Free 13th Apostle by Richard F. Heller, Rachael F. Heller Page A

that big table in the main office?”
    â€œBecause I said so, that’s why.”
    Gil folded his arms and shook his head. If she wanted to treat him like a child, he might as well act like one.
    â€œLook,” Sabbie began, “when I state something unequivocally I have a very good reason for doing so. Anyone who knows anything about current technology knows that no place is safe. Open up your pc and anyone within a couple of hundred feet can access all your records via your wireless connection. Make a call on your cell phone and that info is up for sale within minutes. Even your calling card pin number is fair game at any airport.”
    â€œWell, I would assume you don’t exactly have identity thieves running around one of the most prestigious museums in the world,” Gil said with an intentional smirk.
    â€œIdentity theft would be the least of our worries. When you’re in this building, you’re always on, Jack.”
    â€œGil,” he corrected, broadening the sneer.
    â€œWhatever. Appropriate steps have been taken to protect this office. Let’s get to work.”
    Well, this is lovely. By the end of the day, we should be eating each other’s carcasses.
    She settled down in the seat facing Gil and handed him several pages of translation. “The translation of the diary was relatively simple. I tried as much as possible to keep to the original word count and order in case that was important.”
    Gil nodded his approval. Not bad. That bit of detail could spell the difference between finding a pattern and missing it completely.
    She sat forward. “Now, here’s the deal,” Sabbie continued. “These pages appear to be an accounting of the sales and deliveries of tapestries made by the monks at Weymouth Monastery. On the surface, it’s pretty straightforward.”
    â€œBut…” Gil prompted.
    â€œBut I don’t think that’s what it is at all,” she said, half to herself. “The sentences are logical and correct in their grammar but the words convey little more than medieval gossip. To make matters worse, the ramblings about the people of the town are interspersed with dates and numbers and the whole thing is put into an accounting format. I don’t understand why whoever wrote this would do that.”
    â€œDo what?” Gil asked.
    â€œWhy he would put long nonsensical sentences onto accounting pages,” she said with obvious frustration. “It just doesn’t make sense.”
    â€œSo what’s the problem?” Gil asked calmly. He was hoping to push her until something snapped, until she could give him the connection she didn’t even know that she knew. He was hoping, as well, to avoid the likelihood of her breaking a chair over his head.
    â€œThe problem is,” Sabbie continued, “if we don’t find anything in this section that mentions another scroll, something—anything—about a mate to The Cave 3 Scroll, we might as well just give up.”
    â€œAnd….” Gil prompted again.
    â€œI really wish you wouldn’t do that, it’s incredibly irritating. Anyway, although I know there’s something in here, I just can’t figure it out.”
    â€œWhat makes you think there’s something in here?” Gil asked.
    â€œI don’t know, I just do.”
    â€œ How do you know?”
    â€œI told you. I don’t know how I know it’s there! I just do!” Sabbie bellowed.
    She was clearly at the end of her patience, exactly where Gil wanted her. George always said that if you wanted to get someone’s attention, first you had to shoot them in the leg. Well, finding any hidden message in the diary might well depend on Sabbie’s intuition, and this little control freak wasn’t going to trust her instincts unless she was pushed—hard.
    â€œSo, somehow you just know it,” Gil said sarcastically.
    She looked like she was going to haul