The King of Plagues

by Jonathan Maberry

  “I was wondering when you would be calling,” said Church as mildly as if the call were from an old friend. “It’s been a while.”

  He attached a cable to his phone and plugged it into his laptop, initiating a seven-continent multiphasic search that used MindReader to hack satellites and phone company databases.

  “Did you miss me?”

  “I always enjoy our chats. Do you have something for me?”

  “I want to see the Kings destroyed.”

  The tracking signal began bouncing around from country to country.

  “The DMS could accomplish that,” Church said, “if you gave us something more concrete to go on.”

  There was silence on the line. The tracker had so far traced the call through eighteen national exchanges and fourteen service providers.

  “Can you at least tell me something about the Seven Kings? What do they want to accomplish?”

  There was a sound that might have been a laugh. “They want to break the bones of their enemies and suck out the marrow. That’s what they want to do.”

  “That isn’t particularly helpful.”

  “Yes,” said the caller, “it is.”

  And he disconnected.

  The signal vanished without any clue to its origin.

  Chapter Thirty

  The State Correctional Institution at Graterford

  Graterford, Pennsylvania

  December 18, 2:42 P.M. EST

  Nicodemus was led into the office. Rudy sat behind Stankeviius’s desk. He had borrowed a technique from Mr. Church and had purchased a pair of nonprescription glasses with tinted lenses. Except in direct light his eyes were virtually impossible to see.

  “My name is Dr. Sanchez,” said Rudy. “Please … sit down.”

  Nicodemus sat. His hands were cuffed to a waist chain and he laid them in his lap. He stared at Rudy with eyes that rarely blinked.

  “Please state your full name.”

  Nicodemus studied him for a long time before answering, “Nicodemus.”

  “Is that your first name or your last name?”

  “It is all that I am.”

  “Why are you reluctant to tell me your full name?”

  “Why do you need it? Only witches and sorcerers conjure with names. Is that what you are?”

  “Do you think that’s what I am?”

  Nicodemus smiled but did not answer.

  “Do you know why I wanted to see you, Nicodemus?”

  “I know.”

  “Will you tell me?”

  Almost a full minute passed before Nicodemus answered, “It is the nature of prophets to know things that other men do not.”

  “Are you a prophet?”

  “Sometimes voices speak through me.”

  “Are you aware of the event that occurred in London yesterday?”

  “I am aware that souls are in the smoke and that darkness stretched across the sky.”

  “What else do you know of that event?”

  Nicodemus leaned forward. “Are you a God-fearing man, Dr. Sanchez?”

  “I am a person of faith.”

  One corner of the prisoner’s mouth curled upward in a small sneer. “Then if you are a Bible-reading man, brother, you will be familiar with the Book of Exodus, chapters seven through twelve.”

  Rudy had been expecting this. “You’re referring to the Ten Plagues of Egypt?”

  “You are a Bible-reading man! Yes … God visited the Ten Plagues on Egypt in order to free the Israelites who had been kept as slaves.” He leaned forward very quickly and Rudy noted that the guards gasped and stepped back first rather than lunge forward to restrain the man.

  They are just as afraid of this man as Warden Wilson and Dr. Stankeviius, Rudy mused. What kind of hold does Nicodemus have over everyone?

  Nicodemus’s eyes burned with excitement. “Had it been God’s will simply to release His people, He could have done so with a legion of angels. But that teaches nothing. Do you know why God sent so many plagues, and why he hardened Pharaoh’s heart each time so that the Israelites were not freed?”

  “Please tell me.” He noted that Nicodemus used the word “God” rather than “Goddess.”

  “I asked you, Doctor.”

  “Very well. It seems to be a matter of how one interprets the meaning of the words, bearing in mind that they are translated. I do not believe that the passage is saying that God forced Pharaoh to commit evil, but that God allowed it.”

  “Why would He allow such a dreadful thing?”

  “It is the nature of free will. If we humans have free will, and faith in the face of doubt suggests that we do, then it comes from God. Otherwise no one would be responsible for anything that they do, and that includes acts of charity and kindness as well as acts of evil.”

  “Then, Doctor, by your own statement you do not believe in the guidance of the Divine in our actions.”

  “That isn’t what I said, and I believe you know that. Guidance is not the same thing as coercion.”

  He watched Nicodemus’s eyes when he said the word “coercion.” Was there a flicker? Did they tighten just a fraction?

  “What about the Devil, Dr. Sanchez? Do you believe that the Devil and his demons can dominate the mind and soul of a person and make them do terrible things?”

  “No,” said Rudy. “I do not believe that.”

  “How can you believe in one part of the Bible and not all of it?”

  Rudy almost smiled, and he appreciated the trap the little prisoner had laid. Very clever indeed.

  “That is a longer discussion than we have time for now,” Rudy said. “Though perhaps we’ll have the chance to explore it further. For now, Nicodemus, please tell me why when I ask you about what happened in London yesterday you bring up the Ten Plagues of Egypt? Is there some connection?”

  “All things are connected. We float in a pool of time in which all things eddy and swirl.”

  “Could you be a bit more specific?”

  “We are living in biblical times,” said Nicodemus. “The Bible isn’t a record of what was; it is a record of what is.” The Old Testament, the New Testament … they are but chapters in a book that will continue to be written. New pages are being written today. Written into our skins, written on the skies above us, written into our souls. The prophets shout it from street corners and are not heard. False prophets speak it from the television, but even when they tell the truth they are not believed. History is unfolding and the words of the prophets are written on the subway walls and—’

  “‘tenement halls.’ You’re quoting Simon and Garfunkel,” said Rudy. “Not exactly Scripture.”

  Nicodemus chuckled. “Ah, so you are awake. I had begun to worry, Doctor. You come here to ask me questions that you already know the answers to, and when I speak you do not appear to listen.”

  “You are being vague and evasive,” Rudy said.

  “And you are being disingenuous,” countered Nicodemus. “You do know what I am saying.”

  “No, sir, I do not. But I am willing to listen and to hear.” When Nicodemus did not reply, Rudy said, “Please, tell me what you know about what happened in London.”

  Nicodemus closed his eyes very slowly and then opened them. It was a very reptilian action. “I know nothing about London. The sky is like sackcloth and my eye is blind.”

  Rudy waited. “Yesterday, when you spoke with Dr. Stankeviius you mentioned a ‘goddess.’ Tell me about her.”

  “Not a goddess,” corrected the little man. “To believe in a goddess presupposes that there are many, and that is an untruth spoken by liars and fools. I spoke of the Goddess.”

  “And yet today you mention God. Doesn’t that suggest more than one deity?”

  “No,” said Nicodemus quickly. “Sometimes my mouth speaks the words it was trained to speak, not those which are in my heart.”

  “Meaning?”

  “God has transformed and become.”

  “Become what?”

  “Beco
me all. Male and female. The eternal yin and yang. This is the completion of a cosmic cycle begun before time.”

  “I see.”

  “No, Doctor, you do not. You pretend wisdom, but your eyes are blinded by convention and misunderstanding.”

  “I am willing to learn the truth.”

  Nicodemus’s smile was so strange that Rudy could not easily find an adjective to describe it. The closest he could come was the lurid “goblinesque.”

  “The Goddess has opened her eye, Doctor, and she sees all. She has appointed Seven Kings to sit in judgment of all men.”

  Ah, thought Rudy, now we get to it.

  “Who are these Seven Kings? Are they real men?”

  “They are the Sons of the Goddess and they walk the earth as the Son of man once walked.”

  “And are they connected with what happened in London yesterday?”

  “They are connected to all things. The Seven Kings are everywhere. They look over your shoulder and they see into the hearts of men.”

  “Nicodemus,” said Rudy quietly, “you seem to know so much. Why not put this insight and wisdom to good use? The Seven Kings are doing very bad things. Surely this cannot be the will of heaven.”

  “Do you pretend to know the mind of the Goddess?”

  “No, I do not. But if you do, then help us. Tell me something that will allow me to protect the innocent.”

  Nicodemus chuckled and then repeated the word “innocent” as if he could taste it. His tongue wriggled over his teeth and lips. “I can only repeat what is whispered in my ears.”

  Rudy sat back. “I do not believe you are telling me the truth, Nicodemus. I believe that you do know more than you are saying.”

  Suddenly, like the flip of a switch, everything on the little man’s face changed. In a flash his face lost its sinister cast; the feral intensity in his eyes dimmed like a fire someone had doused with cold water. His mouth worked to speak, but there was no sound. He looked shocked and suddenly stared at Rudy with a deep and terrible desperation.

  “Who … who … ?” he whispered.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Rudy, rising to his feet.

  “Who am I?” Nicodemus looked around the office as if seeing the people and the furniture for the very first time. “What … where am I? What is this place?”

  The guards stepped back in confusion. Even Nicodemus’s voice had changed. It was the croaking voice of a weak and sickly old man.

  “G-God … help me!”

  Then Nicodemus stiffened and looked down, but it seemed as if he was looking down into his soul rather than at his body.

  “What’s happening to me?”

  The scream was so immediate and so shockingly loud that Rudy squeezed his eyes shut and clapped his hands over his ears. The guards staggered backward, both of them crying out in fear. The warden and the prison psychiatrist reeled back, feet kicking at the floor to push them deeper into their seats and away from the tearing sound of that voice.

  Then silence.

  Rudy could barely breathe and he slowly realized that he was holding his breath. Slowly, slowly he exhaled, and for a moment his breath misted in the air as if the room were frigid.

  Cautiously, almost fearfully, Rudy opened his eyes. The little prisoner sat calm and erect in the chair. He was smiling. A cruel and secretive smile, a smile brimming with an awful amusement.

  He was Nicodemus again. Rudy looked around. The others in the room wore the expressions of people who had witnessed horror. He had seen expressions like those on the faces of the people at Ground Zero and in Thailand after the tsunami and in Haiti. No one spoke.

  Before Rudy could say anything, Nicodemus spoke in a voice that was as soft as a whisper but as grating as teeth on the tines of a fork. “I am looking over water to a dark and pestilential place. From this place a new river of blood will flow, like the Nile flowed with blood when Pharaoh defied the will of God and refused to free the people of Israel. Oh, woe to the enemies of the Goddess. May their bones bend and crack like wheat straw in a hot wind. Stand not in the path of the Goddess’s righteousness and wrath.”

  Rudy licked his lips. “What was that?” he said. “A minute ago—what was that?”

  “Why, nothing at all happened a minute ago, and if it did, I was not here to behold it.”

  “Who are you, Nicodemus?”

  The little man chuckled. “Maybe I’m that in which you do not believe, Dr. Sanchez.” He stared at Rudy and would say nothing else.

  Rudy tried several times to elicit further comments, but the prisoner might as well have been a statue. Minutes stretched and snapped and still Nicodemus merely sat there and looked at Rudy.

  “Very well,” Rudy said at last. He turned to Warden Wilson. “Warden, I think it would be in the best interests of national security for this prisoner to be kept in complete lockdown. He goes nowhere alone, he is allowed no contact of any kind with other convicts, and anything that he says to the guards is to be reported to me or my office right away. Are we agreed on this?” His voice was mild but pitched to accept only agreement and cooperation.

  Wilson nodded and then jerked his head to the guards. The prisoner rose without being touched and turned toward the door. But at the doorway he paused and turned back to Rudy.

  “I will leave you with one last thing, Doctor, since you are a Bible-reading believer in the Holy Word.”

  Rudy waited.

  “Your friend has stepped into harm’s way.”

  “What do you mean?” Rudy asked.

  “When the Sword of the Goddess falls, it is better to stand with the righteous rather than with those who allow the wicked to prosper.” He did the slow, reptilian blink once more. “You and yours fight to defend the house of bones and that path is impure and filled with snakes and thorns. The river of blood will sweep your friend away.”

  Rudy stood. “You accused me of being disingenuous, Nicodemus, and as far as I’m concerned this is a con game. Everyone has friends and a case can easily be made that at any given time one or more of our friends are in some potential danger. Car accidents, plane crashes, take your pick. Scare tactics are cheap theatrics, and frankly, I expected more from you.”

  Nicodemus smiled. “Well now, sir, I would not want to be compared or confused with carnival barkers and sideshow tricksters. No sir. Yet my comment stands. Your friend is walking in harm’s way.”

  “Which friend?”

  The smile became degrees colder. “The killer,” he said. “The one who has lost the grace of the Goddess. The one who walks with ghosts.”

  Rudy’s mouth went dry. Nicodemus laughed and fell into his intractable silence, and after several minutes he allowed himself to be led away.

  “What was that all about?” demanded Wilson in a ghost of a voice.

  Rudy’s throat was so tight he could not speak to answer.

  Interlude Nineteen

  T-Town, Mount Baker, Washington State

  Two Months Before the London Event

  Hugo Vox roared at her, “You did what?”

  Circe winced. “Grace was a good friend, Hugo, and I thought that she might be able to use MindReader to—”

  Vox slammed his open palm down on his desk hard enough to make everything jump. A dollop of coffee splashed onto the blotter. “God damn it, Circe, why the fuck did you do that?”

  “I thought—”

  “You thought? You thought! Jesus H. Christ, talking to your pals at the DMS is one thing, but everything—everything—official that is going to land on Church’s desk gets vetted by me. Every goddamn thing. We live and die on federal goodwill. We piss them off—and breaking protocol is the fastest way to do that—and suddenly they forget where their checkbook is. You know that, too.”

  “I—”

  “I don’t care what connections you have there. You could bring down ten kinds of shit on my head. What were you thinking, kiddo? You trying to kill me here?”

  His booming voice was so loud that it rattled the window
s and hit her like shock waves.

  “I … I’m sorry, Hugo.”

  He made a disgusted noise and pivoted his chair to face the wall. He seethed in silence for a long time and she let him. She didn’t dare say anything else.

  Finally he drew in a deep breath and let it out like a hot-air balloon collapsing. Without turning, he said, “I give you a lot of slack, Circe. Because of your dad, and because you do good work, exceptional work, and I’ve got nothing but praise for it.” He turned back to face her. “Except for crap like this. It’s not the first time you’ve jumped protocol, but by god it had better be the last. And I’d say the same thing if you were my own daughter.”

  “I’m sorry.” Tears burned in the corners of her eyes.

  “Yeah, well … Shit. I don’t mind that you spoke with Grace Courtland, but you know goddamn well that it had to be an off-the-record thing. Nothing official, and no copies of a report that I haven’t frigging well okayed.” He drummed his fingers on the desk blotter. “Okay, here’s the deal. The Goddess stuff is over. Give me your final report and then you’re off the project effective now.”

  “But that’s not fair, Hugo. I—”

  He held up a warning finger. “It is so important to your future that you not finish that sentence, kiddo.”

  She clamped her mouth shut.

  “I’ve got another project that is career valuable but also off-site. I want you way the hell off the DMS radar for a while. I’m sending you to London. You’ll be our liaison for the Sea of Hope thing.”

  “But—”

  He cocked his head and glared at her.

  “Yes, Hugo,” she said contritely.

  “This isn’t a demotion and no one will see it as such. Hell, it’ll probably help you sell more books. But I want you out of T-Town in case your end run brings down any heat. Which it will. So, go pack and, Circe … do us both a favor—stay out of my way for a couple of days.”

  “Yes, Hugo.”

  She sniffed back her tears and left the office.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Fair Isle Research Endeavor