Free Chase Baker and the Seventh Seal (A Chase Baker Thriller Book 9) by Vincent Zandri

that name?”
    Then, it comes to me. From my New Testament courses back at Providence College. The Megiddo Valley and Armageddon are synonymous. In fact, the article points to the fact that Moses predicted that one day the Israelites would poke their toes in pools of black oil.
    I type “Megiddo Valley” into the Google search, hit Enter . There’s a photo of Tel Megiddo, the mountain upon which many bloody battles have been fought in ancient times. This is also the spot the Book of Revelations claims the final battle between good and evil will occur.
    Armageddon . . . Judgement day . . . The day Christ returns to earth . . .
    I close the laptop, sit back in the chair.
    “The seven codices,” I whisper. “The seventh book bound with the seventh seal. A seal that, if broken, will usher in the end of days.” I recall Vanessa in my dream. Seek the three sevens. I see Moshe and Itzhak holding their tattered Siddu prayer books. Is Vanessa talking about the codices themselves? But then, she was talking to me in a dream. There’s nothing real about the three sevens. It’s something that I’m making up in my subconscious.
    A knock on the door.
     
     
     

 

    CHAPTER 16
     
    Open the door.
    Magda steps in. No Hello . No Hope I’m not disturbing you . No smile. Her face is all business. She’s wearing a military green T-shirt, tan cargo pants, and black combat boots. Her long black hair is pulled back into a ponytail. She looks ready for action.
    She’s got a map of the city in her hand. While she’s spreading it out on the bed, Moshe and Itzhak enter the room and immediately press their backs against the far wall.
    “Don’t mind us,” Itzak says, planting a smile on his face which looks silly between those hanging curling locks and that oversized black Stetson. “Go about your business like we’re not here.”
    Just like my dream, the two of them are holding their tattered black, leather bound prayer books. I ignore the Hasidic brothers and concentrate instead on Magda. She’s using her index finger like a pointer. Taking a couple of steps towards her, I gaze over her shoulder.
    “The bookshop is located here, in the Old City, through the Damascus Gate. On Al–Wad Street, maybe one hundred feet before the Via Dolorosa.”
    “What are we waiting for?” I say.
    Magda straightens up.
    “It’s as good a place as any to start our search.”
    “Are you suggesting or telling?”
    “Very funny.” She goes for the door.
    “Wait,” I say.
    She stops, her hand on the old brass lever.
    I pull out my .45, thumb the mag release, check the load, slap the magazine back home, safety on.
    “Now I feel better,” I say.
    Itzhe slaps his Siddu.
    “This is all the fire power I need,” he says. But then, opening his coat and issuing his machine pistol a quick glance. “The Uzi is for backup.”
    “Power of God beats bullets every time,” Moshe says.
    “God is a bullet,” I say.
    Magda opens the door, and we pile out.
     
     
     

 

    CHAPTER 17
     
    The Damascus Gate is an ornate, gray, stone entry that’s about five stories high and maybe five hundred feet in width. It sports a large arched entry with huge, old, leather covered wood cathedral doors. With its two wall-mounted ramparts, it reminds me of an old castle. And from what I’m told, that’s what the seventh-century builders had in mind when they constructed it over the old stone gate that existed during the time of Jesus.
    The place is crowded, if not overcrowded, with vendors occupying both sides of the dark, narrow entryway. The entry is shaped like an S. You walk through the gate, go left, then go right and come out on the main, cobbled road. Open air restaurants and coffee shops are located on the right and more vendors on the left selling everything from candy to pharmaceuticals to spices. The place is as busy as an ant colony and has been for ages.
    With Moshe and Itzhak watching our backs, and our every move lest we decide to lose them by taking