Codex

by Adrian Dawson

  Warner stared directly at Jack. The silence hung like mist for almost a minute.

  “You’re surmising,” Jack said eventually. Even he had noticed that Warner had found no definite link between Paulo and Frederico. There was one, he knew it, it was just that he could see that Warner still lacked the proof. If he had got it, he would have used it.

  “Gold plaque, Mr. Bernstein,” Warner continued, leaning forward. He was not stupid. He could see exactly what Jack’s expression was trying to insinuate. “Solid gold with a reference to chess. Just like Paulo and just like Dave...? Like I say, that’s my catalyst. So obvious as to be construed as deliberate. Now that’s one hell of a summation, wouldn’t you say?” He finished his coffee and signalled again for the waitress. “So now,” he continued defiantly, “The link is very simple. You ask Clearwater to do some digging, he then contacts this Paulo fella who then directs you, via the late Clearwater again to Brother Frederico. And all of this happens after your daughter’s flight explodes. It almost seems to me as if you’re on a quest for answers that are not for you to find. So now I have three dead people and three gold plaques.” He stared Jack straight in the eye. “Here’s a thought for you, Mr. Bernstein - I really don’t want to go uncovering any more.”

  His expression was now demanding. “So I figure it’s time you told me in painfully boring detail exactly what the hell is going on.”

  burn their chariots with fire

  Joshua 11:6

  After final prayers, as the disciples filed slowly from the temple and made their way to the refectory, Ephraim, along with The Joseph and the three Archangels, retired to a small chamber behind the balcony. Here, in silence, they removed their priestly robes and clothed themselves in the much plainer Essene gowns that they wore daily.

  On an ordinary day the chamber would have been empty throughout the service, but not today. On this, one of the most important days in Eternity’s long history, The Abraham, anxious to see that his well-crafted sermon was being delivered to the letter, had travelled the two miles from his mansion at Qumran to listen.

  Throughout his journey to the Temple he had been seen by no-one. Nor had anybody, Ephraim included, even known that he had been there. The reason that he had been able to make the journey and remain completely out of sight was due to an interlacing network of narrow tunnels that had been constructed across the settlement long before the first stone of the temple had been laid. It was this network that The Abraham used on occasion to watch and listen to his subjects in order to assess their devotion or deal with a potential lack of it.

  Within the settlement, only The Abraham was aware of the existence of the tunnels, because only The Abraham had been alive when they had been constructed as a defence against invasion from the Romans.

  Almost two thousand years ago.

  As Ephraim had been delivering his final prayer, The Abraham had carefully replaced the stone at the back of the Robing Chamber and followed the light of his torch down the stone staircase beyond. He had then made his way back, leisurely strolling through the rough-hewn earthen-walled labyrinth to Qumran.

  His smile had been broad and his eyes degenerate for the duration of his return journey. He had assured himself that Ephraim and all of his misguided sheep would do precisely what had been asked of them, and such knowledge pleased him infinitely. When the time came they would quietly turn themselves over to the authorities and refuse to offer any details about their lives. They would be taken away and lost forever and he would no longer have to keep up the pretence; the façade of which he was becoming increasingly tired.

  They had manufactured the things he needed and had done his every bidding for many years now as they laboured under the misapprehension that ‘The Child’ was in some way special. They were wrong. Far from being special, the boy was in truth no different to the others; he was there only to serve a purpose. Now, like the others, that purpose had come to an end.

  Only Zebulun had tasks which had yet to be performed. When they were complete The Abraham would hold the Word of God more firmly in his hands than he had ever done before. At the same time the world would be ravaged and he would finally hold the one thing he had craved all his elongated adult life - power beyond imagination.

  Truly the world in his hands.

  * * * * *

  Andy was still standing beside his car, speaking animatedly into his mobile phone. The voice on the other end of the line was checking that he had done everything that he was supposed to do. He already knew he had, and had told the man twice already. There was one thing, however, that was fresh. Worth mentioning.

  “Bernstein gave me a list,” he added with a concerned slant. “Some companies and products.”

  “It was expected,” the voice said.

  “But I’m gonna have to turn it over to the Feds,” Andy explained, “Otherwise he’ll start getting suspicious. He still thinks I got all the details I’ve just given him from them.”

  “You gave him the Koresh link?”

  “Sure did,” Andy replied. “Met The Abraham in Ephesus. All that shit. Bought it hook, line and sinker. Scared the hell out of him, too. Just like you said it would. Thing is, I think he’s got a Fed breathing down his neck right now and that kinda scares the shit outta me.”

  “The name of the agent?”

  “Warner,” Andy replied bluntly. “Same guy who told him about Lara’s death. I think he’s still digging.”

  “He will not find anything,” the voice replied. “He does not concern us.”

  Andy shrugged. It was not his problem. “Whatever you say.”

  “You have done well. The Abraham will be pleased.”

  “Yea? Well, as I’ve already explained,” Andy offered menacingly, “I don’t give a shit about The Abraham, I don’t give a shit about you and I don’t give a shit about your new Messiah. I just want to see a healthy majority come the presidentials next year and I suggest you remind The Abraham of that. He’d better not shaft me on this deal, because I’m not someone to be played with. I’m still a very powerful man.”

  “Of course you are.”

  * * * * *

  “Is your Senator friend still here?” Warner asked. “Because I think he and I need to have ourselves a little chat.”

  “I’ve told you,” Jack replied pompously. “He’s already consulting with the F.B.I. in Washington. They’re looking into everything I’ve given him and I’m sure they’ll involve you if and when they believe it’s necessary.”

  Warner smiled at Jack’s complete lack of understanding. “You really don’t get the picture, Mr. Bernstein, do you? I’m assigned to you whether you like it or not. And, guess what...? I’ve actually been looking into you whether... you like it or not. Once I discovered that Brother Frederico’s death might just have something to do with you speaking to him about heresy, I spoke directly with Alex Wright, the self-same agent your senator friend claims to have spoken to. That, by the way, was just last night. Short of seeing the senator’s name in the papers... he’s never heard of him.”

  Jack’s gentle smile of confidence disappeared. He turned quickly and strained his eyes to see through the fading crowd. With a sigh of relief he caught sight of the front end of Andy’s car. As the throng moved it brought the senator himself into view. He was standing exactly where he had been when Jack had left him, smiling confidently as he spoke on the phone.

  “Well, let’s go ask him, shall we?” Jack said.

  No way on God’s earth would Andy, of all people, fuck him over. There was obviously some confusion. He had little doubt that his friend would be able to clear it up.

  Then maybe, just maybe, he could get Warner off his back once and for all.

  * * * * *

  “So what do I do with the list?” Andy said.

  “As I say, it was expected.” There was a pause. “If you look now, you will find complete instructions behind the driver’s-side visor in your vehicle.”

  Skeptically, Andy opened the door o
f the hired Mercedes and eased his heavy frame into the seat. Once inside he closed the door, glanced furtively around the vehicle, and pulled down the sun visor. He was disappointed. The clear plastic holder contained only the standard hire company documentation.

  “I don’t see it,” he said, pressing the phone back to his ear.

  “The orange folder,” the voice said. “Look inside.”

  Andy removed the orange plastic folder from the clear pocket and opened it up. Rather than the standard list of helpful numbers and Triple-A approved recovery centres, he saw instead that something had been inserted.

  Long before he had arrived to collect the car that had been hired in his name.

  His jaw fell open and he started to sweat. Heavily. Unable to think straight, all he could do was stare directly forward in disbelief. Water started to drip from his brow. He looked straight down the beach. Straight to the suited figure, standing in silhouette by the water’s edge. The shape showed both that the man was completely bald, and that he held a mobile phone to his ear with one hand, something much smaller in the other. His finger was poised on the side of this object, as though ready to press some kind of button.

  Andy’s eyes widened.

  “You bastards,” he said, his voice breaking. “You lousy fucking bas....”

  “Goodbye Senator,” Zebulun said, confident that Andy had seen the plaque. He pressed the button.

  ~ KNIGHT TAKES KNIGHT ~

  * * * * *

  Jack called out to Andy as he climbed into the car, trying desperately not to miss him, but Andy didn’t hear. He was still too far away and wrapped in his conversation. As the two men approached, they could see that he was now removing an item from behind the sun-visor. It looked like the folder added by most car-hire companies to be referred to in the event of accident or breakdown.

  “Looks like your friend’s having car trouble,” Warner offered sardonically.

  Jack looked puzzled. There was no need for Andy to call a breakdown line, he need only to speak to Jack himself. He also looked very happy for a man whose car refused to start. “Why the hell didn’t he just come to...”

  It was too late.

  In an instant the view of Andy’s car was obliterated by a blinding orange-white light. Though they were still nearly thirty metres away, both Jack and Agent Warner were thrown backward, the immense force of the blast heating the air around them and filling it with high-speed shards of metal and glass. Both men instinctively shielded their faces and, for a few moments, were rendered helpless on the floor. Almost as soon as the explosion was over a second, smaller blast tore through the vehicle. The fuel tank, probably spared by the bomb itself, could stand the increasing heat and pressure no longer.

  After a few moments of eerie silence, fragments of the ruptured vehicle began to clatter noisily on the tarmac around them. There had been brief screams from the surrounding crowd, instinctive reactions, but the slicing of the blast had cut many of them short. Those who did not manage to dive for cover were knocked several feet away from where they had been standing. Some were breathless from the pressure wave, some were breathless because they were dead.

  In addition to Senator Andrew McKinnock, there would be seven other deaths that morning; those who had been too close to the car when the neatly packaged Semtex device had detonated. The Semtex that, in the aftermath, would convince Jack beyond any reasonable doubt that he was now definitively engaged in a subversive war against the people who had been directly responsible for the death of his daughter.

  Just as Simon had warned.

  Warner clambered roughly to his feet and surveyed the burning wreckage. He gently dusted the finer debris from his clothes as the first signs of blood began to spread through his silver hairline and flow the length of his cheeks. He had been injured more times than he could count and, having served in Vietnam for two years, had seen more people die right before his eyes than he had ever wanted, or dared, to count.

  He shook his head with a gentle, unaffected sense of dismay.

  “I’ll say it again,” he said calmly. “It looks like your friend’s having car trouble.”

  a bond with an oath

  Numbers 30:10

  Alone in the night, his body ensconced in the latent warmth of the soft sand and his face illuminated only by the pale blue of a low moon, Jack stared vacantly across the ocean, taking in everything and nothing. In his hands he held the plaque, still sealed in a clear evidence bag as it had been when Warner had asked him to take time and ‘have a real good look at it’. He did not know what the agent had expected him to uncover. Chess reference or not, Jack was as bemused as anyone else as to why these plaques were being left at the crime scenes.

  He was still well within the area cordoned off by the F.B.I., whilst far enough away from the repetitive flashing of emergency vehicle lights, and the sense of controlled confusion they brought with them like a riotous dancefloor, to attain the sense of peace he needed right now. They had been there all day, some removing the dead and injured whilst others brought in team after team of forensic investigators. After a few hours of getting in the way of the people who could actually help, he decided that he could take no more. He retreated.

  MaryBeth had immediately offered to take control of the press. Under the approval of Agent Warner (for the time being at least), there would be complete denial that this blast, so close to the NetCenter, was in any way designed to target either Jack Bernstein or IntelliSoft. It was quite obviously political, aimed at an ambitious senator around whom rumours were currently circulating that a presidential bid was in the offing.

  The thinking behind Warner’s approval was simply to stall the press hounds. Hopefully long enough for the true nature of the fox he was chasing to be uncovered.

  From the furthest corner of his left eye Jack saw an approaching shape. Though its journey lasted almost a minute across the soft sand, he made no attempt to turn or offer greeting. The gentle, ambling pace of the man and the billowing of the ubiquitous coat told him that it was Agent Warner without the need to look and confirm.

  With good reason, Warner looked deeply concerned. Everything Jack had told him about his dealings with the senator had attained a painful, horrifically fresh significance in light of the blast. The man had trusted his friend with information that should have followed a direct route from Jack to F.B.I. headquarters in Quantico. In reality, his friend’s only course of action had been to block that route. It was hard to believe that the blockage was not deliberate. So, whilst Jack was being treated by the emergency teams, three tiny shards of glass being removed from his right cheek, Warner had made further enquiries. He had posed a number of questions and had received a number of answers. Numbers which did not add up.

  He handed coffee in a paper cup and carefully lowered himself onto the sand.

  “Thanks,” Jack said, carefully peeling the lid.

  It had been a lamely-delivered, lifeless comment, but Warner seized on it all the same. “Do you know,” he said casually, looking out through the night to the dark line of the horizon, “that’s the first pleasant thing you’ve ever said to me?”

  Jack seemed disinterested. He looked into his coffee for answers that were never going to be there. “It’s the first time you’ve brought me anything other than shit.”

  Warner smiled a defeat. It was a fair comment.

  For a short while neither man cared to speak again. The darkness was intensifying with every silent minute that passed and the moon was casting an immense white ripple across the furthest expanses of the ocean, the breeze growing as the latent heat diminished.

  Even Warner, happiest in the thick of it, seemed to appreciate a brief moment of tranquility.

  “Was Andy working for them?” Jack said quietly, the silence breaking apart as the question slithered out from hardened lips, cold emphasis hammering the final word.

  Warner sighed and also looked into the depths of his cup. Unlike Jack’s his was now empty. Which probably expla
ined why there were no answers forthcoming. A few moments later he sighed again, even though he was pleased that Jack’s perception had removed the burden of him having to be the one to suggest the worst.

  “Can’t say for sure,” he replied eventually. “But I can say that it’s a very distinct possibility, and it’s undoubtedly the line of investigation that I will be following first. He’s certainly not spoken to any of the people he’s claimed to in Washington and there’s no way to get a trace on his final conversation because he didn’t make the call himself. Forensics are pretty sure that the car wasn’t wired via the ignition, though. Whatever went off in there was activated by remote.”

  “So you think he was talking to whoever detonated the device?”

  Warner smiled. Jack’s ability to solve puzzles was clearly evident. “Can’t say. But, yeah... I’d reckon so.” He looked around the pale blue sands of an empty moonlit beach. “And I reckon they were close enough to be watching him as well.”

  “And us.”

  Warner looked away and nodded. “And us.”

  Jack looked again at the plaque. Knight takes knight; still splattered with melted fragments of the visor-pack. “He was reading it when the car went up,” Warner said.

  “So what about Dave and Frederico? What about the Spanish kid? Were they working for ‘them’?”