Timothy had no response. Understanding Angelino had always eluded him, but Number One was right. Angelino, whatever his sins, was no fool. How I curse the day I met him!
"Let me help you out, Timothy. What would you say if I told you that Angelino has paid a visit to the scientists at the Genetic Engineering Project?"
"I don't understand,” Timothy looked blankly at Number One.
Number One's voice boomed loudly, “He has the Shroud, Timothy!"
It took a moment to sink in. “You don't think..."
"Timothy, you fool! He is having Jesus cloned! It is probably already accomplished."
Timothy slumped in his chair. “My God!"
"For two thousand years, The Council has held the reins of power. The history of Western civilization has not just ‘happened,’ it has been created ... by us! All of that is threatened because of your blindness. Do you have any idea of the havoc he can create now?"
The Pope hardly heard. He was rocked by the thought of what Angelino might have done. Jesus walking among them again? Timothy couldn't wrap his mind around that. He looked up at the angry face of Number One and felt like a child being reprimanded.
"Do you really think Angelino would go that far?” he said.
"Do you? He is your friend."
As much as he knew him to be a scoundrel and a heathen, Timothy had never suspected for one minute that Angelino would be capable of such a nefarious plan. He had to admit that the plan was brilliant. In one fell swoop, Angelino could quite possibly have derailed the entire Agenda. He felt like he was going to be sick.
"This is more than I ever would have thought him capable of, Number One. I don't know what to say to you.” What else could he do but throw himself at Number One's mercy?
If mercy was in Number One's heart, it was certainly not in Number One's eyes, which glowered fiercely at the Pope.
"I will resign, if that will serve The Council,” Timothy offered.
"No. That is the last thing you should do. It will only create suspicion. We're stuck with you.” Those words stung Timothy deeply. Number One softened slightly. “The Council was pleased with your damage control, however. That was very efficiently done. Fortunately, most of the world thinks Angelino is a deluded fanatic, thanks to that. It may not be too late to save the Agenda."
Timothy sighed in relief. Perhaps he would escape with his head after all. “Thank you, Number One. It pleases me to know that."
"The Council does not intend to just sit by and let this priest disrupt the Agenda."
"What are we going to do?"
"We are going to seek out the twelve knights ... and destroy them. You are going to remain here and wait for him to contact you."
Timothy felt a chill, realizing he was in the presence of pure ruthlessness.
"You do not approve, Timothy?"
"I didn't say that,” he responded, perhaps a bit too defensively.
Number One's voice carried a tone of menace. “Timothy, tell me. Could you thrust a knife into the flesh of another man while looking him in the eye?” Number One smiled malevolently. “Could you push the knife past the resistance of the sternum and then into his beating heart?"
"I ... I ... don't know."
Number One's face wore an expression of disgust. “Many of your predecessors were not so skittish. You had better decide, Timothy. You may be called upon to do just that someday. And make no mistake ... I, on the other hand, would have no problem doing so. Don't forget that."
Timothy got the message. We will let you slide this time, but by doing so, we own you. That was hardly a revelation. Long ago, Ronald Johnson had sold his soul to these devils.
* * * *
"CHIEF, PHONE CALL for you. It's Senator Bennett."
"Thank you, Sam.” Special Prosecutor Arnold Wills picked up his phone with the same quick efficiency with which he did everything.
"Wills, here. How are you this morning, Senator?"
"I'm good, Arnold. This Angelino thing has really stirred up my constituents, though."
"I'm sure it has. What can I do for you?” Arnold was not much for small talk.
"Nothing in particular, Arnold. Just called to chat."
"Senator, you never just ‘chat’ with anyone."
Harold laughed. “OK, you got me there. I was wondering how the investigation is coming along."
"You know I can't talk about that, Senator. Why do you even try?"
"Perhaps I'm hoping that I might catch you in an unguarded moment someday and you'll let something slip."
"Hope springs eternal.” Arnold cracked.
Harold's tone became serious. “Arnold, let me ask you something. Don't answer it if you don't feel you can."
"Don't worry, I won't."
"What do you think about this Council of Most Highs business Father Angelino mentioned the other night?"
Arnold remained silent for a long time before responding cautiously. “I can't answer that, Senator."
Harold was a master of reading silence and Arnold had just told him all he needed to know. So he was taking it seriously. Undoubtedly, he was quietly exploring at least the possibility that it really existed. That said a lot. Arnold had a nose for the truth. It wasn't his habit to go running off on wild goose chases. That was one reason he was chosen as the Special Prosecutor in the investigation of President Crowley's administration. What did Wills know? That question was the most asked question in Washington, with every pundit and columnist more than willing to provide their own partisan answer. The truth was that nobody in Washington, except Wills and his highly professional staff, knew. Arnold had been methodically and relentlessly accumulating evidence in the plethora of scandals that seemed to define Crowley's administration. He was chipping away at Crowley's credibility slowly but surely, despite the latter's popularity.
If the Council truly existed, Crowley would have even more headaches to deal with. If it didn't, it was all the same to Harold. In politics, perception was everything. Harold would simply keep him pinned down to defending himself against his role in The Council whether it existed or not. By the time he was through, the entire country would have no doubt that the Council existed, whatever the truth might be.
"I understand, Arnold. Well, if there is anything that I or my staff can do to assist your investigation, don't hesitate to call on me."
"Your sense of civil duty is touching, Senator,” Arnold said, without malice.
"Why do I get the feeling you think I have ulterior motives?” Harold said with mock indignation.
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe it's because you have hated President Crowley since he whipped your ass for that House Seat twenty years ago."
"OK, OK. You've made your point, Arnold. Gotta run. Keep up the good work."
"Bye, Senator.” Arnold hung up the phone and shook his head.
* * * *
"What did Senator Bennett want, Arnold?” Deputy investigator Julian Michaels had been hovering nearby during the entire conversation.
"Oh, the usual. He wants Crowley so bad he can taste it, Julian."
"I can't say that I blame him. That bastard has gotten away with everything short of murder. For all we know, he's even gotten away with that."
Arnold changed the subject. “You all packed?"
"Yep. Passport's in order. My flight leaves first thing tomorrow morning."
"Good. How's your French?"
"Passable. Arnold, is this trip really necessary?"
"I don't know. Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. I have a gnawing in my gut that tells me to look into this Council business. I've been tossing in my sleep over this."
"What exactly do we know about this Angelino character?"
Arnold handed Julian a thin brown envelope. “For your reading pleasure on the flight over."
"And here I thought I might catch up on some sleep."
"If I don't sleep, you don't sleep."
Julian headed for the door. Arnold called out to him, “Julian."
"Yes, Chief?"
"Be careful. Stay alert. We don't know what you're going to find there."
"I'm always careful."
"Have a good flight. Check in when you get there."
"I will, Chief."
Arnold leaned back in his chair and watched the door close behind Julian. Was he losing his objectivity? Was he letting his frustration at Crowley's slipperiness cause him to grasp at any straw he could? He was discovering that being focused continuously in investigation mode warped his way of looking at even the most mundane day-to-day events. The effect was subtle, but becoming more and more noticeable. Perhaps he was grasping at straws with this Council business. Something inside him told him he wasn't, though. Something inside him told him that he would have his first good night's sleep in quite a while tonight.
* * * *
STEVEN WOKE WITH a start, disoriented in unfamiliar surroundings. Sunlight streamed in through a window. He glanced at his watch. 7:15. He sat up slowly and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He was horrified when he noticed that the couch on which Jesus had been sleeping was empty! John and Mathias were still both snoring away, in sleeping bags strewn about the cabin. He thought to wake them but the thought was quickly pushed aside by the instinct to rush out the door to find Jesus.
Much to his relief, Jesus was walking slowly in the clearing that separated the house from the forest. He appeared not to be suffering any ill effects from the sedative and seemed quite alert. Steven watched him for a moment, not certain whether to call out to him. He was mindful of the extreme shock this must be to Jesus, literally being hurled two thousand years into the future. How might I react if I were to suddenly find myself similarly placed? he wondered.
He noticed how serene Jesus seemed. He also noticed that he appeared to be quite familiar with his surroundings. He would have thought that one brought up in a desert climate would be in awe of such rich foliage all around him. Yet Jesus was not. He was reacting very much like a person who had experienced such an environment and was happily re-experiencing it once again. Odd.
Steven decided against calling out to him and instead started walking slowly toward him. Jesus heard his footsteps and looked up. He smiled and gestured broadly, indicating pleasure at all that was around him. Steven acknowledged the gesture with a smile of his own.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
Jesus seemed to understand and nodded. He looked up to the sky and breathed deeply. Steven was again struck at how naturally Jesus seemed to be regarding all of this. After his initial disorientation, he seemed to have adapted with astonishing speed to his new situation. Of course, he realized, Jesus had no way of knowing what had happened. There was really no way for him to be aware of the enormous passage of time that had taken place since his crucifixion. It had been a wise decision to come to this place. To have placed Jesus within a modern city would have been too much for him to absorb. Steven knew, however, that they would not be able to avoid it for long. This Jesus was intelligent, and it would soon be filled with questions.
Almost as if reading his thoughts, Jesus’ attention was caught by the van and car parked around the side of the cabin. Steven noticed and headed him off before he could walk over to examine them.
"Come back inside with me,” he said to Jesus as he guided him toward the cabin door.
As they entered the cabin, their movements woke the others.
"What's going on?” John said sleepily.
"Nothing, John. I just found our friend here wandering around outside. I managed to divert him before he could look too closely at the vehicles. He caught a glimpse of them, though. I thought it best to leave those questions for another time."
Mathias rose quickly and said something to Jesus in Hebrew. Jesus nodded.
"What are you telling him, Armand?” Steven asked. It bothered him that he could not understand what they were saying.
"I'm just telling him that he should let us know when he wanted to go outside. That it was unfamiliar country and he could get lost out there very easily."
"I want you to start teaching him English right away, Armand. It's only fair to him. He has a lot to learn.” Steven did not have to add that he did not trust Mathias enough to allow him to be the only one able to converse with Jesus.
* * * *
Mathias thought about protesting, but decided against it. There was no way he would be able to prevent Jesus from joining the modern world. Indeed, if he were going to take advantage of his association with him, it would be mandatory. He would just have to be careful to cultivate his own particular influence with Jesus. Actually, teaching him English would put him in more direct contact with Jesus than the others, which could only work to his advantage.
* * * *
"John, I'm going to go into town and get us a satellite dish. I don't like being out of contact like this,” Steven said.
"I'll come with you, Steven,"
"No,” he glanced from John to Mathias. “You stay here and help Mathias with our friend.” Meaning, there's no way I'm leaving Mathias alone with him. John nodded his understanding.
"I'll fix some breakfast for the rest of us, then, I guess.” he said. He stopped short. No one had ever bothered to tell him what a Son of God ate for breakfast.
* * * *
THE DEPARTURE FROM Dulles had been uneventful. Julian Michaels put his seat back and allowed himself to relax for a few moments. He was still uncertain how he was going to approach this mission. How does one search for an ultra-secret organization that might not even exist? What would he do if he found it? He asked himself a lot of similar questions. Years of investigative work had taught him it was asking questions, even if the answers were not knowable, which made all the difference. One could never anticipate the actions of others or how specific events might unfold. All one could do was prepare for the unknown. The more questions he asked himself, the less likely it was that he would be surprised by anything.
He adjusted his seat into the upright position, opened his briefcase and removed the brown envelope Arnold had given him. He pulled out a thin file. He peered into the envelope, half-expecting that somehow the rest of the information had fallen out of the file into the envelope. It was empty of course. Was this all they had? The file contained an old, grainy black-and-white photo of Angelino. That and a three-page, double-spaced, typewritten report made up the entire contents of the envelope. Julian shrugged his shoulders and began to read.
He learned that Antonio Angelino Sabbatini was born to parents of Italian descent in Brooklyn, New York. Date of birth unknown. He apparently had gotten into a few minor scrapes with the law while in his teens, the most notable being an incident in which he had gotten into a struggle with some neighborhood toughs who were attempting to rob an old man. He had managed to chase the hooligans off, only to be arrested himself when the police arrived. The old man had been beaten senseless and was semiconscious when the young Sabbatini had come to his rescue, and in his confusion had identified him as one of the thugs who had accosted him. A six-month stint in reform school had followed as a result of that incident.
The rest of his teen years were uneventful and sketchy. Then, at the age of twenty, he entered St. Mary's Seminary in Julesberg, Wisconsin. Julian sat up abruptly when he read that among his classmates were a Gregory MacArthur and Ronald Johnson. The latter was the current sitting Pope, Timothy I. So, Angelino had been a classmate of the Pope and his chief lieutenant. That fact might prove significant somehow. At the seminary, Angelino had been a better-than-average student, although lagging behind Johnson and MacArthur academically. He excelled in sports. It was reported that he had been scouted by several major league baseball teams, and one, the New York Yankees, had even offered him a contract, which he'd declined.
The three of them studied under a Priest by the name of Michael O'Brian. Little was known about him. The three seminary students were apparently inseparable during their stay at St. Mary's. There was some rivalry between Sabbatini and Johnson, but it appeared
to be friendly in nature.
Upon graduation, each of them was assigned to various archdioceses as novice priests. Sabbatini was assigned to a small church in Brooklyn, Johnson to one in Italy, and MacArthur had drawn an assignment at a church in Boston. Angelino had dropped out of sight for many years, only to resurface as a spokesman for a dissident Roman Catholic faction in the late sixties. His activities with the faction drew censure from the church. After that, he had never been heard from again publicly until his recent television appearance.
Julian closed the file and placed it back in the envelope. He knew little now he hadn't known before. The connection between the Pope and Angelino, however, might prove to be significant.
He placed his seat back into the reclined position, lay back and closed his eyes. Apparently, he would be able to get some sleep after all. That was his last thought as the whistle of the Concord engines lulled him to sleep.
Chapter 9
"RAY, THIS IS Susan,” the familiar yet somehow alien voice on the other end of the phone chirped. Ray didn't bother to conceal his happiness in hearing from her.
"Susan! How wonderful to hear from you!"
"It's good to talk to you, too, Ray."
"How are you? Are you well?"
"I've never been better. Father Angelino is teaching me so much."
"You sound great, Susan. Where are you?"
"I can't tell you. In fact, I can't stay on more than a minute. They could be tracing the call. Your phone is probably tapped. Just know that I am well and I am with Father Angelino. We will be sending you another tape soon."
Ray had taken it for granted that his phone was tapped.
"I understand. I hope you know I got a parcel of shit for broadcasting that first tape. But the public loved it. Ratings went through the roof, so I don't imagine it will be too hard getting another one on the air."
Susan became serious. “I want to thank you for helping us. It means more to me than I can tell you. Father Angelino thanks you, too. We are grateful."
"You're welcome, Susan."
"I've got to go, Ray. I just wanted to let you know that I am okay. I thought you might be worried. Goodbye."
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