"All right, Steven,” he said at last. “Let's do it. I'll call David and tell him I have to take care of some personal things before I fly out to Washington. We can't work here, though. It will attract too much attention. We're supposed to be shutting this place down."
Steven considered this. “We don't really have a choice. All of our equipment is here. There's no time to move everything. We'll just have to be careful. I can tell security that we are doing some standard research or cleaning up or something."
"I don't like it, Steven. It's risky."
"John, this whole idea is risky, but we will attract more attention moving things somewhere than just being careful here. We'll alternate guarding the site."
Angelino interrupted them. “Someone's coming."
Steven heard two pairs of footsteps coming down the hall. “Quick, hide in that room back there,” he said, pointing to a storage area. Angelino gathered up the shroud quickly, and he and Susan hastened to the room, closing the door behind them just as the footsteps stopped outside the laboratory door. A knock on the door followed. That indicated it was not Warrenger or any of the normal lab personnel, who would have their own pass key access.
Steven walked over and warily opened the door to two muscular men dressed in business suits. One of them produced a badge. “I'm Agent Jordan Breem.” He gestured toward the man on his left. “This is Agent Montgomery. We're with the FBI."
Steven's heart pounded. My God! Is the laboratory bugged? He struggled to remain calm and appropriately surprised that FBI agents would be knocking on his door. He must have taken a moment or two longer than he thought because Agent Breem interrupted his thoughts.
"May we come in? We'd like to ask you a few questions."
Steven jolted out of his shock. “Yes, of course. Please excuse me. It's not every day that I get a visit from the FBI.” He tried to smile. “Come on in."
The two agents looked over the laboratory as they entered. They noticed the doorway to the storage room almost immediately. Panic rose within Steven as he realized he had basically trapped Angelino and Susan. There was no other exit to the storage room. If they decided to search...
"Who are you, sir?” Agent Breem asked Steven
"I'm Doctor Steven Hamilton, director of the laboratory. This is my associate, Doctor John Barber. As you can see, we're packing things up. We're closing the lab."
Agent Montgomery walked around, studying the disarray of boxes strewn around the room. Steven watched him as he spoke to Breem, who stood tall in front of him.
"What can I help you with, Agent Breem?"
Breem reached into his breast pocket and produced a photograph. “Has either of you ever seen this man, Doctor Hamilton?"
Steven fought to contain his surprise. The photo was that of Angelino. The age of the photo was hard to gauge, it was clearly an old photo, judging from an automobile parked in the background, but there was no mistaking the image in the photo.
He took the photo, pretending to take a closer look as he composed himself. Breem studied him intently. “That's a pretty old picture, Agent Breem. I doubt this man would look anything like this any more. I've never seen him or anyone who resembles him. Who is he? He looks like he's dressed as a priest."
Breem ignored the question. “Please look again, Doctor Hamilton. You're certain you've never seen this man?"
Did he detect the lie? “Yes. I'm certain,” he lied again. “Is there a reason you think I should know him?"
"He was spotted entering this building by one of our informants about an hour ago."
Steven struggled to remain calm. Was Breem bluffing? Had he sensed that he was lying and hoping to manipulate him into revealing the truth? He decided that he was committed to the lie and chose to stick with it.
"I don't know what you tell you, Agent Breem. Your informant was apparently mistaken. No one but John and I have entered the building this evening.” He turned to John. “Isn't that right, John?"
John had remained as invisible as possible during the exchange. Steven knew he wouldn't appreciate having the spotlight turned on him. He obviously did not relish lying to the FBI either, but nevertheless he backed Steven up. “That's right. Only the two of us have been here tonight."
"I see,” Breem said, with undisguised skepticism. “Would you mind if we looked around a little?"
John started to protest, but was stopped by a glance from Steven, who said, “No. Go ahead. Have a look.” It was a bold bluff. Would it work?
Montgomery pointed toward the storeroom door. “What's back there?"
Steven felt the blood drain from his face.
"It's a storage room. We keep some chemicals and other dangerous materials back there. Nothing that would interest you."
Panic surged through him. He hoped he had conveyed the proper tone of warning in his voice. His heart leapt into his throat as Montgomery reached for the door handle and jerked the door open quickly. Steven and John couldn't see into the room from their vantage point. They exchanged a glance of resignation and both slumped in defeat as the door swung open.
Something wasn't right. They saw Montgomery disappear into the room for a moment and then step back out ... alone. Montgomery said, “This room is empty. I thought you said you kept chemicals back here."
Steven's face must have faded to pure white as he stammered, “Uh ... oh ... well ... um ... I guess some of the staff must have already emptied the room."
Breem noticed his pallor. “Are you feeling ok, Doctor Hamilton?"
He replied vacantly. “Yes. I ... I'm fine. I think I need to sit down though."
John, although no less surprised than Steven, stepped in. “He's been working some long hours trying to get everything closed up as quickly as possible. He's pretty beat."
Breem nodded without changing his expression. Steven couldn't tell if Breem was buying any of this or not. He remained on guard. Steven's eyes met John's. Steven wondered if the two agents saw the concern in their eyes. They continued to walk almost casually around the lab, occasionally opening a drawer or poking around in an open box. It seemed to Steven that they were merely hanging around to see if the pressure of their presence would cause either of them to blurt out something. They seemed to have been quite certain they would find Angelino in the lab. Hell ... then it hit him. Where did they go? Why didn't the agent see them in the room? It was certain they could not have left the room. There was no other exit.
Steven's shock abated and he rose from his chair and addressed Breem. “Is there anything else we can help you with, gentlemen? It's getting late and Doctor Barber and I would like to finish up here tonight."
Breem continued walking slowly around the lab. Although not a menacing figure, he did convey an aura of intimidation that would have made Steven and John both quite uncomfortable even if they had not been hiding anything. Finally, he walked over to Steven, handed him his business card, and said, “No. I guess we're done here. But you will call us if you see this man, won't you?” It wasn't a request.
"What is he wanted for?"
"Just let us know if you see him,” was all Breem would offer.
Steven nodded.
"Thank you for your cooperation. Good night.” With that, the two agents left the lab.
John started to say something to Steven, but Steven silenced by him holding up his hand. “Shhh.” Steven walked over to the door and listened as their footsteps retreated down the hallway.
"Ok. They're gone."
"Steven, what the hell just happened here?"
"I wish I knew, John."
Steven sprinted over to the storage room. As he was about to open the door, the handle turned and Angelino and Susan emerged.
"What the...?” John sputtered, obviously flabbergasted.
"How did the agent miss seeing you in there?” Steven stuck his head into the room to satisfy himself that there was no place to hide. “How did you get out of there?"
Angelino smiled at Steven with his characteristic
twinkle. “Obviously, we did not leave the room. As you so astutely pointed out, there is no other way out."
"Then how...?"
"Perhaps we can discuss this another time. Suffice it to say he did not see us. I believe we have a lot of work to do. Shall we get started?"
Steven looked over at John, who was scratching his head over a confused grimace. John shrugged his shoulders. Steven sighed in resignation and said to Angelino, “Ok. But don't think you're going to get away without an explanation about this."
"Well, Steven, if we're going to do this, let's get started. Father Angelino, please hand me the shroud so I can scrape off some blood.” Once John Barber bought into an idea, he bought into it completely.
* * * *
"GENTLEMEN, IT IS time for us to face some serious issues.” Pope Timothy stood at the head of the table around which the priests of his inner council were seated. His mood was somber ... almost morose. His eyes went from man to man, studying the faces of each with an intensity that was deep even for a man of his stature. On the face of each he saw the lost look of uncertain men needing to be told what to do and think.
"I had hoped to be able to bring you hopeful news about the return of the Shroud. I regret I am unable to do so.” This news did not come as a surprise to the men seated before him, he could see. He didn't expect it would be. He knew many of them were skeptical about the Shroud's authenticity, accepting the official proclamations of its authenticity as part of the job, and therefore hadn't been all that concerned about its theft in the first place. Those who adhered to that belief had no idea how serious the threat their great religion faced. It had been part of his charge that they be protected from that knowledge. Of course that would have to change now, of necessity.
The time for the Transformation was upon them. The theft of the Shroud merely signaled the first of a series of events that would herald the shift. No one, not even The Council of Most Highs, which the papacy had served since the Middle Ages, could foresee the exact form the Transformation would take, but they were pledged to guide it in a manner consistent with the Council's perpetual purpose. The very existence of the Council was known to only a handful of people in the world; he and Father MacArthur; the scoundrel, Angelino; the President of the United States; the Chairman of the Federal Reserve Board; the Director of the International Monetary Fund—control of capital was critical to the overall design—and a few others were the only ones who knew who sat on the Council, or even of its existence.
Timothy continued. “I have been made aware of a video tape recorded by Angelino with the assistance of a young American journalist. So far, the video has not been shown, no doubt because the young reporter was unable to convince her superiors to do so. This same young reporter narrowly survived death in an automobile crash right here in the very hills of Turin just a few short weeks ago.” There was no need to fill them in on the circumstance that had led to the accident. “The video is explosive, gentlemen. Secrets that are as old as the Roman Catholic Church are revealed in it for the first time in history. Some of those secrets are unknown even to you, my friends."
This was unexpected. The Curia members looked around at each other in confusion and dismay. Timothy allowed them this indulgence for a few moments before intruding upon it.
In a louder voice he said, “It has come to my attention that the network this young reporter works for, NBS, plans to air this tape tomorrow night in America. It will, of course, be seen all over the world."
Murmurs of concern erupted around the table. Timothy raised his hand to bring them to silence. “I do not anticipate that this can be stopped. So our only alternative is to counterattack immediately. We will assault the world press with a barrage of information that will totally discredit Angelino."
Timothy noticed Father MacArthur smile from his usual position directly opposite him. Finally that bastard would be dealt with! he was no doubt thinking. The rest were riveted on the Pope.
"Despite our best efforts there will be many who will believe him, so we must be prepared to stand our ground with a united front of denials."
A few of the priests around the table averted their gaze downward and fidgeted in their seats. They were clearly uncomfortable with such a broad plan of deceit. Timothy understood. These were honorable men, to whom such blatant dishonesty was deeply distasteful.
"Yes, my friends. I, too, do not like this course upon which we are forced. But when you hear what I have to tell you, you will understand how urgent it is to discredit Angelino. Above all else, we cannot allow the people to take him seriously."
He looked toward his press liaison, Bishop Mancini. “Jonathon. After we adjourn here, I want you to meet with me in my quarters. You will need to contact all of the archdioceses to alert them and provide them with our ‘information'. They will accept it without question. We have little time, so we must act quickly.” Bishop Mancini nodded.
Timothy took a deep breath and adopted his most papal posture. He had thought and prayed long and hard on whether or not to break the secrecy that the Holy See had pledged itself to for over a millennium. He had decided that the dangers of breaking it were far outweighed by the dangers of continued silence. If the Council of Most Highs did not agree, he would deal with them later. “Gentlemen, please sit back as I tell you the story that Angelino will reveal to the world tomorrow. The danger we face, and how important it is that we work together to avert it, will become clear to you."
* * * *
THE PHONE WOKE Armand Mathias from a deep sleep. The clock next to the phone read 3:37. Sleepily, he answered. “Hello?"
An unfamiliar male voice said, in a raspy whisper, “Armand Mathias?"
"Yes, that's me."
"Please listen carefully. I have something urgent to tell you."
"Who is this?"
"A friend. Now listen to what I have to tell you."
For the next two minutes Mathias felt the cold grip of horror grow as he listened to the mysterious voice on the other end of the line. Could it be true? This was followed by a boiling anger that was more powerful than his horror ... and anger, which made him leap from his bed as he slammed down the phone. This is exactly what I warned them about, the fools.
A few moments later, Mathias was down the stairs and out the front door. He would need reinforcements and he knew exactly where to find them.
* * * *
STEVEN AND JOHN had taken to sleeping at the lab the past few days. After the visit by the FBI agents, neither of them was willing to leave the tank containing the embryo ... what had been an embryo, but which was now almost a fully developed human form ... alone in the lab. They had been fortunate. No one had intruded on the lab. To add an extra layer of security to their experiment, they had placed the gestation tank and monitoring equipment in the storage room, the same room in which Angelino and Susan had disappeared, then reappeared, the other night. Hopefully, their luck would hold for just another 24 hours. The embryo—they had not been able to make themselves refer to the being that was gestating by any other name—would be fully matured by then. Both suspected the FBI might have posted someone outside the building, but if that was the case, whomever they posted had made themselves invisible.
Steven was tossing restlessly on the makeshift cot he had set up for himself. Angelino and Susan had simply disappeared the morning after they had begun the gestation process, taking the Shroud of Turin with them. They'd left no word where they were going, or whether they intended to return. What an odd pair they made—the priest, mystical, quiet, kindly, and most certainly insane; and the reporter, beautiful beyond words, with a timeless quality that Steven had never noticed in her news reports. He had seen her story on the Shroud's theft and thought her then to be hard and tough. Nothing like the woman whose image haunted him as he lay awake. Had she been in on the plot to steal the Shroud from the beginning? Steven doubted it. How had two unlikely comrades become complicit in this crime? He realized both he and John were now co-conspirators as we
ll, but he didn't really give a damn about that. Angelino had been right. This was an historic moment—the return of Jesus—and he, Steven Hamilton, would be forever remembered as the man who brought this wonderfully enlightened man back to mankind.
He could hardly wait to sit with the man and learn what had really happened two thousand years earlier. He wondered what Jesus would make of the fairy tales that had sprung up about him. Would he be surprised to discover he had become, in death, the most famous human being who ever lived? Would he be pleased, amused, or angered that his name had become both holy and profane, being spoken in reverence and in anger as a curse? What would he think about being brought back to life two thousand years later? So many questions that all of mankind had been asking since his death on the cross in Jerusalem, a death which had been no more noble than that of a common thief, a death designed to be the most degrading, humiliating, and torturous the Romans could devise, yet a death that had given him a true immortality in the heart and mind of mankind.
All of these questions, and more, raced through Steven's sleepless mind with ever-increasing intensity as the day of full gestation approached. By this time tomorrow night, the body of Jesus would walk the earth again. He was finding the realization of that more awe-inspiring than he had ever imagined possible. He wondered what Warrenger, a devout Catholic, would say once he knew what they had done.
His thoughts were shattered by a sound outside the lab door. At first he thought he had imagined it, but after a moment, he heard it again ... quiet but unmistakable footsteps.
"John,” he called out in a loud whisper. His partner continued snoring. Steven leapt from his cot, his heart pounding, and moved over to John's cot. “John! Wake up!” He shook him harshly. John started awake.
"Huh?"
"Shh,” Steven put his hand gently over John's mouth. “Somebody's coming down the hall."
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