Chase Baker and the Seventh Seal (A Chase Baker Thriller Book 9) (7 page)

“So far you’re not telling me anything that Cross doesn’t already know,” I say. “And if the books are real, they are two thousand years old. Someone by now would have snipped the seal.”

The new beers come, and we both take a drink as if the ever-widening mystery of the Bible codices is making us thirsty. And it is.

“This is where things get weird,” she says.

I eat another bite of the crepe.

“I’m used to weird,” I assure her. “Try me.”

“The seal that’s wrapped around the seventh codice . . . It’s a metal material for sure. Cross already knows that. But it’s also a metal like no other. Now, that’s something Cross most definitely does not know, and I’d rather he never know it.”

“You’re not doing ancient alien stuff on me, are you, Dr. Magda Azzahra? That crazy Greek History Channel guy with the whacked out hair isn’t about to pop out of the woodwork, barking about Vimana, is he?”

She shakes her head so hard I’m afraid it might snap off.

“Listen, Chase,” she says, “I’m the last one to give credence to conspiracy theories or half-baked History Channel Ancient Aliens nonsense. I’m a scientist, after all.”

“Here comes the big fat but.”

“But,” she says, with a long T, “this is one of the stranger materials I’ve ever encountered. It’s metal, it’s thin, and it’s, by all appearances, unbreakable.”

“Or maybe whoever owns the seventh codice refuses to break it out of simple superstition. Break the seventh seal, bring upon the end of the world.”

“Maybe,” she nods. “But you can’t tell me that someone, not even one person out of two thousand years of generations, hasn’t at least tried to bust the damn thing open.”

“Good point,” I agree. “And I’m beginning to see why you don’t want Cross to know about all this. If he takes possession of the codice, he’s liable to obsessively spend millions having the seal broken just to see if it can be done.”

“Or worse, he’ll sell them to someone for an out of this world price. He might sell them to a bad government belonging to a dangerous country. Iran for instance.”

The woman’s got a hell of a point.

I say, “So where are the books in relation to the Damascus Gate in the Old City?”

“That’s just it. When I went back to the shop with several colleagues of mine who were working the dig, the proprietor was no longer there.”

“Maybe he had the day off.”

Another vicious shake of the head. Or what’s the better word . . . adamant.

“If only that were the truth, Chase. The man who was now behind the counter, a tall, broad-chested, balding man in his sixties, insisted that the proprietor in question never existed in the first place.”

I look her in the eyes. “Never existed . . . And the seven books?”

“In the bald man’s words, ‘Belief in such things is pure fantasy. The stuff of legend. Seek out the codices no longer.’”

Popping the last forkful of crepe into my mouth, I wash it down with what remains of my second cold beer.

“You know what we have here, Doc?” I say, wiping my mouth with a napkin.

“Tell me.”

“We have us a conspiracy of Biblical proportions.”

“Literally,” she says.

“Maybe it’s time to call the History Channel,” I say.

CHAPTER 12

Dr. Azzahra tries to put up a fight when the bill comes, but she’s been an invaluable asset in what’s already turning out to be a rather Cloak and Dagger search for the seven missing ancient books. Besides, my, or should I say
our,
employer is inevitably paying all bills from this point forward anyway. That said, I make sure to grab a receipt from the waitress.

Outside on the sidewalk, Magda holds her hand up to hail a cab. She manages to nab one right away. The taxi driver pulls up to the corner. She goes to open the rear door.

“Hey, Doc,” I say, “how do I get in touch with you if I need to?”

She locks eyes on me, bites down on her bottom lip.

“I’m going to be honest with you, Chase,” she says. “As crazy as this is going to sound, I’m a little nervous about discussing the codices with you alone more than we already have.”

My body deflates. A few minutes ago, she was spilling her guts about the metal books. Doing it behind Cross’ back. Now she doesn’t want anything to do with discussing them further. Or maybe I just think she’s super cute and super smart and single, and I’d like to see her again. Chase the hopeful.

“Was it something I said?”

She smiles, touches my hand with her free hand. I think she’s onto me and my little crush, despite our little age difference.

“Oh no,” she says, “it’s not that. Turns out you’re a fun date, if I don’t say so myself. I asked you here tonight because of one thing and one thing only. There’s something very powerful and mysterious wrapped around those books. Death surrounds them. And a whole lot more death surrounds that sealed seventh book should it be found. That seventh seal must never be breached.”

She smiles again. It makes my stomach go tight.

“Will I see you again?” I ask.

“Would you like to?”

“I gotta answer that?”

She reaches into her bag, pulls out a card, hands it to me.

“Good luck on your quest, Chase. Do me this one favor. If you discover the codices, promise me you’ll tell me first.”

She gets into the cab, and the driver pulls away. I pocket the card and decide to walk back to my apartment while I contemplate what Dr. Magda Azzahra looks like in her underwear.

CHAPTER 13

It’s dark. I decide to walk through the park on the way home, retracing the steps Magda and I took earlier. The old iron lamps are lit up, and they cast a dim yellow glow on the grass and the winding asphalt paths. To my left, a young college age couple are sitting shoulder to shoulder, sharing a single cigarette, perhaps planning a future together that will never happen. Chase the cynical.

To my right, an old man is searching through a trash receptacle, looking for something to eat. I tap him on the shoulder while reaching into my pocket for some money. Peeling off a ten spot, I hand it to him.

“God bless you,” he says, his voice sounding like it’s detaching itself from the back of his throat. His cracked, white whiskered face makes me sad.

“Thanks,” I say. “I’ll need it.”

I keep on walking, but before I get too far, he speaks to me again. I turn to face him once more.

“She’s following you,” he says. “She will kill you.”

Seconds ago it seemed like he could hardly work up the strength to utter a
God bless you
. But now his words come to me clearly, without distortion. As if they were spoken by a far younger man directly into my ear.

I lock eyes on the old, crooked man, his too thin body draped in an old, ill-fitting black suit. He’s showered in the dim yellow light, his face pale, cheeks concave, head bald, the fingers on his hands like broken twigs.   

“Excuse me?” I say.

But he doesn’t respond. He pockets the ten-dollar bill and walks away into the darkness.

Back inside my apartment, I’m feeling out of sorts. Spooked is the better word for it.

She’s following you. She will kill you . . .

What the hell is that supposed to mean? Who is she, and how does he know about her? Is he talking about the Vanessa, the woman I left gagged and bound in the bathroom on the train in Austria? How in the world could he possibly know about her?

Just to keep my mind off of the ramblings of a crazy man, I repack my bag for the morning. It doesn’t take very long, but by the time I’m finished I’m feeling exhausted. Like I’ve been injected with a sedative.

Without bothering to undress, I lie back on my bed, eyes peeled on the ceiling. The red neon light from the electric exterior-mounted restaurant sign across the street flashes against it. It reminds me of blood. The kind that pours warm and wet and fresh from the vein. My mind fills with faces. Cross, Magda, Vanessa . . . I even picture the old man who spoke to me in riddles out in the park. Then, I think about the books. The codices.

Are they for real? Who would have stolen them from the proprietor of the Jerusalem bookshop? Why steal them at all when they should be studied and examined by the same antiquities experts who are still studying the Dead Sea Scrolls? Maybe, unlike the scrolls, they are something that authorities, both religious and military, do not want to be found. Maybe that’s why Cross wants them so badly. Because they are entirely unattainable. For certain, that’s why Magda is going behind his back. Because if he should take possession of them, he risks destroying mankind.

“Okay, Chase,” I whisper. “Cut the crap. As usual, your imagination is getting the best of you.”

After a time, I feel myself drifting off and then suddenly, I’m falling into a deep sleep. A dreaming sleep.

I see myself standing on a vast, desert plain. I’m sweating profusely, the heat so searing it’s as if I’m on fire. The earth beneath me trembling like an earthquake. But then, it’s not an earthquake. It’s something else. Something that hasn’t revealed itself yet. I see something coming toward me from out of the distance. The heat rising from the earth creates a translucent haze that distorts the vision. But within seconds, I see that it’s someone on horseback.

The closer the person comes, the easier it is to tell that it’s a woman, her hair flowing over her shoulders. Blonde hair. The horse she’s riding is pale white, matching her hair. But her clothing is all black. I feel the urge to turn, to run. But I can’t. I’m entirely paralyzed. Suddenly, the trembling and rumbling beneath my feet reach a crescendo, and the earth opens up. Thousands of bodies emerge from their graves.

The woman on horseback rides through the crowd of living dead until she reigns her horse in and comes to a stop just a few feet away from me. So close I can see her deep brown eyes and her sad smile. Vanessa. In her hand, she’s holding the seventh metal book. The metal seal on the book is broken.

The sky turns black, jagged bolts of lightning strike the earth.

“Nooooo!” I scream, but my voice is drowned out by thunder. Vanessa laughs, but her voice is no longer her own. It’s that of the old man in the park. Her face is no longer her own, either. It becomes the old man’s face. But even that old face sheds its old skin to reveal the skull beneath it.

“Our Father,” I whisper, “who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name.”

The sky opens, and a bright, white light fills my eyes . . .

When I wake, I’m covered in sweat. I don’t recall taking my clothes off when I passed out in the bed, but at some point, I must have woken up and shed them. What the hell is happening to me? I haven’t even left my apartment yet and already I’m being followed. Only, not by flesh and bone, but, instead, evil spirits.

Maybe Magda is right.

Maybe there is something to the legend of the seven metal codices after all. Maybe there’s information contained within them that is not to be found within the Dead Sea Scroll parchments. Something powerful and God-like. Satan-like. Something not of this world, anyway.