The Last Good Man Read online

  In Jewish scripture, there is a legend: There are thirty-six righteous people on earth. The thirty-six protect us. Without them, humanity would perish. But the thirty-six do not know they are the chosen ones.

  In Beijing, a monk collapses in his chamber, dead. A fiery mark—a tattoo? a burn?—spreads across his back and down his spine. In Mumbai, a beloved economist, a man who served the poor, dies suddenly. His corpse reveals the same symbol. Similar deaths are reported around the world—the victims all humanitarians, all with the same death mark. In Venice, an enterprising Italian policeman links the deaths, tracing the evidence. Who is killing good people around the world?

  In Copenhagen, police are preparing for a world climate summit when they receive the Interpol alert. The task falls to veteran detective Niels Bentzon: Find the “good people” of Denmark and warn them. But Bentzon is a man who is trained to see the worst in humanity, not the good. One by one, people are crossed off his list. He senses their secrets and wrongdoings.

  Just as Bentzon is ready to give up, he meets Hannah Lund, a brilliant astrophysicist mourning the death of her son and the implosion of her marriage. With Hannah’s help, Bentzon begins to piece together the puzzle of these far-flung deaths. A pattern emerges. It is, they realize, a perfectly executed plan of murder. There have been thirty-four deaths—two more to come if the legend is true. According to the pattern, Bentzon and Hannah can predict the time and place of the final two murders. The deaths will occur in Venice and Copenhagen. And the time is now.

  WINNER

  2011 BEST FIRST NOVEL, DANISH CRIME ACADEMY

  2011 FRENCH PRIX RELAY

  WORLD WIDE ACCLAIM FOR

  THE LAST GOOD MAN

  “With a rich brocade of charged emotion and a hero with grit and determination, The Last Good Man never disappoints. This one has everything I look for in a thriller—history, secrets, conspiracies, action, adventure, and international settings. Check this one out; you’re going to love it.”

  —STEVE BERRY, New York Times –bestselling author of The Amber Room and The Columbus Affair

  “The Last Good Man is a vivid, powerfully written adventure, where religion and science are melded into an impassioned brew.”

  —JUAN GÓMEZ-JURADO, author of The Moses Expedition and The Traitor’s Emblem

  “Mind-blowing . . . A spectacular ending.” —PLEINE VIE (France)

  “Breathtaking.” —EKSTRA BLADET (Denmark)

  “So tight and exciting that the pages fly through your fingers.”

  —FREDERICIA DAGBLAD (Denmark)

  “The buzz thriller of the season.” —L’INDÉPENDANT (France)

  “Diabolical . . . Amazing.” —FREUNDIN (Germany)

  © MIKKEL ØSTERGAARD

  A. J. KAZINSKI is the pseudonym of filmmaker and author Anders Rønnow Klarlund and author Jacob Weinreich. An instant bestseller in Denmark, The Last Good Man is their first collaboration.

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  SimonandSchuster.com

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  PRINTED IN THE U.S.A. COPYRIGHT © 2012 SIMON & SCHUSTER

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2010 by A. J. Kazinski English language translation © 2012 by Tiina Nunnally

  Originally published in Denmark in 2010 by Politikens Forlag in the Danish language as Den sidste gode mand.

  Published by agreement with Lars Ringhof Agency, Copenhagen.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Scribner Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

  First Scribner hardcover edition March 2012

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  Designed by Carla Jayne Jones

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2011044179

  ISBN 978-1-4516-4075-5

  ISBN 978-1-4516-4077-9 (ebook)

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  Contents

  Two notes to the reader

  Part I: Book of The Dead

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Part II: The Book of The Righteous

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter
7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Part III: Book of Abraham

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Acknowledgments

  Two notes to the reader

  The myth mentioned in this novel about “God’s righteous men” stems from the Jewish Talmud—a collection of religious texts set down in Israel and Babylonia—which, according to the Jewish faith, is a direct transcription of what God said to Moses. One of the things God said was that there will always be thirty-six righteous people on earth. These thirty-six protect all of us. Without them, humanity would perish.

  The thirty-six do not know that they are the chosen ones.

  On September 11, 2008, at the United Nations headquarters in New York and under the leadership of Dr. Sam Parnia, the world’s largest scientific conference on near-death experiences was held. The objective was to discuss the growing number of near-death experiences that are reported each year from around the world. These are reports of people who have been revived and afterward have described the most unbelievable phenomena—things that science cannot explain.

  Part I

  BOOK OF THE DEAD

  O earth, cover not thou my blood, and let my cry have no place.

  —Job 16:18

  People die all the time. Often in hospitals. For that reason it was a brilliant plan. Simple, almost banal.

  All the near-death experiences that the doctors heard about would be verified. But how? In the emergency rooms, of course. Because there was a pattern to what people described—those people who had been declared clinically dead, people who had stopped breathing and whose hearts were no longer beating. They floated upward. They hovered near the ceiling and looked down on themselves. They were often able to describe details that their brain couldn’t possibly have invented in the last throes of death: how a doctor had knocked over a vase, what he or she had shouted to the nurses, who had come into or left the room and when. Some people could also recount what was happening in the room next door. Even so, it was not considered scientific evidence. But this situation was now going to be rectified.

  Emergency rooms, intensive care wards, and trauma centers—the places where people were most likely to be revived—would be recruited. As part of a worldwide investigation, small shelves were installed. Small shelves set high up on the wall, close to the ceiling. On these shelves were placed pictures, illustrations turned faceup—impossible to see from below. Only someone who was hovering near the ceiling would be able to see the pictures.

  Agnes Davidsen was a member of the Danish team. The doctors had laughed at the plan but hadn’t objected, as long as the team paid to put up the shelves. Agnes was present the day the shelf was installed at the National Hospital in Copenhagen. She even helped hold the ladder as the janitor climbed up with the sealed envelope in his hand, and she was the one who switched off the light when the seal was broken and the image was placed on the shelf. Only headquarters knew what sort of image it was. No one else had the slightest clue. A television could be heard in the background, broadcasting news about preparations for the climate summit in Copenhagen. The French president, Nicolas Sarkozy, announced that Europe refused to allow the temperature of the earth to rise more than two degrees Celsius. Agnes shook her head as she helped the janitor fold up the ladder. How crazy it sounds when expressed like that, she thought. Refused to allow. As if we humans could turn the earth’s temperature up or down like a thermostat.

  She thanked the janitor and looked up at the shelf near the ceiling. Now all she had to do was wait for the hospital to call her with the message that someone had died in this room.

  And then had come back to life.

  1

  Yonghegong Temple—Beijing, China

  It was not the shaking of the earth that woke him. He was used to that. The subway ran right under the Yonghegong Temple, constantly threatening to topple the 350-year-old temple complex in the center of the Chinese capital. He woke because someone or something had been leaning over him as he slept. Studying him. He was sure of it.

  The monk named Ling sat up in bed and looked around. The sun was just setting; pain had sent him early to bed.

  “Is someone there?” The pain kept moving. He couldn’t tell whether it was his back, his stomach, or his chest that hurt. He could hear the young monks talking in the temple courtyard. The last Western tourists were leaving.

  Ling defied the pain and stood up. He still had a sense that somebody was in the room, but there was no one in sight. He couldn’t find his sandals, so he tottered barefoot across the stone floor. It was cold. Maybe I’m having a stroke, he thought. He was having trouble breathing. His tongue was swollen, and he staggered as he walked. For a moment he almost lost his footing, but he knew that he needed to stay upright. If he fell now, he would never get up again. He took a deep breath that sent a burning sensation down his windpipe and into his lungs.

  “Help me,” he tried to shout. But his voice was too weak, and no one heard him. “Help me.”

  Ling stepped out into a narrow, damp corridor and went into another room. Rays of orange sun were filtering through the skylight. He looked down at his body. There was nothing to see on his arms, stomach, or chest. A powerful stab of pain made him feel faint. Briefly, he closed his eyes, gave up resisting, and disappeared into a darkness that was boundlessly unpleasant. Then he had a moment of peace. The pain came in small jolts, and each time it was stronger than before.

  His hands were shaking as he opened the drawer and began fumbling through it. Finally, he found what he was looking for: a little, scratched pocket mirror. He looked at himself in the mirror. A face filled with fear. Ling tugged his loincloth down a bit and held up the mirror so he could get a view of the lower part of his back. What he saw took his breath away.

  “Dear God,” he whispered, dropping the mirror. “What’s that?”

  The only answer he received was the sound of the mirror shattering on the floor.

  The old-fashioned pay phone on the wall didn’t look at all like a means of salvation, but it was his only chance. He dragged himself over to it. A new wave of pain made him stop. It seemed to last an eternity. He opened his eyes and looked at the pay phone, which he had objected to so strongly when it was first installed. The authorities had required it because of the visiting tourists—in case something happened to any of them, there had to be some way to summon help. For the same reason, the emergency number was printed on the wall in large type, and next to it stood a pot filled with coins. Ling stretched out his hand and tried to reach the pot. He managed to get hold of the rim but lost his balance and was forced to drop it in order to lean on the wall for support. Pottery shards and coins scattered over the floor. Ling hesitated. The very thought of bending down seemed inconceivable. Was one of his last deeds on earth really going to be leaning down to pick up the shiny little coins that he’d spent most of his life renouncing? But he didn’t want to die yet, and with trembling fingers he picked up a coin, dropped it into the slot, and punched in the three numbers printed on the wall. Then he waited.

  “Come on, come on,” he whispered with difficulty.

  At last he heard a woman’s voice say: “Emergency Center.”

  “You must help me!”

  “What is the emergency? Where are you calling from?” The voice on the line was calm and composed. Almost robotic.

  “I’m burning up. I’m . . .”

  Ling fell silent and turn
ed around. There was someone there; he was sure of it. Someone was watching him. He rubbed his eyes, but that didn’t help. He couldn’t see anyone. Who could be doing this to him?

  “I need to know where you are, sir,” said the woman.

  “Help me—” With every word he spoke, a stab of pain raced from his back up through his throat to his mouth and swollen tongue.

  The woman interrupted him, sounding kind but firm. “What’s your name?”

  “Ling. Ling Zedong. I . . . Help me! My skin . . . it’s burning!”

  “Mr. Ling . . .” Now she sounded impatient. “Where are you right now?”

  “Help me!”

  He stopped abruptly. He felt that something inside him had collapsed. As if the world around him had taken a step back and left him in a state of unreality. The sounds vanished. The bursts of laughter from the courtyard were gone. The voice on the phone was, too. Time stood still. He found himself in a new world. Or on the threshold of another world. Blood was running out of his nose.

  “What’s happening?” he whispered. “It’s so quiet.”

  At that instant he dropped the phone.

  “Hello?” said the robotic voice in the receiver dangling from the wall. “Hello?”

  But Ling didn’t hear it. He staggered a few steps toward the window. He looked at the three glasses standing on the windowsill. There was water in one of them. Maybe that would help. He reached for the glass but couldn’t get a good grip on it. It fell out the window and shattered on the stones in the courtyard.

  The monks outside looked up. Ling tried to signal to them. He saw their lips moving, but he heard nothing.

  Ling could taste and feel the blood running out of his nose. “Dear God.” He groaned. “What’s happening to me?”

  He felt as if he were about to be obliterated. As if he’d been reduced to a chess piece in somebody else’s dream, somebody who was about to wake up. And he could do nothing to fight it. The sounds around him were gone. He fell, landing on his back, and looked up. He was enveloped in silence. Then he smiled and raised his hand in the air. Where the ceiling had been a moment ago, he now had an unobstructed view of the first faint stars in the night sky.