The Stolen Gospels

by Brian Herbert

  “It would be nice if we could just give the children back to their families,” Lori said, “and forget about having any so-called experts look them over and prod their minds.”

  “It’s a complicated matter,” Alex said. “These kids are from all over the world, and we need to turn them over to the appropriate authorities first.”

  “I suppose so,” Lori whispered. But she wasn’t even sure if she agreed what she had just said, about what to do with the children. Morally it seemed wrong to keep the children away from their families any longer than necessary, but what if they really were reincarnated apostles of Jesus? The thought frightened and exhilarated her. She had to admit that she had felt a visceral connection to Veronica, and even, for some odd reason, to Dixie Lou herself.

  “We’re rescuing them,” Alex said. “The UWW kidnapped them, and we’re reversing it.”

  “I should be mad at you for tricking me,” she said. “For playing the fool—and playing me for a fool.”

  “Are you? Mad, I mean?”

  Her eyes danced across the shadows of his face, only inches from hers. “I haven’t decided.”

  Focusing on the guard station beyond him, Lori watched the arrival of four women in pale gold uniforms. They were talking with the other guards. Alex looked at his watch. “Five minutes to shift change,” he said.

  She noted increased nervousness around her.

  “If it makes you feel any better,” he said, “I fooled a lot of other people, too, including my mother.” Lori felt the warmth of his breath against her face.

  Following a moment’s hesitation, she asked, “How did you deceive your clever mother?”

  He smiled, but warily, alert to his surroundings. “So many questions, so little time.” Again, he glanced at his watch.

  Moments later, the guards changed shift. At a signal from Mila, the two groups of rescuers joined forces, and they removed child carrier backpacks from a large sack, strapping them onto their backs.

  Lori ran forward with the others. They opened the heavy glass doors and hurried inside.

  * * *

  Lori stood in what appeared to be a lounge, furnished with black leather couches and chairs. On a wide wall ahead of her were eleven closed doors, each with the name of a female apostle written in golden script over it, the same ornate lettering style she had seen on the Scriptorium computer.

  One of the doors was designated “Apostle Veronica,” and on each side of that were inscribed the names of the others, Mary Magdalene, Abigail, Sarah, Lydia, Kezia, Hannah, Esther, Rhoda, Priscilla, and Candace. A twelfth door was unmarked.

  Pursuant to the plan, Lori’s companions opened the doors and began loading children onto the backpack carriers. A toddler with black hair whimpered softly as she was lifted into place on Yonney’s back. Lori saw her kicking and waving her chubby little arms, heard her protests increase in volume. Some of the other children began to fuss as well. They were a variety of races and combinations of races.

  Lori’s assignment was to protect the escape route, remaining near the entrance. At a counter on the right a white-uniformed attendant dozed in her chair, her head drifting toward the counter top and then bouncing back every few seconds. She snored, made intermittent snorts. Even the commotion of the children failed to waken her.

  Yonney Zakheim disconnected her videophone, used the receiver to smash the plastic connector, so that the phone could not be used.

  Now the woman sat straight up, her eyes open wide and filled with terror. Around fifty, she had a bun of gray hair and a high forehead. “What’s going on here?” she demanded.

  “We’re taking the children,” Zakheim said, identifying himself as a doctor.

  “I need to call for approval,” the attendant said. She lifted the videophone receiver, but he put his hand on hers.

  “It doesn’t work,” he said. He was larger than she was, and stronger. Taking her firmly by the arm, he led her to a storeroom and locked her inside.

  When all of the rescuers were gathered, with children on their backs and in their arms, Lori scanned the young faces, searching for Veronica, the one she had been with in the Scriptorium. To her surprise she didn’t see her, though she counted all eleven children. A sinking feeling set in.

  She met Alex’s startled gaze. He had noticed the same thing.

  “These aren’t the real she-apostles!” he shouted.

  “Are you sure?” Mila asked.

  Alarms sounded.

  “It’s a trap!” Lori yelled.

  “Leave the kids here!” Mila commanded. “Everyone outside, fast!”

  As the would-be rescuers emerged into the corridor, their guns drawn, the guards attacked, firing automatic weapons. More guards appeared from hiding places.

  Chapter 22

  Any understanding of the Bible must begin with the stark realization that men have written it, as they have written history. Most of the stories of women are missing. The sacred gospels of the she-apostles are missing . . . stolen.

  —From a letter written by Amy Angkor-Billings, a copy of which was turned over to the Bureau of Ideology

  As Dixie Lou lay in underclothes atop her bed, the well-built man undulated to throbbing music, dancing for her, moving his hips suggestively. He removed his tight silk shirt, leaving on only a pair of black bikini pants. Outside, windblown rain pelted the panes of the apartment windows.

  Giovanni Petrie, one of the stud knights kept to provide sexual favors for the UWW leadership, was no more than twenty, with light brown skin and a shock of long blond hair. All of the males in his position were young and virile, but few had the brains required for intelligent conversation. So dumb were they that some of the women referred to them as “himbos”—male bimbos. Giovanni was a decided exception. She found him bright and interesting, and he was a great lover. But he drank too much retsina, the resinous Greek wine, and on occasion this made him obnoxious.

  At Dixie Lou’s voice-command, the night stand lamps dimmed. Her eyes pleaded with him to come closer.

  Instead he stretched his body backward, touching his head to the carpeted floor, by his own monk’s robe that was draped over a chair. Unable to wait any longer, she leaped from the bed and wrestled him down. They finished disrobing, and coupled in a frenzy of passion.

  When Dixie Lou’s appetite had subsided she lay next to him on the floor while he massaged her back with powerful hands that worked deeply and relaxingly into her muscles.

  Giovanni’s robe, still draped over the chair, was within reach, and from a pocket of it he removed a flask of retsina, from which he drank. A slip of paper fluttered to the floor from his robe.

  “What’s this?” she asked, picking up the paper and reading it. “A passage from the Holy Women’s Bible?”

  Hesitation. Then: “I was just reading it. You showed it to me and I liked it.”

  “But you shouldn’t have removed it from my room. This material is Most Secret!”

  “I was excited about it.” He smiled nervously. “You’re going to publish it anyway.”

  “But not yet, you fool. We’re not ready!”

  An alarm klaxon sounded. Three long blasts followed by a short one.

  Dixie Lou and Giovanni exchanged surprised glances.

  She knew the signal. It meant trouble in the quarters of the she-apostles.

  Dixie Lou dressed hurriedly and removed a short barrel .38 from a holster on her desk, then spun the chamber. It was loaded. She put the holster on, connecting the straps across her right shoulder and under her left arm, then voice activated a computer keyboard beside her desk. On the monitor appeared images of the entrance to the living quarters of the she-apostles.

  Injured guards lay sprawled on the ground, with another guard tending to them. Nearby on the stone floor were two motionless bodies. Beyond them, on the other side of the glass entrance doors, children were on the floor, many of them crying. Some were in backpack carriers. Others crawled around or walked about in a state of confusion. Sh
e didn’t recognize them. They weren’t the she-apostles, though they were around the same age and all appeared to be girls.

  Two of her guards moved into the view of the camera, and began tending to the children. Women in robes appeared. She recognized Deborah Marvel, Fujiko Harui, and Katherine Pangalos. The sight of Katherine made her blood boil.

  What were the councilwomen doing together, and why were those children in an off-limits area?

  Waving the sheet of scripture under Giovanni’s nose, she said to him, “I’ll deal with you later.” Without giving him the usual parting kiss she ordered him to return to the stud harem.

  Dixie Lou ran from the office, into the hallway.

  * * *

  As Lori and Alex burst into the tunnel, a klaxon sounded its alarm: three long blasts and one short, repeating. In the midst of their companions, they ran into a din of gunfire, firing back. Bullets ricocheted off the ancient stone walls.

  While pulling the trigger, Lori prayed.

  * * *

  With her gun drawn, Dixie Lou took the stairs two at a time to the main floor of the Refectory Building, where she stopped for a moment to determine the best way of reaching the living quarters. She considered crossing the plaza but decided against it because of the bad weather, and instead took the stairs to the next level down and then ran through a tunnel toward the basement of the Scriptorium Building.

  Her mind spun with questions. She worried about the she-apostles. The monitor had shown different children. Why?

  The klaxons continued their desperate alarm. In a matter of moments, people would be rushing in from all directions.

  Rounding a turn, she saw a fallen security guard. The woman was moving slowly, stumbling, clutching a shoulder wound. Dixie Lou ran past her, reaching the entrance of the living quarters. Blood pooled on the stone, but the injured guards she’d seen on the monitor were sitting up and appeared to have suffered only minor injuries. Peering through the bullet-chipped but impenetrable glass she counted five councilwomen now, along with half a dozen security guards. In the background, matrons in white dresses were holding the unknown children, trying to calm them.

  The stocky Dixie Lou pushed both doors open and strode through. She asked Katherine Pangalos about the children.

  “Kids of our staff,” she replied, “plus some we brought in from outside as decoys. We heard about a kidnap plan and decided to set a trap. The she-apostles are safe.”

  “Did you know about this?” Dixie Lou asked of Deborah.

  “Yes,” she replied. With her large blue eyes, she fixed a nervous stare on Katherine.

  “Why wasn’t I informed?” Dixie Lou demanded.

  Katherine’s expression was filled with disdain. “Security leak close to you. We acted under Title 14 of the charter, permitting the council to—”

  “I know about Title 14. What’s this security leak?”

  “A report that your favorite stud knight has an unsavory background. We needed to check him further.”

  “Giovanni isn’t a conspirator, you idiot. You think I didn’t check him out myself before I invited him into my bed?”

  “You may have overlooked a few things,” Katherine countered. “He’s been carrying around printed excerpts of our new gospels. Do you have any idea where he got them?”

  “None at all,” Dixie Lou said, lying. She might have to kill Giovanni now, in order to protect herself.

  “This is serious,” Katherine said. She exchanged an uneasy glance with Deborah.

  “Do you have evidence linking my stud knight to the kidnappers?” Dixie Lou demanded.

  “Not exactly,” Katherine admitted, “but—”

  “You should have discussed your suspicions with me privately before setting up a sting.”

  “We’re sorry that wasn’t done,” Deborah said.

  “This whole operation looks mixed up to me,” Dixie Lou thundered. “Do we have any prisoners?”

  “Not yet,” Deborah said. “A couple of the kidnappers are dead. A food service worker, a gardener—”

  “Names?”

  “Insignificant in their case, but others aren’t. Uh, Liz Torrence may be involved, and—” She hesitated, glanced at Fujiko Harui, who stood nearby. “—and Fujiko’s daughter, Siana. Guards have identified them.”

  The little Japanese woman gasped.

  Without another word, Dixie Lou whirled and hurried down the corridor, back the way she had come.

  “We should have told her the rest,” Katherine said, to Deborah.

  “I know.”

  * * *

  On a section of slick stone, Alex slipped and fell, twisting his ankle and dropping his rifle, making a clatter of noise. Lori helped him to his feet. As he got up, he picked up his weapon and tried to continue, but said his ankle was throbbing. With her help, he ran on it anyway, but not well. She saw his anguished features in the yellow light of an overhead lamp.

  Unaware of his injury, Mila Bennett and Yonney Zakheim ran ahead of them, and disappeared into shadows.

  “We have to hurry,” Alex said.

  Lori ran beside him, holding onto his arm so that he wouldn’t fall.

  Chapter 23

  Men fear women. This is why they’ve set up so many structures to control the activities of the fair sex. The Bible is one of those structures.

  —Note screen, UWW computer file

  Security guards ran toward Dixie Lou, and saluted her with W’s as she passed them.

  A down-staircase veered off to the right. On a hunch, she took it. At a landing she found a fallen man with a head wound, blood pooling around him. He appeared to be dead, but in the low light she didn’t try to identify him. Slender and bald, he wore a black coat and trousers. Something familiar about him. One of the knights, a laborer? Yes, she’d seen him doing tile repairs the week before.

  She continued a long way down the staircase, and at the bottom encountered one of her security guards lying injured and bleeding on the rock floor of a chamber. It was a heavyset woman whom she recognized as Linda Cutler.

  The victim’s eyelids flickered as she fought to stay conscious. For a few seconds she gazed up at Dixie Lou with glassy eyes, then smiled weakly and said, “Thank She-God it’s you, ma’am.” She tried to salute but didn’t have the strength, and passed out.

  Glancing around, Dixie Lou saw no one. Feeling Cutler’s neck, she got a strong pulse. The woman moaned, and Dixie Lou saw a wound on her right side. It might not be life-threatening.

  Dixie Lou looked around again, satisfying herself that no others were in the chamber. No security cameras to worry about in this section either, no eyes to see what she was about to do, except her own.

  Pointing her gun at the back of Cutler’s head, she fired once, causing an echoing percussion.

  The body jerked.

  Dixie Lou leaned over and rechecked the pulse. This time there was none.

  It left the newly elected Chairwoman in a position she liked, for with at least one dead guard she could insist upon the death penalty for the kidnappers. Of course she had the authority to condemn or reprieve anyone involved in the plot anyway, but this gave her more control over the situation, and potentially more councilwomen who would vote with her. The daughter of Fujiko Harui and niece of Bobbi Torrence were involved, and in the past neither of those councilwomen could be counted upon to vote with Dixie Lou. If she could lay a trail showing the daughter and niece were responsible not only for kidnapping but for murder, it would give her two additional council votes. In exchange for their support, Dixie Lou would spare their family members.

  It was just politics.

  She stepped around the body and crossed the cavern. Down a little incline she located the entrances to three tunnels. Cold, forbidding darkness lurked inside each of them. If she wasn’t careful she could get lost in the moldy passageways of this ancient monastery.

  She hurried past the dead security guard, ran back up the stairs.

  * * *

  From the
ir hiding place in the shadows of an alcove, Lori and Alex watched.

  “I told you she was dangerous,” Alex said, his voice agitated.

  “But why one of her own guards?”

  “Who knows?”

  Carefully, Alex and Lori crossed the cavern, to the side of the fallen guard. Alex limped slightly from the twisted ankle, which he had wrapped tightly in a strip of cloth. Leaning over the body, he removed a radio handset and a small flashlight.

  Lori heard a noise behind them, on the stairway.

  “Halt!” a woman shouted.

  Looking up the long flight of stairs, Lori saw two security guards running down the steps. One shined a bright light on them.

  Alex and Lori fled across the cavern, with the guards shouting after them. A bullet ricocheted off the wall, whistling by Lori’s ear.

  “Alex Jackson! Stop!”

  Lori and Alex disappeared into the middle tunnel and ran for their lives.

  * * *

  On the sheer rock western face of Monte Konos, where centuries ago a medieval monk leaped to his death, a rope ladder dangled, writhing like a living creature in the wind-blown rain. Overhead, a transport helicopter throbbed, as its pilot fought to maintain control. Simultaneous with the kidnapping attempt, the conspirators had disabled the monastery’s air defense system, an effort aided by the storm.

  For Greek pilot Philikè Metaxas, the storm was a double-edged sword. He didn’t like the way the wind was picking up, reaching levels so dangerous that he might not be able to stay in the air. He glanced at his watch, then cursed as a gust buffeted the craft, causing the ladder below to whip violently against the cliff face.

  Where were Mila Bennett and the others? This was supposed to be a split-second operation to rescue the abused children, but it was nearly ten minutes past the deadline. He couldn’t afford to wait much longer.

  The strongest wind yet slammed into the helicopter, and Metaxas barely kept control of the craft. He ordered his crew to winch up the ladder. Mission aborted.