr. Tzaddik admitted with a bashful grin as he crossed the thick Oriental rug to a well-worn armchair. He sat with a satisfied moan. “Nothing like it. Now.” He pointed to a shelf lining the far wall. “The books. Bring them.”
Cole glanced at him. “There’s more than one?”
Mr. Tzaddik laughed. “They span centuries, Mr. Russell. Think such histories could be recorded in a single book?” He smiled, mischief in his eyes. “Pick one.”
Annoyance rippled through Cole’s stony expression. Locked in a visual duel with Mr. Tzaddik, he reached to the side—without looking—and tugged a book free. He tossed it on the table with a sigh then flipped it open.
Curiosity lured Kasey closer to Cole, who stood over the splayed book. “Tiberius wrote all these?”
Mr. Tzaddik’s laugh was almost mocking. “That would make him immortal, wouldn’t it?”
“He copied them, then,” Tzivia said, browsing the collection, plucking out a book, riffling the pages, then replacing it.
“It is said,” Mr. Tzaddik spoke softly, “that he collected them, borrowed some, wrote them by hand into”—he motioned toward the bookshelves—“what you see there.”
“Museum-quality lights and tables,” Tzivia murmured to Cole, whose gaze slid to a corner where a large, industrial-grade light table devoured space. “What is he hiding?”
“Nothing. Everything.” Mr. Tzaddik’s tone made it clear he enjoyed their confusion. Capitalized on it. “You are wise to suspect everyone, to not trust easily. The path you tread is filled with rogues, villains, distractions, dangers, and antiheroes.”
“How do you have all these?”
“I’ve been collecting them my entire life.” Mr. Tzaddik laughed. “It feels like centuries.”
Cole tugged another book off the shelf and shrugged open the cover, which thudded noisily, followed more quietly by the crackling rustle of heavy paper. Not parchment. “What am I looking for?”
“The truth,” Mr. Tzaddik said.
Kasey scanned the shelves and dusty stacks of history. “Which one should we start with?”
“Ah, a woman who knows what to ask.” Mr. Tzaddik raised his chin, devilry crouching at the edges of his crow’s-feet.
Kasey turned to him, drawn by his apparent delight, knowing to get the answers they wanted, they’d have to play his game. “Where would you suggest?”
Behind a smile and steepled fingers, he motioned toward the middle shelf. “The large one, bound in scarlet.”
Using both hands to heft the bound pages onto the table, Kasey moved to the chair by his feet and sat. The massive volume consumed her lap, the weight nearly numbing her legs. With care and respect, she opened it. Breath stolen by the archaic script—Latin—she hesitated. Glanced at Mr. Tzaddik, who gave another solemn nod. Had he known she could read Latin? Quiet trepidation sailed through her as she scanned pages that had blurred ever so slightly with age. She read to herself.
“So the others may hear, please.” Mr. Tzaddik leaned back, hands still steepled, and closed his eyes.
“Oh.” Kasey skirted a look around the room, then took a breath and began aloud:
“In the year of (Our) Lord’s incarnation 1215. I, Thefarie of Tveria, have determined, for the greater glory of God and the protection and safety of the Order—”
“What Order?”
Mr. Tzaddik glared at Cole, then again indicated for Kasey to continue. Surprised at the way he silenced Cole, Kasey hunched over the tome and slid her finger across the words until she found where she’d stopped.
“‘safety of the Order, the Brethren—’”
“Brethren.”
“In earnest, Mr. Russell,” Mr. Tzaddik hissed, “if you are not interested in hearing the words, the door awaits your hasty exit.”
“The Templar Knights referred to each other as brethren,” Ram put in softly. “Or brother-knight.”
“Yes, fine.” Mr. Tzaddik growled. “Thefarie was a Knight. The date and wording of the text make that obvious, do they not?” He rolled his eyes. “Must you have everything hand fed to you?” He huffed and shook his head, as if trying to shed their ignorance as well. “Please, Mrs. Cortes.”
The way he’d somehow planted her between himself and the team made her uncomfortable. But there had to be a point to reading this, and he hadn’t yet lied to them as far as she could tell, so Kasey lowered her gaze to the page once more.
“ . . . and the statutes that I put to parchment these words and accounts. Be it known to all, both present and to come, that with the failure of my strength on account of extreme age and poverty being well considered, I relate the events to follow. I commit to their wisdom these accounts of which I, Thefarie, have given witness to or have received a true and accurate account through writings or oral recitation by those with knowledge impossible to refute. For the protection and preservation of significant treasures, the Lord’s holy knight repairs to the cold isolation of his room day and night in the bosom of this cruel winter to secure these facts to parchment.”
“Sir,” Cole spoke, his voice contrite but edged in frustration. “I appreciate the history lesson—”
“Do you?” Challenge sparked in Mr. Tzaddik’s brown eyes.
“I do,” Cole said firmly. “But we’re dealing with the Black Death.”
He motioned to the book on Kasey’s lap. “As was Thefarie.”
When Chiji gave Cole a look, he hesitated. Then his blue irises washed over Kasey and the book. A fraction of the tension in his posture leaked out, and she could only guess he shared her thoughts—there was a point yet to be revealed. He dragged a chair from the table to where he stood and straddled it. His message clear: I’m listening.
“Mrs. Cortes,” Mr. Tzaddik said.
Kasey twitched at her name and refocused on the book. “‘I, Thefarie, have in my possession the parchment detailing the events from the year of Our Lord’s incarnation 90 AD. No name is—’”
“Yes, yes.” This time, Mr. Tzaddik interrupted. “Skip ahead, please.” He stared at the leather-bound book, his gaze seeming to drift somewhere besides the letterings. “In fact . . .” He again fell silent, his eyes narrowing. With a wide swipe of his arm, he grunted and looked to Tzivia. “Miss Khalon.” He jabbed a finger toward the shelves again. “Second book, third shelf, please.”
Tzivia frowned but did as instructed, retrieving another volume. With annoyance, she delivered it to Kasey.
Mr. Tzaddik smiled at her. “If you please, Mrs. Cortes.” Another toothy smile, this time to the others. “I like her voice. It’s soothing.”
Heat flashed through her face as Kasey opened the book of bound parchments. She cleared her throat and glanced at the text. “Oh. More Latin.” Translating it under pressure was exhausting!
“Of course. Please—read.”
“Wait. You know Latin?” Cell squeaked.
Kasey shrugged. “Expensive private schools specialize in teaching torturous languages to their students.” She wet her lips and looked at Tzaddik, again wondering how he’d known she could read Latin. “Where should I start?”
“At the beginning, I would think.”
“Tzaddik, you do understand we’re under a deadline, right?” Cole’s agitation was back.
“Do you, Mr. Russell? Interruptions cost time. Are you now ready to let the beautiful Mrs. Cortes read?”
Cole stretched his jaw and tucked his chin.
Recognizing the embers of Cole’s anger, Kasey read to fill the silent void.
****
“In the year of (Our) Lord’s incarnation 1099—”
“The Crusades,” Tox muttered, his annoyance with this charade tempering slightly. He’d always had a stiff fascination with the Templars. He listened in rapt attention as Haven read an account of the slaughter in Jerusalem, one Thefarie apparently felt was brutal but justified.
“Ndidi,” Chiji said, shifting on his feet, “something is wrong here.”
“Tell me about it.” Tzaddik both unsettled and drew Tox. It was like the man wanted to agitate them.
“Mrs. Cortes, please skip the next two pages.”
Haven bounced a gaze to Tox, then back to Tzaddik.
“Second paragraph,” Tzaddik further instructed.
She pointed to the indicated section.
“‘Encamped in the Holy City, the Brethren attempt to secure the Holy Land for all pilgrims who would journey to the city of our Lord. The decision to hold the Crown and other holy works for ransom angered the Karaites. But it was against these very people that the Crown was removed and held for ransom.’”
“The Crown,” Tzivia shifted forward, her hand resting on the back of Tox’s chair. “Thefarie writes of the Codex?”
Tzaddik smirked but never looked at them. “Go on, Mrs. Cortes.”
“Once more I encountered the Saracen, Ziryan al-Karzan, the bloodiest of them all, who has set himself against our Brethren. He and rogue militia attempted to retrieve the Crown from our possession. In a tense confrontation, Ziryan failed to achieve victory. But his warfare and tenacity have left us with no choice but to remove the Crown from the city.”
“Please.” Tox couldn’t take any more. Time was falling off the clock and people were dying. Maybe even Evie, and he was sitting here listening to history lessons? “If there is a point to this . . .”
“Do you wish to learn from history?”
“I do.” Tox worked to tame his frustration that was quickly fanning into anger. “But I don’t want to become history learning from it.”
“Would you prefer to sift through these volumes yourself”—Tzaddik wagged his eyes toward the wall of shelves—“over the next few months?”
Son of a gun.
“Or will you listen to passages I know to be beneficial to your purpose?”
Tox resented the guy turning this on him. “I’d prefer you just tell us what you know. I’m glad to read your collection. In fact”—his need to do something pushed him to his feet—“it’d be an honor. But right now, thousands of lives are at stake. My niece is dying in a hospital, and all I want is to stop the AFO and this plague.”
Tzaddik met him.
Fire and rage surged through Tox. Chiji was at his sid
e along with a klaxon warning to stand down. “I thought you were going to help us.”
Tzaddik pivoted. Strode from the room.
“Wait.” Haven shoved to her feet, tossing the bound parchments at Tox, and hurried after him. “Please wait, Mr. Tzaddik.”
“His anger controls him,” Tzaddik’s voice drifted back into the room. “I will not be a part of that.”
The words were painfully true, and Tox balled a fist, then felt it a glaring confirmation of Tzaddik’s words.
“I understand,” Haven said, her voice soft. Soothing, just as Tzaddik had said earlier. “Cole—all of us—we’re just really worried about this plague.”
Quiet ruled for several long minutes, then Haven returned, her shoulders sagging. “Sorry. He’s . . .” Her gaze hit the book, green eyes twitching. She scowled, peering closer. Attentive.
Tox glanced at the volume, the lettering that might as well be Greek. “What?”
Haven hurried closer. Tucked her blond hair behind her ear. “‘ . . . an arrow with a faint glow . . . ’”
“Dude. Seriously?” Cell popped up next to them. “Read it.”
“You see now why I would have you read it?”
Tox shot a look over his shoulder to Tzaddik. “If you knew this was in here—”
“Read it, Mrs. Cortes.”
Man, he hated the way this guy lorded his knowledge over them. But curiosity was stronger than his need for defiance. Tox shifted the book on the table and leaned over it. Tzivia was at his right as he scanned the words.
Haven began reading.
“ . . . our latest battle with the Saracens has brought us against a formidable foe. An organization so deeply embedded in the fabric of kingdoms across the world that I fear ever driving them from their positions of power and influence. Their signature is an arrow whose shaft is laced with phosphorus. Our Brethren, those not hideously murdered by these glowing arrows, were so startled by the faint glow that preceded the boiling death—”