The Revelation Code (Wilde/Chase 11) (5 page)

‘No!’ she cried, horrified. ‘Let him go!’

‘If you come with us and do what you’re told, he’ll be safe,’ said the gunman. He gestured towards the open door. ‘Let’s go.’

‘Not until you—’

The woman cut her off. ‘Hit him again.’ The screen displayed another blow, this one to Eddie’s face. Blood oozed from his nostrils.

Nina stared at him, terror rising. ‘Oh God! Stop!’

‘Then come with us,’ the man repeated. ‘
Now
.’

It was a command that she had to obey. The two other men went back into the hall to form an escort. She stepped out after them, the man and woman falling into place behind. The latter pulled the door shut as they left.

They took her down to the street. She thought about yelling for help, but while the man had concealed his gun between himself and the woman, he was still pointing it at her back. And even if she did get help, their comrades had Eddie at their mercy. She gave the oblivious passers-by a last despairing look before being ushered into the rear of a van.

A large box, worryingly close in form to a coffin, occupied most of the space. Its lid was open to reveal a padded interior. ‘Get inside,’ said the woman as her partner closed the doors.

Nina stared fearfully at the confined space. ‘Are you insane? I’ll suffocate! I’m not getting in there.’

‘You’ll be okay,’ said the black man. The woman opened a small plastic case, revealing an ampoule of some colourless liquid – and a syringe. ‘We’re going to put you out for the journey.’

‘Fuck you!’ Nina spat. ‘You’re not injecting me with that!’

The woman’s mouth tightened, and she nodded to her companions. The two other men seized Nina by her arms, the African American tugging up her sleeve. ‘Clean it,’ the woman told him. ‘We can’t risk infection.’ He rubbed a sterile wipe over Nina’s pale forearm.

‘No, no!’ she cried, panic rising. ‘Don’t drug me, please! I’m
pregnant
!’

Her kidnappers froze. The woman looked at Nina’s belly, almost doing a double-take when she saw the small bulge. She examined it in profile, then straightened with an expression of dismay. ‘Simeon, I think she really is. We can’t drug her; we can’t risk killing an innocent. What do we do?’

‘I’ll call him,’ he replied, taking out a phone.

The two other men kept hold of Nina, tightly enough that she knew she couldn’t break free. Instead she used the unexpected pause to try to calm herself, and assess her captors. They were appalled at the thought of harming an unborn child – yet were more than willing to torture Eddie to force her to cooperate. And as she watched the man wait for his call to be answered, she realised that there was something very odd about his clothes. The woman’s, too. The style was modern, but the material was extremely coarse, as if they were made from burlap. That couldn’t be remotely comfortable, but they were apparently enduring it by choice. Who the hell were they?

Simeon finally got an answer. ‘Prophet,’ he said, the reverence in his voice suggesting to Nina that it was more than a code name, ‘we’ve got Dr Wilde, but there’s a problem. She’s pregnant. Anna thinks we can’t risk drugging her for the journey. What should we do?’

A man replied, his tone both thoughtful and authoritative, but Nina couldn’t make out what he was saying. ‘Yes . . . yes, we will,’ Simeon said when he’d finished. ‘Thank you.’

‘What did he say?’ asked Anna.

‘He agrees that harming an unborn child would be a sin, so we can’t drug her. But he doesn’t want her to know the Mission’s location.’ He gave the casket a meaningful look.

‘I am
not
getting in that box,’ Nina warned him.

‘You’re coming with us, no matter what.’ He raised his gun. ‘You don’t need your kneecaps to give birth.’

She felt a jolt of fear. His deadly earnestness warned her that he would have no compunction about carrying out the threat. But Anna spoke before he could do so. ‘We only need to blindfold her.’

Simeon nodded. He took off his tie and put it over Nina’s eyes, knotting it behind her head. It was made of the same rough, scratchy material as the rest of his clothing. She fidgeted, but was unable to shift it, her vision completely blocked.

‘Now what?’ she demanded, trying to hide her returning fear.

She heard movement as Simeon climbed into the front of the van and started it. ‘We’re taking you to the Prophet,’ said Anna. There was a thump as the coffin’s lid was closed, then hands pushed her to sit upon it. ‘Get comfortable – it’s going to take a while.’

3

A
nna was not lying.

The journey to their final destination took several hours. The van headed out of New York to an airport; Nina had no idea which, but guessed it was a smaller satellite terminal rather than a major hub like JFK or LaGuardia, as they drove right up to a waiting private jet. She was quickly hustled aboard, and within minutes they were airborne.

Even in flight, she was not allowed to remove the blindfold. She lost track of time, only able to estimate that four or five more hours passed before the plane eventually landed.

The first thing she felt when she was escorted from the aircraft was heat – wherever she was, it was much closer to the equator than New York. The concrete had been baked by the sun, the only relief a wind blowing in from . . . the sea? There was a salty tang to the air. She was either on the coast, or very close to it.

She was also at a commercial airport, not a private field. The whine of idling airliner engines was audible over her own plane. But any hope of attracting attention was immediately dashed as she was bundled into a car and driven a short distance to a waiting helicopter. Squeezed between Simeon and Anna during the flight, she still had no opportunity to see where she was, although this leg of the journey was much shorter, barely fifteen minutes.

At last the helicopter touched down, ending the nightmare odyssey. It was searingly hot, and the ground underfoot felt like gritty sand. She heard the low crash of waves. Definitely on the coast – but where?

Gravel gave way to paved slabs as her captors guided her from the helicopter and up a slope. She entered shade. The rattle of a door being opened, then she was pushed into a building, the coolness of the air-conditioned interior like going from an oven into a fridge. ‘Wait here,’ ordered Simeon. The door closed behind her.

Nina stood still, listening. As far as she could tell, she was alone. She cautiously reached up to the blindfold and, when nobody challenged her, took it off.

After the increasingly frightening scenarios her mind had conjured up, the reality was almost disappointing. Her surroundings looked like any business traveller’s hotel suite, neat and comfortable but utterly characterless. The lights were off, the only illumination slits of daylight leaking through shutters outside the single window. But even this was dazzling after hours of darkness. Nina squinted as her eyes adjusted, then tried the door.

Locked.

She was unsurprised to find herself a prisoner. Going to the window, she discovered that it too was sealed. Even if she broke the glass, the metal shutter outside would keep her trapped. She turned . . .

And froze.

Hung on the rear wall was something that would definitely not have been found in a chain hotel. Instead of generic prints of landscapes and cities, she saw a tall cross, the wood raw and chipped. Crude iron nails jutted from its arms and base. The stylised symbol of an eye, six feet across, was painted on the wall behind it.

‘What the hell
is
this place?’ she whispered. The small relief on finding that the nails were speckled with rust and not blood did nothing to counter her unease and disorientation. Prophets, crosses, followers dressed in sackcloth – her kidnappers were clearly members of some religious sect, but what did they want from her?

She found a wall switch and turned on the lights, then checked the rest of the suite. Another door led to a bathroom, as anonymously businesslike as the main room, while a counter in one corner demarcated a small kitchen area. Cupboards contained an assortment of boxed and fresh ingredients, as well as pots and pans. Hunger pangs rose in her stomach, but she resisted the temptation to eat. First she wanted answers.

Nina went back into the main room. Two single beds, couch, armchair, desk. No television. The cross was the focus of attention – or contemplation.

A small box was mounted high in one corner. A red LED blinked as she moved: a security system with a motion sensor and camera. She was being watched. The eye behind the cross was more than merely symbolic.

Another box overlooked the kitchen. She was not surprised to discover a third surveying the bathroom. Every inch of the suite was under observation.

She returned to the first camera and put her hands on her hips as she glared up at it. ‘Okay, you can see me. When do I get to see you? I know you’re watching – what, are you afraid to show yourself? You’re scared of a pregnant woman?’

Clack.

The noise came from the door. She went to it and tried the handle. This time, it opened. She stepped outside.

Heat rolled around her again. The sun was low, the view ahead lit by a dazzling golden glow. She was in a village, numerous small white buildings spread out before her. It had the same artificial, too-clean feeling as her room, a carefully maintained holiday resort rather than a place where people lived and worked. Or some kind of private gated community? A religious one, apparently; the tallest structure was a church rising up beyond the houses, a cross atop its spire. The symbol of the eye was affixed behind this too, an outline in wood or metal.

Nina stepped out of the shade. She was near the village’s perimeter, seeing a dense swathe of palm trees beyond a chest-high wire fence with a barbed top strand. There to keep people in, or out?

Where
were
the people? Nobody was in sight, even though the weird little village looked large enough to house several dozen. But she knew
someone
was here, observing her. A high white pole nearby was topped by a grape-like cluster of glossy black spheres. CCTV cameras, pointing in every direction to give her mysterious hosts 360-degree video coverage. More such posts dotted the settlement. As she regarded the cameras, one of them rotated to stare back at her.

Not only was she being watched, but it was being made unavoidably obvious. God’s eye – or that of a follower, at least – was upon her wherever she went.

She considered running into the trees, but instead advanced into the village. Right now, she needed to find out what was going on – and for all she knew, the jungle was also under surveillance.

There was still no sign of life as she moved between the pristine houses. Some had their shutters raised; she peered through a window. The interior was as neat and as impersonal as her suite, with another large cross and eye on the far wall. Increasingly unsettled, she reached the end of the street.

A path led to the helicopter landing pad, now empty, near the edge of a low, rocky cliff. Beyond it stretched the ocean. A brisk wind kicked up whitecaps as waves struck the stony shore below. She was facing away from the lowering sun, looking east – across the Atlantic, most likely. Was she on one of the Caribbean islands? Given the length of the journey, that seemed a safe bet. But which one?

She looked to her right. The church was fully visible from here, atop a little hill. Steps led up to it. If nothing else, she decided, it would give her a better view of the surrounding landscape.

She was halfway up the steps when a bell rang loudly from the steeple – and suddenly the village burst into life.

The church doors were thrown open. A throng of people poured out, hurrying towards her. All wore white clothing. Fearful, Nina tried to retreat, but they swarmed around her. There was no hostility, the group merely blocking her way, and everybody was smiling, but the silent uniformity of expression was somehow more disturbing than if they had been aggressive.

‘Welcome, Dr Wilde!’ a voice boomed. Nina searched for its source, seeing loudspeakers above the church door. ‘Welcome to the Mission. My friends, bring her to me.’ The words echoed from other speakers throughout the village.

A plump middle-aged woman gestured towards the entrance. ‘This way, please.’ Others moved aside to form a clear path up the steps. ‘The Prophet is waiting for you.’

‘The Prophet?’ Nina asked, but the only response was a polite nod. Smiling faces watched her expectantly. Feeling increasingly unnerved, she went through the human corral to enter the church.

The interior was clean, white and devoid of any warmth or comfort, a place of worship that was entirely about the act rather than the feelings behind it. Even the tall, thin stained-glass windows were less inspiring than forbidding, the same eye motif topping simple grids of coloured squares.

At the far end of the central aisle was a raised pulpit, in which stood a man dressed in white robes. Simeon and Anna flanked it. The former slipped a hand into his jacket to make it clear to Nina that he could draw his gun in a moment if necessary.

She retreated, only to find that the people behind her had closed ranks to block her exit. ‘Let me through!’ she protested, trying to push between them. ‘I’ve been kidnapped! Let me out!’

‘The Prophet wants to see you,’ said the woman amiably. Then, with a sterner undertone: ‘Don’t keep him waiting.’

The figure in the pulpit signalled that Nina should approach. Realising that she would not find any support from the cultists – that was the only way she could think of the smiling white-clad crowd – she reluctantly started down the aisle.

The voice resounded from more speakers inside the church. ‘Dr Wilde, I’m glad you decided to see me.’

‘Did I have a choice?’ she called angrily.

‘God granted you free will. Of course you had a choice. But making any other one might have had consequences. Something I hope you’ll remember.’

Nina approached the pulpit. ‘So you’re Number One. Who are you? Or do I just call you Mr Prophet?’

The man appeared to be in his late forties, with dark hair that was greying at the temples. His eyes, an extremely pale blue that appeared almost glowing, fixed unblinkingly upon her. ‘That’s the title my followers gave me,’ he said. She was now close enough to hear his unamplified voice. ‘Their choice, not mine. My real name is Ezekiel Cross.’

‘Appropriate,’ Nina replied, indicating the symbol dominating the wall behind him.

‘Yes. When I realised I’d been chosen as an agent of God’s will on earth, everything about my life made sense.’

‘And when was that?’ she said, mocking. ‘Did an angel appear before you?’

Simeon scowled, but Cross gave her a thin smile. ‘As a matter of fact, yes.’ He descended from the pulpit. ‘Come with me.’

He led the way through a door at the rear of the church. Nina followed, Anna and Simeon falling in behind her. The robed man walked down a short passage, opening another door and ushering his guest inside.

Nina stopped in surprise. She had expected a study, but what she found was more like the control room of a television studio. The entire opposite end was a wall of monitor screens, curving around a large white leather swivel chair. The seat had touchscreens at the end of each armrest, which she guessed Cross used to operate the system.

But what had brought her to a startled halt was not the digital panopticon, but its subject.

Herself.

Every screen displayed a different picture, but all had one thing in common: they were following her. Literally, in some cases, as the camera tracked her movements. Most of the footage had been shot in the last few minutes, showing her blindfolded arrival in the Mission, her search of the suite and subsequent exploration of the settlement, right up to her entering the church.

But, she realised with increasing alarm, there was older material too, recordings of her on the streets of New York. Entering and leaving her apartment building, visiting stores, her therapist – even the medical centre where her obstetrician was based. That meant Cross’s people had been watching her for some time, as her last appointment had been a month ago.

Eddie featured in some of the spy shots. The sight of her husband reignited her anger – and her fear for his safety. ‘Where’s Eddie?’ she demanded. ‘What have you done with him?’

Cross faced her. ‘I’ve had him kidnapped to force you to do what I want.’ On seeing her surprise at his blunt answer, he went on: ‘I used to work in intelligence, for the CIA. For a job that was supposedly about finding facts, there was far too much hiding of the truth behind walls of lies and evasion. And then, one day, I had . . . a revelation.’ A faint smile. ‘Since then, I’ve dedicated myself to truth, to clarity. Which is why I’m not going to waste time with veiled threats.’ He stepped closer, staring coldly at the redhead. ‘You’re going to help me find something. If you don’t cooperate, your husband will be tortured. Clarity, as I said.’

It took Nina a few seconds to stammer out a reply. ‘And if I do cooperate? What happens to us?’

‘That’s up to God’s judgement.’

Fury rose inside her. ‘That’s not
clarity
, you son of a bitch! That’s evasion—’ She broke off with a gasp as Anna seized her by the hair.

Cross raised a hand. ‘I’m not being evasive, Dr Wilde.’ Anna let go, and Nina drew away from her with a hate-filled glare. ‘You’ll see what I mean when I get what I want.’

‘What
do
you want?’ she growled. ‘Why do you need me – and why kidnap me and torture Eddie rather than just, y’know, asking nicely?’

‘I have my reasons. One of which is that I had to be certain you would help me.’

‘I still might not.’

His cold eyes flicked towards one particular screen. ‘You will.’

Nina followed his gaze to see a slumped Eddie sitting in – no, secured to – a chair in a darkened room, apparently unconscious. Her blood froze. Somehow she knew it was a live image.

‘What do you want?’ she asked again, this time pleading. ‘Whatever it is, just tell me, and I’ll try to find it for you.’

Cross moved to survey the wall of screens. ‘Do you believe in God, Dr Wilde?’

Being in a church, she should have been prepared for the question, but it still caught her off guard. ‘Not . . . no, not particularly.’

‘Then you’re an
atheist
?’ There was a venomous undercurrent behind the word.

‘No.’

He frowned. ‘Belief in God doesn’t work on a sliding scale. You either do, or you don’t. You’re a believer, or you’re not.’

‘Then I guess I don’t share your belief.’