Codex

by Adrian Dawson

  MaryBeth’s face scowled jerkily on the small screen. “And it’s definitely the same directors for all four investment houses?”

  Jack nodded. “Same six for the same four.” He glanced left to his larger screen and read aloud. “We have the four smaller ones listed as A. Turow, T. L. Thibeault, K. Halil and P. Jörgensen. The names of the larger investor are unlisted. My guess is we have to justify that information if we need it..”

  “Interesting,” MaryBeth said. “Now T. L. Thibeault... That’s a name that rings dark bells.”

  “Yeah? Whose?”

  “If it’s the same guy, and I’m guessing it is, then his full name’s Theodore Lionel Thibeault. Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t he the investment banker, the one that moved from New York to Hong Kong and got himself disgraced in that big insider scandal? The one that nearly brought down ShyengBank about six years ago?”

  Jack smiled gently. “Yeah, he was... It was seven years ago.” Jack suddenly remembered the case. Seven years ago he had been striking a deal with Vickers Brown Venture Capital, New York, the previous employer of the ‘rogue banker’ as the press had labelled Thibeault. Vickers Brown had invested a minor sum in IntelliSoft at the time of the man’s arrest in Hong Kong and, because he was an ex-employee of theirs, he had been a fairly major topic of conversation throughout V.B.’s corridors. “As I recall he skipped bail before the trial and hasn’t shown up since.”

  “Until now,” MaryBeth added. “Now he’s showing up on the board of directors of four investment companies and they in turn seem to have significant interests in companies who are buying... what did you call them...? ‘Ingredients’.’ She looked pensively at the screen. “But ingredients for what?”

  “I don’t know, but I think I’ll start by doing a spot of digging into our Mr. Thibeault,” Jack said. “I’ll have a word with Doug Brown at V.B. in the morning, see what I can get from his past. Then I’ll see if Technical Research can look into the highlighted items on the lists for me and somehow string them together.”

  “Are there any that seem to stand out to the untrained...?” MaryBeth asked.

  “Not really,” Jack replied. “As I say, I’ll get T.R. onto it. Right now I’ve got to get some sleep. There’s really nothing more I can do until tomorrow morning.”

  “Okay,” Marybeth said with a gentle smile. “Let me know how you get on, yeah?”

  He nodded at the laptop and closed the connection.

  As the time approached one o’clock in the morning, jetlagged and suffering severe eye-strain, Jack was back on that anxious threshold of deep sleep. As it happened he would wait all night, hoping against hope that his confused state of mind would finally relent just long enough for him to cross.

  Of course, it never did.

  gathered up all the money

  Genesis 47:14

  One o’clock in California; ten in Zürich and the man had an appointment. He walked with confident pace along the Limmat Quay, past the 17th century Guildhall and paused in the long morning shadows cast by the twin towers of the Grössmunster. It was a clear day and he could see the smaller town of Küsnacht in the distance, its buildings dwarfed by the mountains whose snow-capped peaks were mirrored perfectly in the unnaturally still waters of the Zürichsee.

  He liked Zürich, primarily because it was home to two of his greatest loves; culture and money. The Old Town especially, with its complete lack of the dark glass monolithic corporate headquarters which seemed increasingly to erupt on every corner of every major trade centre throughout the world, possessed a disarming quality. There were immense sums changing hands behind the scenes and sometimes the only visible evidence seemed to be the extortionate prices charged by the similarly low-key shops and boutiques which nestled throughout the town.

  Today he did not even bother to glance in their windows as he strolled. There was nothing he needed, and probably nothing now that he ever would. The Child was among them and such material possessions would be all-but worthless in the coming of the New Kingdom.

  He continued alongside the Quay, crossing over via the Quaibrücke and walking up the Talstrasse’s cobbled streets until he reached his quest. Another small, unimposing building which faced the Börse, its Romanesque architecture doing nothing to set it apart from the many which surrounded it.

  The Banque du Crédit Unité was, in every sense of the word, discreet.

  He entered the shaded foyer and introduced himself to the receptionist. There were no tellers or clerks in sight. That was not how the Crédit Unité worked. Visits were by appointment only.

  A few moments later a slim, bespectacled man in his late fifties came out across the marbled foyer, his conservatively stylish dress a testament to the sizeable sums he was entrusted with overseeing. The two men shook hands vigorously.

  “Benjamin,” he said with genuine enthusiasm, “it is so very good to see you. It has been... how long?”

  “Too long,” Benjamin replied with a smile and they retired to Philippe Castille’s sumptuous office.

  They talked cordially and innocently of Benjamin’s journey for the few minutes it took for silvered coffee to arrive and then Philippe saw the receptionist out, asked her to hold all calls without exception and locked the door firmly behind her.

  They were alone.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure?’ Philippe asked. “I must say that when you told me you were coming I was somewhat surprised.” He looked worried. “Is there a problem, perhaps? Are you not happy with the management of the funds because if there is a problem, any problem at all, I would be happy to...”

  “The time is now,” Benjamin said calmly. Only his eyes, and the way they looked upward as he spoke, betrayed the fact that he was perhaps not quite as disaffected as he was attempting to be. “The Child is among us.”

  A silence fell swiftly across the room. Benjamin had arrived five minutes early and the only sounds now were the bells of the thirteenth century Saint Peter’s Church as they heralded ten o’clock in the near distance. Philippe stood from his chair and walked to the window. He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

  It made no difference. In an instant the town - the whole world - was a different place. Everything had taken on a new meaning, a new significance.

  And it had happened in this lifetime.

  Phillippe felt for his father, the man who, like his own father before him, had managed the bank all his working life. He too had prayed that he would be chosen to serve, knowing all along that the possibilities were slight, and he would have felt an immeasurable pride at this moment. The pride that Philippe had unwittingly inherited.

  “Abraham has confirmed this?” he said, turning around.

  Benjamin, though still a year shy of forty, scowled slightly. He hated references to The Abraham that omitted the word ‘The’. There were many people called Abraham in this infested world, but only one who would ultimately save it. The scowl slid away from his face, such pettiness was unimportant now. He slicked back his thinning hair and nodded.

  “Mon Dieu,” Philippe said, and smiled. “Then Monsieur Thibeault is indeed a privileged man, yes?”

  Benjamin seemed not to appreciate the comment and Phillippe thought for a moment. Seriously. “Yes, of course,” he continued quietly, as though the implications were starting to settle like snowflakes in his mind, “we are all privileged men.”

  Theodore Lionel Thibeault - Benjamin - opened his briefcase and laid a white envelope on the green leather inlay of Philippe’s desk. It was an instruction. Direct from The Abraham. The older man hurried to his chair so that he might open it, but Benjamin laid his hand down and prevented its immediate retrieval.

  “I should not need to remind you that these are by far your most important instructions,” he said. His voice was calm but was, as ever, laced with a commanding menace that demanded results. “They must be followed to the letter.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Philippe said. He did not need reminding of the implic
ations of failure. “I will give them my best attention.”

  “You will give them all your attention,” Benjamin corrected, and removed his hand.

  Philippe opened the envelopes and studied the sheets contained inside. As manager of the bank chosen by The Abraham to manage the funds for all of Eternity’s business activities, he knew to the penny, cent and centime how much money was currently distributed throughout the world. The instructions told him now that things were about to change.

  ‘The Seventh Account’, so called because it would only come into play at the opening of the seventh seal; the time of the end, was to receive every penny of Eternity’s vast funds. Until now it had been a small concern, its balance never rising higher than a few thousand U.S. Dollars. Now it would inflate to hundreds of millions. And it would do so at a given time on a given date. A date that was less than twelve full days away.

  “Does this mean....?” Philippe asked. His heart was beating stronger with every word.

  Benjamin nodded calmly, his eyes still retaining their knowing glint. “Yes it does.”

  The implications had become a snowstorm, blinding Philippe to all other things. The Abraham’s instructions aside there were things that needed to be done, arrangements that needed to be made. Personal arrangements.

  And there was so little time.

  “I have a wife,” he said quietly, “and a son. He is at university in England, his studies finish in the summer but there is no time for me to....”

  “The Righteous will be saved,” Benjamin assured him; his lies delivered as confidently as his truths. “The Abraham looks favourably on those who place their faith in The Child.”

  He rose to his feet, the conversation concluded, and took Philippe’s clammy hand in his, shaking it gently but firmly.

  “To the letter,” he said.

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Philippe repeated, although his fears were inherent in every syllable he uttered. The world was about to change; his faith was about to be tested. Judgement was coming.

  Theodore Lionel Thibeault, financial mastermind scourged by those he had defrauded and dangerously high on Interpol’s most-wanted list, walked out from the office, out of the building and out of the public domain for the final time before that judgement arrived.

  As he walked the final stretch to the Quay, he watched as the cold reflections in the waters demonstrated how easily nature could create a mirror image of the world. Theodore’s thoughts turned to The Child, and how he would do the same. Righteous would replace evil and truth would replace corruption.

  When he reappeared from the anonymity of shadow he would truly be Benjamin; Financier of the New Kingdom.

  come again the seventh day

  Leviticus 14:39

  As he parked up by the waterfront, deliberately ignoring the restriction signs, even Andy could not deny that the IntelliSoft NetCenter was supremely eye-catching, albeit in a style a little too trendy for the cut of his own suits. He had seen the plans and the animated three-dimensional computer-generations when he had first discussed the FireWorX system with Jack, but had never seen the actual building so close to completion. It was situated at the southern edge of Rodondo Beach, its hexagonal yellow framework and tinted glass panels glistening and reflecting the bright morning sunlight as the freshly-added holo-sphere allowed the IntelliSoft logo to rotate on an invisible air-stream like a hovering gas-station sign. If Rodondo really was, as they claimed, ‘Nethead Mecca’, then this was their new temple. There were even crowds gathered down on the sand, all facing east and listening to a few quick soundbites from Jack Bernstein; technology’s latest prophet.

  MaryBeth was close by, watching with a broad public relations smile as her boss delivered his well-practised ‘thanks for coming’ speech from beneath the glaring yellow of the digital countdown.

  The construction team were already erecting the full-size press and TV gantry behind the NetCenter so that the gathered representatives could catch the on-screen race. Come launch day the crowds would be much larger, not least upstate at the campus. Thousands would gather around the ever-changing world at the same time as thousands more gathered in just one place.

  Just as every penny of Eternity’s funds was doing exactly the same thing.

  When the speech was over, the net-heads on the beach gently applauded and helped themselves to free soda, organised via a mutually beneficial sponsorship deal, whilst MaryBeth disappeared to offer the standard fifteen minute slots for one-on-one interviews with strategically-chosen members of the global press.

  Jack had climbed down from the makeshift podium and shaken quite a few enthusiastic hands before he caught sight of Andy. He was still standing beside his car, obviously appreciating the cooling breeze which rolled in over the rich blue of the ocean, and wiping away the reams of sweat which had gathered on his forehead during his drive down from the airport.

  When he asked the Senator what he had come up with, Jack was almost unable to believe what he was told in response.

  “Nothing at all?” he said. He had hoped for something. He needed something.

  “Not in Turkey,” Andy replied, more than aware of what this would mean to Jack. “I spoke to a friend of mine, Alex Wright, who heads the CRT section at Quantico.” His reference had been to the Cults and Religious Terrorism Section, the team who had, over the years, been responsible for investigating everything from Martin Luther King to Jonestown. “There’s nothing on his files matching more than three or four of your key phrases, and those that do are all based in the United States. Hell, the files go so far back that some of those we found don’t even exist any more.”

  “So I have absolutely nothing to go on?” Jack asked, though he could not believe he was actually having to say the words. He turned away in despair, placed his hands on the railings and looked vacantly across the expanse of the ocean. He had hoped that Andy’s influence would pull him a lot closer. It actually felt now as though the child was slipping further away.

  Andy sighed and checked that his hair was still flat against the breeze. “Well, not exactly,” he said quietly. Slowly. “I do have something. It’s slim and it probably won’t help you much, but...”

  “What?” Jack replied, turning swiftly. “What is it?”

  Andy cast him a ‘don’t get your hopes up’ look. “You remember The Branch Davidians?” Jack looked blank. “Waco, Texas?” Andy prompted.

  Jack nodded worriedly. It was a few years back, but he had seen the news. “FBI and ATF sent some tanks in and wiped them all out, didn’t they?”

  “Most of ‘em,” Andy said. “They’re now officially defunct or, at the very least, heavily fragmented but it’s the lead-up to the siege that seemed to hint at something.”

  Jack looked intrigued and expectant. They started walking. “Go on.”

  “Well, it seems the Branch Davidians were actually a direct offshoot of The Seventh Day Adventists. They broke away in 1929 claiming that the SDAs half-million membership was getting complacent and that the numbers should be whittled down to the biblical 144,000 servants of God or some such shit. For years they were a pretty harmless, if loud-mouthed bunch until a guy called Vernon Howell joined them in 1981. He took over as leader in ‘88.”

  Jack shrugged. The name meant nothing to him.

  “David Koresh?” Andy asked and Jack nodded. Koresh had been the well-publicised leader of the Branch Davidians at the time of the siege. “One and the same,” he continued. “He changed his name, getting ‘David’ from the line of David and ‘Koresh’ from the Hebrew for ‘Sun’. Anyway, Koresh is an OK kind of a guy when he joins but, when the survivors of the 52 day siege were questioned, they claimed that he changed dramatically over time. The most profound change came after a visit to Israel in ‘85.”

  They were passing an empty bench and Jack turned to sit down. Andy, his large frame not used to walks any longer than the one from his desk to his drinks cabinet, did the same. “What kind of change are we talking?” Jack asked, r
ealising that this was very probably going to form the crux of the story.

  “Well... it seems he came back spouting very specific passages from Bible like they were going out of fashion and that’s when he went all-out to seize control of the Davidians. His defence was that he was now the recipient of the final message of God; the so-called Seventh Seal. Which made him, in his own eyes, the Seventh Messenger of the Book of Revelation. According to F.B.I. files he claimed that a New Saviour was coming and that he was preparing the way so that his own followers could be granted eternal life.”

  “Preparing the way?” Jack asked. He could see the links starting to take form; a caterpillar turning into a moth. Certainly not a butterfly. “How was he going to do that?”

  Andy laughed wickedly. “By tooling his people up like an army, apparently. That was why the ATF wanted the camp in Waco storming. I mean, this guy was like seriously fucked up; ready to start a war according to the files.”

  Or respond to one, Jack thought.

  “And all this came from whatever he discovered in Israel?” he asked.

  “No, my friend,” Andy offered. “This came from whatever he discovered in Turkey.” He saw Jack’s eyes widen. One hell of a link. “Nobody was particularly tracking him whilst he was in Israel; he wasn’t regarded as the top-quality douche he actually transpired to be back then. Anyway, he travels around a lot visiting a number of religious sites; Wailing Wall and the like. When he came back he claims to have ‘spoken with Abraham in the valley at Ephesus’. Whether or not he meant that literally or figuratively, who knows, but it was that meeting which fucked him up big time. If he meant it literally, then that means that one of his trips was to Turkey, which ain’t that far from Israel in the great scheme of things.”