John could not contain himself any longer. He let out a loud whoop, and almost screamed. “Goddamn it, Steven. We did it!"
* * * *
THE CROWD IN the St. Peter's Square was building. Cardinal MacArthur, positioned so as not to be observed, watched with growing concern. The crowd, though large, was eerily quiet. Many carried candles and Rosary Beads. Others were praying silently, though fervently. The Cardinal had never really made his own mind up as to the Shroud's authenticity. Many members of the Vatican believed in it devoutly however, and he knew that those who gathered beneath the Vatican balcony most assuredly did. It didn't really matter to him whether the Shroud was real or not. Icons were for solidifying the faith and as long as the faithful remained so, there was a chance that God's word would eventually rule mankind.
"Gregory,” the pope addressed him with his familiar given name as he often did when they were alone. Their association and friendship went back ... could it really be almost fifty years already?
"Yes, Holy Father?” MacArthur could never make himself address his lifelong friend with the same familiarity since his consecration as the Bishop of Rome ten years ago.
"How long has it been since we last saw Angelino?"
The Cardinal turned from the window and moved toward Timothy, who was still seated at his position at the head of the long marble table. “I'm not sure, Your Holiness. Maybe fifteen years."
The Pope let out a wistful sigh. “Who could have known the twists and turns our lives would take back in those days, eh, Gregory?"
"Indeed."
Cardinal MacArthur let his memories drift back to a simpler time, when he and two other young idealistic seminary students had enjoyed a lighter existence than the heavy load that he now bore. Had he known he and his friend, Ronald Johnson, now Pope Timothy I, the first American Pope in history, would one day carry the entire weight of the Roman Catholic Church on their shoulders, would he have still been so enthusiastic about dedicating his life to God? He guessed he probably would have. For as long as he could remember, he had wanted nothing more than to be a Roman Catholic Priest, to serve God by spreading his Holy Word throughout the world. As heavy as the load had become for him, he knew his old friend carried an infinitely heavier burden. The President of the United States, considered the most powerful man in the world, bore the weight of office for at most eight years before sinking back into relative anonymity. His decisions would affect an entire nation, and even the whole world. It was certainly a serious responsibility. Yet the legacy of the presidency was a tradition of a little more than two centuries—a brief flicker in time. The papacy was a continuing mission that ultimately affected the entire fate of mankind. For what could be more important than the very relationship of Man to God? The Pope bore that responsibility until his death. Tracing its lineage back to the apostle Peter, the papacy was mankind's oldest link to Jesus Christ, and therefore God Himself. What a mighty weight it was which must be bearing down on his beloved friend.
"Holy Father, Angelino was never a person to follow convention. But this ... this ... disgrace is too much to tolerate. He must be stopped this time."
"Yes, yes, Gregory.” The Pope sounded weary. “I am happy to entertain any ideas you might have to accomplish that."
Cardinal MacArthur was indulging his frustration now. “Excommunicate him, Your Holiness! Take away the church as an official vehicle through which he may act.” His fist pounded the table for emphasis. Timothy looked at him with surprise, the barest trace of a smile on his lips.
"Forgive me, Holy Father."
Timothy tilted his head with a slight nod to assure his old friend that no offense was taken. “Gregory, we have discussed excommunication many times. I thought we agreed that the dangers of that outweighed any harm he might do from within the church."
"Father, he is a renegade and he has gone too far. What are we supposed to do ... sit back and allow him to humiliate the Church ... humiliate you, Your Holiness?"
"Even if I were to follow your advice, the question remains: how do we find him ... and how do we ensure the safe return of the Holy Shroud? No. I'm afraid for now we must bide our time."
MacArthur turned and walked toward the window, not bothering to conceal the frustration, which he displayed with a loud sigh. Timothy walked up behind him and placed his hands gently on his shoulders. “I know, old friend, but we must be patient. Our best strategy is to allow Angelino to discredit himself. He has always been reckless. Let us use that to our advantage."
"But what about the Shroud, Holy Father? We must recover it."
"Yes, my friend, and we shall. Come now. I must say something to the people and I want you by my side."
* * * *
"THIS IS SUSAN MORGAN, NBS News. We are awaiting the appearance of the Pope in St. Peter's Square. Apparently he has an announcement to make to the crowd, which began forming here early this morning when the theft of the Shroud of Turin was first announced. The crowd has been growing steadily all morning. For some reactions, here is NBS correspondent Peter James."
The camera switched to James, standing in another portion of the assembled crowd. “Thank you, Susan. As you might expect, people are outraged and shocked at the theft of the Shroud. I spoke with several of them earlier.” A succession of comments from various people on hand followed:
"I'm really outraged and embarrassed for my church that something so horrible could have happened,” said one elderly lady, in broken English with a thick Italian accent.
"Well, I think that whoever stole the Shroud should be shot ... SHOT!” said a middle-aged man, angrily.
"I think that it's pretty bad,” said a young teen girl. “But it's really only a piece of cloth. I mean, it's not like that old rag is actually God or anything."
The camera returned to James. “It is safe to say that among devout Roman Catholics, the theft of the Shroud of Turin is a serious matter, and one can sense a growing anger among those gathered here in St. Peter's Square. Back to you, Susan."
"Thank you, Peter.” A wave of cheers rippled through the crowd behind her. Susan Morgan turned her head to look. “It appears Pope Timothy is making his appearance now. Let's hear what he has to say."
The Pope appeared with Cardinal MacArthur beside him. He lifted his hands, gesturing for silence. Gradually, the cheers became a quiet murmur.
"My friends. Brothers and Sisters. As you know, the Holy Shroud of Turin, the burial cloth of our Lord Jesus Christ, was stolen from its resting place in Turin overnight.” Loud cries of protest and anger filled the air. Many in the crowd had hoped the reports would be false. Again the Pope gestured for silence and just as quickly it was granted.
"This act is a blasphemy against Christ, against devout believers throughout the Holy Roman Catholic Church, and against God Himself."
Angry cries again filled the air. The Pope continued.
"But let us all be reminded that the Church is more than the relics and holy icons that it worships and venerates as symbols of the Holy Kingdom. We, my fellow Catholics, carry the torch passed down by Christ Himself through His anointed Apostle Peter down through the centuries to this very day ... this very moment in time. We carry the Word, the very voice of God, not only to the members of the Holy Catholic Church, but to every man, woman, and child of the world who wishes to hear that voice.
"The Church has survived the persecutions of the Roman Empire, the decimation of Europe by hoards of thundering barbarians during the dark ages, and the modern moral decadence that permeates the hearts and minds of so much of the world today.
"Today, we have been served a reminder that our holy mission still faces challenges, resistance, and, yes even enemies. Enemies who would betray God's will and send this world swirling downward into a vortex of sin and iniquity. Tonight such an enemy besmirches the faith of all of us. But I remind each of you that victory eludes the forces of darkness while each heart remains steadfast in its devotion to living out God's will. Only when we allow our hea
rts to waver, can evil enter and destroy our souls.
"I make to you this solemn promise, this pledge: the Shroud shall be recovered and returned to its rightful place in Turin."
A loud and heartfelt cheer erupted from the mass of people. Pope Timothy smiled and waved to the crowd for a moment before retreating from the balcony. The camera returned to Susan Morgan.
"There you have it. A stirring speech by the Pope, well received by the crowd gathered here in the Vatican. The Vatican clearly doesn't have any further information it wishes to share it with the public."
* * * *
THE TELEPHONE RANG, and David Warrenger turned off the NBS coverage he had been watching.
"Hello?"
"David? This is Steven. Are you sitting down?” came the voice on the other end of the line.
"Steven, I haven't even finished my first cup of coffee yet. If this is bad news, can't it wait?"
Steven chuckled on the other end of the line. “Always the optimist, David. No. It's not bad news. We've got it!"
"What?” David tried to hide his excitement.
"We've got it, David. No shit! No doubt about it."
"You're positive? This isn't like that bullshit about cold fusion, is it?” Warrenger's statement referred to an announcement several years back that two scientists at MIT had discovered a method of cold nuclear fusion. If true, it would have revolutionized the energy industry. However, no one else had ever been able to duplicate the results under controlled conditions, including the scientists who had originally announced the discovery.
"No, David. Do you want me to stop by your office this morning?"
"Um ... no ... I'll meet you at the lab. Where are you now?"
"At the lab."
"You been there all night?"
"Yes. John's here with me."
"Give me a chance to finish my coffee and I'll head right over."
"Ok, David. See you then."
Warrenger hung up the phone. Gulping down the remaining coffee in his cup, he refilled it, threw on his jacket, and coffee cup in hand, headed to his car, a part of him anxious to see what Steven and his crew had discovered, another part wishing this day had never come.
Chapter 2
"SENATOR BENNETT, THIS bill is very important for the spiritual health of our society.” Reverend Armand Mathias was pacing back and forth in front of Senator Harold Bennett's desk. The Reverend had come to his office often in the past to lobby for legislation the American Christian Leadership Foundation felt was good for America, but the senator had never seen the evangelist quite this intense. “You must put a stop to this madness."
"Armand,” the senator put on his best I'm-on-your-side face. “You know I want to help you all I can on this. Hell ... uh, I mean ... heck, I don't like all the ramifications of this thing either. But I've got just about every scientist you can think of on my ass ... um, my back, wanting me to vote against the bill. On top of that, you've heard the news commentators. They're all against the bill, too. It is not going to be easy to pass it."
The Reverend stopped pacing in mid-stride and stepped up to the senator's desk, bending forward and leaning into his face. His eyes, looking like little rat-like slits to Harold, bore deeply into the senator.
"Sir, I don't need to remind you that the ACLF represents a very sizable voting block. As I recall, you're up for reelection this fall."
Harold almost smiled at that, but thought better of it. His old political ally was agitated and he saw no reason to put him over the edge. Reverend Mathias could get nasty when he was on a mission, and there was no mistaking that this bill was a serious mission for him. For thirty years, Senator Bennett had endured just about every lobbyist and special-interest activist he could think of threatening him with the loss of his next election if he failed to bow to their wishes. Yet he was still here while most of his adversaries had sunk back into obscurity.
"Now Armand, just relax.” Harold felt it was useful to inject just the slightest tone of authority, lest the man leaning on his desk forget who was in charge here. Power was something that needed to be constantly reestablished. “Haven't I always come through for you when it counted? Don't forget how I helped push through that ban on partial birth abortions. I fought hard for you on that one."
This relaxed the evangelist slightly. He lifted his arms from the senator's desk and began pacing back and forth again, but more relaxed and casually. “Yes, Harold, you did. And you know I ... we're ... grateful for your work on that. A lot of tiny souls have been saved because of you."
The senator let the Reverend's remark sink into the silence before saying anything else. “Armand, I don't know what you're so riled up about here. My science experts tell me that we are at least twenty years away from being able to clone humans anyway."
"That may be true, Senator, but no one expected them to do that clone thing with that sheep, either and yet, there it is."
"Reverend, you go back and you tell your people that Senator Harold Bennett will do everything he can to make sure that no one ever clones a human being."
"Harold, I sure hope you mean that. Every time science comes up with a new idea, or some new technology, it takes mankind one step further away from the Lord and two steps closer to perdition. This time, man has gone too far. Creating life is the domain of God, not man. We have gotten away with tweaking God's nose far too long. That can't last indefinitely. I don't want to sound like some kind of New Age fruitcake, but we are approaching a new millennium. God is watching what we do here and I tell you He doesn't like it one little bit."
"Armand, try to look at this from my point of view. Even if what you say is true, I can't, as a United States senator, argue the religious angle on any piece of legislation, and its damn hard making a moral case without bringing religion into the mix. But we have that separation of church and state thing, you know."
"You know how I feel about that, Harold."
Harold raised his hand to cut him off. There was no time to rehash that debate again. “Yes, Armand, I know how you feel. But I have to balance things like this on a very thin, teetering pinpoint. I've been doing that for thirty years now, and not without some success."
Reverend Mathias had calmed down considerably now. “Yes, Harold. You've served your state well. I apologize for getting heavy handed with you. It's just that I care about this. It's important."
"It's okay, Armand. I understand. It isn't going to be easy, but I have some favors that I've been saving up. Maybe I can call a few of them in on this."
The Reverend pondered this. Bennett was too shrewd a politician to cash in a favor without getting something in return. Bennett never used up favors. He merely transferred them, like a stockbroker moving assets from one account to another. If Bennett called in a favor from someone, he would only do that if he knew he was going to be compensated with a favor from somewhere else. The Reverend was no less adept at balancing his own political books. He knew he had just created an entry in his debit column.
Harold rose and extended his hand toward Reverend Mathias, indicating the meeting was over. Mathias grasped the offered hand and shook it warmly.
"Armand, thank you for coming today. Now if you'll please excuse me,” he winked with the charm only a politician possesses, “I think you've just given me some work to do. I'd better get started."
"Thank you, Senator, and God bless you,” The Reverend said sincerely, as he headed toward the office doorway.
"Thank you, Reverend. I sure hope so."
As the door was closing behind the reverend, the senator was on the intercom to his secretary. “Betty, get me Senator Hatcher, please."
"Right away, Senator."
As he waited for the call to come through, he swiveled his chair around to look out his window, looking at but not really seeing the familiar vista as he leaned back thoughtfully. When had science become such a politically charged subject? he asked himself. There was a time when he could believe what a scientist had to say. But nowadays,
it seemed that science had taken a back seat to politics.
Now there was this cloning thing. Harold had a nose for politics and this issue had a putrid smell to it. In a very real sense, it was the mirror image of the abortion issue. Abortion dealt with the death of the unborn. Cloning dealt with the creation of the unborn. What was baffling to him was that the very people who screamed the loudest and fought the hardest to protect the life of the unborn were the very ones who most violently opposed the idea of cloning life in the laboratory. Well, he thought, at least we won't have to deal with cloning of humans for a long time yet. His science advisors assured him that the science of genetics was at least twenty years away from having the ability to do that, possibly longer. That wouldn't stop the debate or make it any more reasoned and considered.
His thoughts were interrupted by his intercom. “Senator Bennett, I have Senator Hatcher for you on line two."
"Thank you, Betty."
Harold picked up the phone. “Stuart, I'm glad I could reach you. How are things in Massachusetts these days?"
The voice on the other end had the familiar New England accent. “Things are just fine up here, Harold. It's good to hear from you, too. I figured you were still digging out of that sand trap I left you in last summer."
"Yeah, I'm emptying the sand from my shoes as we talk."
"What can I do for you, Harold?"
"Stuart, I need to see you. Armand Mathias ... Reverend Armand Mathias,” he deliberately emphasized the title, “just left my office. He's got a bug up his ass over human cloning, if you can believe that."
Harold could almost see his old friend light up on the other end. Stuart considered the Reverend Mathias a somewhat comical character, despite the political clout he and his American Christian Leadership Foundation wielded.
"You got the balls to give me a rematch?"
Shrouded Destiny Page 2
