False Prophet: The gripping breakthrough thriller (A Saul Marshall Thriller 1)

by Richard Davis

  ‘What was the turning point?’

  ‘It happened in New York – summer last year. There was a couple, both Order members, with a young child, maybe three years old. The kid threw a tantrum, and kicked The Zahir. He didn’t do any damage, of course, but The Zahir demanded the child apologize. He wouldn’t. So The Zahir ordered the father to spank the child with a wooden board. The father followed orders. Thirty minutes later, the child was unconscious. He was lucky not to die.

  ‘I was very close to The Zahir: he told me things he told nobody else. For this reason I decided I should be the one to talk to him about this incident – I felt that somebody had to. So in private, I challenged him for the first time. I asked whether a child could be held responsible for its actions; whether the crime warranted the punishment. The Zahir’s reaction, however, was as extreme as it was unexpected. He took me by the throat, slammed me against a wall, and told me he ought to crush me; that I was no better than an insect. But no sooner had he done so than he let me go, and suddenly he was livid with himself. It was like he’d accidentally shown me a side to him that he’d desperately wanted to keep hidden. He dismissed me. Then the next time I saw him, he acted like it’d never happened.

  ‘It may’ve taken me three days to fall under his spell, but it took a lot longer to break free. Simply entertaining a negative thought about The Zahir was difficult: when everyone around you thinks one way, you get to believing you’re insane if you think differently. But slowly I began to see the truth. I began to see that The Zahir wasn’t a religious man – he was someone who got his kicks from controlling others. And I began to see that so much of what he did was geared towards breeding dependence. The way he forced followers to break contact with their past and renounce their wealth. The way he sent individuals to live in closed-off safe-houses. The confessionals.

  ‘Finally, I began to see that the religion itself was a lie. It was a way of justifying violence – making it appear not just necessary, but urgently moral. The Zahir was creating an army of fanatics who’d go to any lengths…’

  She paused a moment, thinking, then continued:

  ‘His powers of manipulation were never more on show than when he got wind that a child of an influential person – say a celebrity, or high-powered businessman – had displayed interest in The Order. He’d drop everything to groom these individuals. His aim was for them to join The Order secretly – to go missing without trace, like I did – and he was always successful. The boy who attempted to kill us, he was one of them. I can’t remember who his father was exactly, some government official, but I do remember the lengths The Zahir went to seduce him. This boy was even given a place in The Inner Sanctum – the ultimate honor.’

  She was, of course, talking about Samuel. But though I’d been too embarrassed to tell her he was my son the first time I’d had the chance, I knew that if I wanted to get the right information out of her, I’d have to tell her the truth eventually. So I bit the bullet:

  ‘That was my son. The boy who tried to kill you is my son, Samuel.’

  I looked at her, half-expecting to see shock. But she simply narrowed her eyes, and said, ‘He looks like you. Is he the hostage you were referring to?’

  The question revealed she knew what I did – that Drexler was capable of killing his own men without batting an eyelid.

  ‘He’s one of them,’ I muttered.

  All at once, my body was hot with emotion. But I couldn’t let my feelings cloud my head – not when so much needed doing. So, taking myself in hand, I moved the conversation on: ‘So you broke free of The Zahir’s spell. Then what?’

  ‘Well, at first I tried to hide my reservations from The Zahir. But of course it was little use – I was too close to him – and gradually, over the course of many weeks, he began to see a change in me. A tension grew between us. Then, one day, he took me aside and told me that if I ever told anyone what I knew, he’d kill me. He understood that he’d made a mistake with me, he’d allowed me to learn too much. Now I was a liability.’

  Again, Spender sighed.

  ‘But even then, I didn’t leave,’ she continued. ‘Yes, I was scared; but I was even more scared of leaving The Order, so dependent had I become. But eventually, after many weeks working up the courage, I finally did it. In December last year. I’ve been living at my parents’ house in Montclair ever since. They don’t know I’ve returned. They’re in Europe…’

  ‘And now their house has been razed to the ground,’ I said, ‘because Drexler decided it was safer you were dead.’

  ‘Drexler?’ she replied quizzically.

  I’d suspected she wouldn’t know his real name. After all, given that he’d gone so far as to fake his death before starting The Order, it would’ve made little sense if he’d then revealed his true identity. So, since it was now my turn to talk, I proceeded to tell Spender everything I knew about Drexler’s past – right up to him faking his death. Then, after a brief pause, I added with an air of positivity:

  ‘But we’re in a unique position to fight this man. Because we’re in a similar position to which Drexler himself was in after he’d faked his death: we’re alive, but our enemies think we’re dead. We’re perfectly placed to launch a sneak-attack…’

  But the moment I said this, terror flashed across her face and her body tensed up again, arms crossing over her chest, nails worrying at her forearms. I understood. Now Drexler thought she was dead, Spender was finally free, after months of fear. Having only just tasted this freedom, she wasn’t ready to start thinking about going after Drexler. So, for now, I decided to let it drop. But I felt encouraged by what she’d told me so far, and confident that she knew things that could help me. One thing had particularly caught my attention: The Order safe-houses. Perhaps Samuel was living in one. Perhaps so was Drexler.

  Ten minutes later, a calmer Spender broke the silence, asking me where exactly we were going.

  ‘My friend has a holiday home in Stonington, Connecticut,’ I said. ‘The neighborhood will be deserted this time of year so it’ll be a good place to lie low.’

  The property belonged, in fact, to Vannevar’s parents. But Spender was content with the details she’d been given. And, after yawning twice and leaning back on the headrest, she did what anyone would’ve expected considering what she’d been through: she fell asleep.

  For the first time in a while, I was left alone with my thoughts. But my mind didn’t turn to Samuel. It turned to the two women in my life: Olivia and Parkes. There was no question Parkes now knew I’d had foreknowledge of the attacks in Mineral and New York: she would’ve spoken to the Louisa County Police and eye-witnesses in Manhattan. And I knew she’d be livid with me; that she’d be holding me in no small way responsible for what happened, and would want to bring me in for interrogation. And I also knew it was immaterial whether or not Olivia had shown Samuel’s note. Parkes wouldn’t care a damn if I’d been trying to save my son – she wouldn’t consider this, nor anything else, an excuse. As far as Parkes was concerned, employees of the FBI must be loyal, above all, to the Bureau, regardless of the situation.

  On one hand, I could understand Parkes’s point of view. Dozens of people had died, at least in part because I’d withheld information. But, on the other hand, I felt angry with her mentality – the extremity of it.

  But when it came to Olivia, all I wanted was to reassure her. Not because I had any interest in stopping her showing Samuel’s note to Parkes – that was immaterial now – but because I felt terrible about the position I’d left her in. I’d told her I’d keep her updated when I left Durham, but then I’d not been in contact since, even though there’d been two large-scale terrorist attacks. Doubtless she was terrified. But, at the same time, I wondered if the truth was really any better than the silence.

  Yet one thing was clear: if I wanted to call her or anyone else, I’d need a new phone and SIM card. Because the iPhone was out the question. With it on, Parkes could triangulate my location. This was why it’d be
en off since my conversation with Giles outside Mineral. It wasn’t enough to stay ahead of Drexler anymore. I had to stay ahead of the Bureau, too.

  Chapter 28

  Thursday, February 28, 2013, 3:55 p.m. CST. – 7505 South Laflin Street, Chicago.

  An Oval Office Address, all because of him?

  Drexler was flattered: it’s not every day the President addresses an enemy before the entire country. Not that he didn’t deserve it, of course – the events which had elicited this response had taken years of planning. Not only that, they’d each come off without a hitch. The latest two were no exception: the gassing of the Manhattan Metro had been a resounding success – the preliminary death count was already well over thirty – and so too had the bombing of The Essex House Hotel. And Drexler had been able to see them both because not only had an amateur cameraman caught the explosion at The Essex House, but Paramount Pictures had made public their footage of the actors suffocating on the train.

  Sadly, however, Drexler would have to miss the live showing of the Address. It wasn’t due to start until 8 p.m. EST, and Drexler had already made plans.

  With this thought, he looked at the wall-clock in the main control room. The time was fast approaching four, and Dalet was due back any minute. He’d gone out to collect Vannevar Yeung from the nearby city of La Porte, Indiana. Drexler hadn’t wanted anyone outside his most trusted four to know the location of his hideout, so had organized for Dalet to take custody of Vannevar for the last leg of the journey. And Drexler felt relaxed about this change of hands. He knew he could trust Dalet, who’d proven his worth and reliability time and again. His FBI training in particular seemed to be the gift that kept on giving. Earlier today, for example, his expertise had been invaluable when it’d come to organizing things at Glenview Naval Air Station, the naval military base to the north of Chicago. Dalet had known precisely what language to use, precisely what Francis should say. As a result, everything had been sorted exactly to specification.

  On balance, Drexler reflected, he would be unhappy if anything happened to Dalet. It’d be like losing a loyal, well-trained dog. A shame. Though, of course, that’s all it would be to him, and this was crucial, because it was symptomatic of Drexler’s unique ability not to have an emotional stake in anyone outside of himself. Both Francis Bindle and that worm, Saul Marshall, lacked this ability, and it was incredible to see how vulnerable it made them; incredible to see the lengths they’d go to for the life of just one person.

  Drexler was jogged from these thoughts by Shin knocking at the door.

  ‘Dalet has returned,’ she reported.

  Drexler rose, and followed Shin to the storage area out back. Then he watched as Lamed, Beth, Shin, and Dalet retrieved Vannevar’s unconscious body from the van parked outside the warehouse’s rear-door and carried it through to the room in the second corridor that’d been stripped in preparation for Vannevar’s arrival. He then supervised as Vannevar was put into a bomb vest and bound to a chair. Vannevar wouldn’t be allowed to roam about his room like the other agents – he was in a different league.

  Once this was done, Drexler ushered Dalet into his bedroom.

  ‘Do you have the items for me?’ said Drexler.

  Dalet nodded, then produced a Ruger Mark III and a blade from his person.

  ‘Thank you, Dalet,’ said Drexler. ‘Once again, you’ve done me proud.’

  Dalet blushed.

  ‘So you’ve resolved to carry out the next task yourself, My Zahir?’ asked Dalet.

  ‘I have, my son. And in my brief absence, you must take charge. It’ll be your responsibility to ensure Francis relays all the necessary information to Director Muldoon tomorrow morning. As you know, it’s crucial that job is done correctly… I will return no later than Saturday morning.’

  ‘I won’t let you down,’ said Dalet.

  Drexler placed his hands on Dalet’s cheeks, held his face a moment, then kissed him.

  ‘I know you won’t, my son,’ said Drexler. ‘Now, you must leave me to prepare for my heavenly voyage.’

  Once Dalet had left the room, Drexler packed a valise with the Ruger and blade, a roll of cash, and a mobile, before changing into civilian clothes. He then exited the warehouse, started Liam Bindle’s car, and nosed it onto South Laflin Street. Drexler knew he had disciples who’d beg for the honor of doing this task for him. But though he took great pleasure in having others do his bidding, sometimes, just sometimes, it was more satisfying to do things himself. And this particular task was so enthralling, he couldn’t resist getting involved. Even if it meant a long car journey. Even if it meant exposing himself to the vulnerabilities that came with leaving his safe haven.

  Time to get in on the fun.

  Chapter 29

  Thursday, February 28, 2013, 5:00 p.m. EST. – 84 Wilcox Road, Stonington, Connecticut.

  It was just gone 5 p.m. when we arrived at 84 Wilcox Road, a large, isolated house by a lake. Spender and I went inside – making use of the keys hidden under a flower-pot – and both showered and put on a change of clothes, Lilly opting for a simple blue dress while I went with one of Vannevar’s father’s suits. Then, looking a lot less conspicuous, we headed to a nearby supermarket where we picked up food and an outdated Nokia cell with a SIM. When we returned to the house, we started working on the roast we were planning for dinner. And as we worked, we made some light conversation, joked around a little. Of course, it was impossible to properly unwind with so much on our minds but I felt glad for Lilly’s company, and got the impression she felt the same. However, when it hit 7 p.m., I knew I had to return to business, and went upstairs to call Morton Giles.

  ‘Hello?’ he answered gruffly.

  ‘It’s Saul. I’m on a new phone. New SIM.’

  ‘Give me a moment.’ I could hear footsteps. Then: ‘Right, you’re on a new SIM, meaning you know you should be lying low. But you need to know just how much trouble you’re in. The extent of it.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘The good news, at least as far as you’re concerned, is that Parkes still doesn’t know about The Order. The bad news is she’s spoken to Louisa County Police. She knows you were in Mineral before the incident and had prior knowledge.’

  I said nothing.

  ‘She’s also spoken to witnesses in Manhattan, who’ve said they saw you there just before that incident, too – again, seemingly with knowledge of what was about to happen. And then there’s the receptionist at The Essex House who told Parkes that after accosting him, you’d headed for Room 502 which was the room destroyed by a considerable quantity of Semtex ten minutes later. But though the receptionist was the last eye-witness to see you, Parkes knows you weren’t killed: there’s CCTV showing you leaving the building seconds after the blast. She doesn’t know where you went from there but she does know you didn’t return to the car you came in. She’s figured out that the abandoned Toyota on 6th Avenue – containing thousands of dollars’ worth of HRT property, including a PSG1 rifle – was how you got from Mineral to Manhattan, not that it took much figuring.’

  Giles paused a beat. ‘And there’s more.’

  ‘More?’

  ‘Olivia has shown Parkes Samuel’s message, and told her about you and Vannevar going to Durham. By all accounts, Olivia was hysterical.’

  ‘And let me guess, Parkes didn’t care a damn that our son’s been taken?’ I said darkly. ‘Didn’t think trying to get him back was an excuse for doing what I did?’

  ‘What she cares about, Saul, is that you had prior knowledge about all three incidents, but didn’t tell her. She’s livid. She wants you arrested and prosecuted under the Espionage Act. Remember, she doesn’t know about The Order and their threats to kill Samuel if you told the Bureau. She thinks you withheld information only because you wanted to be in control of Samuel’s rescue and then stubbornly continued in that vein even when you saw things were going to escalate and many more people were going to die.’

  I scoffed. ‘Even if we explained the
entire situation to her – that Samuel would’ve died if I’d passed on the information – she would still say I should’ve told her. She’d have sacrificed my son in a heartbeat, Mort.’

  ‘I know,’ he said.

  He really did. It was why he’d kept The Order’s involvement secret all this time.

  I sighed. ‘So now they know Vannevar was involved?’

  ‘That’s right. Parkes got the receptionist at the HRT to corroborate Olivia’s story that you’d picked up Vann, though apparently he was plenty tight-lipped about it. But he wasn’t the only one to give Parkes confirmation. She traced the Toyota to the guy in Mineral you borrowed it from. He told her that the first time he saw you, you were with a man fitting Vannevar’s description. What Parkes wants to know is where Vannevar is now, seeing that the next time you surfaced – when the terrorists handed you over to the Sherriff – he was gone… She’s assuming he’s either been taken hostage or killed.’

  ‘So losing a highly-trained Bureau asset has been added to my list of sins?’

  ‘Precisely.’

  ‘How do you know all this? The Director of the CID isn’t usually kept updated on the minutiae of Counterterrorist investigations.’

  Mort sighed a big sigh.

  ‘That’s the problem. I know because I’ve been interrogated. Parkes and Schneider are suspicious that I’ve been in contact with you; that I also had prior knowledge of the attacks, but held my tongue at your request. I’ve denied it, naturally, and I’m too senior for them to do anything more than question me. But the tension between our departments is now beyond acrimonious. And needless to say, if the truth comes out, I’ll also face charges.’

  For a moment, I didn’t know what to say. At last:

  ‘I’m sorry to have put you in this position.’

  Mort sighed again.

  ‘I can cope with the personal fallings out at Hoover, and with the threat of prosecution. But what I’m coping less well with is the guilt. I had information that could’ve saved many, many lives, but I didn’t pass it on. In a way, I feel responsible for all those deaths. I’ve not slept a wink since that boy died in Durham.’