The Book of Lies (30 page)

60

I
t’s always Nazis, isn’t it?” Naomi asked into her earpiece, lying flat on the gurney and trying hard not to move.

“Ma’am, can you please put down the phone?” the young nurse pleaded as he tugged on the forceps and threaded another stitch through the cut on Naomi’s temple.

“I told you: federal business,” Naomi said.

“They’re not Nazis,” Scotty clarified through the phone. “Back then, they called themselves the Thule Society.”

“But you said they helped bring Hitler to power—
Ahh, that stings
!”

“Put the phone down,” the nurse again insisted as Naomi made a face.

“I don’t know,” Scotty said. “I think the Thules were after a power that wasn’t necessarily political.”

“You mean this Cain book? What’d the FBI guys call it?”

“A totem,” Scotty said. “And if it weren’t so important, why spend over a century searching for it?”

Naomi closed her eyes as the nurse hooked the curved needle through her skin. “So you think Ellis is part of these Thules as well?” she asked.

“According to the FBI, the Thules haven’t been active since World War II. But that doesn’t mean Ellis isn’t trying to bring the band back together—especially if he thinks there’s some kinda magic power that’ll come from it.”

“Is that what the Bureau guys said? They used the words
magic power?
”

“To be honest, I don’t think they know what to make of it. This was Germany at the height of occultism. Himmler and the Nazi leaders kept a list of
breeding cemeteries
because they were convinced that babies who were conceived in graveyards would inherit the attributes and spirits of all the German heroes buried there. Even Hitler supposedly carried around a magical mandrake root to help ward off evil. These Thules were eating a whole lot of crazy. And speaking of which: Any idea where Cal and his father ran off to?”

“Trust me, we’ll get there,” Naomi said as the nurse tugged hard on his final knot. Naomi felt that one, even with the anesthetic. “You still haven’t answered my question, Scotty. What’d the FBI boys say was in Cain’s so-called book?”

“Again, depends what ghost story you want to believe. One theory says that Cain carried a book that contained the location of where Abel’s body is supposedly buried. Another says Adam gave his children a book with all the herbs they should never eat. There’s even a theory at York Minster in northern England in one of the largest pieces of medieval stained glass in the world, where the top panel shows God holding a so-called Book of Creation. In the book it says:
Ego sum alpha et omega.
That the beginning and end of the world will come via the beginning and end of the Greek alphabet.”

“Okay, good as new,” the nurse announced.

Naomi barely noticed, still focused on Scotty. “And the FBI boys told you all that?”

“Well . . . let’s be honest . . . those requests I sent in were in
your
name. They were really just helping
you.
”

“That’s fine,” she said, sitting up straight and letting her legs dangle off the gurney. “What about Timothy? Any word yet?”

“Listen, I didn’t wanna be the one to say it, but—”

“They found the body, didn’t they?”

“They found a leg. Fish and Wildlife guys just called it in. It’s gruesome, Naomi.”

This time, Naomi was silent.

“You okay?” Scotty asked.

“I need to call his family. I don’t want them seeing this on the news. God, his poor twins. . . .”

“Suarez’s already on it. First call he made. Then he called me. You’ve officially got your murder investigation.”

For a moment, Naomi just sat there as the nurse tied the final knot in the stitches and put some ointment on the wound. “Scotty, put a lookout in NCIC for Cal—”

“Already done. NCIC . . . IBIS . . . I listed him as a threat to the homeland just to make sure the other agencies take a long look at his photograph.”

“I also need you to run both Cal’s dad and this woman he was with. Cal called her
Serena
. Check the airline records. If she’s a novice, maybe she flew under her real name.”

“So you think one of them might be this Prophet?” Scotty asked.

“Where’d you even hear that name—
the Prophet
? That from the FBI?”

“No, from you—through your earpiece when you were unconscious. Anyway, you think it’s one of them?”

“I have no idea. But I’m telling you right now—to do that to Timothy—to his twins . . . I don’t want these lowlifes anymore. I want
chunks
of them.”

“I assume that means Cal, too. I assume you got the bug on him?”

“Of course,” Naomi replied, reaching for the tracking device in her front pants pocket. “I slipped it in his jacket back at the—” She patted her front pocket, then her back. The tracking device was gone. But if Cal had that . . . If he’d found the bug . . . “Oh, don’t tell me he—” Cutting herself off, she pulled the earpiece from her ear and unscrewed the small rubber tip by the microphone. No listening device there.

“Ma’am, just give me one more minute to close this,” the nurse pleaded, fighting to cover the wound with a bandage.

Undeterred and already frantic, Naomi reached for her phone.

“Nomi, what’s wrong?” Scotty’s voice echoed distantly from the earpiece that now sat on the gurney.

With her thumb wedged against the back of her phone, she slid open the compartment, revealing the battery, the serial number—and the small round listening device that she’d planted on Cal back at the museum.

“Sonuvabastard!” she shouted, hopping off the gurney and holding the small disk to her lips. “I know you can hear me, Cal! I know you heard it all, you sack of turd! His
leg
!? You’re letting his twins bury a leg!? Every part they find, Cal—I don’t care if they have to slice open every gator’s stomach—you’re gonna feel the pain of every part they find!”

“Ma’am, if you don’t sit down . . .” the nurse warned.

“Are you done stitching me up?” Naomi shot back as she tossed the listening device into the red biohazard trash can.

“Y-Yes.”

“Good. Thank you. Bye,” Naomi said, whipping the blue curtain sideways and storming out, the bandage barely held in place. The hallway was busy—doctors, nurses, and pushcarts buzzing in every direction—but Naomi stopped.

“Nomi!” Scotty’s tiny voice squeaked from the earpiece in her hand. “Nomi, what happened!?”

“Scotty, stop talking,” she scolded, sliding the earpiece back in place and staring out at the emergency room lobby. A tall doctor was talking to the receptionist. An Arab family was huddled in prayer. An older black woman was either sleeping or unconscious with a half-knit quilt in her lap. “Scotty, y’know that itch in the back of your brain when you feel like you’re being watched?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing. Just get moving,” he said.

“I know, but the—”

“It’s nothing. I understand you were close with Timothy, but don’t let it make you imagine stuff,” Scotty insisted as Naomi took one last scan of the lobby. “The only thing you have to worry about now is finding Cal and— Serena Amend.”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s her name. On the flight that Cal and his dad took to Cleveland, a woman named Serena Amend sat in seat twenty-five C.”

“Thank you,” she said, stepping out into the night and realizing there was no way she’d find a cab in this neighborhood. “Scrub her through the system, then send that name to every Cleveland rental car company. There’s a LoJack tracker in their car. Those companies hate it when their stuff gets lost.”

“It’s nearly ten at night. This is gonna take some time.”

“Scotty, I’ve got fifteen stitches running down my right temple, I feel fishing line tug through my skin every time I move my eyebrow, and I’m now wondering what I’m going to say if they ask me to speak at Timothy’s funeral. Now you find me that LoJack signal, and I’ll find us Cal, and this Prophet, and whatever it is those Nazis wanted in Jerry Siegel’s old comic strip. Oh, and I need a cab to get to my car.”

“Don’t worry, boss. Whatever you want, I’m already on it.”

61

H
is leg!? You’re letting his twins bury a leg!? Every part they find, Cal—I don’t care if they have to slice open every gator’s stomach—you’re gonna feel the pain of every part they find!”
Naomi’s voice ripped through the small round speaker of the tracking device.

“Still wanna go to the cops?” my dad asks, patting me on the shoulder. “This is
exactly
what I said would happen.”

“We need to get rid of the device,” I say as I shut the black box and pull the batteries from the back.

“You think she can trace it?” my dad asks.

“You willing to take a chance?” Before anyone can answer, I toss the tracking device into the bathroom sink and run it under water. It’ll only get worse when they find the Johnsels’ bodies. But even without them, Naomi’s done listening to reason. The only way we’re not taking this fall is if we hand her the truth, and right now there’s only one way to get it.

“What about the dialogue?” Serena asks, still studying the comic book panels. “Maybe Jerry hid something in that, too.”

“Yowzie?” my father reads from the panel. “Yeah, that really sounds like you cracked the nuclear codes.”

“I’m serious,” Serena says. “You heard Naomi: Mitchell Siegel supposedly kept this Cain book, or totem, or whatever the so-called murder weapon is, for himself. We know who killed him, we know what they wanted—and since they obviously didn’t get it, the only question is: Where’d Mitchell hide it?”

“That doesn’t mean the answer’s here,” my father says, shaking his head and pointing to the wet comic panels.

“You kidding?” Serena blasts back with an anger that surprises even my dad. “Ellis is clearly one of these Thule guys! He doesn’t care who killed Mitchell Siegel. He just wants the prize. And
this
,” she adds, motioning to the four panels, “he called it a
map,
for God’s sake! Why’re you being so dense?”

“I’m. Not,” my father says with the coldest of glares. “I’m just saying, Jerry Siegel wasn’t some NSA cryptanalyst. He was a high school kid who lost his dad. So no offense to the rash of movies and books, but not everything has to come in some secret code. Especially when it’s staring right at us.” He jabs a thick finger against the last panel: with the boy dodging bullets on the way to the building.

184 King Street.

“I thought you said no such street existed,” I point out, taking a seat at the table and looking for myself.

“Not on our rental car map, but let’s not forget, this was eighty years ago—the Cleveland suburbs were just being built. For all we know, this was one of the main thoroughfares.”

Now I’m the one shaking my head. “No way is it that easy.”

“I agree,” Serena says, leaning over my shoulder and putting her hand on my back.

My father shoots her the kind of look that comes with divorce papers.

“What?”
Serena asks, still not pulling away. She has no idea what he’s mad about. But I do.

In a huff, my father grabs his coat from the bed and storms for the door.

“What’d I do? Where’re you going?” she calls out.

“Front desk had a sign for free Internet,” my dad explains. “There’s gotta be old Cleveland maps online.”

Before we can argue, my phone rings. Caller ID tells me who it is. I need this call. But I don’t take my eyes off my father.

“Want me to come?” Serena asks him.

“Stay with him,” my dad shoots back. “You’re apparently getting good at it.”

As the door slams, I flip open my phone and lean my elbows against the round table. The way we’ve been running, exhaustion is finally setting in.

“Tell me that message wasn’t bullcrap,” Roosevelt says, his voice galloping through my phone. “The Book of
Truth?
For real?”

Who is it?
Serena asks with a glance.

Roosevelt
, I mouth back as she takes the seat next to me and leans in to share the ear of my phone.

I could push back and chase her away. Roosevelt would tell me to do exactly that.

I tilt the phone slightly, and we both listen in.

“Cal, what you found . . . all the theories . . .” Roosevelt says. “We had it so wrong. Don’t you see? If this’s really a Book of Truth . . . this wasn’t penance for Cain . . . no . . . it
truly was
God’s reward.”

“Y’mean all those secrets of earthly knowledge you were talking about?”

“Forget earthly knowledge. This secret . . . look at the name: the Book of—” He’s so excited, he can barely get the words out. “It’s a Book of
Truth
, Cal. In Hebrew, ‘truth’ is
emet,
one of the most mystical words in the language. Writing that word was how the Golem was brought to life—it’s how—”

“It’s ten o’clock, Roosevelt. I don’t care. Just tell me what’s inside.”

He takes a deep breath, fighting to calm down. I keep forgetting. As much as I’m trying to save my rear, Roosevelt’s the one coming face-to-face with his faith.

“Remember when we talked about the Mark of Cain?” he finally asks. “How I said some people thought Cain was immortal and that God let him live forever? Well, what if that’s what’s actually in the book?”