13th Apostle (24 page)

Day Three following the Crucifixion, morning The Caves of Qumran, Judea

The figure of Joseph of Arimathea appeared in relief against the cloudless sky. Micah raced to him in anticipation of seeing Yeshua by his side. Joseph rode alone.

“It is done. Finished. They did just as you said,” Joseph reported flatly. Then he wept into his hands.

“He's dead?” cried Micah. “Peter, James, the others…they…”

Joseph lifted his tearstained face and said, “They came just after the guards fell asleep. They must have been waiting, watching. Even as I entered the sepulcher, they came with some others I did not recognize. Several of them overpowered me and held me while they removed his body.

“I begged them to let me attend to him,” Joseph said plaintively. “They laughed, pouring the contents of the flask you left for him into the dirt. Then they took him away. Those who remained, encircled the sepulcher and, as others approached upon hearing the commotion, these liars began shouting in ecstasy, crying out tales of Yeshua rising to the heavens.”

Micah could not believe what he was hearing, “The people believed them?” he asked incredulously.

“People believe what they want to believe. Much as you and I, these faithful did not want to know that he was gone.”

“What about the guards?”

“The commotion aroused them from their stupor and, seeing that Yeshua was gone, they became fearful. So grave a transgression might easily mean a reprisal in the form of their own death, so they joined in as witnesses to the apparition's ascent.”

Micah's face reflected the anguish in his heart. “No,” he cried. “I didn't think them capable of carrying out such falsehoods. Not about the dead.”

“Nor I,” agreed Joseph. “These are but mere guards, you know. But their terror made them shrewd. Even now they are claiming that Yeshua foresaw his sacrifice on the cross and, in so doing, foretold of his resurrection.”

Shaking his head in disbelief, Micah asked, “But what have they done with him?”

Joseph began to sob once again. “I know not what happened to him. I do not even know if he was still alive when they took him.”

“They will not let him live,” Micah whispered. “It would make no sense. Otherwise, why would they have discarded what they thought to be the counteragent? No, they have killed him. As surely as if they had crushed him with their bare hands.”

“I could do nothing,” wept Joseph. “If only I had been able to give him the antidote.”

“I know, dear friend,” Micah said softly as he wrapped his arm around Joseph's shaking body, “I know.”

Micah stepped back and in a voice that grew strong, he gave careful instruction to his friend. Though he knew not why, he spoke only of the false scroll. “There is a scroll, Joseph. I have placed it in one of the Essenes' caves up on the hill. It's hidden in the back, behind the rocks. Flavius Josephus and I ventured there when we were under tutorage together. It was a place for us to play as adventurers. He will remember.”

“What would you have me do?” Joseph asked.

“Do nothing for now. Relate to Flavius my words and bid him take you to the cave, but do not allow either of you to be tempted to look for the scroll. Simply put to memory the cave's location and knowledge of the scroll's existence. The secret of where it resides should be with you both so it is not lost. Then watch and take note if the scroll is discovered by others.”

“And if it is not?” asked Joseph.

“Then if either you or Flavius dies, let the other reveal its location to two others worthy of such knowledge. Two others who are as honest and righteous as you and Flavius are. Good men are neither tempted by greed nor seduced by profit. Entreat them to do as I bid you and Flavius. Let one of those two pass on the secret location to two others who in turn will do the same for generations to come until it is time for the light of day to fall upon the message borne in the scroll. Much time may pass before it is discovered. By that time, man may be in need of the truth, especially if men such as these twelve continue to be revered and rewarded.”

“Do you think they will revere it then, those who uncover it in the time to come?” queried Joseph.

For a moment, doubt found its way into Micah's thoughts. He had not permitted himself the thought until the words of his friend struck terror in his heart. What if no one saw past the first scroll's ruse of treasure? What if no one ever found the second scroll? Suppose the truth was never revealed? Even worse, suppose the truth revealed was of no importance to those who were yet to come? Then mankind would be doomed.

No! He would not allow himself to waiver in his faith. Someday, a righteous man would find the trail he had left. He would discover the message and the truth it revealed and he would use it to undo all of the lies that the Apostles might yet perpetrate in the generations to come. And, when all was done, that soul for which the scroll had waited would recite the words on which man's fate rested.

A soft breeze caressed Micah's check. He breathed it in and was at peace. All would come to pass as it should. He could see it now as clearly as the sun and clouds and trees that stood before him; as clearly as the worried, tired look on his good friend's face.

“You must leave now, Joseph,” Micah commanded. “You must leave immediately. They will soon be here. I have shown them the way in my map.”

“But there is still time for you to leave, too. You have the horse…” Joseph argued.

Micah's face shone with a faint smile. “There is nothing that I fear now.”

Micah walked Joseph to the horse and turned the steed toward Arimathea. “Know this before you leave, dear friend,” Micah began. “Those who will desecrate his memory with falsehoods will not succeed. Yeshua lives. He lives now as he shall live forever more. Not only in our memory but also in the hearts of those who shall never have known him.”

Micah continued in earnest. “Yeshua once said that it was better to falter in truth than to believe in lies. Because of your help, the Yeshua that future generations will know shall be the real Yeshua. His truth shall live on and it shall, indeed, set them free.”

The two men embraced, and Micah watched as Joseph rode off, the sun already fading over the horizon.

Why did you not tell Joseph of the other scroll?

Micah smiled. Man must fight for that which he holds most dear. In the sacrifice, the soul is cleansed.

He waited. The familiar sound of hooves would soon bring twelve men who would complete that which remained unfinished. He was not afraid.

Day Thirteen, late afternoon
Muslims for World Truth (MWT)
Video Production Studios
London

Gil struggled toward consciousness. The smell of sweat was so strong he could taste it. Instinctively, he jerked his head back then, when he realized it was the smell of his own body, he fell back gratefully into a deep sleep.

He was twelve years old again, running free in the hot country sun, aching with the thrill of exploring the world on his own. The school term was finished and he had been liberated. Suddenly, the bright day of the dream dissolved into the dark reality of a filthy mattress in a stifling warehouse room. He was anything but free.

Pain shot from deep within his groin; a paralyzing ache that grabbed his spine and twisted. He moaned.

“The toilet's in there,” the small man said, pointing to a gray door at the far side of the room.

Gil leaped from the bed and bolted into the bathroom, dry heaved into a filthy toilet, then urinated for a full minute. The pain vanished.

God. It must have been a year since I peed
.

Some vague memory of a hulk of a man flashed across his mind then disappeared.

A jackhammer began in the back of his head, and he leaned his forehead against the cool bathroom wall. It felt good. He wanted to stay there forever. Feeling the softening growth of beard, he judged it had been more than two days since his last shave, which meant he'd been here for at least twenty-four hours, maybe thirty-six. He was weak and his stomach cramped with hunger. It must have been that long since he had eaten.

The voice from the other room interrupted his thoughts. “There's water and food waiting for you when you're done.”

Gil strained to identify the accent. It sounded British. From the quick look he had managed on his rush to the toilet, he assumed the accent would be Middle Eastern.

Formal training. He probably comes from oil wealth. So what is he doing in this pit?

Hunger twisted in his stomach. With a promise to himself that he would not speak—no matter what the consequences—Gil returned to his kidnapper and to the food and drink that waited.

Beyond noncompliance, his plan was simple. He would accept nourishment in order to retain his strength. He would gather any information he could, wait for the right time and place, then make a move to break free. He wasn't fooling himself; he knew it wasn't much of a plan, but it made him feel less panicky. Most of all, it allowed him to satisfy the nagging voice that accused him of selling out to the enemy for the price of a little food.

Returning to the filthy bed, Gil tried to focus on the face of his kidnapper. A crescent scar was set deeply into his dark cheek. He wore a camel hair sport jacket that looked as if it had been tailored to fit his well-toned body. His captor smiled pleasantly. This was not the expected image of a ruthless killer.

The image of Sabbie's bloodstained sweater flashed across Gil's mind. This man had taken Sarkami, waited for Sabbie, and had done God's know what with her. Then he had lain in wait for Gil and had kidnapped him. This was the one that Sabbie had spotted outside of Ludlow's apartment. This was the new player that had her so worried.

Gil knew it with a certainty that sickened him more than his empty stomach. Wherever this man went, death followed. Now the perfectly dressed little killer had him in the palm of his hand.

Gil looked into the eyes of his abductor. The man stared back with obvious amusement, introduced himself as Abdul Maluka, then offered Gil a cold bottle of Perrier and a plate of crackers.

“These will ease your stomach. When you can tolerate more, it will be brought,” Maluka said. “We take care of our guests.”

Guest my ass. I'm your prisoner.

Gil's mind snapped to attention.

He said “guests.” Plural. Who else are they holding? Sabbie perhaps. Or Sarkami.

Gil accepted the food and drink and tried hard not to show his desperation. He turned from his kidnapper and allowed his eyes to scan the room as he ate.

The gray walls were twenty-feet high; twice that in width. No windows and just two doors, one of which led to the bathroom. The only light came from overhead florescent lights. His prison looked like any of a million warehouse rooms. He could be anywhere.

“You have been drugged,” Maluka began. “You will experience a variety of unpleasant aftereffects including cramps and nausea but they will wear off in time.”

In time! Well, at least you're not intending to kill me straight away.

“The pain in your head and neck are due to the impact you sustained from Aijaz,” Maluka continued. He pointed to the hulk of a man who stood at the door. Maluka nodded and Aijaz disappeared.

Gil turned and faced Maluka. “What have you done with Sabbie?”

Maluka's eyes narrowed as he nodded his head approvingly. “Very clever, Mr. Pearson, but that approach won't work on me.”

Gil tried to make sense of the response.

“Within moments of our hasty departure from Sarkami's home, the police arrived. Even they were not fooled,” Maluka went on. “It was a very amateurish crime scene, you know. Obviously staged.”

“What crime scene?” Gil asked.

A thin smile formed on Maluka's lips. “The one that Sarkami and Sabbie staged to make it look as if she had been injured and captured, of course. But, now, we have more important things to discuss.”

“Why the hell would Sabbie and Sarkami stage a crime scene?”

“I must assume that you were truly ignorant of their plans or you would have left with them. I cannot, however, bring myself to believe that upon seeing the evidence, you did not conclude that you had been duped,” Sarkami concluded.

“She wouldn't do that,” Gil said simply. He hoped his words carried more conviction than he felt. “Look, I know you took her. Why don't you just tell me the truth? I can't do anything to you.”

“Exactly. Neither could she, so why should we murder her?”

The image of Maluka's man, lying flat in the Monastery courtyard, flashed across Gil's mind. If Sabbie had killed him, Gil felt certain Maluka would not hesitate to take revenge.

“Hassan's death was an unfortunate accident,” Maluka answered as if he heard Gil's thoughts. “He had a bad heart, an affliction that I learned about only after his recent demise. Besides, I do not kill for revenge.”

Then you do kill for other reasons. Well, that's certainly comforting.

The whole thing made no sense. Maluka obviously had no clue as to Sabbie's whereabouts. Why else would he be asking him? And if Maluka had the scroll, which he would have captured along with Sabbie, Gil wouldn't be sitting there. So Maluka needed something from him. The question was, what was it?

“And what about Ludlow?” Gil asked. The best way to learn about someone was to ask them a question to which you already know the answer.

“Ludlow's death was not of my doing. I should think Dr. DeVris would be the more appropriate person to ask.”

DeVris!

Gil had expected Maluka to place the blame for Ludlow's death on McCullum. That would have confirmed Sabbie's report to Sarkami. But DeVris!

There was only one conclusion: Maluka didn't know about WATSC's involvement. Without knowing about McCullum, it would have been a safe assumption that DeVris had been directly involved in Ludlow's death. It was the most reasonable and logical conclusion. And it showed where Maluka's blind spot was.

But why doesn't Maluka know about McCullum? Or is he just putting on a good show to see if he can catch me in a lie?

Gil's life could depend on the answer. If, on one hand, Maluka was just pretending to have no knowledge of McCullum, then withholding that info could prove to Maluka that Gil could not be trusted. Gil, then, would be expendable.

If, on the other hand, Maluka truly had no knowledge of McCullum, providing information about McCullum could give Maluka all that he needed. Once again, Gil would be expendable.

What was it Sabbie said to Sarkami? McCullum must have stopped using e-mail and was, therefore, invisible to her detection. McCullum must have remained invisible to Hassan as well. That would have left Maluka without a clue as to McCullum's involvement.

Maluka spoke more sternly. “Now, I think I've been extremely patient. I could use drugs to obtain the information I need, but I rather think you might be bright enough to resist them. Besides, I prefer a good match of wits. In any case, I would hope that you cooperate so that there will be no need to bring Aijaz in to assist. He's watching television right now, and when he's disturbed, he can get very cranky.”

Maluka's demands were very simple: a complete recital of all that had transpired between Sabbie and Sarkami. “If there were times when you were not privy to their communication, I need to know that as well.”

He reminded Gil that he believed Sabbie and Sarkami had not included Gil in their little conspiracy, but explained that he thought Gil knew more than even he might be aware.

“Whatever you saw, heard, even what crossed your mind, may be of great use to me,” Maluka said. “Your job is to tell me what you've seen and heard. Mine is to interpret.”

Gil needed time to think, time to figure out what the hell was going on. Was it possible that Sabbie and Sarkami had staged the whole thing? Was the bloody sweater nothing more than a ploy to throw him off track?

Why else would Sabbie have had to leave the room to talk to Sarkami in private?

Everything indicated that he was being played for a fool. Her secrets, her aloofness, her intimacy with Sarkami. The last thought cut like a knife. She left him at the hotel and had taken off with Sarkami and the scroll.

And left me holding the bag!

A single thought played at the back of Gil's mind.

McCullum's boys.

Suppose McCullum's boys had taken her and Sarkami and the scroll. Gil had no proof of either scenario yet each would dictate a completely different way of dealing with Maluka.

If she had gone with Sarkami of her own free will, she could be expected to sell the scroll to the highest bidder. Since there were people who would pay a lot more to hide something than to reveal it, the scroll would most likely never see the light of day again. In that case, Gil had nothing to lose by telling Maluka all he wanted to know. At least with Maluka, there was a chance, depending on what the scroll might yet reveal, that its message might still be shared with the world.

On the other hand, if Sabbie had been taken by McCullum's boys, everything could be lost by telling Maluka all he knew. Just the mention of McCullum's name might give Maluka the information he needed to put Sabbie's life, Sarkami's life, and the scroll's message in jeopardy. It was a lose-lose situation with nothing to go on, everything at stake, and seconds to make a decision.