Robert Liparulo - The 13 th tribe

Still, Jagger hoped that it was he who had the problem, not God. If it were God’s problem, all was lost; life was meaningless. But if he, Jagger, just wasn’t getting it, then there was a chance of finding peace once more, of reclaiming the comfort he’d known back when he believed God was good and caring.

It was this hope, small as it was, that had driven him to take his present job. If he couldn’t bring his spirit to God, he could at least put his body someplace where God’s presence was everywhere: in the work being done, the conversations being shared, even the mountains being climbed.

Beth, smart gal that she was, had agreed. Last night he’d almost told her he was coming around. He was happier-with her, with Tyler, with life in general. God was more on his mind than he’d been in the States. How could he not be, here? But Jagger wasn’t sure he felt any closer to him or that his attitude about the Big Man’s disposition toward mankind had improved.

A monk floated past them, the hem of his robe whispering along the floor. Jagger leaned into Tyler’s shoulder to tell him it was time to go. He glanced over to see the boy’s head bowed, hands clasped in his lap. His son was praying. Jagger wondered what he was bringing before God. He thought he knew, and his heart ached. He wanted to give Tyler something-hope, maybe-so he mimicked his son’s body language, interlacing his fingers and closing his eyes. He vowed to stay that way until he knew Tyler saw him, but then a strange thing happened. He forgot about Tyler and found himself tentatively, even reluctantly talking to his Creator.

Elias stared out of the charter jet’s cabin window, absently rubbing through his shirt the nearly healed bullet wound over his heart. Only a few lights dotted the Hungarian terrain below Elias’s jet, like a small handful of diamonds scattered over black velvet. Behind him, pinpricks of light illuminated the otherwise empty cabin, so his bearded reflection in the Plexiglas window appeared to be a ghost among the stars.

He turned back to the thick book on the table in front of him. It was a modern printing of the Septuagint Bible, in the original Greek. As much as he enjoyed talking comic books with Jordan, sports cars with Toby, and firearms with Phin, he loved dissecting theological issues with Ben. Usually he’d let Ben rant and expound ad infinitum, then he’d drop a bomb on the man’s logic, correcting a misinterpreted Hebrew phrase or reminding him of a cultural context that flipped Ben’s opinion on its head. And always he’d do so in fewer words than a Chinese fortune cookie: a word to the wise really was sufficient, and he had no patience for fools.

He cracked open the Bible. On every page lines glowed under yellow, orange, and green highlighting. The margins were packed with his scribbled notes. He’d taken to squeezing memos between the printed lines. The ink or pencil he’d used at the time and the handwriting itself helped him remember what he was thinking when he wrote it, even years later. It was one reason he ignored Ben’s encouragement to switch to an e-book reader. Lugging the heavy book-or any of his other favorite reads-was a small sacrifice for the history of his thoughts.

He found himself reading the same passage a third time before realizing his mind wasn’t in it tonight. He closed the book and leaned back into the seat. From his shirt pocket he pulled a thin box of rolling papers and a bag of tobacco. He rolled himself a cigarette and stuck it into the corner of his mouth. He found his Zippo and sat there flipping open the top, lighting the wick, and closing it again, over and over. He wondered if Creed would really go as far as the Trongsa Dzong. It was easier to climb Everest with a Sherpa on your back, or so it seemed to Elias: the twelve-hour flight to Paro, which hosted Bhutan’s only airport, followed by a painfully slow drive on coiling roads to Trongsa. He doubted Creed would undertake the journey if he was seriously wounded. Then again, he’d want to get as far away as possible, and Trongsa was both distant and a Haven.

He shook his head at Creed’s defection. The man had been with them so long. Why now? It was the Amalek Project that bugged him. But there’d been others in which Creed had participated. Okay, none so.. ambitious. Still, to leave and sabotage the whole thing was beyond Elias’s comprehension. Fool.

He eyed the duffel bag in the ridiculously luxurious chair across the aisle from his seat. Protruding from the duffel was the handle of a falcata, a brutally powerful sword. He hoped he wouldn’t have to use it, but there it was, just in case.

Jordan’s chartered flight arrived at London Luton Airport’s private jet terminal well before sunrise. After checking through customs and finding the chauffeured car Sebastian had arranged for him, he instructed the driver to take him to the corner of Fleet Street and Inner Temple Lane.

“Your dad told me,” the driver said, adjusting the rearview mirror to make eye contact with Jordan in the backseat. “He a barrister, your dad? Or solicitor?” They were heading for the heart of London’s judicial district.

“My dad? Yeah, something like that.”

“What are you, eleven? Pretty young to be traveling alone.”

Jordan unzipped the daypack he’d brought and pushed his hand past a change of clothes and a satellite phone to the wad of cash Ben had given him. He peeled off a ten-pound note and handed it over the seat to the driver.

“What’s this for?” the driver said.

“Peace and quiet,” Jordan said. He smiled at the mirror, which the driver then returned to its original position. Thirty minutes later Jordan gave the mute driver another ten pounds and climbed out. At that hour, the area was nearly deserted. Only a few cars cruised the street. Jordan wore khaki slacks and a green polo shirt, hoping anyone curious about him would mistake him for a student. It was a weak disguise he didn’t want to test.

A block away, a dark figure jangled keys in front of a storefront. Probably a restaurant or bakery, Jordan thought. Gotta get ready for a rush of breakfast customers. He knew how the people would come, like a spring rain with a few drops leading to a light sprinkle, then an all-out downpour. He had to get into position before then. He moved south on Inner Temple and within a few steps saw the portico protecting the west door of Temple Church. Lamps mounted high on the surrounding buildings left few shadows to cover his approach. No one around as far as he could tell, but still he stayed close to the walls and kept his steps quiet.

The church’s famous round structure came into view, and Jordan stopped. Looking past the rear of the church, he spotted one side of the Master of the Temple’s big brick house. It was there that Creed would seek help. A wall and gate kept tourists from approaching.

Jordan adjusted the daypack’s straps over his shoulders and passed the church’s west door into the front court. It was a wide-open area whose only adornment was a statue of two Knights Templar riding a horse. He had brought his soccer ball, hoping to kick it around-maybe get a few local boys to help with the ruse-while watching for Creed. But he realized now that the Master’s house was out of sight from the court. He crossed to the far side of the church, where another wall and gate stretched between the church and another building. Through the gate he could see the front of the house. Between him and the house lay a grassy lawn lined on both sides with bushes and trees.

“Okay, then,” he said, slipping off his pack and tossing it over the brick wall. He followed and dropped onto the grass. He circled the house and didn’t find any lighted windows. If Creed had beaten him here, injured or not, at least some lights would be burning. There was a rear door, but anyone heading for it would have to cross Jordan’s sightline from where he planned on stationing himself in front. He returned to the grassy area and pushed himself behind a heavily foliated bush at the northeast corner of the church. He had a clear view of the house’s front door, its west side, and the alleyway leading to it from the east.