13th Apostle Read Free Page A

that’s a problem,” Sabbie continued matter-offactly, “I need to know that now.”
    That was it. Like she owned him. No smile, no “Hello, it’s nice to finally meet you.” Nothing. Just now hear this: I’m the boss. You’re the slave. Get over it.
    Ludlow rushed in to avoid a face-off.
    â€œOh, I’m sure that’s not a problem, Sabbie. Mr. Pearson’s such a lovely young man. I’m sure you two will make an outstanding team, just like you always have. Now, where was I?
    â€œOh, yes,” Ludlow continued, unabated. “Early Christian artifacts. That’s my area. Though officially I’m retired now, I still do a bit of consulting work at The Museum of the Shrine of the Book. In Jerusalem, you know,” he added proudly. “My colleague, Dr. Anton DeVris, actually he’s the Director of Acquisitions for the Israel Museum, well, he thought it would be best for me to speak to you in person…”
    Gil emptied his water glass in one long gulp then crunched the single remaining ice cube between his teeth. Ludlow was a gem; an antique from some bygone era. The old guy had probably convinced himself that his pathetically obscure discovery contained some extraordinary secret hidden away for centuries; most likely, a map to hidden treasure or the like.
    God, what people wouldn’t do for one last chance at immortality. George must have been out of his mind to get them involved in this. What could he have possibly been thinking? If Sabbie had come to Gil first, he would have turned her down flat. She must have known that or else she wouldn’t have gone over his head.
    Instead, she simply bypassed him and went straight to George. The shortest distance between two points, of course. She was smart. He had known that. And she had guts. He had known that too. What he hadn’t suspected, however, was how exciting the combination could be.

Chapter 4
    A few minutes later
The New York City Grille
    Lucy used to say that, during the first year of their marriage, she discovered Gil had an amazing talent: he had perfected the art of sleeping with his eyes open. Whenever Gil found himself on the receiving end of one of her stories, some incident that had marred or made her day, she could expect Gil to appear to listen intently, nod at just the right times, ask the appropriate questions, and have absolutely no idea of what she was talking about.
    Sleep-talking, as Lucy called it, was a skill that Gil had become rather fond of and one that had gotten him through almost every relationship since the first grade. But with Lucy it was different. He abandoned the practice long before their second anniversary. By then, he had discovered, much to his amazement, that he cared more about the little things that happened in Lucy’s day than his own desire to veg out.
    Now, in the restaurant with Ludlow droning on, he had been sleep-talking once again, letting the old man continue his monologue while retaining virtually none of the details.
    â€œâ€¦And so we have come to believe that the document might contain a hidden message that would tell us where a certain artifact is located—a copper scroll that dates back to the time of Jesus. The thing is, we’re not sure, it might just be a metaphor that the author of the diary used,” Dr. Ludlow concluded.
    â€œOf course,” Gil confirmed, nodding.
    â€œThat’s where you come in,” Ludlow added.
    â€œWhere…exactly?” Gil queried, trying desperately to appear as if he knew what the hell was going on.
    â€œWhy, telling us if the text of the journal contains any sort of pattern that could be concealing a hidden message,” Sabbie interjected.
    â€œDo you mean a code?” Gil asked. “You know, I don’t do codes.”
    â€œNo. Not a code, that’s the whole point,” Sabbie interrupted. “If we needed a cryptanalyst, we wouldn’t have called you