The Fourth Bible Read online

  Like the last time when he had foolishly opened it, letting the hostiles inside.

  Sometimes you should just leave well enough alone.

  Though that had never been him, and from what he had seen, it had never been Laura either.

  But Marchand?

  He was trembling in the corner, a bundle of nerves that could be set off with the slightest provocation.

  The door opened and Marchand yelped in fear, as he had when the code had been demanded of him.

  A man entered saying nothing, the circular saw he carried delivering his message. He fired it up and made quick work of the acrylic encasing the Bible, every spark, every shard that touched the priceless artifact causing Acton to wince.

  The man finished rounding the enclosure then powered down the circular saw, the unbearable din finally over. He tossed aside the cover, leaving the Bible exposed.

  Acton could hold his tongue no longer. “What are you going to do with it?”

  “None of your concern.”

  “It’s a piece of history and I’m an archaeologist. Of course it’s my concern.”

  The man jabbed a finger at him then slapped the weapon slung over his shoulder. “Your concern could get you killed.”

  Acton frowned. “From what I’ve seen here tonight, it looks like I’m going to die anyway.”

  “I’d be more worried about how I’m going to die.”

  The man left, closing the door behind him. They all rushed the Bible, gently picking off the debris, carefully blowing away anything too small to grip.

  “I fear none of this matters,” said Marchand.

  Acton regarded him. “You think they intend to destroy it?”

  Marchand nodded.

  Acton clasped his hands behind his head. “So do I.”

  21 |

  Unknown Location

  R ichter’s head slowly shook in stunned silence at the reply he had received. He leaned back from his computer, his brilliant mind racing as he ran through all the possible scenarios that lay ahead should he proceed with his rapidly developing plan.

  “Look.” He gestured at the screen and Gerhard rounded his desk, his eyes popping at the number.

  “Unbelievable.”

  “That’s why I asked twice. This could fund the cause for years.”

  Gerhard returned to his customary position in front of the desk. “But it’s profiting off the death of hundreds of innocent animals.”

  “Yes, but by doing this, at least some good might come of their deaths.” He scratched his chin, regarding Gerhard. “Honest assessment?”

  Gerhard chose his words carefully, as he always did. “I think it’s a risky move, but not for you. If something goes wrong, then Hugo Peeters and his group are the ones that will take the blame. If it succeeds, then you and the cause will benefit, and no one will be the wiser.”

  Richter chewed his cheek at the assessment. “True. But I’m not sure the world would believe that a moron like Hugo Peeters would be capable of pulling off something like this. There needs to be brains behind the operation.”

  “But he did pull it off, sir. They have the museum. That wasn’t at all what we were expecting of him.”

  Richter sighed. “You’re right, I wasn’t expecting that. I thought he was going to go in there and disrupt it by throwing fake blood on something—his usual heavy-handed thing. Instead, he somehow managed to not only procure weapons, but apparently explosives if what I’m seeing on the Internet is true.”

  “Are we sure it’s true? You know how we do things. Maybe someone else is doing the same.”

  Richter shook his head. “No, the girl who is broadcasting, I don’t think she’s in on it, I think she’s just an idiot teenager trying to get her fifteen minutes of fame. No, if we’re going to keep this thing from blowing up in our faces, we need brains behind this. I need brains behind this. It was one thing for him to go and scream and shout in the middle of a gala to then be hauled off by security who would later find out he used my invitation to get in there. But if he goes and kills people, hell, just with what he’s already done, there will be a thorough investigation, and there’s no way anyone is going to believe he intercepted an invitation meant for me. Because he’s taken it to the extreme, it could implicate me.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Get me that review we did of the guest list last week.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  22 |

  Guggenheim Bilbao

  Bilbao, Spain

  K arl watched highlights of the live stream posted earlier, the denizens of the Internet already grabbing their favorite parts and posting it.

  She’s giving away everything! We have to find her!

  He pulled her username from Instagram and Googled it, finding the same name linked to a Facebook page with barely anything on it, likely created for her parents’ benefit.

  Though it gave him what he suspected was a real first name.

  Petra.

  He stuffed his phone in his pocket then scanned the guest list, finding the lone person here with that name.

  Petra Marchand.

  And smiled when he saw three others with the same last name.

  I’ve got you now.

  A cton pressed his ear to the door, hearing nothing. He stepped back, his voice low. “We could try to take them down.”

  Laura gave him a look. “But we have no idea how many there are.”

  “True, but I’ve never seen more than two of them come in this room, and that was only when this thing began. Since then, there has never been more than one among us.”

  Marchand pointed a trembling hand at the door. “We don’t even know if someone is on the other side.”

  Acton glanced about. “There’s no other way out of this room, is there?”

  “No.”

  “Air ducts?”

  Marchand shook his head vigorously, leaving Acton uncertain if the man would tell him the truth if he knew it. “No, this place has special security for that. Nobody is climbing through the air ducts here.”

  Acton frowned. The man was probably right. “Okay, well, the next time that door opens, we could take care of that person easily, then escape.”

  Laura shook her head. “We can’t do that. You heard what he said. He said if anyone tried anything, he’d kill everybody.”

  He sighed. “You’re right. Then what do we do?”

  “I think we just play along and let the authorities figure it out. If they decide to take them down, and there’s some way we can help, then we do it, otherwise we just stay here and keep our mouths shut and try to survive.”

  “Sounds like as shitty a plan as any.”

  She smiled. “Sometimes shitty is all you’ve got.”

  23 |

  Unknown Location

  G erhard handed the guest list to Richter, along with a bundle of pages with quick bios on each of them prepared when he found out Peeters was planning something. “Highlights?”

  “If you’re planning on what I think you’re planning, then I might have found who you’re looking for.” He pointed at a name. “Professor Yves Marchand. He’s the man of the hour, the one who discovered the Bible. He’s there with his wife and two children, but he also had two special guests with him that were added last minute.”

  “Who?”

  “Professors James Acton and Laura Palmer. Husband and wife archaeologists.”

  Richter bit his lip. “Why do those names sound familiar?”

  “They’ve made it into the press a few times over the years. They seem to have a knack for meddling.”

  “Interesting. Solid reputations?”

  “Impeccable, sir. He’s a well-respected professor, and she was head of archaeology at the British Museum until she took a position at the Smithsonian to be closer to him.” Gerhard paused. “And she’s rich.”

  Richter’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh? How rich?”

  “She’s almost one of you, sir.”

  His eyebrows rose even higher. “Oh really? An archaeologist with that kind of money?”

  “Her brother owned an Internet company and sold it before the bubble burst years ago. When he died, he left all the money to her.”

  “Very interesting. So, they have means to pretty much do whatever they want in life.”

  “Yes, sir, just like you.” Gerhard smiled slightly. “Nefarious or otherwise.”

  Richter chuckled. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

  24 |

  Guggenheim Bilbao

  Bilbao, Spain

  “I need Yves and Sophie Marchand to step forward, please.” Peeters scanned the crowd from behind the podium, but nobody moved. He pointed his weapon at the nearest woman. “Come forward at the count of three, or she dies. One…two…”

  “Wait!” A woman held up her hand and stepped forward. “I’m Sophie Marchand.”

  He smiled. “Very good. And where is your husband?”

  “I-I’m not sure. He was giving a private viewing of the Bible to some friends.”

  His smile broadened. “Ahh, I see.” He pointed at Karl. “Go get him.”

  Karl left, returning a couple of minutes later, dragging the rather unimpressive man by the arm, his mustache however anything but. Karl shoved him toward the wife, the two of them holding on to each other for emotional support.

  He ignored them, instead leaning into the microphone. “Oh, Petra! Show yourself! I have your parents here!” He paused, hearing nothing beyond the whimpers of the parents who now realized why they had been summoned. “If you don’t show yourself, I’m going to shoot your mother in the head! You have sixty seconds to show yourself, otherwise you’ll never see your mother alive again.”

  P etra trembled with fear, tears flowing as panic threatened to render her useless. She suddenly took a breath, oxygen flowing once again, her mind piercing the thundering in her ears.

  She stood, and Jean Luc grabbed her by the arm.

  “Don’t go, please.”

  She stared down at her brother, the boy only a blur through her tears. “If I don’t go, they’ll kill Mom and Dad.”

  “No, don’t go.” His eyes widened. “Take me with you!”

  She shook her head, wiping the tears away. “No, they only asked for me. They might not even know about you.” She pointed at their hiding spot under the stairs. “Stay here. Only come out if you hear my voice, okay?”

  He nodded, then scrambled deep under the stairs and out of sight. “You’ll come back for me?”

  She stared into the dark consuming her brother. “I promise.”

  She turned toward the atrium then stopped, pulling out her phone and restarting the live streaming, hoping that whatever she was about to see might help save her and her family, the eagerness of gaining a following on the Internet forgotten. This wasn’t her chance to be famous, this was her chance to show the police outside what they were facing, so they might rescue them all.

  She rounded the corner and stepped into the atrium. Her mother spotted her first, crying out her name, tears erupting as an arm extended toward her.

  “Mom! Dad!” She rushed past the terrorists and into her parents’ arms, feeling safe for the first time since this ordeal had begun, an ordeal barely fifteen minutes in.

  “How sweet.”

  She turned to see the man she had spotted earlier, letting his friends inside. He held out his hand.

  “Give me your phone.”

  She frowned, her phone an appendage. He flicked his fingers and she handed it over. To her horror, he dropped it on the floor then drove his heel into it several times, smashing it beyond recognition. She resisted the urge to claw his eyes out, and was about to say something unwise when he jabbed a finger at her.

  “You caused me a lot of trouble, little girl. What did I say when I took this place?”

  Her mind raced. She knew exactly what he had said, her vantage point allowing her to hear everything. But he couldn’t know that, could he? “I don’t know. I couldn’t hear what you were saying from where I was hiding.”

  He eyed her and she trembled. “I’m not sure whether I believe that or not, but I’m not going to kill all these people over what a stupid little teenage girl did.” He glanced around. “Where’s your brother?”

  She almost lost control of her bladder. “He’s not here. He wasn’t feeling well so he stayed at home with the nanny.”

  The terrorist turned to her parents. “Where’s your son?”

  “Like she said, at home,” replied her father.

  The man pursed his lips. “Now, why don’t I believe you?” He pointed at the guests. “Back to the group.” Her father grabbed her by the arm and led her and her mother back to join the hostages in the center of the room.

  “Where’s your brother?” Her father’s voice was barely a whisper.

  “He’s hiding under the stairs.”

  “Is he okay?” asked her mother.

  “He’s scared but he’s okay.”

  Another terrorist approached and held out a tablet computer to her, Instagram’s login page showing. “Log in.”

  “What?”

  “Log in.”

  She was indignant at the thought. “Why?”

  “So I can delete the damage you’ve done.”

  Her father implored her with his eyes to obey. She sighed and logged in, handing the tablet back to the man who walked away, muttering obscenities.

  P eeters’ phone vibrated and he answered it, heading out of the atrium. “Hello?”

  “How are things going there?”

  “We found the source of the leak.”

  “Who was it?”

  “The daughter of the professor who found the Bible. We got her. I destroyed her phone so no more information will be coming from inside here that we don’t control.”

  “Good. I have a plan. I’m putting it into place now. Whatever you do, don’t do anything to harm that Bible.”

  Peeters tensed, suspicious. “Why?”

  “Just do what I say, and you’ll have enough money to fund your organization until the end of time.”

  25 |

  Unknown Location

  R ichter glanced up from his computer as Gerhard entered. “Is it done?”

  “Yes, sir. Our people have cloned all their social media accounts using two of our Social Justice Warrior profiles built up over the past few years.”

  He hated using two of the carefully crafted dummy social media profiles they had cultivated, but this opportunity was worth burning dozens if necessary. The dummy accounts were filled with myriads of posts about various social issues, but with nothing naming the poster, so they could be assigned to anyone.

  They were expensive to create, time-consuming, but immensely valuable to the cause. “They’re already up?”

  “Yes, sir. They’re completely public, and if anyone searches, they’ll find these profiles and think they’re rabid activists. It will be believable, at least for the short term.”

  He pulled up one of the accounts on Facebook. “Short-term doubt is all we need. We just need a little delay.”

  “Are you sure you want to do this? I still think this is risky.”

  “It’s nothing that I’m worried about. As long as there’s no way for it to trace back to me, then I think it’s worth pursuing.”

  “You’ll be destroying the reputations of two innocent people.”

  He grunted. “For the greater good. Besides, with money like hers, they might be able to actually get it cleaned up. But they’re not my concern. I want that Bible. It will fund our operation for years. We’ll be able to save millions of animals, with none of the money traceable back to me.”

  26 |

  Guggenheim Bilbao

  Bilbao, Spain

  M archand stood with the others, one arm around his wife, the other around his daughter, his eyes searching the opening to the hallway she had emerged from only minutes before.

  Please, God, take care of Jean Luc for me.

  The terrorists had done a quick search, finding nothing, which had him confident the hiding place his little boy was in was a good one.

  “Dad, are those bombs real?”

  “I don’t think so, dear,” replied his wife, her voice unconvincing. “Why would they kill themselves and everybody?”

  “Maybe they’re not planning on killing themselves. They might leave then kill us.”

  Marchand spotted the leader of this enterprise walk past, something that appeared homemade gripped in his left hand. It had to be the detonator, and the white of his knuckles told Marchand that these explosives were indeed real, as was the stress the man was under. The terrorist’s phone rang and he answered it, handing the detonator over to the one who had asked Petra to log into her social media.

  He surveyed the area, wishing he were as calm and collected as Acton was. How he had taken command in those first few seconds, directing everyone on what to do, had been impressive. It made him believe some of the rumors he had heard about those two.

  What would Jim do?

  He’d look for a way out, he was certain. Yet there was none. All of the exits from the atrium were guarded by machine-gun-toting crazies, and he was forced to accept the fact they weren’t getting out of here. He eyed the bombs surrounding the cluster of the rich and famous huddled together amidst them, and knew their only hope was to use the others as human shields.

  His stomach churned with the thought, but he had his daughter to think of, not only himself and Sophie. There were no other children here tonight, only adults. If they could somehow survive the initial blast, Petra might survive, and perhaps even Sophie. They and Jean Luc were his only concern. His life was forfeit. He would sacrifice himself to save them.

  He examined the placement of the bombs and searched for anything that might block the blast waves. He found none. Human flesh was all that was available. He gently guided his family toward the center of the mass, avoiding eye contact with those he hoped would shield his daughter, then stopped near the center of the living barrier.