The God Machine (28 page)

“What the devil are you talking about?” “Who sent you?” Franklin asked. “Was it the Penns?” The Knight laughed. “This comes down from Pope Clement himself. Do you think we don't know what
Voltaire is saying? In a letter to Helvétius—which we just intercepted—your friend writes,
‘When we have destroyed the Jesuits, we shall have easy work with the Infâme.’
Not so easy now, it appears.” He pricked Franklin's neck. “Where's the Gospel?”

“I'm an ambassador to the Court of St. James. I have powerful friends.”

“Fewer each day, Mr. Franklin. They've grown tired of you. And your meddling. You are no longer welcome in England. Even Lord le Despencer has withdrawn his protection.”

Franklin felt the blade slit his skin. “No, wait!” he said. “I've left specific instructions. If I'm murdered, my publishing network will publish the Gospel of Judas, reveal the Logoi to everyone. Release me. Let me go. Let me go!” he commanded.

Franklin's voice was so strident that the Knight stepped away. He lowered his blade. Then he raised it again.

Franklin straightened his wig. “This will bring on a bout of the gout, mark my words.” He bent down and picked up his cane. “Pass this along to your masters,” he said. “It's my last proposition. If I, or anyone in my family, is ever attacked by your agents again, if I die of mysterious causes, if I fall to an accident, to the dirk of a reveler on the King's coronation or some other occasion, my partners will publish the Gospel of Judas.

“But…” he continued, removing his glasses. He wiped them carefully with a kerchief which he plucked from his sleeve. “… if you stop chasing me, if you leave me alone, I swear I will never reveal what it says. I'll keep the Logoi a secret.” He slipped his bifocals back on his nose. Then he smiled. “To the grave.”

“Van Musschenbroek was confident too, till the end,” said the Knight. “You all are.”

Franklin hesitated. “Van Musschenbroek? What does he have to do with the gospel?”

“You brought him into your scheme when you sent him your letter. We know of the God machine. We know what it does. But you'll never build it.”

Franklin stared at the man with the wispy black beard. “My proposition is fair,” he replied. “Pass it on to your keepers.” Then he turned. “And I never want to see you again.”

K
OSTER FELT THE WORLD START TO CLOSE IN AROUND HIM
. He watched as one of the men rushed in to attack Sajan. She stood there for a moment without moving. It was as if she were waiting for him. And then, at the last second, she turned. She twisted her body while taking his hand, and the man seemed to climb through the air, to simply roll past her hip. Carried by the force of his charge, he flew into the great wall of holly. Before he could possibly recover, she stood over him. As he scrambled upright, she stomped down on his knee. There was a sickening brittle
snap
, then a scream.

Koster tugged at the cord around his neck. He tried to swivel away but the weight of the nun on his back kept him pinned on his knees. His fingers clawed at the cord, at some object attached to it. It was some sort of crucifix. She was strangling him with her rosary beads!

The nun reached for the cross. She pinched it between her fingers, and the body of Christ fell away to the ground, revealing a short silver blade underneath. She brought it up to his face. He could see it, though his vision
grew cloudy. He let go of the cord. He reached for her hand. The sight of the blade only inches from his eye filled him with unfathomable terror. Adrenaline roared through his veins.

Koster watched helplessly as the second man ran up to Sajan. They circled each other. The man had a knife in his hand. There was a smile on his face. He was young, in his twenties, with brown eyes and a small thin mustache. Then he lunged. Again, Sajan stepped to one side. The blade sliced the air. The man brought his hand down, the point aimed at her face, but she blocked it easily between her forearms. Then she wrapped her right hand round his wrist. She twisted it down and around, and the young man rolled, cursing, trying to straighten his elbow. The knife spun from his fingers. Off balance, he punched wildly at her face. What followed happened too fast to see clearly. Sajan flattened the palm of her left hand and struck her attacker's face. His head snapped backward. Blood burst from his nose. Then she twisted her hip, shaped her hand like a point and thrust it with great speed and precision directly into his jugular notch. The man crumpled before her, grabbing his throat. She wrapped her right foot round his ankles and pushed him hard to the ground. As he fell, she smashed the point of her elbow directly on the back of his neck. Then she turned. She looked over at Koster.

The nun's blade was still poised at his eye. Try as hard as he might, using all of his strength, he simply couldn't push it away. It was drawing still closer. He felt his arms weaken, grow heavy. He couldn't breathe. It grew suddenly dark, as if a cloud were covering the sun.
This is it
, he realized, and he wondered what it would feel like to have a knife pierce his eye. Were there nerve endings there? Would he feel the cold steel as it sliced through the membrane? Without warning, the silver blade vanished, and the pressure on his neck went away. It was
suddenly gone. Koster spat and coughed and fell forward, wheezing. Then, he looked up.

The nun was approaching Sajan. Sajan stood her ground, simply waiting, poised in some sort of fighting stance—left foot forward, right back. She waited when the nun unexpectedly ground to a halt. She looked over her shoulder. At first, Koster thought she was staring at him. Then he realized she was looking at something behind him.

Koster climbed to his feet. A dozen figures, dressed in minuteman costumes, strolled down the sidewalk, just beyond the stone fence. More weekend soldiers, for the Battle of Germantown. Koster waved, tried to shout, but nothing came out. “Hey,” he croaked. “Over here.” It was hardly a whisper.

The men turned and looked over. They waved back.

Koster glanced over his shoulder. The nun and the two pursuers were moving away. One was hobbling badly. The other carried Koster's computer bag. Sajan stood off to the side, simply watching as the trio retreated.

“Hey,” someone called. “You guys okay?”

It was one of the minutemen. He was dressed in a long dark blue coat faced with scarlet, a white waistcoat and trousers and a tricornered hat.

Koster nodded. “Okay,” he managed to say. And then, as if a switch had been flipped, he felt pain. Terrible pain, as though a necklace of fire had been wrapped round his neck.

“We're fine,” Sajan said. She was suddenly standing beside him. “You are, aren't you?” She reached for his hand.

The minutemen strolled away, smiling. “My computer bag…” Koster rasped.

“Yes, I know. They took everything. Including the first piece of the map.”

Koster reached into his jacket. “Not everything.” He held up the digital camera. Then, he suddenly coughed,
buckled over and spat. “And I left Franklin's journal back at the hotel.”

“Then we're still in the game.”

Koster looked up. Sajan had a hand on his shoulder. She was smiling at him. “You call this a game?” he said, wiping his mouth. “Who were those guys, anyway?”

Sajan stared out across the lawn, back toward Carpenters' Hall. The nun and the two men had vanished. “I don't know. Thieves, I guess.”

“Thieves! Are you kidding me? Since when do people dress up like nuns so they can mug you for a laptop?” He rubbed at his neck. “This happened to me once before, you know.”

“What? Being mugged by a nun?”

“Being strangled,” he said. “Back in Amiens, France.” Without warning, he started to laugh. Perhaps it was all the excitement. Perhaps it was just the adrenaline coursing madly through his veins. But despite the searing pain in his neck, Koster couldn't stop laughing. “Did you see the way she jumped up and kicked me? Jesus Christ! If you can't even trust a nun in this world… Thank God I didn't go to Catholic school, or I'd really be traumatized. And you! What was that all about?” He started to wiggle his hands in the air. “That Jackie Chan shit.”

“I used to take martial arts classes. For years, as a girl. My father thought a woman should always know how to defend herself.”

Koster shook his head, grimacing. “Well, you saved my ass. Did you see that fucking knife in her crucifix? What kind of nut job hides a knife in a
crucifix?
No, don't tell me—editors at a rival publishing company.” He laughed. Then the euphoria left him. He stood there, rubbing his neck.

Finally, after the silence had become unbearable, Sajan sighed. “Knights of Malta. The same people who
were after Franklin's map in his day. After the Gospel of Judas, Joseph. Just like us.”

Koster looked over at the colonial garden, at the blossoming iris and fruit trees. “Not me,” he replied. “I was doing this as a favor, for Nick. Just like you, right? But now this has happened… I mean, you're not going to continue, right?”

“Continue?”

“To look for the Gospel of Judas.”

“Why did you keep searching for the Gospel of Thomas, even after you were attacked in Amiens?”

Koster started to answer. Then he stopped, shook his head. “I don't know,” he replied. “To solve the puzzle, I guess. To unravel the labyrinth. But that's different. I didn't know what I was up against then. Not really.” He paused, trying to come up with a reason. “Plus, I had a cop at my side. Nigel Lyman.”

“You should look him up, then,” she said. “Once we touch down in England. We need to find the second piece of the map, Joseph.”

“You're out of your mind,” Koster said. “Let me tell you something. The last time something like this happened to me, it didn't end well. I saw the woman I loved with a hole in her head.”

“What are you saying, Joseph?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I know what you mean. And I'm flattered you're worried about me. But I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself. As you saw.”

“Why are you doing this?”

Sajan was silent, staring off at the gardens.

“Answer me, Savita. What if we actually find the gospel, what then? What if it actually undermines the Bible and the Church? If it undermines Christianity? I don't particularly care, mind you, but I know that you do.”

“If the Gospel of Judas reveals Christ's true words, Gnostic or not, they need to come out. They need to be heard. And…” She faltered. After a moment, she added, “Look, if you want to come, come. If not… then give me the camera.” She held out her hand.

Koster stayed where he was.

“The camera, Joseph.”

After a moment, Koster reached into his pocket. He gave it to her.

“Thank you,” she said, softly.

“You say that now, of course. But later,” he grumbled, “when your throat's been slashed by some deranged Catholic nun, you may feel somewhat differently.”

Sajan started back down the path toward the gate leading out onto Chestnut Street.

“I'm not going with you,” cried Koster. “You're on your own, do you hear me? If you want to kill yourself, that's your business.”

Sajan kept walking.

“I'm on vacation,” Koster called. “Don't look to me to come rescue you. I'm not going to England. I'm done. I've had it. I'm through.” He sighed. He rubbed at his neck. “I'm not going to England,” he repeated, as he followed her.

Sajan never even looked back.

M
ICHAEL
R
OSE SAT AT THE HEAD OF THE CONFERENCE ROOM
table at the offices of the Heart of the Family Research Council, clicking the top of his pen. Beside him, staring out the window at the National Museum of American Art across the street, squirmed Archbishop Lacey. The Catholic prelate had just been reprising the continuing failure of his Knights at Carpenters' Hall. The whole thing had been an unmitigated disaster. Rose clicked his pen. And now Michael was being forced to bring in the cavalry. He clicked and he clicked; he picked at a dead piece of skin by his ear.