Codex

by Adrian Dawson

  9. .... f7xe6

  And took the knight instead.

  “One thing still bugs me,” Warner said pensively.

  “What’s that?” Jack asked, studying the pieces on the board and looking increasingly perturbed.

  “This primer thing, this key to the code. Do you think it’s wise to use a computer system to find it?”

  Jack scowled. “What makes you say that?”

  10. Bd3-g6 ....

  Check. Bad news. He was now forced to side-step his king.

  “Because the word ‘computer’ was embedded in an area of text that said ‘sealed until the time of the end’. Is that not, you know... tempting fate?”

  Jack shrugged impassively. “I need to know what I’m handing over, that’s all.”

  “Yeah, but my guess is you’d still try to find it, even if there was no deal with Simon. Am I right?”

  10. .... Ke8-d8

  For a moment Jack did not answer and the room fell silent. Whilst he was now a piece up, he realised that his current position was far from healthy. His king was stranded in the middle of the board, he was unable to castle and, as a consequence, he had no co-ordination. He was not only losing, but also losing faith.

  11. Bc1-f4 b7-b5 12. a2-a4 Bc8-b7 13. Rf1-e1

  “The primer’s not everything, you know,” Jack said. “You’d still need a very powerful computer to break the entire code, even when the primer was known. It’s very complex.”

  “We had a powerful computer system once,” Warner offered, crossing his arms dismissively. “Big bastard; a mainframe I think you call them. Real hot shit. One day, on the way to the office, I saw three kids stealing it from a garbage cage by the parking lot. The Bureau had put a new one in and the other didn’t even have scrap value any more.”

  “And one day all Quotients will be the same, you mean? Simon will pick one up for a few dollars and uncover the future with it?” He shrugged again. “I made a deal and that’s the chance I take.”

  “Then you’re playing a very dangerous game.”

  Jack was in deep trouble now. Lara’s virtual troops were pressuring him from all sides and his rook was stranded in the corner doing nothing. Worst of all, his king was horrifically exposed.

  He was finally beginning to realise that there was very little chance of him winning this game.

  * * * * *

  MaryBeth’s body was silhouetted in the glare of the open doorway and she stared with a hatred that burned through every pore on her face. The rain had caused the ceremonial make-up to run yet further and her cheeks were now almost completely hidden beneath the veils. Her long hair was soaked and draped around her face and her dress clung like fly-paper to her body.

  The Abraham had been remarkably easy to find. She had known that he would have escaped Turkey long before the Marines arrived, leaving the child behind as planned, but it was Zebulun who had told her where precisely she would find him. He was in Los Angeles, although in reality she should have guessed that already. The Abraham was never far from his well-laid plans. The close nature of the timings had meant that Zebulun had brought both his final envelopes with him to her house; the one that contained her name and the one that contained Jack’s; KNIGHT TAKES KING - CHECKMATE. That final envelope, still unopened in his pocket when she found it, had also detailed where Zebulun must bring The Abraham’s prize once he had completed both tasks.

  Now she was here in his place.

  That version of the new history would be lost forever. She would personally see to it.

  The apartment was dark, cold and filthy. It had obviously been rented hastily by The Abraham with no awkward questions regarding references or identification, but it surprised her to see him in such a squalid environment. Here was a man of opulence and luxury who looked desperately out of place.

  He was kneeling with his back to her, praying at a single candle mounted on a black steel holder four feet in height. She saw the flickering glow steal around his body, silhouetting his broad shoulders as they moved gently to the rhythm of his quiet meditation.

  “Magdalene,” he said softly, never once turning around. “I did not expect to see you.”

  “I’ll bet you didn’t, you bastard.”

  The Abraham stood and turned to face her with a cold smile that sent a wave of ice the length of her spine. “You should not be here,” he said calmly. “You should be dead.”

  Her head lowered and her shoulders raised, MaryBeth walked confidently to the centre of the room, her eyes looking upward and deep into his. The venom in them was unrestrained. “We were partners,” she spat, “fifty-fifty. And you were going to what...?” She creased her eyes. “..send me the way of The Baptist? How dare you attempt to steal my destiny from me?”

  The Abraham’s face was one of cold, calculated lack of interest. “You possessed no destiny, Magdalene; you served a purpose, just like all the others.”

  “But I’m not like all the others, am I?” MaryBeth spat. “Because I am The Magdalene; The Miriam. I introduced you to The Baptist and I made him accept you. You would not be The Abraham now were it not for me. I cannot believe that I trusted you with control.”

  The Abraham smiled. “It will be your undoing. Like the others you served my needs and mine alone. Everything you did, you did for me.” His words slow and deliberate with no attempt made to feign remorse. Then he shrugged, accepting MaryBeth’s fate on her behalf.

  “And now your work is done.”

  the king removed her

  from [being] queen

  2 Corinthians 15:16

  His eyes heavy with memories, Jack leaned back in his chair and watched as his virtual daughter brushed a wisp of rendered mousy-brown hair from her eyes. She looked straight back at him and smiled a pre-coded smile. There was no love or affection contained within it. Not even Geoff had been able to program that.

  Warner was asleep in his chair, his now familiar snoring breaking the silence in long, measured strokes. Jack shook his head and stared toward the virtual window. The cameras were currently capturing a glorious sunrise over the campus and recreating its beauty on the 4096 x 2048 pixel plasma screen on the furthest wall. Long shadows ran from the benches and trees, their deep warmth creating a harmonised contrast with the yellow-tinged brightness of the manicured lawns.

  On the corner of the table housing the chess board was a small black box resembling a remote control. On its face were fifteen coloured buttons; five red, five green and five blue. Each colour denoted a different view facility; entrances, externals and pre-recorded vistas respectively. Jack toggled through the buttons and the view changed accordingly. It was still dark and the campus was immersed in an eerie quiet. He pressed another three buttons, sighed with boredom, and then returned to the first; the standard window view.

  “You look worried,” Lara said, her tonal generators proportionately lowered in volume. She had read the data sent from her thermal imagers and interpreted Jack’s mood. She had even used her built-in intelligence to comment on it. For the briefest of moments, she almost sounded concerned. Jack smiled an acknowledgement and forced a long, defeatist sigh.

  But as he analysed his bad play, and Lara’s ability to capitalise on it, Jack started to realise something. Something very important. Every move that Lara had made now started to seem strangely familiar. It was as if he had, quite literally, lived those moves.

  When full realisation came it surrounded his body like a heavy fog. In its midst it brought the worst fear that Jack could imagine and his skin felt cold and tight. It was a sudden inexorable fear of his quest and of everything he had done in its name. Worse still, a fear of the mistakes he had made. Lara had played well. Very well. She had even discarded two key pieces in order to secure her victory. A knight and a pawn. They had been brought into the fray for one reason and one reason alone; to lure Jack into a weak position. They were calculatedly sacrificed when their task was complete, leaving other pieces to finish the assault.

  In an instant his ey
es were opened to previously unseen realities. One game of chess with his daughter had shown him something so blindingly obvious that he had been totally unable to see it before. He knew now that there was one key thing which had eluded him regarding the cult.

  They had not killed either Dave, Andy, Frederico or Paulo.

  Somebody else had.

  * * * * *

  The anger on MaryBeth’s face intensified. “I made you what you are, Simon. I uncovered the line of David and I found those who would give birth to The First Christ. Like you I watched him grow, I pertained to follow his teachings and then joined his number. When you became head of the West Manasseh Magi and were denounced as a zealot I helped to choose people that would gain you the influence you needed. Sicariotes the assassin; Jonathan Annas the Father; Matthew Annas; Thaddaeus; Philip; Bartholomew. Even Thomas, born of the Herods. All of them were my idea.”

  She looked at him with contempt for what he was trying to do. It was obvious that he had respected none of her achievements. “It was even my idea to enlist Simon Peter and Andrew so that they might move the focus away from how many dangerous people we placed by His side. I even managed to convince him that I had denounced my allegiance to the seven seals, so that he might not suspect my involvement. Do you not remember?”

  The Abraham laughed openly. “Mary Magdalene, out of whom he had cast seven devils? Oh yes, I remember, and I do so love the corruptive power of history, don’t you?”

  MaryBeth sneered. “I did it for us, Simon, not for you alone. When The Christ failed to decipher the book I even married him for God’s sake. I married him. I bore the first descendants so that we could be assured of the saviour rising from David’s line.”

  “But it was I who decreed that He should live beyond his crucifixion,” The Abraham explained, looking up, “and it is to my credit that I did because the child within in you was Tamar; a girl. Of no use to me. I did not need a daughter of God, I needed a Son.”

  “So you allowed him to live? So what? Simon the Magician creates one more piece of faultless sorcery? Faultless my ass. You nearly lost him. You overused the gall and your mistake nearly lost him.”

  The Abraham shrugged nonchalantly. “It was a masterpiece, Magdalene. My timing of the sequence, as ever, was perfect. I chose the site, I made sure the crowds were far enough away and I enlisted the help of the Cyrene to take my place on the cross. When The Christ gave himself up he gave himself up to me, I was the one already in the tomb, not you. I had the myrrh and I had the aloes. There was never any doubt in my mind that he would live because I am Simon Magus. I truly am the first magician; my ability to fool the populous with timing is infallible. The people were in awe. They thought they were seeing visions and I became a legend.”

  “A legend? You’re nothing more than a cheap showman, Simon. Immortality did not give you intelligence. You are nothing more than a trickster, altering perceptions through slight of hand. How legendary would you have been if he had died?” MaryBeth asked.

  “He didn’t.”

  “And what of Sicariotes? He played his part faultlessly; as you instructed. And you took him to the edge of the cliffs, telling him that you would bless him with the gift, And then you had him thrown from the edge. Acts 1:16, Simon. Cleverly worded, but your boasts are still there for all to see. You killed a man who served us well.” The unmistakable pain in MaryBeth’s eyes intensified. “I for one respected him.”

  “And I, as I have told you many times before, Magdalene, did not. He did not command my respect because he was greedy and insidious. He felt that his ridiculous piece of play-acting was worthy of Eternal Life. It was not.”

  “You didn’t like Sicariotes because of his relationship with me,” MaryBeth sneered. “You killed him for no other reason than that you could not bear for me to be close to anyone whilst I was enduring my marriage.” She paused, thinking through the pain she had felt. “So what of me? I was the first to be honoured by The Baptist whilst you, Simon, were merely the second. Do you ever wish that I did not possess Eternal Life? Do you wish that I had fled to Gaul and died as your precious history dictated?”

  “Of course not,” Simon protested without conviction. “Because, so far, you have served me well. You joined Bernstein’s company and you convinced the girl to join us. I would not be so close to issuing judgment now were it not for you.”

  “And this is how you choose to repay me, by sending Zebulun to remove my head?”

  “A partnership,” Simon said calmly, “is the worst kind of ship to ever set sail. What you did, you did for me. I wrote the script and I controlled the events. When she had given birth to the child it was I who made her run home to her precious daddy, I who ensured that she was followed and I who had the device placed aboard her flight. Do you think that Bernstein would have been so eager to get involved if his precious daughter had simply been shot by an unknown assailant? One more senseless murder with no great implications?” He shook his head. “No, Magdalene, he would not.”

  He looked right into her deep eyes and she felt the strength of his gaze; still the most powerful she had ever known. Even now it dominated her. Just as it had when they had first met and joined forces against The Baptist. His voice was raised now, thrown around the room like a blanket of dark sound. “I made it big, Magdalene. I made it so unbelievably big that Bernstein had to get involved. I fed him small details and intrigued him so much that he never even thought to get suspicious as to who I really was. Even now he does not suspect me as The Abraham; nor that he has stolen the book for me... from me.”

  “He still believes that because everything Eternity possesses; Pegasus and Mørkhest, Red Knight and Borac, have been eliminated that it is all over.” he continued. “By the time he is dead and anyone realises that this is merely the beginning, many thousands will have died. The world will have been broken in two and it will be too late. I will truly hold the Word of God and those who I allow to live will kneel before my greatness.”

  He smiled confidently. “This, Magdalene, was a master plan, masterfully executed.”

  “Jack nearly gave up,” MaryBeth said defiantly. “When he got off the plane after seeing you in London he was lost, you had made it too difficult. So I took him to the cafe area in the hope that he would take note of the luggage trailers. I have consistently done everything I was supposed to do.”

  “I owe you nothing because you have failed me, Magdalene. You have failed me because what you were supposed to do - an hour ago - was die for me. That way, Bernstein would fear for his own pitiful life and work as quickly as possible to crack the code. You were nothing more than a pawn and now I fear I should have labelled you as such on your plaque.” He turned his back to her in abject ignorance.

  MaryBeth could take no more, it was time to act. Carefully reaching behind her dress she lifted a small flap of black material. Then, when she was certain that the dagger was firmly in her grasp she took a deep breath and lunged...

  The final triumph would belong to The Miriam, not to The Abraham.

  The power of her forward surge slammed her slender frame against the wall and she fell crushingly to the floor, the candle falling by her side. She was sure that she had caught Simon; just enough to temporarily wound him. Just enough to allow her the time she would need to remove his head.

  But she was wrong.

  Simon had sidestepped. Time was his favourite weapon and he had known that it had only been a matter of time before she made an attempt to save herself. He had been more than ready for her. Leaving the still-lit candle to spread its hungry flame across the floor, he lifted the steel holder and swung it down, catching MaryBeth across the side of the head and knocking her to her hands and knees. Then he paced angrily around the room, thinking and only turning to face her intermittently. How dare the Magdalene attempt to fight against his will?

  “You are going to ruin everything, you filthy whore,” he said, vile anger tearing through every syllable. He approached her body, the makeshift wea
pon poised for a second strike. “Two thousand years I have waited for the technology. Twelve years I have manipulated Bernstein and those around him. I have even made the followers believe that Bernstein’s child presented us with a Saviour, just so that they might hand themselves over without a struggle. And then, today of all days, you were going to ruin it all.” He paced angrily around her sunken body. “Zebulun was to kill Bernstein and retrieve my prize. Now I am forced to go there myself; to dirty my own hands. The clock is still ticking and my stupidly devout Zebulun is unable to complete his final task. All... because... of you!!!”

  He swung a second time, harder. The holder found its mark again and slammed MaryBeth flat to the floor. The blood began to run thick across the tattered beige carpet from her cracked skull, but Simon knew that she would not die in this way. She had his power and he needed to remove it. Permanently.

  He walked to the other side of the room. The drapes were now alight and flames were stealing up the walls and across the ceiling. Faced with the searing heat and thick smoke an ordinary man might be fearing for his life. Simon Magus did not give the fire a second thought.

  Because Simon Magus was no ordinary man.

  He opened a long black case which had been placed beside the television set and removed a Turkish Yataghan identical to the one that MaryBeth had possessed; the one that was supposed to have removed her head. The pair had been gifts from none other than Abd al-Hamid who had suspended Turkey’s parliament and installed a highly autocratic government in 1878. It was Simon’s money that had helped al-Hamid restore financial stability within the country. Abd al-Hamid had been grateful for his power and had not only offered the prized Yataghans, but also allowed the Eternity followers to remain undetected in Kozlar with his blessing.

  He too had done just as The Abraham had instructed.

  MaryBeth, bloodied and weak, was already making a vain attempt to lift herself back to her feet. Her legs were beneath her and her hands were resting in expanding pools of her own blood. Though her eyes were open, her vision was impaired by the thick red liquid; she could barely see the floor beneath her.