The Sinner King: Book of Fire

by D. R. Crislip

  They weren't after me, she finally realized. Rebecca's heart slowed and she was able to take good clean breaths of air.

  The MSF agent pulled the skinny man with glasses to his feet and handed him over to the three MSF agents that exited the hovercraft. He then turned to the crowd of onlookers and said: "Ladies and gentlemen, we are sorry for the inconvenience caused. The Ministry had a claim for this man and he needed to be brought in before exiting the train."

  The silver HOUND followed the three men and their captive onto the hovercraft.

  "Please relax. We only need a few more minutes of your time before we can depart safely and allow the railway to continue to its next destination. Thank you."

  Then the man helped secure the HOUND onto the hovercraft with the others and detached its door from the car opening. The hovercraft's engines whined as it pulled away from the railway. The glass window that was rolled up into the ceiling returned into place.

  Rebecca wiped the sweat from her brow and tugged on her uniform in order to give herself some more breathing room. I guess the rumors are true, she told herself in reverence to the HOUND. She actually began to laugh for a brief moment before realizing her first encounter with the terrifying beast would probably not be the last.

  CHAPTER NINE

  As the railway regained its previous speed, Rebecca shakily returned to her seat and tried to relax. Paranoia caused her to think that everyone was staring. They weren't. Rebecca told herself they weren't. Just calm down, she ordered her nerves. She needed a distraction. Her fingers found the power-save sensor of her digital notepad and the translation blinked back onto the screen. The train hummed and its passengers returned to their typical stupor: looking at the floor, out the window, or at their digital notepads. Rebecca peeked around once more just to assure her mind that no one noticed her guilty response to the HOUNDS before looking down at the translation, to where she left off.

  William was leaving with Dohlman to meet with Benjamin Vermil. The two men went to the roof of the Time Warner Center. There was a flying machine called a helicopter waiting for them. William described the roof as having an incredible garden on it along with some unusual sculptures:

  *******

  I never imagined that something like that could exist on a New York City roof let alone seen something like it before. As we walked further down the path, I could see fountains, four of them: two on one wing and two on the other. Each had some kind of statue carved in the center of it. One looked like a block, two others looked like diamonds, and the fourth looked like some sort of geometric ball.

  "They're the Platonic Solids," Dohlman explained. "Don't ask me why they're up here. I haven't a goddamn clue."

  "Does anyone know?" I asked.

  "Hell no," Dohlman bellowed. "This is all Mr. Vermil's doing. He calls this place his Garden."

  *******

  Rebecca, of course, immediately realized that many of the Ministry buildings were designed how William described. She found it to be a curious coincidence and continued reading.

  They boarded the helicopter for the trip over to a place known as Tarrytown. During the trip, William asked Dohlman why they were going to meet Benjamin Vermil. Rebecca noted his nervousness about the appointment. Vermil was clearly a big deal in his world—whatever it was—real or not.

  *******

  "So Mr. Vermil just said he wanted to meet me today?"

  Dolhman retrieved a pair of sunglasses from his jacket breast pocket. "He said he had an assignment for you. He told me he wanted you to write an exposé on Dr. Charles Theoman's murder."

  *******

  Rebecca felt her body grow rigid. Minister Theoman? She reread the line to make sure she didn't misunderstand it—and she hadn't. According to the translation Minister Theoman was murdered, which was a terrible problem. Any mention of the passing of the Minister was a serious deal—let alone his assassination. It was the best way to attract the attention of Quality Control. Anything that spelled negativity toward the well-being of the Minister was immediately flagged and put on the shortlist. This text mentioned murder, which was the worst. Rebecca sighed out of frustration and continued reading:

  *******

  "Dr. Charles Theoman?" I asked. The name sounded vaguely familiar. I quickly tried to pinpoint where I had heard it before.

  "You know something about him?"

  "I'm not sure. Sounds familiar though. Should I know the name?"

  Dohlman gave me a sarcastic stare. "Are you kidding me? He was a business partner with Mr. Vermil for that nonprofit organization – Project something."

  *******

  Business partners? Rebecca wondered.

  *******

  I didn't know Mr. Vermil was affiliated with a nonprofit organization, not that it surprised me.

  "Bill, Dr. Theoman's murder was big time news about three months ago. The story ran everywhere" he paused, "that is everywhere except for here. Which kind of surprises me that Mr. Vermil wants to do an exposé now."

  "Time didn't run a story?"

  Dohlman shook his head. "It was the oddest damn thing. Mr. Vermil didn't want us to run a story—at all—period."

  "Why?"

  Dohlman shrugged and grunted. "The old man never had a stomach for gory stories, you know, the type that promoted terror. Plus, you have to consider that Dr. Theoman was a friend. I guess it makes sense in that regard."

  I then asked how Dr. Theoman was murdered. Dohlman leaned in and said: "First, I think it's important to know that the body was never recovered nor were there any arrests made.

  "I can't remember exactly when it happened, but one morning a package was sent to Project whatever's address. The police said it didn't have anyone's attention marked on it, just the general address. They also claimed that it contained no fingerprints or DNA of any kind, the whole thing was clean.

  "The receptionist who sorted the mail came across it and placed it among the other junk mail they routinely got from creditors, political postcards and God knows what else. It was a couple of days before anyone actually opened the package. I think it was a woman named Dolores Clarington who finally took notice and opened it." Dohlman paused. "Of course I read all of this in Newsweek," he said scornfully, "but according to them, Dolores's scream could be heard across three floors of the building."

  "What did she find?"

  Dohlman sat back a bit. "A 5x7 photograph that portrayed nine men, all wearing black fatigues and masks, lined up in a row like some kind of spooky class picture. Positioned in the center of the group was what caused Dolores to howl with terror."

  "Was it Dr. Theoman's body or something?"

  "Truthfully, when I first saw it, I didn't have a clue what I was looking at," Dohlman confessed. "It looked like a large shish kabob with a pale fleshy animal stuck through. But as Dolores noticed, it was definitely not an animal being skewered. It was Dr. Theoman."

  *******

  William continued explaining what Dohlman had seen in an uncensored version of the photo. Rebecca had to stop reading the appalling details and began to look at the scenery speeding by outside the window in front of her. She didn't know what to make of it—any of it. How can this be real? She began to massage her temples; the chronicle was giving her a stress headache. How could something written 3,500 years ago know about so many people today? It was very clear that none of what she read took place in the past. She thought: How could it? Are there such things as different dimensions? Rebecca once heard some of the DTA guys discuss space dimensions and the possibility of time-travel, although she never understood any of it. Did this William guy somehow travel to our world 3,500 years ago? Lunacy—she knew it, but what was she left to consider? She already ruled out fraud. Besides, if someone created a fraudulent book, why would they write about such topics? Why would they single me out? It was a question she kept asking herself. Rebecca considered that if the Heretique wrote the book they wouldn't have had the Minister murdered the way the chronicle explained; they would
have made it more political in design. Thus far, there appeared to be no political motivations in the chronicle. It was what it was.

  Rebecca left her thoughts for now and returned to the chronicle. Dohlman told William that the police uncovered a few of Theoman’s hairs inside the envelope, which they theorized were placed there on purpose to add to the authenticity of the photo.

  *******

  "And no one was arrested? No leads?"

  "Bill, when I say there was nothing I mean there was nothing. All the police have is the photo and the few hairs, that's it." Dohlman stopped to look out the window for a second before continuing: "No one knows who the group of men in black are or why they would do such a horrible thing to an old archeologist."

  *******

  That's interesting, Rebecca noted. Theoman was described as an archeologist. She wasn't sure what the title meant but had a strong feeling that it had something to do with history.

  *******

  "Did Mr. Vermil or his nonprofit organization ever release a statement?"

  "Nothing," Dohlman said hastily. "They kept 100% silent."

  I could only shake my head in disbelief. "Was there any analysis of the photo conducted, to see if it was authentic?"

  "Oh hell yeah," Dohlman announced. "They examined the shit out of it. They even had Photoshop experts take a look at it to see if there was any manipulation done. You know, the same people who caught that AP guy forging photos of Baghdad."

  The incident he was referring to was the investigation conducted by the Associated Press and Getty images on a slew of photos sold by a freelance photographer who claimed his extraordinary images of a bombed out Iraqi skyline were authentic. The result of the investigation proved that all the images in question were forgeries. The photographer, Raul Mann, had taken actual photos of the bombings but then expertly added in heavy black smoke and fire which caused a dramatic shift in tone and made the bombings look more apocalyptic than anything. That bit of news I did hear about while in Iraq.

  "And they found nothing?"

  "Nada." Dohlman reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of gum and offered a piece to me. "They even tried analyzing the background of the photo in order to determine the possible location, because the picture was taken outside. But that failed as well. There was nothing that stood out."

  "The body was never found?"

  "No! How many times do I have to tell you?" Dohlman then crumbled the stick of gum into his mouth. "Either they removed the body and disposed of it after the photo was taken or it's still out there, waiting for some unsuspecting person to stumble upon it."

  The thought gave me chills. "Imagine walking up on that?"

  Dohlman laughed: "No shit!"

  "Was there any thought that the murder had something to do with his work?"

  Dohlman's eyes narrowed. "Boy, you really don't know anything about this do you?"

  I shrugged.

  Dohlman rolled up his sleeves and leaned forward again. "Dr. Theoman wasn't only in the news for his murder, Bill, he was also in the news for what he proclaimed in an interview with Archeology Now.

  "Dr. Theoman was working in Bosnia when all of this happened. He was supposedly looking for some ancient Bosnian relic, a ring or something. He told Archeology Now that the hill he was excavating was . . . well . . . he told them it was not a hill at all."

  "Not a hill? What the hell was it then?"

  Dohlman grew a thin smile. "A pyramid."

  "A pyramid?"

  "That's what he claimed, and boy did he stir up a hornets' nest of critics. They were all over his ass, firing whatever they had in their arsenal."

  "What do you mean? Why were they so pissed off?"

  Dohlman arched his eyebrows and sat back again. "Well, I'm definitely no expert on the subject but from what I read there couldn't be any pyramids in that region. The sophistication level during the proposed time period was not high enough."

  "What date did he give the pyramid's construction?"

  Dohlman looked up at the ceiling for a second while he recalled what the articles said. "I think he said somewhere around 3,000 or 3,500 years ago."

  *******

  Rebecca quickly did the math: 6,500 or 7,000 years ago? It wouldn't take a Ministry historian to know how ridiculous that sounded. Rebecca knew far too well that there was nothing really before The First Time. She could only shake her head at the lunacy and continue reading.

  *******

  "It became a real fiasco. The media loved it though. Most of us were supporting his theory. We wanted to get in on the action. But man . . . did the academic world freak out. They immediately began demanding to see his scientific proof. They wanted to take tours of the site. Dr. Theoman invited them too, but only a few accepted. Most of the critics never went to Bosnia. They simply looked at whatever photos were available and based their judgments off of those. And the few who did go, they immediately went to the press afterward and criticized the hell out of the excavation and Dr. Theoman. It became a brutal war of words in the media between both parties—Project whatever and the rest of the academic world."

  "I don't understand, why were they so critical? I thought Dr. Theoman was a revered historian."

  "He was, but that was before he trampled on some key theories that the majority of academia held as solid fact—not to be tampered with."

  "You're talking about the time period of the pyramid?"

  Dohlman nodded confidently. "Exactly. The way I understand it, most of what we believe to be factual about the Bosnian people during that time is that they were simple hunter and gatherers—nomads that had yet to learn the value of science, math and shit. So to say they were building a structure as sophisticated as what he claimed basically demolishes everything we were led to believe about those ancient idiots."

  I could see the predicament. "It would definitely cost a lot of time, money, and paper in order to update all of those history books."

  Dohlman's face grew surprisingly serious. "Not to mention people's careers. If what Dr. Theoman proclaimed proved to be factual, it would have ruined many scholars' lifelong works. Countless hours of research and digging all built on top of the common base that the people who first transcended the normality were actually not the first. Then what does that say about the Egyptians and the Babylonians? Where did their knowledge come from? Which cultures really influenced which? His theory was a 9.0 earthquake on the foundation everyone took for granted." Then Dohlman softened a bit. "Some pretty exciting shit."

  It was exciting indeed. I felt my curiosity grow exponentially. "Do you think Dr. Theoman was telling the truth?"

  Dohlman arched his eyebrows as he considered the question. "Bill, I don't know what to think. There's something definitely in that hill, I would bet my year's salary on it, but what exactly, we'll never know."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Because, just before the good doctor was killed, the entire excavation was shut down by the Bosnian government. Apparently the scholars won the war. It made headlines across the globe. Just not Time's."

  "So why does Mr. Vermil need to see me personally? What does he have to tell me that you haven't or can't?"

  Dohlman considered the question for a few seconds. "He's a founding member of the nonprofit organization. I'm sure he has plenty to share with you."

  *******

  Rebecca placed her notepad onto her lap for a moment and remembered what her old mentor, Morlan Haggins, asked her years ago—How historically accurate is history? It seemed the question was as relevant in whatever world the chronicle took place as it was in Rebecca's time.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Rebecca checked the overhead map and saw that the railway wasn't too far from her destination. She was really hoping her mother would be able to provide some sort of answer to the dilemma—for good or for bad. By that point, Rebecca would take either. The chronicle was becoming increasingly extraordinary, which would normally be exciting, but in Rebecca's case, it was terrif
ying. She shifted her weight uncomfortably and stretched her neck before continuing to read.

  William and Dohlman landed at Benjamin Vermil's mansion and were greeted by an employee of Vermil's named Rory. The men boarded something known as a golf cart and were escorted through the grounds surrounding the large home that Rory called Lyndhurst. He gave William and Dohlman a verbal history of the place before finally ending the tour at the front doors of the home:

  *******

  When we arrived at the mansion, the driver parked the electric cart outside the front entrance and we stepped out.

  Every block in the limestone structure seemed uniquely cut. Every window was a masterpiece of design. The grass and the bushes were perfectly trimmed and landscaped in a manner that accentuated the beauty of the grounds.

  "Follow me please," Rory requested. "Normally I would give you a guided tour of the home but time is of the essence and I know your host is patiently waiting for you in the Master Suite. You may be aware that your host has several guests waiting as well."

  I was not aware of that. I looked over to Dohlman but he seemed as surprised as me.

  *******

  William went on to describe the house as having a large Tiffany glass, double door that led into a gorgeous foyer with three vaulted ceilings and a glass chandelier hanging halfway up. There were, what he described as, masterful Renaissance paintings and portraits that appeared to be originals from the artists, as well as several ornate wooden chairs and tables lining the base of the walls.

  *******

  We entered a narrow marble hallway that had busts of what I imagined, based on their looks, were Greek philosophers. We then passed a room that looked like a library with hundreds of books lining the walls and a similar vaulted ceiling as the foyer. There was a medium sized cherry wood desk in the center with several chairs surrounding it.

  *******

  William described the next room as a reading area or possibly an extension to the library; it contained more books and several small tables set up as study areas. Inside the room were seven full sized statues, each with a nameplate reading, Thales of Miletus, Pittacus of Mytilene, Bias of Priene, Solon, Cleobulus of Lindus, Myson of Chen, and Chilon of Sparta. The names, like everything else in the house, meant nothing to Rebecca and so she began to skim past the rest of the description of the home in order to get to Vermil's part.