The Sacred Bones

by Michael Byrnes

  41.

  VATICAN CITY

  Both scientists stared in amazement at the screen.

  The scanned skeletal frame had been calibrated to reconstruct muscle mass with a layer of colorless skin applied. Now this new data had transformed the statue-like image into a complete 3-D human apparition.

  Astonished at the final result, Bersei's hand was covering his mouth. "What would you say is his ethnic origin?"

  Charlotte shrugged. It looked like maybe Aldrich had been correct after all. "I'm not sure he has one." Her words sounded totally implausible.

  Blending dark and light, the assigned skin pigmentation added an eerily lifelike quality, defining muscles and highlighting features.

  Giovanni zoomed in on the face.

  Though unmistakably masculine, the image exuded a subtle androgyny. With their hypnotic aquamarine irises, the eyes were wide, tapering slightly upwards in the corners beneath slender eyebrows. The long nose broadened slightly above full, mocha-colored lips. Blackish-brown wisps formed a thick hairline that pinched in hard corners at the temples. The facial hair was similarly colored and thick, mostly evident along the angular jaw line.

  "Quite a handsome specimen," Bersei said in a very clinical tone.

  "I'd say he's perfect," Charlotte replied. "I don't mean in a male model or movie star sort of way...but he's unlike anyone I've ever seen." Looking for anything anomalous, nothing about the image suggested a genetic defect, unless perfection was considered a flaw. Now she wondered what Aldrich's analysis had actually detected. Could the prototype scanner have malfunctioned? Had the imaging software misinterpreted the data?

  Tilting his head sideways, Bersei said, "If you took all the typical ethnic characteristics of humanity and put them in a blender, this would probably be the end result." Face tight, he held his hand out at the computer, still overwhelmed by what he was seeing. "It's absolutely fascinating that any one human being could display such complexity."

  "Now what?"

  Bersei looked haunted, as if the image was almost torturing him. "I'm really not sure." Tearing his eyes from the monitor, he glanced up at her with tired eyes. "We've performed a full forensic examination"-- he began counting off with his fingers-- "carbon dating, a complete genetic profile. The only major item left is the symbol on the ossuary."

  "Well, if you want to look into that," Charlotte suggested, "I can begin preparing our preliminary presentation for Father Donovan. I'll compile all the data, the photos, and start writing a report. Then maybe tomorrow we can tell him what we've found so far. See what he recommends."

  "That sounds like a plan. Who knows, maybe that symbol has something to tell us about this guy."

  Bersei returned to his workstation and turned on the digital camera. Humming softly to himself, he proceeded to snap several close-ups of the ossuary's single relief, uploading the images onto the computer terminal.

  Marveling at the quality of the engraver's work, he ran his finger over the raised symbol carved onto the ossuary's side:

  From the onset, this image had perplexed him. The ossuary was clearly used almost exclusively by Jews in ancient Judea. Yet he remembered both the dolphin and the trident as being primarily pagan symbols, adopted by many early Roman cults. It was clearly in contradiction to the relic's supposed origin.

  Back at the computer, he brought up the web browser. He began with simple search criteria: trident. Almost instantly, a flood of hits came back at him. He began clicking through the most relevant ones.

  The trident itself had many meanings. Hindus called it the trishul, or "the sacred three," symbolizing creation, preservation, and destruction. In the Middle East, it was associated with lightning. Its alter ego, the pitchfork, later found its way into Christian art to symbolize the devil-- an early attempt at discrediting pagan imagery.

  Singularly, the dolphin was equally mysterious. In ancient times, the intelligent mammals were revered for their devotion to saving the lives of shipwrecked sailors. Romans also used dolphins to signify the journey souls would take far to the ends of the sea to their final resting place on the Blessed Isles. The dolphin was also strongly associated with the gods Eros, Aphrodite, and Apollo.

  But certainly, the symbol engraved into the ossuary fused the two for a more purposeful meaning. But what could it be?

  Bersei tried to find more references that could explain the dolphin twined around the trident.

  The dolphin and trident seemed to first appear together in Greek mythology, both symbolizing the power of Neptune, the sea god. His trident was a gift from the one-eyed titans, the Cyclops. When the god was angered, he'd pound the ocean floor with it to stir the oceans, causing storms. Able to morph into other creatures, Neptune frequently chose to appear to humans in the form of a dolphin. The Romans later renamed the Greek sea god Poseidon.

  Bersei was certain there had to be more that he was missing.

  Another hit came back, linking to ancient coins minted by Pompey, a Roman general in the mid-first century BC. On the front of the silver coin was an effigy of the general's laurelled head flanked on both sides by a dolphin and a trident-- not blended together, but certainly depicted side by side. And Bersei recalled that early in Pompey's career, he had invaded Jerusalem.

  He leaned forward.

  Following his siege of Jerusalem in 64 BC, he had ordered the crucifixion of thousands of Jewish zealots-- all in a single day. It was said that so many crucifixes were needed, that the general had stripped away every tree from the city's surrounding mountains.

  Crucifixion. Jerusalem.

  Could this be the connection? Could the ossuary be linked to the notorious Roman general?

  Considering this for a long moment, Bersei still wasn't satisfied. He still vaguely recalled seeing this exact depiction somewhere else. And somehow, he strongly believed it was linked to Rome.

  The hunt continued.

  Using various search phrases, like "dolphin around trident," he finally found a clear hit. Clicking the link, he was astounded when the exact image on the ossuary filled the screen.

  A smile broke across the anthropologist's face. "Now we're getting somewhere," he muttered.

  Scrolling down, he read the text that accompanied the image.

  The words hit him like a stone. He read it again, dumbfounded, his entire world caught in the screen's contours. "Charlotte," he called out. "You have to see this." He slumped back into his chair, covering his mouth with his hand in disbelief.

  Two seconds later, she was at his side. His face drained, the Italian pointed at the computer screen.

  "What is it?"

  "The meaning behind the relief on the ossuary." Bersei's voice was quiet as he pointed again to the monitor.

  Seeing his bewildered expression, she scrunched her face and said, "Looks like it did have something to say after all."

  "I'd say so," he muttered, rubbing his eyes.

  Leaning closer, Charlotte read the text aloud: "Adopted by early Christians, the dolphin intertwined around the trident is a portrayal of..." she paused.

  The low drone of the ventilation system became suddenly pronounced.

  "...Christ's crucifixion." Her voice trembled as she uttered the words, which seemed to hang in the air like vapor.

  It took Charlotte a moment until the full impact hit her. "Oh my God." A vice tightened in her stomach and she had to look away.

  "I should have known." Bersei's strained voice sounded tormented, weak. "The dolphin shuttles spirits to the afterlife. The trident, the sacred three, representing the Trinity."

  "No way. This isn't right." She looked down at him.

  "I know the ossuary's patina is genuine," Bersei protested. "Every single part. Consistent throughout, including the residue covering this relief. Plus I've established that the mineral content could only have come from one place-- Israel. And the evidence we saw on the bones reinforces that message. Scourging. Crucifixion. We even have the nails and bits of wood," he emphasized, throwing
his hands up in surrender. "Just how much more obvious could all this be?"

  Her mind went momentarily blank, as if a cord powering her rational thought had been unplugged. "If this is really the body of...Jesus Christ"-- it almost hurt for her to say it-- "think about it-- how profound this is." Charlotte saw the crucifix hanging over her bed. "But it can't be. Everyone knows the crucifixion story. The Bible describes it in minute detail and it doesn't agree with this. There are too many inconsistencies." She strode briskly to the workstation.

  "What are you doing?" Bersei was out of his chair.

  "Here. See for yourself." She jabbed a shaking finger at the brow of the skeleton's skull. "Do you see any evidence of thorns?"

  He looked up at her then straight back at the skull. Giovanni knew what she was implying. Scrutinizing it intently, he failed to detect even minute scratches. "But surely it's hardly likely that thorns would inflict damage on the bone itself?"

  Moving around the side of the workstation, Charlotte was now down by the legs. "What about this? Broken knees?" She pointed at them. "I don't remember these being mentioned in the Bible. Wasn't it a spear in Jesus's side that finished him off?" Here she was trying to renew her lost faith at a time when she most needed to believe in something bigger than herself, and Bersei-- of all people-- was tearing it down again. Worst of all, he was using science to do it.

  The anthropologist spread his hands. "Look, I understand where you're going with this. I'm just as confused as you are."

  She studied him intently. "Giovanni, you don't really think these are the remains of Jesus Christ, do you?"

  He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. "There's always the possibility that this symbol was only meant to honor Christ," he offered. "This man," he pointed to the skeleton, "could merely have been some early Christian, a martyr perhaps. This could all be a tribute to Christ." He shrugged. "It's not exactly a name on that box. But you saw the genetic profile. It's not like any man we've ever seen. I'd have to say that I'm pretty certain about this one."

  "But it's only a symbol," she protested. "How can you be sure?"

  Bersei was taken aback by the American's passionate denial. He wished he could feel as strongly. "Come with we." He motioned for her to follow.

  "Where are we going?" she called after him, pacing behind him into the corridor.

  Without stopping, he turned back to her. "I'll explain in a minute. You'll see."

  42.

  PHOENIX

  Evan Aldrich threaded his way past the workstations heaped with scientific gadgetry, making for the glass-paneled enclosure to the rear of BMS's main laboratory.

  Once inside, he closed the door, reached into his lab coat and removed a sealed glass vial, which he set down next to a high-powered microscope. The prototype scanner sat on an adjacent desk, looking like a streamlined photocopier. He pulled on a pair of latex gloves.

  There was a brief knock and the door opened.

  "Morning, Evan. What's happening?"

  Glancing over, he found Lydia Campbell, his managing technician for genetic research, poking her head around the door frame. Aldrich's hand reflexively moved to cover the vial. "Got some samples I need to look at."

  "The ones you were working on yesterday?" She looked down at the vial beneath his hand. "Thought you'd finished with them."

  "Yeah, I'm just having another look at something."

  "Well, you know where I am if you need anything. Coffee?"

  He shook his head with a smile and the door closed behind her.

  An hour later, he slipped the vial-- now filled with a clear serum-- back into his pocket. Feeling an overwhelming urgency to tell Charlotte what he'd found, he reached for the phone...but pulled back. This was something that needed to be done in person. What he needed to tell her was far too sensitive-- far too astounding-- for an open phone line or an unencrypted e-mail. He remembered her saying that she might extend her stay a few extra days. But this couldn't wait until then.

  Leaving the lab, Aldrich headed directly for his office and plunked himself down in front of his computer. Bringing up the web browser, he logged onto his Continental Airlines frequent-flier account page and booked a first-class ticket on the next flight to Rome.

  43.

  JERUSALEM

  Farouq had just hung up his phone, in utter disbelief, his hands shaking. It was no coincidence that the call came mere hours after the early morning bombing at the Great Synagogue.

  The caller had been a voice from the distant past-- a dark past that still haunted him on many sleepless nights. The last time he'd heard that unmistakable baritone was just past six p.m. on November 11, 1995. That was the day the Shin Bet-- Israel's most secret and lethal intelligence branch-- abducted him on a side street in Gaza, pulling him into the back of a van. They had bound his limbs and slipped a black hood over his head.

  As the van sped off, the interrogation began, carried out by the man who now held the second highest position in the IDF power structure. Back then the ambitious Israeli had been assigned the impossible task of hunting down the Engineer-- a Palestinian rebel named Yahya Ayyash who, assisted by militant groups, recruited suicide bombers to launch numerous attacks on Israeli civilians in the mid-nineties. The Israelis were closing in, thanks to information forcefully extracted from key informants. One of their prime suspects was Farouq, who had alleged ties to the Engineer's primary supporter-- Hamas.

  By the time he'd been tossed from the van in a desolate location not far from the Israeli border, Farouq had suffered three broken ribs, four fractured fingers, cigarette burns to the chest, and seven missing teeth.

  But he smiled, blood oozing through his broken mouth, knowing that he had not uttered one word about the whereabouts of the Engineer. No Israeli would ever break him.

  He also took great pleasure in knowing that the blood on his face was not only his own. Even hooded and bound he had managed to bite Teleksen's hand, clamping his teeth into the despicable Israeli flesh, harder, harder, cranking his head sideways until nerves severed and bones cracked. The Israeli had whimpered like a dog.

  Shortly after the Engineer was assassinated in his Gaza safe house by a rigged explosive cell phone, Ari Teleksen was promoted to Aluf-- Major General. Farouq had seen him a few times since then-- news reports mostly-- always identifiable by the hand the Keeper had disfigured that night long ago in Gaza.

  Now Teleksen had the audacity to call with what initially seemed to be a request for a favor. But after a lengthy explanation, it had become clear that the request would benefit Farouq's cause equally well.

  "Akbar," Farouq called out to the corridor, struggling to compose himself.

  A moment later, the hulking bodyguard appeared in the doorway.

  Farouq's eyes briefly sized him up. "You're a strong boy. I need you to do something for me."

  44.

  VATICAN CITY

  The two scientists rode the elevator up one level and the doors opened into the main gallery that stood above the lab-- the Vatican Museum's Pio Christian Gallery.

  As they exited the elevator, Bersei quietly explained, "You see, Charlotte, for three centuries after Jesus's death, early Christians did not portray his image. However, these early Christians did use other familiar images to depict Jesus."

  "How do you know that?"

  "We have archaeological evidence. And much of it is here," he said, motioning with his eyes to the art collection that spread out before them. "Let me show you something."

  As Charlotte strolled beside him, she eyed the Christian-themed marble reliefs that were mounted on the walls like massive stone canvases.

  Bersei waved a hand at them. "Are you familiar with this collection?"

  She shook her head.

  "They're relics from the early fourth century," Bersei explained, "a time when Emperor Diocletian began his campaign of persecution-- burning churches and killing Christians who wouldn't denounce their faith. It's also a time when early Christians secretly conven
ed in the catacombs outside Rome to pray among the dead martyrs and saints laid to rest there-- some in ornate stone coffins." He pointed to one mounted on a sturdy platform.

  "A sarcophagus," observed Charlotte, admiring the craftsmanship.

  "Yes. A sort of cousin to the Jewish ossuary we're studying. Many early Christians were converted Jews who undoubtedly developed what were to become Christian burial rituals."

  They had stopped in front of a three-foot-high marble statue. "Here we are." Bersei turned to her. "Do you know what this image portrays?"

  Looking at it, she saw a young man with long curled hair, dressed in a tunic. A lamb was slung over his shoulders and he was holding its legs with both hands. Hanging at his side was a pouch containing a lyre.

  "Looks like a shepherd."

  "Not bad. It's actually called 'The Good Shepherd.' It was found in the catacombs. This image is how early Christians depicted Jesus."

  Charlotte gave the statue another once-over. "You're kidding me." The shepherd was boyish, with smooth features, its design Greco-Roman-- not biblical.

  "No. Ironic isn't it? But keep in mind that this representation blended mythology with the Jesus story. This wasn't intended to resemble him. It was an attempt to embody the ideal he represented-- the protector, the shepherd. Orpheus, the pagan Greek god of art and song, was also blended into this image of Christ. Just as Orpheus's heavenly music could calm and soothe even the most wild of beasts"-- he pointed to the lyre hanging at the shepherd's side-- "Jesus's words could tame the souls of sinners."

  "Just like the dolphin and the trident represent salvation and divinity." Now she knew why he had brought her up here.

  "Exactly."

  "Why though? Why didn't they worship icons or the crucifix?" They were everywhere, she thought. Especially in this place. It was hard to imagine Catholicism without its gruesome cross.

  "First off, it would've sent a clear message to the Romans that they were indeed Christians. It wouldn't have been wise in an era of systematic persecution. And second, the early Christians didn't embrace the notion of iconography. In fact, Peter and Paul forbade such things. That's why images of the crucifix didn't exist back then. That didn't happen until Constantine came along."