The righteous men

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

Monday, 5.46pm, Manhattan

He had woken up, he knew that, but it was still dark. He tried to touch his eyes — sending a sharp, searing pain to his shoulder. His hands were tied. His arms, his legs, his stomach, they all seemed to have had a layer of tissue removed: he pictured them as raw, red flesh.

He twitched his eyelids; he could feel something that was not skin. His eyes were covered by a blindfold. He tried to speak but his mouth was gagged; he began to cough.

'Take it off.' The voice was firm; in authority. Will started to retch; the sense-memory of the gag was still choking him.

Finally he spat out a few words.

'Where am I?'

'You'll see.'

'Where the hell am I?'

'Don't you dare shout at us, Mr Monroe. I said, you'll see.'

Will could hear two, maybe three others close by. 'Take him now.'

'Where am I going?'

'You're going to get what you came here to get. All that lying seems to have paid off, Mr Tom Mitchell of the Guardian: you're going to get your big interview after all.'

In the darkness, he felt a thick, flat hand at his back: he was being shoved forward. He walked a few paces, then two more hands grabbed his shoulders and pivoted him to the right. Will could feel carpet under his feet. Was he still in the convention centre? How long had the beating lasted? How long had he been unconscious? What if it was night-time? It would be too late! Yom Kippur would be over. In the black of his blindfold, Will imagined the gates of heaven, slamming shut.

'Sir, he's here.'

'Thank you, gentlemen. Let us remove those bonds.' Even in regular speech, this man seemed to be quoting scripture.

'Let's take a good look at you.'

Will felt hands working at his wrists until they were free.

Then, at last, the blindfold came off — flooding him with light.

He stole a glance at his watch. There was still time. Thank God, thought Will.

'Gentlemen, leave us please.'

In front of Will, at a plain, hotel-room desk, sat the man he had seen earlier in the chapel. His complexion had the earnest shine of an inner-city vicar, the kind of well-meaning do-gooder Will remembered running the Christian Union at Oxford.

'Are you the Apostle?' Will winced. The effort of speaking sent a tremor of pain shooting down his spine.

'I had hoped your suffering would be easing. We took great care to bind your wounds.'

Will suddenly became aware of bandages and plasters covering his arms and legs, even his chest.

'Please accept my apologies for the somewhat heavy handed treatment you had meted out to you. "But those who suffer he delivers in their suffering; he speaks to them in their affliction." The Book of Job.'

'You didn't answer my question. Are you the Apostle?'

A modest smile. 'No, I am not the Apostle. I only serve him.'

'I want to speak to him.'

'And why should I let you do that?'

'Because I know what he, what all of you, are up to. And I will go to the police.'

'I'm afraid that is not going to be possible. The Apostle does not meet anybody.'

'Well, in that case, I'm sure the police will be very interested to hear what I know.'

'And what exactly do you know, Mr Monroe?'

The thin-lipped calm of this man infuriated Will. He strode forward, his legs aching with each movement. I'll tell you what I know. I know that the Jews believe there are always thirty-six righteous men in the world. And that so long as those people are alive, then the world is OK. I also know that in the last few days these men have started dying very mysterious deaths. Murdered, to be precise. One in Montana, maybe two in New York. One in London and God knows where else. And I strongly suspect that this group are the ones behind it. That's what I know.'

'I don't think "strongly suspect" will cut much ice, Mr Monroe. Not coming from a man who was in a prison cell himself just a few hours ago.'

How the hell did he know that? Will suddenly thought back to the desk clerk at the seventh precinct and the crucifix around her neck. Maybe this cult had people everywhere.

Worse, the vicar was right. Will had nothing firm, just wild speculation. He had no leverage over this guy or the so-called Apostle he served. He felt his shoulders slump.

'But let's say this theory of yours is right. Purely hypothetically, of course.' The man was twirling a pencil between his fingers, letting it fall from one hand to the other. Will wondered if he was nervous. 'Let us say there was such an effort to identify the thirty-six and to… bring them to their final rest. And let us say that a holy group were involved in this. I strongly suspect, to use your own phrase, that you would have a divine obligation to get out of their way, wouldn't you? I think you would understand the wounds to your flesh as some kind of sign. A warning if you like.'

'Are you threatening to kill me?'

'No, of course not. Nothing so crude. I am threatening you with something much worse.'

Will felt an ice in this man that terrified him. 'Worse?'

'I am threatening you with the reality of the holiest teachings ever given to mankind. The hour of redemption is upon us, Mr Monroe. Salvation will come to those who have brought the hour closer. But those who sought to delay it, to thwart the divine promise, those souls will be tormented for all eternity. A thousand years will be like the passing of just one day, and there will be a thousand more and a thousand more after that. So think carefully, Mr Monroe. Do not stand in the path of the Lord. Do not stand in the way of our Father. Do not aid those who seek to frustrate Him. Try instead to light the way.'

Will was attempting to absorb all this man was telling him when he realized the meeting was over. From behind, he felt hands once again grabbing his arms and replacing his blindfold.

He was led out of the room and into what sounded like a service elevator. It shook when it had plumbed what Will calculated was five floors. The doors moved apart and he was shoved out. By the time he had removed the blindfold, to see he was in an underground car park, he was alone.

Upstairs, the man who had spoken to Will a few minutes earlier checked to make sure it had all come through loud and clear on the speaker-phone. 'I think we have given him enough,' he said to the older man at the end of the line.

'Yes, you have done well. Now all we can do is wait.' If Will had heard the voice he would have recognized it. For it was the voice of the Apostle.