The God Machine (46 page)

“What is this place?” Koster asked. “And why did you bring us here?”

“Take a minute. Look about you,” said Robinson. He swept out his arm. “It's taken me thirty-two years to amass this collection.”

Koster moved from rostrum to rostrum. Each held a different codex, different versions of the same thing—the Gospel of Judas. No, Koster realized. There were other gospels as well, like the Secret Book of James. Here, the Epiphanes. And there, the Gospel of Mary.

“Some might consider me somewhat obsessive,” said Robinson. He threw out a laugh. “When I set out to find a piece…”

They were all Gnostic, Koster noticed. And some remarkably ancient. That's when he saw it. In the very last row.

“… I generally find it.”

Koster pressed his hands to the glass, the breath trapped in his lungs. The Gospel of Thomas. The manuscript he had been searching for while in France, fifteen years ago. The one he had dug for, with his bare hands, under Chartres Cathedral. What Mariane had died for. He couldn't believe it. He looked up.

Nick Robinson was staring at him. “As you can see,” he concluded, triumphantly.

Sajan ran up beside Koster. She pushed him away and peered down at the case. “You had it,” she whispered. And she laughed a small laugh. It cut like a sliver of glass. “You lied to me, Nick. You said that you never received it. That's why you and the countess…” She shook her head. “You promised the countess you would publish it, reveal the truth to the world. But you never intended to, did you, Nick? You lied. You kept it hidden away. In this tomb.”

“I could little afford such a confrontation with the Church at the time. And I knew that as long as I had the Gospel of Thomas, the Church would leave me alone to continue my quest for the El Minya schematic, the map and the God machine. Just like Franklin, when he was attacked by that stranger in London, as he revealed in his journal. I know what I promised Irene,” Nick said. “And I meant it. But it wasn't the right time. Not then. And it wasn't your time.”

“My time?”

He laughed. “We've been drawn here, each of us, for a reason,” said Robinson. “This was all meant to be.”

“I'm not a Hindu,” Sajan said. “Or is my color still throwing you off? Nothing's predestined, Nick.”

“Then how do you explain Franklin's map? Did Abraham choose? Did da Vinci?”

Sajan hesitated.

Robinson began to circle the room, moving in and out of the spotlights. “All of these pieces, these fragments,”
he said, “are part of a two-thousand-year-old puzzle. Some in Greek. Some in Mishnaic Hebrew. Aramaic. And many much older than the Nussberger-Tchacos. It's taken me the better part of my lifetime, but the collection is almost complete.” He paused at the end of the row. He looked down at the rostrum before him. It was empty. “Only one codex remains. Only one is still missing.”

“Franklin's Gospel of Judas,” said Koster.

Nick nodded. “Missing, until his journal was uncovered in Philly. Then you, Joseph, came to my rescue. As I knew you would. And Savita as well. My two oldest and dearest friends in the world.”

“Cut the crap, Nick. You used us.”

“Perhaps so. Just as you've used me through the years. One hand washes the other. That doesn't mean I don't love you. Who's looked after you, Joseph? Who's taken care of you your whole life? Found you work when you needed it. Picked you up every time that you fell—”

“I wonder, Nick. Did you know even then?” asked Sajan, cutting in.

“What are you talking about?”

“When you first met us. The smart Indian woman with some interest in Biblical things; a devout Christian who just happened to have a degree in electrical engineering—before you turned her into a fellow Freemason and Gnostic. And Joseph, with his mathematical skills, his insights and doggedness, his trustworthiness. Did you think about using us even then?”

Robinson smiled. “I admired you. I thought you both had interesting brains. And, yes, I admit it. I knew even then that—one day—this would probably happen. That you'd become part of this quest. It seemed, well… inevitable. Why else had you been thrown in my path?”

“Your path? You asked me to do you a favor,” said Koster. “Remember? You asked me to help you.”

“You've done it,” Sajan said abruptly. Koster heard the tremor in her voice.

“Done what? What's he done?” Koster asked.

Robinson moved to the rear of the chamber. He must have pressed some hidden button or lever because the wall suddenly opened. A doorway appeared. Robinson motioned them forward, then stepped through the opening. Macalister followed.

“Done what?” Koster repeated.

But no one answered him.

They trailed Robinson and Macalister down several flights of steep spiral stairs. When they reached the basement, Robinson hesitated for a moment outside a steel door, waiting for Koster and Sajan to draw near. Then, he looked up at a camera sticking out of the wall. He waved and the steel door swung open, revealing a long narrow corridor.

“Prepare yourself, Joseph,” he said, as he took a step forward. “It's not every day that you get to meet God.”

T
HE DOOR AT THE END OF THE CORRIDOR OPENED UP ONTO
a glass-fronted antechamber which, in turn, overlooked a much larger clean room below. Men in white bodysuits bustled about, attending to various pieces of machinery. At the rear of the room stood a small bank of glowing computers, hooked up to some kind of electrical bower—like an arc or a doorway. It was crowned with what appeared to Koster to be bell jars, made of emerald green glass, each connected by wire to a dreadlock of cables extending down through the floor. A man carrying a clipboard glanced up at the antechamber. It was hard to distinguish his features through the headpiece. Robinson waved and the man in the clean suit waved back.

“Sometimes, when I stand here,” Robinson told them, “it's like I have my hand on Ben Franklin's kite string. Like I'm just holding on.” He smiled. “You can feel it,” he said. “Rising up through the clouds. The mark of each man. Each circle and triangle and square. From Abraham to da Vinci, to Franklin.” He turned and looked back at Sajan. “All that I need is the Tesla schematic to complete
the
phi
chip and create the harmonic.” He held out a hand. “And we don't have much time. Michael Rose has already constructed a God machine.”

Sajan took a step back. “Michael Rose—the Evangelical preacher? What's he got to do with this? That's impossible. And how would you know?”

“What do you think happened to Archbishop Lacey?”

Sajan shook her head. “You're playing games with me, Nick. I don't know what you're talking about. You're trying to confuse me.”

“The Tesla schematic.” Robinson looked over at Koster. “Where is it?”

“I think it's time we were going. Don't you?” Koster said to Savita.

“You're not going anywhere.”

“What was that?” Koster took a step closer to Robinson.

Macalister swept in from the side.

“Do you mean to say that you'd keep us here forcibly,” Koster added, “against our free will?” He glanced over at Sajan. She was staring down at the clean room below.

He had finally uttered the words. But now that it was over, now that he'd finally said it, the line felt disingenuous, inauthentic somehow. And she wasn't even paying attention.

“We saw what you wanted to show us, Nick,” Koster continued. “You've built it. The God machine. Congratulations. You did it.” He smiled a tight smile. “But the god machine is never going to work. Not without Tesla's schematic.”

“What do you want, Joseph?”

Koster stepped toward the window overlooking the clean room. He watched as the technicians moved about, to and fro, performing their duties. He took a deep breath. Then he said, “I don't want anything from you, Nick. Never again.” He turned slowly around, finally facing
him. “Do you hear me? I just want to be free of you. We both do. Let us go.”

Robinson's face clouded over. He motioned toward Macalister. “Search him,” he ordered.

“I already did. He's not armed,” said Macalister.

“Search him again.”

Macalister began patting him down. He pulled out Koster's wallet and keys, a few coins and that packet of printouts. He tossed them onto a table nearby.

Robinson picked up the printouts. He peeled them apart with his manicured fingernails. There were six of them. And they looked practically identical. “Which one is it?” he asked Koster.

Koster smiled. “Do we have a deal, Nick?”

“Do you think the Knights of Malta will just let you go? There's a price on your head now. There are warrants out—”

“That's the trouble with liars,” Koster said, interrupting him. “After a while, you just stop believing them. We're being watched, Nick, we know. But that's all. Otherwise, they would have detained us at Kennedy.”

“Your status has changed. You've been… upgraded.”

“Just tell me this, will you? For my own personal edification: Were you the one responsible for my getting pulled off that tower project in Newark? At McKenzie and Voight?”

“You needed a break, Joseph.”

“I thought so. And that condominium gig. Before I went off to France, years ago. Before I said yes to your book deal, your quest for the Gospel of Thomas, and Mariane died?”

Robinson held out the printouts. “Which is it?” he said. “Which features the last piece of the map? It is the last piece, isn't it?”

“Answer me, Nick.”

“Yes,” he replied. The word drifted like a leaf to the
floor. “And I would do it again. All of it.” Robinson took a step closer. “You have no idea what I've sacrificed. I've given up things, things I loved…” He turned toward Sajan. For a moment he hesitated. “Things I still love, because I had to. Because my personal feelings were of little concern in the grand scheme of things. They got in the way of the quest.”

“In the grand scheme of things,” Koster repeated. “Well, I don't live in the grand scheme of things. I live in the small scheme of Koster. And in my world, strange as it seems, love seems to have found itself at the top of the list.”

Robinson laughed. He waved at the clean room below. “You'd give up this chance to unravel the world's greatest conjecture? The ultimate proof? I don't think so.” He shook his head slowly. “Not Joseph Koster. A line of knowledge has been passed down to us. For more than two thousand years, the God machine has been lingering in the minds of great men. Each has added his piece, one by one. Now, the line is complete. Don't you see? God
wants
us to build it. He
wants
us to open that doorway and speak to Him. He gave us the plans.”

“This is wrong,” Sajan said. “Wrong. You can't do it, Nick. Don't give it to him, Joseph.”

“It's your fate, Joseph,” Robinson continued. “God gave you your mathematical skills, even your Asperger syndrome, for a reason. He chose you to follow this quest. It's your
destiny.”

Koster shook his head. “People aren't people to you, are they, Nick? They're just chess pieces, things you get to push around on your chessboard, biding your time, until you can leverage their natural abilities. In the grand scheme of things,” he said with a laugh. “I should know.”

He looked down at the printouts in Robinson's hand. He pointed. “That's the one, Nick. Say hi to God for me.”

Koster turned toward the door. For a moment,
Macalister barred his way. Koster waited. Time crawled to a stop. Then, Robinson nodded and Macalister stepped to the side.

Koster reached for Sajan's hand.

“Robert,” said Robinson. “Make sure you open Joseph's window on the drive back downtown. It'll be the last breath of fresh air he'll be tasting until Guantanamo Bay.”

I
T WAS EERILY QUIET IN THE MUD-SPLATTERED
S
UBURBAN AS
they made their way south, down the Upper West Side. Koster and Sajan reclined in the back, with those idiotic sleeping masks on their faces. At one point, Koster could feel the car veer off to the right. It turned and then straightened, and he could picture them driving west toward the river.