The Sinner King: Book of Fire
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The Sinner King: Book of Fire
Crislip, D. R.
Donald Ray Crislip (2012)
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It is said, through prophecy, that every 3,500 years a battle for mankind begins—the victor takes control of Earth and rewrites mankind’s existence.
The last battle occurred in the year 2003 AD and evil prevailed. And now . . . it is happening again.
• • • • • • •
While covering the war in Iraq, Time magazine journalist William Coulee meets a mysterious beauty unlike any woman before. Rebecca Badeau is supposed to be a volunteer helping restore the National Museum of Iraq, however it’s only a cover for her real mission: locating a world-altering power not seen since the reign of King Solomon. But when tragedy strikes—and Rebecca is killed—William is left to pick up the pieces. He uncovers Rebecca’s secret and discovers an unbelievable truth about life after death—one that goes beyond his accepted reality . . . and spirituality.
Over a thousand years later, William’s journey is rediscovered and its shocking outcome is revealed. However the person doing the discovering isn’t ready for what she reads, or the terrible effect it has on her life. Where William’s quest ended, Rebecca’s re-begins . . . launching an epic race to recover the biblical power before it falls into evil’s hands . . . for a second time.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Title
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgements
A Note From The Author
The Sinner King: Book of Fire
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-four
Epilogue
Coming Soon
About The Author
The Sinner King:
BOOK OF FIRE
A novel by D.R. Crislip
PUBLISHED BY DONALD RAY CRISLIP
All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
ISBN 978-0-615-69094-0
Copyright © 2012 by Donald Ray Crislip
All Rights Reserved
August 2012
For my wife, Nici . . .
Her unparalleled support and passion for this book is the reason why it happened.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:
I would like to express my gratitude to all of the people who helped make this book what it is today; without their help, The Sinner King: Book of Fire may still be exceedingly long and equally confusing.
Thank you to my brother Ken Crislip for challenging me to find a creative and yet simple way to intertwine both William's and Rebecca's story without losing rhythm. And to my friend, Mike Cottrill, who reinforced my brother's opinion but also supplied enthusiastic support for the characters and the plot, which aided me in finding a solution that created minimal impact on the overall plot and increased the positive experience for the reader.
I would also like to thank my friend Austin Rademacher, who spent a large chunk of his free, and sometimes not-so-free, time reading an earlier draft. His incredible review gave me fuel to continue onward through the bleakest of times. And to my cousin Cristi Miller, who read this book in two days and gave me the best criticism of all: her frustration with having to wait to read the next book in the series.
To my parents: thank you for never saying, "You're incapable." I would like to thank my father for instilling the desire to vigorously study history, and to my mother for helping me find my passion in art and instilling confidence in my abilities. Without my parents' love and support, I would not be the person I am today.
And last but absolutely far from least, I would like to thank my wife, Nici. She has been by my side the entire six-year duration and has supported me through thick and thin, through rejection after rejection, and never once waivered in her opinion: that this is a good book and worth finishing. It was her encouragement that convinced me to write, it was her faith that convinced me to self-publish, and it was her love that pulled me through to the end.
If it weren't for all of these people you probably wouldn't be reading this and I would probably still be revising . . . thank God.
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
Writing this book (series) has been an enormous exercise in deciding how far to push the boundaries of accepted reality and of the truths we call Facts (which are really beliefs that we, as in society, accept as factual) without being too offensive. I'm not stating that ALL Facts are accepted truths; I'm simply stating that many Facts are in fact accepted truths. This book contains examples of seemingly impossible to scientifically explain events, things, or beliefs; all of which have a certain level of truth to them. The Sinner King was born out of a desire to take what we accept as truth and skew it without going beyond the realm of what made it acceptable in the first place. In no shape or form am I trying to rewrite history or change what is accepted as Fact, I'm simply putting a spin on it that is meant to be fun and entertaining, and possibly rewarding.
The Sinner King:
BOOK OF FIRE
PROLOGUE
Baghdad, Iraq – 2003 AD
The temperature of the situation couldn't have been higher. Three months of dire, intense searching was at a foreseeable end. The GlobalLock M1114 Humvee carrying Rebecca Badeau raced through the congested Baghdad streets—a white meteorite blasting through the dust cloud of civilian vehicles—in route to the Central Bank of Iraq. Along the way, Rebecca caught sight of a decomposed body mashed onto the side of the road. A sad familiar sight: Iraqi roadkill as the GlobalLock operatives referred to it. Rebecca paid little attention. Her thoughts were entirely of William. Their relationship, which began a week after her arrival, was the only real thing in her life—even if it was a lie. William didn't know the real Rebecca, only the covert figure posing as Rebecca. But even the lie, like the mission, was coming to an end. And the question posed was how William would react to the truth. I'll have to tell him the truth, she told herself. There was no way he could leave Iraq with her and not know everything. The lie couldn't continue inside The States. And that, of course, was based on the assumption that William was willing to leave.
We've talked about it before, she assured herself. He seemed open to the idea. William's openness, however, was the conte
ntion between the heart and the mind. She knew what motivated him. William was a war correspondent for Time magazine. He came to Baghdad before the invasion, stayed through the terrible Shock and Awe campaign, and was in the midst of reaping the rewards. And now I'm going to ask him to leave it all.
The corpse's stench filled the vehicle.
"We're getting close," said John Corso. He was in the front passenger seat. Corso was one of three GlobalLock operatives escorting Rebecca to the Central Bank of Iraq. He reminded her of an old High School friend, a former football player, which gave an unjustifiable sense of security.
"Safeties off," ordered Gregory Hansen, the leader of the team. He was a smaller man—at least in comparison to the other operatives—but bore no difficulty in asserting authority.
All of the men had their MP5s in hand. The sound of clicking metal fought against the rumble of the vehicle. Rebecca looked to the submachine gun in Hansen's lap and then up to his face. He winked at her and said: "All set, honey?"
"I'm as ready as I'll ever be." She nervously looked away. Hansen was brash and brutish: characteristics Rebecca had come to accept as a requirement for an operative.
"And you know what you're looking for?" Hansen asked. "You're certain you'll recognize it?"
There's no way to be certain. No one living had seen it before. But she knew enough. "I'm certain."
"Good," Hansen said and then crumbled a stick of gum into his mouth—chomping at it like a ten-year-old.
Rebecca sighed and thought: This is the moment. She was going to find it. Her organization had been searching for it ever since one of their senior members determined that it was inside the lost Nimrud Treasure. Rebecca knew the Assyrian capital of Nimrud was discovered in the late nineteenth century and that all of the pieces retrieved from the site were transported to Baghdad and stored in the National Museum: where the artifacts were documented and cataloged before disappearing mysteriously at the beginning of the war. Locating the treasure had been her quest. And now the search was over. All of the questions and doubts her organization had over the authenticity of its most quested prize would be answered if she succeeded. I will succeed. There was no doubt in her mind. Doubt was saved for her relationship with William.
Rebecca caught sight of her faint reflection in the window and noticed that her dyed black hair was exposed—instantly filling her with hate. She despised the color. It was a constant reminder of the position she was in: covertly living in Iraq, lying about who she was, trying to survive. Death, destruction, terror, uncertainty—those things she could deal with—but the black hair, she could not. It wasn't natural; it wasn't Rebecca Badeau. I want to be me again. She tugged on the scarf until it covered her hairline. I'll get my life back. She was positive about that. The question was will it include William.
The Humvee came to a fast halt amongst the pileup of cars on the unruly road. The whole city was in disorder after the fall of Sadam's Ba'ath party and the dismantling of the Iraqi Republican Guard. The first things to go were the traffic laws. The driver pulled the Humvee to the shoulder and jumped the damaged curb. They drove on the sidewalk and through a courtyard in order to avoid the unnecessary wait, which was one of the things Rebecca had learned about Hansen and his men: they hated to wait.
The Central Bank of Iraq was a peculiar looking building with virtually no windows or discerning features outside its boxy build. "That's the bank?" asked Rebecca in disbelief.
"That's what the GPS says," confirmed Corso.
Before the Humvee came to a halt, Hansen and Corso exploded outward and began securing the area. Rebecca stayed inside along with the driver until they were given the "All clear" to exit. The potential for opposition was considered high. Protecting Rebecca was the team's top priority.
"All clear," crackled Hansen's voice over the radio fixed to the dashboard. Rebecca opened the door and dashed toward the entrance. The driver stayed behind in order to keep the engine running. Rebecca made it through the door and saw four terrified Iraqi civilians face down on the ground. Their hands and feet were stretched outward like the Vitruvian Man. Footsteps echoed down one of the halls and Rebecca heard distant shouting. Hansen took her by the arm and directed her toward Corso, who was already securing a hall. "Go!"
Even though Rebecca had on a Kevlar vest and helmet, she was scared damn near witless. Apparently preparation couldn't stave off fear. She ran over to Corso who then forced her to kneel. Hansen came rushing past and slid to a halt at the corner of the hall. He shouted: "ON THE GROUND! ON THE GROUND!" and then released a burst of bullets out of view. Rebecca covered her ears from the intense reverb. A moment later, Hansen ran out of view and shouted: "CLEAR!"
"Go!" ordered Corso.
Rebecca rose and ran around the corner, nearly losing her footing as she avoided two moaning bodies laying in pools of blood. There were two AK-47s kicked against the hall wall. Rebecca tried not to look down as she ran past. Hansen was standing at an elevator, engaging it with a key card given to him by the person who leaked the information about the Nimrud Treasure. The elevator doors slid open and the two of them went inside. After the doors closed, Hansen radioed the driver and said: "Call in the calvary."
Everything was going as planned.
The elevator dropped for about ten seconds before gliding to a stop. Rebecca knew they probably had less than twenty minutes to get what they wanted and get out before the calvary arrived: the U.S. Military. If things went off course, and Hansen's team found themselves cornered inside the bank, the U.S. Military would bail them out. The goal, however, was to be gone before then.
The elevator dinged and the doors opened. There was a long hall with several vaulted doors. Rebecca wanted to go through the one at the end. Hansen removed another set of keys and entered each one into the slots along the side of the door. The lock disengaged. Rebecca pushed the door open and was shoved aside as Hansen cleared the room. "Come on."
Hastily, Rebecca went inside and quickly ran through aisle upon aisle of artifacts; searching for her prize. There were shelves lined with statues, pots, bowls, dishes, ceramics, papyrus and jewelry. It was in the papyrus section that she would find her treasure. There were several glass cases containing carefully protected bundles of papyrus documents. Normally Rebecca would carefully unlock the case and extract the fragile paper, but this day was the exception. Rebecca grabbed a stone carved statue and smashed through the glass. Hansen came around the aisle to survey what happened. Rebecca pulled out three bundles and removed the protective wrapping from each. After quickly examining them, none of the bundles were what she was looking for.
"Hurry up," urged Hansen.
Rebecca ignored him and removed two more. She unwrapped one and felt her heart skip. "Oh my God! I think this is it!"
"Are you sure?" said Hansen, drawing closer.
Rebecca looked it over and then nodded. "Yes!"
She opened the second bundle and saw that it wasn't related. Should I keep looking for more? Her heart pounded. Keep looking. You have to be certain.
"What are you doing?" said Hansen as she pulled more bundles out.
Rebecca opened each but found nothing that resembled what she was looking for. "Okay. I'm done!" Rebecca scooped up the bundle and resealed it.
"All right," Hansen said victoriously.
The two of them ran back to the elevator.
While it rose to the surface, Hansen called to Corso and the driver. He said: "Target acquired. Let's get the hell out of here."
The doors opened at ground level and the two of them ran out into the hall. Hansen cleared it again with Rebecca following. They ran past the two bodies on the ground. Neither made a sound this time.
Rebecca and Hansen found Corso still in position: surveying the lobby where the four Iraqi civilians were sprawled out. He waved them past before taking up the rear. Hansen led Rebecca out of the building and straight for the idling Humvee. Rebecca followed close behind. Once they were inside, she saw Corso climb into the f
ront passenger seat and heard him order the driver to go before closing the door.
Rebecca exhaled a long sigh of relief as she looked at the bundle of ancient papyrus safely secured in her arms. She couldn't believe it was finally over. Hansen looked at the bundle and said: "You're certain this is it?"
"Without a doubt," replied Rebecca, smiling uncontrollably. "Without a doubt."
"Then I guess you're going home."
"Yeah, I guess so," she said. Just one more thing to do.
*******
Thirty minutes later, William Coulee was laying on the floor of his Palestine Hotel room, filing stories written earlier in the week. The room was dingily lit from the few rays of light escaping around the mattress covering the glass balcony doors. A small bedside lamp was on the ground next to him, a twenty-watt light bulb inside. There was a mess of blankets serving as a makeshift bed, a few plastic cups scattered about, and a nearly empty bottle of Iraqi moonshine was on the built-in kitchen counter. The room was his home for the past four months to the day. He and Rebecca tried to keep it tidy at first—when she initially moved in with him—but it was a futile attempt. They found themselves asking: Why do we give a shit? With everything that was happening outside the hotel walls—and sometimes within—it was hard to be motivated to clean. The place never felt like anything but a hideout, a hole to escape the madness; never a home. The lack of light was depressing. The strong scent of sulfur was nauseating. They didn't know what caused the smell—only that it existed inside the building. Whenever William was inside the room he felt a mixed bag of emotions: he loved and hated the place. He loved that it kept him from the outside but hated how shitty it was. It was the same for Rebecca, or at least he thought.
There was a loud bang of a body against the hall door. William looked up from his laptop and saw Rebecca rushing through. She blurted: "I have to get packed. I just found out that my ticket home is leaving tonight!"