Читать книгу The 13th Apostle - Richard Heller - Страница 18

Later that afternoon

Main Entry Gate, Israel Museum

The cab pulled into the grand circle driveway. Beyond the great gates lay an unending boulevard walk. Buildings on both sides of the boulevard seemed miles away.

“Can’t you get any closer?” Gil asked. Although he had landed at the airport with more than three hours to spare, customs inspections and mid-day traffic had eaten up almost all of the time. He had less than a half an hour to get to DeVris’ office in the Shrine of the Book before the Director left for the day. Gil could have called and said he was running late if he had had the time to charge his cell phone, which he hadn’t, so he couldn’t.

“This is as far as I can go,” the driver said. “You could take the old-people’s shuttle to the Entrance Pavilion Information Desk if you like,” he added with a grin.

“Some sage advice,” Gil retorted. “Don’t make fun of the customer ’til after you get your tip.”

“Some sager advice,” the driver replied. “Don’t assume the tip isn’t already built into the fare.”

The buildings, crosswalks, and soft grassy areas that made up the Israel Museum complex covered more than twenty acres. The maze that led to the Shrine of the Book was indecipherable. He was lost. The simple map provided by the security guard at the gate was useless. Asking three people for directions yielded four different sets of instructions in what Gil had quickly termed “Heblish,” for the indistinguishable blending of Hebrew-English lexicon.

A final request to a passerby brought help in the form of a Canadian who, taking Gil by the elbow, steered him past the Youth Wing of the Museum to where they presumably could get a better view.

The white, mushroom-shaped roof in the distance rose to a peak in the center, jutting into the cloudless blue sky. Black walls rose in stark contrast. “That’s the Shrine of the Book,” the Canadian said softly. “She’s a beauty, ehh?”

The grandeur of the architecture was unexpected, as was Gil’s reaction. With each step, he felt less sure of himself and more in awe.

A simple map in the lobby of the white-capped building, its legend in English and Hebrew, pointed the way to the Museum offices. Pulling open the heavy door to that wing, Gil stepped into the cool, dark corridor. Though light streamed in, the labyrinth of layered walls more resembled a cave than a hall. Gil walked slowly, finding the appropriate turnoff at the end. Reluctantly, he left the peaceful passageway and entered the glaring efficiency of the faculty offices.

The secretary greeted him with a smile that was only as friendly as it had to be. Gil explained that he was already late and would appreciate it if she would tell Dr. DeVris that he had arrived.

She shrugged and turned back to her phone conversation.

“Yes, I know,” she whispered loudly. “Isn’t it a tragedy? And he was such a dear man. Always so polite.”

God, this could go on all day.

“And they were such a lovely couple. So sweet. Their golden wedding anniversary was only next week,” the secretary continued.

Gil resisted the desire to grab her by her skinny little shoulders and force her to dial the Director’s extension. Lucy used to say that he didn’t do powerless well. A definite understatement.

Gil jumped at the sound of his name. “He’s expecting you,” the secretary announced. She pointed to the appropriate door with the phone she still clutched in her hand. “Knock before you go in.”

Gil did as instructed. A voice from within told him to enter.

“You can tell a lot about a man from his back,” Grandpa Max used to say. “That’s the part he’s less likely to be able to control.”

The back of the figure that greeted Gil sported a perfectly tailored suit and a head of hair that looked more sculpted than cut. It remained standing and stared out the window, then it spoke.

“I didn’t want you on this project.”

Gil hesitated.

“It’s nothing personal,” the man continued. “It’s just that I think this whole thing is … well, to be blunt … beyond you.”

“Dr. DeVris?” Gil asked, hoping to find that an error had been made.

DeVris turned and seated himself behind his desk and surveyed his guest. Without waiting for an invitation, Gil took a seat and waited.

The office itself appeared to match its occupant, understated to the point of pretension. Gil surmised that it was no accident that the tones of DeVris’ suit and tie as well as the color scheme of the office were in shades of gray. The color scheme perfectly complimented the silver highlights of DeVris’ salt-and-peppered hair. The message from his behavior and office décor was clear and simple. “I am a man of taste. I am confident and cultured. Know with whom you are dealing.”

He’s trying too hard! Gil smiled broadly.

“I don’t have time for games,” DeVris continued. “The point is that your boss and Dr. Ludlow considered you the best choice, so neither you nor I had any say in this matter.”

“Just two kids whose mothers have dumped ’em in a playpen,” Gil said with an easy grin. “Question is, are we gonna play nice?”

DeVris considered Gil’s comment. Apparently, this was not the response DeVris had anticipated.

From Gil’s experience with George, the big guy probably told DeVris he could expect Gil to be hotheaded and egotistical, certain to respond in anger to an antagonistic challenge, but smart as hell; a description not entirely without precedent but perhaps a little over the top. DeVris probably figured that an outburst of temper from Gil would have been just the thing to have him removed from the project. A change in plans that, obviously, would have suited DeVris to a “T.”

I’m not going to make it that easy for you. If you want me out of here, you’re going to have to do better than that.

DeVris seemed to be considering his next move. “Why did you accept this assignment?”

“Because I was told to,” Gil answered simply.

“So, if I understand you correctly, you’re going to help us find any pattern that may reveal a hidden message in the diary which, in turn, may help us locate the scroll, all because you’ve been told to?”

“Well, for the most part, yes.”

“And you expect nothing for yourself? Other than your regular pay and perhaps a bonus?”

“Not really. I mean, I think all of us want to leave something behind. That’s man’s nature,” Gil added.

“Bullshit,” DeVris said simply. “I know who you are. The truth is you’re interested in wealth, fame, and maybe a little adventure. There’s nothing wrong with that. Truly successful men not only admit to their ambition, they embrace it.”

DeVris’ voice softened. “It’s funny, you remind me a great deal of myself.” He resumed the stance in which Gil had first found him. “I wasted a good part of my life pretending that all I wanted was to make the world a better place. In truth, I wanted a whole lot more. But,” DeVris added, with a sigh, “I don’t think it’s going take you half as long as it took me.”

DeVris turned back from the window and detailed what he expected of Gil. A small room next to DeVris’ office would be made available. Gil would be given a photocopy of the diary to examine for patterns that might contain a hidden message. He was to decipher any pattern or message he discovered with the expectation that it might relate the location of the Weymouth Scroll. If Gil proved himself useful, he would have earned the right to continue with the project and to share in the notoriety. If not, CyberNet would be paid for his time and the consultation would be considered terminated.

DeVris turned, once again, to look out the window.

Taking his cue, Gil made his way to the door.

Without turning to face his new employee, DeVris added one sentence of encouragement. “You’re going to do well,” he said with unexpected warmth. “Now get yourself a good meal and some sleep. We’re going to work you hard. I’ll expect you bright and early in the morning.”

Before he closed the door behind him, Gil glanced back at DeVris. The red rays of the setting sun seemed to reflect as a halo. Each silver strand of hair, each highlight of his clothing, glowed with a fluorescent-like red. The grays and silvers of the room radiated crimson and scarlet. The luminescence was so great that, for a moment, DeVris appeared to be encircled and caressed by flames. It was an odd illusion, gone in a moment, replaced by shadows, with the shifting of the final rays of the sun.