Chasing the Prophet Read online

  She tried to scream, but the disgusting rag pressed against her tongue. Her heart beat wildly as she fought the urge to vomit, knowing that would cause her to choke to death with her mouth gagged.

  For a brief moment, she saw only two of them—but then the third one came behind her and placed a bag over her head. It was a black trash bag. Edna tried to scream through the gag, but obviously failed. A sense of utter dread threatened to overwhelm her as she realized she was choking, but then someone tore a hole through the bag. With great effort, she managed to inhale some precious air through her nose.

  Edna had never felt so helpless. She was lifted high in the air and placed on a shoulder, which made the world spin in her head. Because her hands were bound behind her back, she was unable to steady herself.

  The apartment door slammed shut and Edna was terrified to realize she was being taken from her home to an unknown place. As they went in the elevator, she kicked back as hard as she could and heard someone groaning.

  The response was immediate and violent. She was dropped and her right shoulder hit the ground; the pain was excruciating. Iron fingers wrapped around her throat and a whisper followed, as cold as ice, “If you want your grandson to live, you’d better stop resisting!”

  Edna froze. What did he mean? Were they holding David?

  She was lifted into the air again and they were on the move once more. She heard instructions and whispers. When they had reached the entrance level, they stopped and fell silent.

  She held her breath and concentrated on the sounds around her. The dire situation she had found herself in—blindfolded, gagged—reminded her of an old movie she had once seen.

  In the movie, Agent W instructed a young female detective: “In an abduction situation, you must remain calm. Breathe slowly, listen. Every bit of information counts.”

  Edna closed her eyes and tried to follow Agent W’s instructions. Inhale! Exhale! She commanded herself to stay calm. It wasn’t simple. The throbbing pain in her shoulder was agonizing. Just like she had seen in the movies, she took an imaginary pencil in her mind and noted down each sound, bump, and landmark.

  A car was approaching. Judging by the noise, it was a large vehicle. Where in God’s name were they planning to take her? She prayed for the rattling vehicle not to stop. The noise of the engine intensified, then slowly faded away as the vehicle sped on, and she thanked her good fortune. They continued to wait quietly. A few moments later, the sound of approaching footsteps could be heard up the street, accompanied by the laughter of children. The footsteps and laughter reached a peak, then gradually faded.

  The teen that carried her began to show signs of fatigue, shifting his weight from foot to foot, and she felt herself slipping from his shoulder. The nausea and dizziness threatened to overwhelm her again and she fought the urge to vomit, until he extended his hand to steady her.

  Someone whispered, “Now!” And they were moving again. A door slammed and Edna felt a cold gust of wind through the thin fabric of her nightgown. There was no room for doubt: they were outside.

  She bobbed and swayed as they began to run. A minute or so later, they abruptly slowed down. The sound of their footsteps echoed in some large space and she assumed they had entered a building. She heard them panting. The one who carried her coughed and spat aloud.

  They used the stairs this time.

  She counted the flights: a short twelve-stair ascent, followed by a short five-step run, then another twelve-stair ascent followed by a longer twenty-step run. This repeated itself three times until they came to a halt, breathing hard.

  She took a note in her imaginary notepad: “A fairly spacious building without an operating elevator. Third floor. The height of each flight equals twenty-four steps.”

  She heard a key turning, then a heavy door creaking open. She added another note: “No sound of a keychain. Must be a single key. Possibly not frequently used?” Edna thought that Agent W would have nodded and smiled with appreciation.

  When they passed through the door, she kicked it. It hardly budged as her foot connected with its surface. “A heavy metal door,” she noted to herself. Then came the faint scent of mildew and dust. Clearly, the place wasn’t aired. The echoing sound of their footsteps indicated that they were in a large space, devoid of furniture. She noted that fact in her imaginary notepad as well.

  The one who carried her on his shoulder stopped, and then she was hurled down into what felt like a wooden chair. Her elbow banged against an armrest and she groaned in pain. They grabbed her feet and coiled something around them.

  She asked herself when they would allow her to breathe freely. She had to understand what they wanted, and more importantly—why they had mentioned David. She could guess the reason, and prayed to God she was wrong and that worst of all possible scenarios was not materializing.

  It was what she had feared back then, four years ago. As soon as little David had proudly shown her the miraculous software he had developed, she instantly realized the immensity of the dangers looming over the child’s head. She knew that her grandson had developed some kind of weapon.

  But perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps there was another reason she had been taken from her home so violently. She had no way of knowing. All she could do was sit quietly, listen to everything taking place around her, and try to gather as many bits of information as possible.

  Whisperings. Furniture being dragged. Doors being opened. Finally, they took the bag off her head and her eyes fluttered open at the blinding light. Despite the fact that her glasses had been left at home, the image revealed before her eyes was very clear.

  She was seated on a chair that was fixed to the floor in the middle of an old apartment’s living room. The floor was stained, the walls were bare. The half-closed blinds filtered some of the daylight. The tumultuous sounds of the street were heard from outside, accompanied by distant thunder.

  The ceiling was exceptionally tall, which did not make sense to Edna, considering the small number of steps they’d had to climb. If the apartments in this building were so tall, they should have climbed many more steps in order to reach the third floor, unless…

  There was only one conclusion: they were on the top floor of a three-storied building.

  She closed her eyes and tried to picture in her mind’s eye a map of the city. She knew the neighborhood well, and tried to guess her location.

  ***

  Four long hours passed, during which the teens hardly spoke with each other. But even from the few words they had exchanged, she was able to match names to faces. Thomas, Mick, and Alex.

  It was Alex, the skinny kid with acne, who had covered her with a plaid blanket. She knew the blanket; it was probably taken from her apartment. She gave Alex a thankful smile, but he ignored her look.

  Thomas occasionally left the room for a few minutes, and each time he returned, he hurried to whisper with the others. They had not exchanged a single word with her—they hardly even looked at her, other than that one time they had taken her picture with a cell phone.

  They’d studied the picture and appeared to be pleased with the result. Thomas chuckled, and said something that frightened her to the extreme.

  “If this picture won’t make him want to save his grandmother, then I don’t know what will.”

  This confirmed all her fears. They wanted to blackmail David. She turned to Thomas, who now looked deeply bored and was trying to toss another crumpled paper into the wastebasket bin situated on the floor next to her.

  “What’s your connection with my grandson?” She already knew the answer, but felt like she had to make sure.

  Thomas paused with his one hand still clutching the paper ball. For a moment, the teen seemed surprised by her question, then raised his arm, aimed, and stuck out his tongue with concentration. A moment later, he tossed the paper ball, which flew in a wide arc and hit Edna’s forehead. T
homas gave a dry chuckle. The other two laughed as well. Finally, he looked at her and answered with a bored voice.

  “Why don’t you tell me?”

  “I don’t know,” she mumbled. “Can I have a glass of water?”

  He slowly drew closer. “That’s the thing, I’m pretty sure you can guess what we want from David.” He paused for a moment. “Besides, you already got some water. An hour ago.”

  She licked her dry lips. They had mentioned someone named Jackie earlier. He must be the one calling the shots. What was Thomas, then, his second in command?

  Each time she looked at the three, all she could see were children, despite everything they had done. She wondered if they had some sort of strict hierarchy, a chain of command.

  She decided it was time to act. “I have to drink something right away. Doctors’ orders.”

  She had good reasons for saying that. Over the course of the last hour, she had heard something. She had to be on her own for a brief moment, peel her ears, and make sure it was real—that the sound she had heard wasn’t just a figment of her imagination. It was faint, almost inaudible. She was hoping they would untie her hands, give her a glass of water, and maybe take their eyes off her for a moment. A few unsupervised seconds, that was all she needed.

  The first time she heard the sound, she thought it was coming from the ceiling.

  She huffed in surprise. Unless the sound was a figment of her imagination, perhaps it was her way out of there. A few minutes later, she heard it again. This time she could swear the hushed sound was coming from behind her head.

  Alex, the acned boy, came closer to her. Perhaps he had seen something in her face, an expression that had aroused his suspicion. She looked at him with concern as he made sure her hands and feet were still tightly bound. He settled down once he saw the knots were still tight. She had no chance of escaping.

  “My nephew suffered from the same problem,” she whispered.

  He stopped, confused. “What did you just say?”

  “Acne. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s treatable.” She looked at him softly.

  He did not react and she hurried to continue. “He suffered from it for years, until he finally listened to me. I’m a cosmetic nurse. The moment he did what I asked him to, it worked like a charm and his pimples were gone.”

  He watched her silently.

  Edna smiled at him. She sought for signs of sympathy on his blank face. After a long moment, he angrily replied, “Shut your mouth. No one asked you.”

  He walked away just in time, because that sound chimed again—weak, yet clear. It lasted a few seconds, during which she moved her head slightly from side to side. Now she was certain where that sound was coming from. She forced herself not to smile.

  It seemed that it regularly repeated itself every few moments. She decided to measure the intervals, so that next time she would be ready for it, preferably with her hands free and unsupervised. Then she would be able to react and start a sequence of events that would ultimately bring about her release.

  She closed her eyes and inwardly began to count the seconds.

  49

  The End of the World

  Paul slowly drove toward Edna Emerson’s house.

  He turned on Webster Avenue and scrutinized the sidewalk on both sides of the street. Traffic was slow and heavy. Many of the vehicles had suitcases and equipment piled on their roofs. Agitated honking filled the air. Patrol cars were parked at the intersection ahead, and police officers directed the traffic. The windshield wipers struggled to keep up with the incessantly falling rain. He strained his eyes and looked for a scrawny kid in a white shirt, hurrying with a large black dog.

  The neon signs at the intersection all depicted a single message, repeating itself in an endless loop: “Citizens without immediate access to a standard atomic shelter are required to report to one of the gathering locations.” Beneath that flashing title was a map of the city with luminous red dots marking the gathering spots.

  “How did we get to this point?” he asked in amazement. The radio stations were busy discussing the perilous situation. Everyone had recited the same advice over the course of the past few days: get down on the floor, find a safe place, avoid looking at the flash.

  Commentators talked about satellite images showing intense activity around Russian missile launch areas. This was also reported by the head of the security desk now on the air. Paul cranked up the volume to hear what he had to say.

  “And so, the secretary of defense refuses to confirm or deny this, but some of his close associates have hinted that a state of national emergency will soon be declared. The working assumption is that the White House will issue an official statement instructing citizens regarding how they should act, and the immediate action to take is hurry up to the nearest atomic shelter. As always, we can see the clear and disturbing class differences between rich and poor: people of means will survive. As for the rest, those who can’t afford an expensive private shelter—they are now in dire and immediate danger. The department of defense has promised that public atomic shelters are well protected and have enough room for everyone. Unfortunately, the investigative report we had broadcast earlier presents a very different picture. Back to you, Caroline.”

  The anchorwoman in the studio sounded tense as well. “Thank you, Bob. To those of you just joining us: the prophet is scheduled to appear live tonight, same as every Thursday, and we hope he’d be able to ease our fears. Until then, our advice to those of you still trying to make up your minds—go visit your relatives in the country, especially if they have a subterranean shelter, with armored walls and an air purifying system—”

  Paul turned the radio off. He’d had enough.

  A convoy of four military jeeps showed up behind him. They got up on the sidewalk and quickly drove past the line of vehicles. They had to stop when a group of people wearing white shirts blocked their path. The white-clad people walked slowly, reciting prayers, and Paul recognized the Order of the Prophet’s insignia on their outfits.

  He reached a red light and stopped next to a large family car. Its roof was overflowing with stuff: a large mattress, boxes, and suitcases. A little boy, about four or five, sat in the backseat. He blew some hot air on the misted passenger window and waved at Paul. The detective sighed. He was sometimes jealous of the carefree view of reality that young children had. He smiled and waved back. The toddler must be thinking he was taken for a pleasant trip in the country.

  Paul looked on as the child used his finger to draw something on the misted glass. His tongue poked sideways as he concentrated on his artistic task. Once done, he gazed at the surprised Paul with a serious expression. The light turned green and the family car drove off, but Paul remained motionless, wheezing with surprise. Could it be that the kid had just drawn a nuclear mushroom cloud?

  An impatient car honk interrupted his thoughts and he started driving again. His mind drifted to his own daughters, and he recalled the conversation he’d had with Kate just a few minutes before. “Just to be on the safe side, I want you and the girls to come and be with me in the city right now.” After all, reality could no longer be ignored. His building was new and it contained a standard atomic shelter.

  He simply couldn’t believe his ears when Kate had refused. He insisted, explained how real the threat was. He even hinted that he knew one of the sides, no matter which one, was about to attack. But Kate insisted on finishing her workday at school and would only come to his apartment in the afternoon.

  “I have a commitment to my students here,” she said. “Those who came to class today despite everything that’s been going on.”

  It drove him out of his mind. He explained the situation once more, as patiently as he could, seeking an argument that would sway her. When she persisted in her refusal, he raised his voice.

  That rarely happened to him with anyone, certainly n
ot with her. He heard himself screaming, and it felt as if someone else was spitting the words through Paul’s mouth. “Damn it, Kate, this is happening today! Do you want to feel the earth trembling under your feet, see the blinding light, and know that you and our girls are about to die because of, because of…” He fell silent, seeking the next words, agitated.

  She finished the sentence for him. “Because of me.”

  He sighed with relief when she had finally complied. They scheduled to meet in an hour at his new apartment with the girls and get ready for a long stay in the shelter.

  Now that he had calmed down, he was able to concentrate on the pressing problem he was faced with. David was missing. Half an hour ago, he got a disturbing message from Matthew. A communication had been received, possibly from the prophet himself, that David’s grandmother had been kidnapped. And knowing David, Paul had no doubt the boy was rushing to her aid.

  This whole thing was getting too big for Paul to be handling on his own. He knew that Matthew and Ron from GP&K probably knew that as well, and the prophet himself was probably aware of it too. But as far as Paul was concerned, the boy was his responsibility. He was supposed to protect him. He had to find him.

  The road curved and Paul turned right on to Franklin Street. He was already close to Edna Emerson’s house when he saw several police cars parked by the side of the road with their lights blinking.

  His cell phone rang. It was Gabriel: “Paul, is that you? Look to your right.”

  Paul turned his head and saw several police officers standing in the pouring rain next to one of the patrol cars. He easily spotted his giant friend. Gabriel was holding an umbrella and waved to Paul, who stopped by the side of the road. Gabriel squeezed into his car. He shook the water off the umbrella before pulling it in after him and slamming the door shut.

  “What a mess.” Gabriel sighed as he pushed the seat back and tried to straighten his long legs. He looked at Paul and got straight to the point. “Edna Emerson isn’t here.” He took off his hat and wiped his sweaty brow. “Looks like they’ve left hours ago.”