Brad Meltzer - The Book of Lies

Synopsis:

Brad Meltzer author of the #1 New York Times bestseller The Book of Fate returns with his most thrilling and emotionally powerful novel to date.

In Chapter Four of the Bible, Cain kills Abel. It is the worlds most famous murder. But the Bible is silent about one key detail: the weapon Cain used to kill his brother. That weapon is still lost to history.

In 1932, Mitchell Siegel was killed by three gunshots to his chest. While mourning, his son dreamed of a bulletproof man and created the worlds greatest hero: Superman. And like Cains murder weapon, the gun used in this unsolved murder has never been found.

Until now.

Today in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, Cal Harper comes face-to-face with his familys greatest secret: his long-lost father, whos been shot with a gun that traces back to Mitchell Siegels 1932 murder. But before Cal can ask a single question, he and his father are attacked by a ruthless killer tattooed with the ancient markings of Cain. And so begins the chase for the worlds first murder weapon.

What does Cain, historys greatest villain, have to do with Superman, the worlds greatest hero? And what do two murders, committed thousands of years apart, have in common? This is the mystery at the heart of Brad Meltzers riveting and utterly intriguing new thriller.

For my mom,

Teri Meltzer,
who still teaches me how fiercely,
how selflessly,
how beautifully,
a parent can love her child

The story of Cain and Abel takes up just sixteen lines of the Bible.

It is arguably historys most famous murder.

But the story is silent about one key detail: the weapon Cain used to kill his brother.

Its not a rock. Or a sharpened stone.

And to this day, the worlds first murder weapon is still lost to history.

Nineteen years ago
Miami, Florida

When Calvin Harper was five, his petite, four-foot-eleven-inch mom ripped the pillow from his bed at three a.m. and told him that dust mites were feeding off his skin. We need to wash it. Now! On that night, his mom seemed to change into someone else, as if she were possessed by some ghost or devil... or demon.

His dad told Calvin it was one of Mommys bad days. The doctors had a name for it, too. Bipolar.

When Calvin was seven, his mom called home with a cheery slur in her voice (the demon loved a good drink) to proudly tell him she had carved Calvins initials in her arm. When Calvin was eight and she was in a drunken rage, she took the family dog to the pound and accidentally had him put down. The demon liked laughs.

But none of those nights prepared Calvin for this one.

Fresh from his bath, with his white blond hair still soaking wet and dangling over the birthmark near his left eye, nine-year-old Calvin sat in his room, bearing down on his paper with an orange Crayola, while his parents shouted in the kitchen.

Tonight, the demon was back.

Rosalie, put it down! his father growled.

Crash.

Get away from me, Lloyd! his mother howled. Clang.

His father grunted. Thats it youre done! he screamed back.

Youre done!

Cling. Clang. Cling.

Calvin twisted the doorknob, ran for the kitchen, and froze as he turned the corner. All the kitchens lower drawers were open and empty, their contents pans, pot lids scattered across the floor. In the corner, the fridge was open, too and picked just as clean. Jars of ketchup, soda, and spaghetti sauce were still spinning on the floor. In the center of the kitchen, his six-foot-two-inch dad was bent forward in pain as Mom brandished a fat white jar of mayonnaise, ready to smash her husband in the head.

Mom? Calvin said in a small voice.

His mother wheeled around, off balance. The jar fell from her grip. Calvin saw it plummet. As it hit the floor and exploded, there was a low, thick pooomp, sending a mushroom cloud of mayo spraying across the floor. Calvins mother never flinched.

You always root against me! she seethed at her nine-year-old boy with her dark, alligator green eyes.

Maniac! his dad erupted, and with one brutal shove pummeled his wife squarely in the chest.

Mom! Calvin shouted.

The blow hit her like a baseball bat, sending her stumbling backward.

Mom, look out for

Her heel hit the mayonnaise at full speed and she flipped backward like a seesaw. If Lloyd hadnt been so big or so enraged... if he hadnt blown up with such a fierce physical outburst... he might not have shoved her so hard. But he did. And as she fell backward, still looking at Calvin, she had no idea that the back of her neck was headed straight toward the lower kitchen drawer that was still wide open.

Calvin tried to run forward but could scarcely lift his arms and legs.

In mid-air, his mother was turned toward him, her alligator eyes still burning through him. There was no mistaking her final thought. She wasnt scared. Or even in pain. She was angry. At him. The white blond, wet-haired boy who caused her to drop the mayo and... from that day forward, in his nine-year-old mind... the person who caused her to fall.

Mom!

She was falling. Falling. Then

The sound was unforgettable.

Rosie! his father screamed, leaping forward and scooping her head toward his chest. Her arms rag-dolled across the mayonnaise-smeared floor.

Calvin, dont you look! Lloyd cried. The tears were running down his twisted Irish nose. Close your eyes! Dont you look!

But Calvin looked. He wanted to cry, but nothing came. He wanted to run but couldnt move. As he stood frozen, a stream of urine ran down his right leg.

Most lives crumble over time. Cal Harpers crumbled in one crashing fall. But nineteen years later, thanks to a single call on his radio, hed begin his quest through history and finally have a chance to put his life together.

Nineteen years later
Hong Kong

Good girl such a good girl, Ellis said, down on one knee as his dog snatched the beef treat from his open palm. With a bite and a gulp, the treat was gone, and Ellis Belasco, with his sleek copper red hair, smiled proudly and added a strong authoritative pat to the back of his smoky brown pets neck. As the trainer said, attack dogs had to be rewarded.

P-Please... my leg... he chewed my leg! the thin Chinese man whined as he crawled across the worn beige carpet toward the hotel room door.

To be clear, she chewed your Achilles tendon, Ellis said, calmly standing up and brushing back his long European-style haircut he was always meticulous to reveal amber eyes framed by striking, lush eyebrows that almost merged on the bridge of his nose. Because of his rosy coloring, his cheeks were always flushed, as were his full lips, which he licked as he stared down at a small tattoo between his thumb and pointer finger.

His birthright was healing nicely.

For the past two months, Ellis had been tracking the ancient book from collector to collector from the doctor in China whose death gave it away, to Zhao, the shipper, who schemed to deliver it elsewhere. Every culture called it by a different name, but Ellis knew the truth.

I know you have it, Ellis said. Id like the Book of Lies now.

From the corner of the bed, Ellis reached for his small gray pistol.