The Sinner King: Book of Fire
Page 36
"It's how we found you," he answered. "You met one of my agents in the Southern Point. This was attached to your back without you noticing."
Rebecca couldn't fathom whom he might be talking about. One of his agents? She couldn't recall interacting with any agents in the Southern Point. An undercover agent? she wondered. The first person she encountered was a handler. Was it him? "A handler at the StreamWay station?" inquired Rebecca.
"No," he said, "but you met her at the station."
There was only one other person to come to mind: "Darla?"
The blue-eyed man's smile confirmed it. The nice, helpful, old lady who had fed and pointed Rebecca toward the path to the Heretique was an MSF agent. "I had her wait for you at the station. She slipped this on as soon as the two of you met. I then had her take you somewhere to eat so that our forces could assemble close by without the Heretique noticing. Afterward, Darla had told me that you didn't really know where the Heretique was, so she simply pointed the way."
Rebecca had never felt so foolish. She really was the one responsible for all those people who died.
"Don't be upset," he said and placed a hand on her knee again. "You were doing what you thought was right. Darla was very concerned about you. She wanted me to give you well wishes from her and an apology for having lied."
Rebecca looked down at his hand and then over to Simon who seemed to be clenching his teeth. Rebecca began to cry again. It was all too much for her. She was exhausted. "I want to go home," she said through sobs of tears. Most of them were for the man laying at their feet. He had done exactly what she had asked of him. He gave up everything for her, including his life. Rebecca cried harder now. Long ago she thought she had lost her father, and now, without realizing what she had truly done, she had lost another.
Simon groaned and moved across the seat and sat down next to her. He wrapped an uncomfortable arm around her and said: "You'll get your life back. Everything will go back to normal. Just try to imagine all of this as nothing more than a bad dream." He then looked at the blue-eyed man and said: "Isn't that right, Agent Coulee?"
Rebecca jerked suddenly after hearing his name. Agent Coulee? She looked through her wet eyes and at the blue-eyed man who gave a calming smile. He said: "Yes, everything will be alright."
She wanted to ask for his name again; she wondered if she heard Simon correctly. Was that really William Coulee sitting across from her: the man who supposedly wrote the manuscript, the one who supposedly loved her in another lifetime? It was too surreal. For a moment, Rebecca forgot about everything and wanted to steal another glance of this mythical man, but she refrained, too afraid that everyone would notice. Embarrassment returned and she felt ashamed for things the manuscript said she did . . . having an affair with this man, betraying Simon.
Simon, thank God he hadn't read the translation. Rebecca tried to look through her tear filled eyes to see his. She wanted to see something that she never saw in his eyes before: true love. But she didn't. The only time she had seen true love in a man's eyes was when she looked at her father, just before he gave himself up to the Ministry. "Just a bad dream," she said, but Rebecca knew it was far more than a bad dream. She knew that everything that had been done couldn't be undone and furthermore, Rebecca knew that nothing would go back to normal.
EPILOGUE
The Minister's office was enormous in both size and beauty, a true masterpiece of architectural design. It took over two years and a hundred and fifty hands to construct it. There were four rows of hand-carved marble columns lining the rectangular space and a brilliant marble tiled floor. Each tile was uniquely designed and each was hand polished once a week. There was a natural spring on one side of the office that had a pool constructed around it. In the center of the spring was a fountain shaped like a nude female. The statue's legs were crossed at the ankle, and its arms laid next to its sides with one hand extended out and turned upward. Within the grasp of the turned palm was a large sphere that glowed day and night. Anyone who entered the office had to look at the fountain; it was that incredible. The fountain capped the room's perfection. Even Minister Theoman could feel the incredibleness of the fountain as he stared absently into it—despite all he had just heard.
Seated in one of the plush chairs across from the Minister's ornately carved desk was Security Chief Jonas Lundquist. He had just given Minister Theoman a complete update on the search and capture of Rebecca Badeau, Corbin Byrne, and the destruction of the Heretique hideout inside the Vriezen. However, he also reported on the MSF's failure to locate the original manuscript Rebecca translated. It was that failure that caused Theoman to silently stand from his desk and stride over to the fountain. Jonas knew the man would be disappointed, but just how much was yet to be seen. "I wouldn't stress too much," Jonas said calmly, "once we clear the zone it will only be a short matter of time before we find it."
"So the rebels are still in the area?" Theoman said with equal calmness.
"Technically . . . but only as a minor nuisance; they're scattered and pose no real threat outside the periodic skirmish. Still though, I would prefer the zone be cleared, entirely, before we begin a thorough scouring of the city's remains. Chances are that one of the rebels has the manuscript. Either way, we'll find it."
Minister Theoman slowly glided across the floor and back to his desk. He began to melodically tap his fingers on its shiny hard surface. Jonas watched, expressionless. Theoman reached over with his other hand and grabbed a glass cup. He examined it for a second and said: "This glass is perfection; hours were spent designing it, shaping it, and carefully blowing it, so that there would be no visible flaws. The artist who engineered this glass poured his sweat and tears into its creation . . . but, like all things: if we were to examine it under a microscope—for example—we would find tiny imperfections . . . which makes it SHIT!" he then threw the glass across the room. It hit the far wall and shattered into a thousand little pieces. Jonas watched as those pieces scattered across the floor. Theoman looked at him with rage and said: "That, my dear friend, is what will happen to my world if we let that damned manuscript elude us once more."
Unmoved, Jonas said: "We will obtain it. We have control of the only person who knows how to use it. We will find it."
Theoman calmed once again. He sat back in his chair and pressed the tips of his fingers together. "It disturbs me that I can't remember those things happening . . ."
"Are you referring to the manuscript?"
Theoman looked out the window on his right and across the commons. "I know time overlaps, and that we once lived in a parallel time period, but I haven't the ability to remember it . . . which greatly disturbs me . . . especially since he figured out a way to remember."
"You knew William was capable of this," Jonas reminded him.
"Of course I knew," snapped Theoman, "but it doesn't make the problem better." He sat silent for a moment before saying: "I want Corbin Byrne executed as soon as possible: today, if you can. And I want William Coulee far away from her."
"I've already assigned him to another sector," Jonas said. "Maybe it's worth having him terminated too, just to be safe."
Minister Theoman shook his head. "No . . . no . . . that will do us no good. Haven't you heard the saying: 'keep your friends close, and your enemies closer?' Keeping both William and Rebecca in the fold is our best option; finding that manuscript is our only objective at this point. Send William away, like you said, and Simon will keep Rebecca under control. Find that damn manuscript so we can end this once and for all."
"But won't killing the two of them simplify matters? Then all we have to worry about is the manuscript."
"I've already been down that road before, damnit!" He pushed a button on his desk and a holographic translation of the manuscript appeared. "It says so right here. I can kill them all I want, but it doesn't change things. They'll keep coming back, and eventually they'll win. It's inevitable. The only thing I can do is prolong their victory . . . for eternity, if possibl
e . . . but I can't do that when I don't have control over Logos!" He slammed his fist onto the desk. "It's imperative that we get William's manuscript. The longer it's out there, the more likely a rebel will find it."
"But if we kill—"
"If we kill William and Rebecca, then Logos will surely get hidden, and then we'll have to start looking for it all over again . . . don't you see? If we keep them alive, and within the Ministry fold, then we can track their every movement; and eventually—if your search for the manuscript comes up empty"—he shoots Jonas an evil glare—"someone will inevitably try to give them the manuscript . . . and hopefully allowing us to capture the damn thing. But I would rather it be us who find it." Theoman sighed and leaned forward onto the desk. "Finding Logos is the most important thing. I don't care how it happens, I just want it!"
Jonas slowly nodded his head and then looked at the holographic translation. "Have you read all of it?"
"No. It's long and I have too many responsibilities that tear me away. But I've skipped ahead, and I know that killing William and Rebecca won't work like you think." Theoman paused for a moment before saying: "We were right for imprisoning Benjamin Vermil, though—but look how that was fouled up. He's a bigger problem than even I realized."
"But Vermil is dead."
"Not for long." Theoman sighed. "He'll be back, and when he tries—"
"I'll handle him," Jonas said with eerie conviction. "There will be no mistake this time. When I'm through with him, Vermil will beg for death, which he'll not get for a very, very, long time."
Theoman sat back and smiled. "Good . . . good."
Jonas rose from his chair. He placed his black hat onto his head and said: "As for Mr. Byrne, I believe he has a date with a pole—and unfortunately for him, his time won't end soon enough." Jonas turned to leave but then stopped and said: "It will begin with him and it won't end until every single member of the Heretique is impaled on a pole. And after we capture Logos . . ."
Minister Theoman nodded and said: "Then you can have William and Rebecca."
Jonas smiled for the first time. "And then the Lord said: ‘Let there be death.' "
Jonas began to whistle as he walked away.
*******
The holding cell Corbin Byrne sat in was no larger than a small cage one would stuff a dangerous animal into. Without knowing for sure, he figured that three, maybe four hours had passed since he was placed inside.
When they first arrived, Rebecca had been escorted to another hovercraft and flown away with her soon-to-be husband, which surprised Corbin. He found the Ministry to be suspiciously lenient with her—which only reinforced his theory that Rebecca was more important than she or anyone else, outside the Ministry, understood. And Corbin was fine with that, for now. As long as she was protected it didn't matter where she went. He, on the other hand, was a different story.
Corbin thought about the manuscript some more. He had been thinking about it ever since Rebecca first showed it to him. He couldn't get past that it was written by William Coulee: the very same man who hunted him; The Creator works in mysterious ways. Like Rebecca, William was obviously an important person, but how and why? He accepted that it was The Creator's design to have William be the one to deliver whatever message to Rebecca. It was also no coincidence that William was the one charged with hunting him, inevitably causing William and Rebecca to cross paths. Corbin realized that even the Minister couldn't have foreseen that implication . . . which meant that the Minister either didn't understand William's importance or he didn't know about Rebecca being Corbin's daughter. The web of possibilities made Corbin smile; he believed that no matter the outcome, it was by The Creator's design, which was inherently good.
Then there was the question as to where the manuscript was located. Corbin had seen it laying under rubble when he looked for Morlan's body. Instinctively he wanted to grab it, but his cunning mind had ordered him not to. It's safer there, he told himself, and he had been right. Had he brought it along, the Ministry would now have it in their possession and all hope would be lost. But they didn't have it, and that was something else worth smiling about.
Despite that his eminent execution was quickly approaching, Corbin relished in knowing that the savior would soon return and his daughter would be playing a pivotal role in making it happen. Corbin seized his mind for a moment and just sat listening. They should be coming soon, he knew. Ever since Francesca had warned him about the manuscript in Rebecca's possession, Corbin knew his capture would come. He knew that Rebecca would seek him out and he knew why she would do it—and he had prepared for that moment. He knew he would have to give himself up too; it was what she needed—and for the first time he would give her what she needed. Corbin hoped it would be the first of many gifts he would give his daughter. There were twenty-eight years to make-up for. He agreed to give himself up so she could have her life back, but I never said I would stay surrendered.
For that was what Code Zero was all about . . . and it was soon to be in effect.
COMING SOON
The Sinner King:
BOOK OF EARTH
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Born in 1979.
Donald Ray Crislip attended Kent State University and the University of Toledo where he studied English, screenwriting, and filmmaking. He was nominated for the Dean's Award for Outstanding Achievements in the College of Arts and Sciences. He spent several years working within the film industry before spilling his ideas onto the pages of his first of many-to-come novels.