The Apocalypse Script (11 page)

Miss Fetch stared up at the man, “How did you know
that?”

“
Boss told me. He tells me you
have a VIP in the car. I’m to escort you and make sure you don’t
get delayed.” He nodded toward a police car on the other side of
the road. “Give me a minute. When I get in front of you and turn on
the flashers, follow behind me. I’m going to be driving fast but I
think that little import of yours can probably keep up.”

“
Oh
-
oh
,
okay,” she said, but the policeman was already walking away. As she
hurried back to her car, she punched a speed dial and initiated a
frantic, desperate conversation with a woman on the other end.
Driving fast, with a police escort, gave her ten minutes to arrange
for the Finshim’s to be opened. It was impossible and she could
feel her chest tightening.

“
I don’t care!” she yelled into
the phone as she got behind the wheel and angrily pushed the seat
belt out of the way. “Get hold of the owner or the manager or
whoever and get them there. Do whatever it takes.” This last bit
was pure theatrics, since the person on the other end had already
hung up, but Miss Fetch wanted desperately to prove to Mr. Moros
that she was trying to please him.

The police car sounded its warning
sirens,
“
whoop
whoop whoop,
”
and
turned on its flashers. Pedestrians obediently made way as the
cruiser positioned itself in front of the Spyder and accelerated.
Miss Fetch put her car into gear and followed it.

Looking at her, Moros said, “This is your first
assignment, Miss Fetch?”

“
Yes sir.”

“
What do you normally do?” he
asked, though he already knew. In truth, he knew not only the
woman’s profession, but also her income, medical history,
personality type, sexual preferences and everything else about her.
He knew that she was an assistant to a famous banker, that she had
high triglycerides, that she had once had an abortion, that she
proclaimed a love for alternative rock but secretly listened to
80’s pop music, and that she spent most evenings alone in her
apartment browsing financial and international news sites in
addition to sites dedicated to alternative medicine, fashion, and
Indian cooking.

Her most recent internet purchases
included a slipcover for a couch, a wireless router, and two sex
toys ordered a week apart. Apparently the first one just wasn’t
getting the job done.

“
I’m an executive assistant to
Gerald Powers,” she said, citing the name of the too-big-to-fail
bank’s president and CEO.

“
You are young for such a
position. You’re an ambitious person, are you not?”

“
Yes, sir, I am,” she
said.

“
That is unfortunate,” Moros said
with the slightest shake of his head.

Miss Fetch frowned, “Pardon me, sir?”

“
You say you are ambitious, but
you have already failed me twice in the space of five minutes. You
arrived late at the airport, and you are begging someone else for
assistance in opening the doors at Finshim’s.”

“
But you said-”

“
Listen, Miss
Fetch.”
The edge in the passenger’s
voice made the hairs on the driver’s neck tingle. “I do not believe
in a learning curve. When a person
like
me
tells you they want something, you deliver it. If you are a
good fetch, you will find that in a few short years you will be
fabulously wealthy with an extraordinary number of influential
friends and business contacts. You will be a god in your own
pathetic little world. But if you are a bad fetch, you, your
friends, and your family will be marked, and it is a mark that
cannot be removed. Failure and despair will follow you all the days
of your life. Do you understand that?”

“
Yes sir,” Miss Fetch said
hoarsely.

“
Good. Now, if I
tell you that I wish to procure clothing from an establishment that
is closed, you do not call anyone begging for help. You call the
owner and demand that the doors be opened, and you dictate when. If
we arrive and the doors are not open, you will shatter the
storefront glass with a brick, or shoot off the lock, or attack the
door with an axe, or if you prefer, you will pay someone else to do
those things. You will do whatever it takes to please me and you
will not worry about the repercussions, because if you are
with
me
there
are
no repercussions. Not for success. There are only
repercussions for failure. Is that perfectly clear?”

“
Yes, sir,” the fetch said, her
face hot as she beat back tears and accelerated to catch back up to
the cop car. She had been so distracted by Moros’s words that she
had inadvertently slowed down, allowing the distance between the
Spyder and its escort to expand to five car lengths.

“
You are new,” her employer
continued, “so I arranged for this police escort and my
accommodations. I will go lightly on you this trip because you have
no concept of what true freedom is, but this will be your only
opportunity for such failures. Another mistake and I shall burn the
mark into your forehead myself and dump you into an
alley.”

He watched as the woman’s face
reddened and waited for her to protest, but she gave a curt nod and
continued to look forward.

“
Superb. Now, shall I reveal to
you why I’m in Denver?” he asked.

Miss Fetch cleared her throat and
said distractedly. “Yes, sir, if you’d like.”

“
I’m here to destroy the
world.”

The red head sniffled and nodded
but she didn’t actually hear the words. Her thoughts were held
hostage by his threats. “Good luck, sir.”

“
Ha!” boomed Moros loudly,
startling her. His laugh was as loud as a gunshot. He slapped the
dash, his palm impacting it like a sledgehammer, and laughed
louder, his mouth a dark gaping cavern as he turned toward Miss
Fetch with wild eyes, truly amused.

“
Good luck! Ha! Yes, Miss Fetch!
Good luck, indeed!”

Ben had spent most of the
afternoon asleep in his new quarters, which were ridiculously
opulent. The bathroom alone was larger than his apartment, with a
bathtub the size of a small pool. On a marble shelf he had found
nine varieties of soap to choose from. Half came from Europe or
Asia and contained herbal ingredients he had never heard
of.

The bed was over-the-top, spanning
two zip codes.
Who could possibly need a
bed that big?
Yet the mattress was
magical. He had lain down on it with the intent of resting his eyes
and had instead been sucked into the land of dreams.

He had slept for three hours, only
waking when a servant appeared at his door with a menu, inquiring
as to whether Ben would like a late lunch brought to his room. Not
recognizing most of the items on the menu, he’d asked for a
hamburger and Coke, and damned if it wasn’t the best hamburger he’d
eaten in his entire life. The Coke was the Mexican variety made
with real sugar and served in a frosty glass bottle.

Now it was nearing five o’clock
and Ben stood next to one of the fireplaces in the Great Hall
sipping from a green bottle of mineral water. He wore the new suit
that Lilian had provided him, which consisted of a black coat and
pants, a gray pinstriped shirt, and black tie. The fit was perfect.
The shoes were Italian and as comfortable as a broken-in pair of
sneakers. He felt like a million bucks and wondered if that had
been the investment made in his outfit for the night.

Lilian walked into the room. She
had changed into a magnificent little black dress that faithfully
transferred every underlying curve to the surface. Ben tried to
avoid ogling her but could see she knew the impression she
made.

“
Do you like it?” she
asked.

“
That is what is called a
rhetorical question, Lilian.”

“
I am pleased to hear you say
so.”

“
So,” he said, “what exactly is
required for me to join this club of yours? Ridley said that you
and Fiela would sponsor me but I’m not sure what that
means.”

Lilian moved toward him and
stopped an arm’s length away. Around her neck was a platinum bib
necklace riddled with rubies and emeralds. Her slightest movement
set off a fireworks display.

“
Ah,” she said. “That is rather
tricky, so I’ll need you to humor me.”

Ben raised an eyebrow. “I hope
there’s no paddling involved.”

“
Nothing like that,” she said with
an unsteady smile.

Seconds passed.

“
Just
tell
me, Lilian.”

The woman put a palm on his chest
and twiddled her fingers. “We need to get married.” Before that
could register, she added hurriedly, “A purely
ceremonial
marriage,
Ben.”

Picking his jaw up from the floor, the man said,
“Meaning what?”

“
Meaning, there will be no
priests, judges or justices-of-the peace involved. The marriage
will not be recognized by any state or nation. No paperwork will be
filed at any courthouse. We will be like two actors exchanging vows
in a play.”

Skeptical, the linguist said, “It remains an odd
requirement.”

“
Yes, but you
see, there are only two ways one can enter the Nisirtu. The first
is to be born into the society and the second is to marry into it.
There are no guest passes. If you agree to become my Nisirtu
husband, my
mutu
, you will have the same rights as me. You can study the
tablets and read all the musty secret books in Ridley’s library and
go with me to the Ziggurat.”

Ben’s ears perked up at
musty secret books
. He
imagined Ridley had an enviable collection of such books. “What
does this ‘purely ceremonial’ marriage entail?”

“
A dowry. A gift from the bride’s
father to the groom.”

“
That’s rather
antiquarian.”

Lilian looked mildly offended. “Is
it, really? When a father of a bride pays for a wedding, he is
essentially paying a dowry. The Nisirtu have the same custom,
except that the dowry comes in the form of a gift.”

“
We’re not talking money, I
hope.”

“
Oh,
no.
Never.
Ben, the Nisirtu do not use money. We do not even talk about
it unless dealing with
non-members
. It is considered
extraordinarily rude to mention money in polite
company.”

Ben laughed in disbelief. “You’ve
got to be kidding me. I’m wearing a suit that probably costs more
than a new car and we’re flying to dinner in a helicopter but you
don’t
use
money?
I can’t even imagine what that means!”

“
That is something I can explain
to you on the way to the Ziggurat.”

“
But what kind of dowry can there
be, other than money?”

“
It must be a right or authority.
That is the stock and trade of the Nisirtu. My father must grant
you a right or authority.”

“
You told me you were an orphan.
Your father is...”

“
Dead,” she said quickly. “Yes,
which would normally be a problem.” She raised a single finger into
the air. “However, I have a solution.”

“
Of course you do,” said Ben
matter-of-factly, but by then Lilian was walking out of the
room.

“
I’ll be right back,” she said
over one shoulder.

Ben fell into a nearby
chair.
A purely ceremonial
marriage?
Things were moving far too fast.
He hadn’t had sufficient time to analyze any of what he had seen or
heard in the past thirty-six hours. Despite evidence to the
contrary, he still half expected to see a camera lens poking
through the room’s curtains, proof that he was a victim of some
reality show hoax.

The ten million dollars in his
bank account was real enough, though. Or was it thirty-five
million, now?

A few minutes later Lilian
returned holding in both hands an ivory chest encrusted with a
rainbow of precious stones. It was the size of small music box. The
edges were lined with gold but the hinges and clasp appeared to be
iron. She sat it down on the coffee table in front of Ben with
something like reverence. Then she stepped out of her shoes and
knelt down at the end of the table, at the foot of Ben’s chair, and
pivoted the box so that the clasp was facing him.

“
This belonged
to my father but was left in my care when he…when he
died.
” There was a
slight tremor in Lilian’s voice. She cleared her throat, smiled
apologetically, and reached over and opened the chest. Inside was a
faded blue velvet cushion and on top of that an enormous
ring.

“
It was his signet ring,” Lilian
said in a low voice. “His was the last hand to ever touch
it.”

“
It’s stunning,” Ben said under
his breath, leaning forward. The golden loop was a half-inch thick
and heavily inscribed with Cuneiform-like symbols so small and
intricate that he would need a magnifying glass to make any sense
of them. The bezel, which seemed to be made of a harder metal, was
the size of a quarter and bore rows of additional symbols and
characters. Ben marveled at the superb craftsmanship and the ring’s
imposing character.