Book of Nathan

by Curt Weeden

  “Uh-huh.” I didn’t get the connection between laying millions of bucks down on a stock and dumping a like amount on an evangelist. But what I did get was an unmistakable message that this was a short man who got piqued when he was shortchanged.

  “You see, Mr. Bullock, I believed in Benjamin Kurios.”

  “But he was a Christian evangelist. And you’re a Jew.” I couldn’t help myself. It just came out.

  “As was Christ.”

  “Well, then, you’re—you’re a Jew for Jesus.”

  “Not in the way you might think. I believe that Jesus of Nazareth was as mortal as you are,” Silverstein explained. “He was a Jew who was extraordinarily charismatic and perhaps a little on the egocentric side. Benjamin Kurios had the same qualities.”

  We had made a long, winding trip through the innards of the Silverstein castle and were now back in Arthur’s library.

  “So you invested money in Kurios—”

  “I did and for good reason. You see, Benjamin had a unique ability to influence the masses. So much so that he could change their beliefs and even their behavior. I believe you were once in the advertising business?”

  I wasn’t surprised that Silverstein had done his homework. I guessed that somewhere in his office there was a dossier marked Rick Bullock put together by Silverstein’s security personnel.

  “I left the ad world a long time ago.”

  “Still, I think you know what I’m talking about. It’s quite a challenge, is it not, to get adults to change the way they think to the extent that they change their behavior?”

  Just when I thought I was in Silverstein’s intellectual wind stream, he veered off. “Are you familiar with the Book of Nathan?”

  The question rattled me. Before the jailhouse interview with Zeus, the only connection I had with a Nathan was a Coney Island hotdog stand and an ex-con I once hired to clean the Gateway gutters. Now Nathan was coming at me from two directions—Zeusenoerdorf’s mysterious Father Nathan and Silverstein’s book. Could there be a link between the two? That didn’t seem probable, but it wasn’t something I was about to rule out.

  I answered Silverstein’s question. “No.”

  “Really?” Silverstein looked at me square in the face. “I find that rather surprising.”

  “I don’t get to read a lot.”

  “It’s one of the so-called missing books of the Bible.”

  I told Silverstein that the Bible—like fine art—was not one of my strong suits. I couldn’t begin to tell him which books were in the Bible, never mind those that were missing. Silverstein gave me another suspicious glance and opened a drawer in his desk. “I think this might interest you.” He slid a typewritten page across the desk. The heading read: Missing Books of the Bible.

  MISSING BOOKS OF THE BIBLE

  Missing Book Biblical Reference

  Acts of Abijah 2 Chronicles 13:22

  Prophecy of Ahijah 2 Chronicles 9:29

  Epistle to Ephesians Ephesians 3:3

  Book of the Covenant Exodus 24:7

  Prophecies of Enoch Jude 1:14

  Book of Gad 1 Chronicles 29:29

  Book of Jasher Joshua 10:13; Samuel 1:18

  Book of Jehu 2 Chronicles 20:34

  Epistle to Laodiceans Colossians 4:16

  Visions of Iddo 2 Chronicles 9:29

  Manner of the Kingdom 1 Samuel 10:25

  Epistle of Paul to the Corinthians 1 Corinthians 5:9

  Book of Nathan 1 Chronicles 9:29

  Book of Shemaiah 2 Chronicles 12:15

  Book of Samuel 1 Chronicles 29:29

  Saying of the Seers 2 Chronicles 33:19

  Book of the Acts of Solomon 1 Kings 11:41

  Acts of Uzziah 2 Chronicles 26:22

  Book of the Wars of the Lord Numbers 21:14

  “We know from the books that are in the Bible that there are many others that were excluded,” Silverstein said. “Check the Biblical references on the right side of the page.”

  “What does this have to do with Miklos Zeusenoerdorf?” I asked.

  He ignored the question. “What’s fascinating to me is that many of the books some think were misplaced or lost were intentionally left out. The Hebrew Bible was an especially fluid document that changed from one generation to the next. Not only were there translation errors along the way, but it seems certain editorial prerogatives were taken.”

  I gave up trying to figure out where Silverstein was leading me and went with the flow. “So the Book of Nathan ended up on the cutting room floor because some rabbi, priest, or monk decided the Bible was too long?”

  “Or too controversial, provocative, or dangerous. Of course, the omission of a few books seems quite justified. The apocryphal books such as Tobit, Judith, and the Maccabbees, for example. They’re so religiously insignificant that they’ve been removed from the list.”

  Silverstein was so far over my head that I could do nothing but sound stupid. “So the Bible is really God’s Reader’s Digest. A lot got left out when the final condensed edition got published.”

  Surprisingly, he seemed to like the analogy. “You’re not far off. There are a few credible scholars who think the Bible is actually only thirty-five percent complete.”

  I tried again to bring the conversation back to the main point. “Why all this interest in the Book of Nathan? Why not—” I ran down the left-hand side of Silverstein’s sheet “—the Book of Jasher or the Book of Jehu?”

  “Some of the missing books such as Jasher for instance, have been located and translated. But a small number of the books on the list I gave you have eluded us.”

  “Nathan being one of them?”

  “Yes.”

  I took another stab. “And Benjamin Kurios had a connection to the Book of Nathan?”

  Silverstein gave me a wary look. “Quite right. Benjamin was going to use his revival meeting in Orlando to talk about the book.”

  It was the same Citrus Bowl spectacular that had lured Miklos Zeusenoerdorf to Orlando. “Kurios would have had an audience of—what—seventy thousand people?” I asked.

  “Actually, a far larger audience than those sitting in the bleachers. Benjamin had negotiated a live TV broadcast on the FOX network. In fact, all the media seemed ready to give the event extensive coverage.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Benjamin was going to read excerpts from the Book of Nathan.”

  “Kurios told you that?”

  Silverstein settled into a high-back leather chair behind his desk. “Since I was among Benjamin’s most generous financial supporters, he and I were quite close. Shortly before he died, he confirmed something I had suspected for a long time—that he had been given a translated edition of the Book of Nathan.”

  The connection between Kurios’s last words and a recently discovered book of the Bible was getting a lot tighter. “How’d he get it?”

  Silverstein’s steely eyes dissected me. I felt like I was plugged into a human lie detector. “Benjamin was smart. He worked hard to bring the right people into his fold. Henri Le Campion, for instance. Ever hear of him?”

  “No.”

  “He was one of our great modern archaeologists and linguists,” Silverstein said. “Also happened to be a genius when it came to computers. Died of a heart attack just after his sixty-fifth birthday—only a couple of weeks before Benjamin was killed.”

  Strange how the Grim Reaper was never too far behind the Book of Nathan, I thought. Kurios, maybe even the driver of the blue sedan—both dead. And Zeus might be next if I didn’t beat him to the finish line.

  Silverstein propped up his short body. “Several years ago, Henri found the Nathan scrolls in a cave not far from Jerusalem. It should have made more news than the Dead Sea Scrolls discovery in 1947. But that didn’t happen.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because for reasons we’ll never know, Henri was fanatically attached to Benjamin. He carbon dated the scrolls to validate their authenticity, and then spent years translating
the Book of Nathan. At every turn, he kept Benjamin informed of his progress.”

  “And when he finished the translation—”

  “He converted an English version to an encrypted computer disk. Well, partly encrypted, to be more accurate. The actual translated text requires a translation code or key. But Le Campion’s preamble doesn’t. It’s mostly Henri’s own discourse that he uses to blow his own horn—he was a notorious chest beater.”

  “An old man’s ego trip,” I mused, momentarily forgetting I was in the company of an old man whose ego was bigger than his house.

  “Benjamin let me read a few verses that Le Campion had folded into his preamble. They were Henri’s way of teasing one into wanting access to the full text.”

  “How teased were you?”

  “Considerably. I was taken by what I read. As mentioned, the second part of the disk is the coded translation of the full Book of Nathan. Very sophisticated work, according to Benjamin. Try to download or decipher part two without a computer conversion key and the entire text is scrambled into an omelet of meaningless words and phrases.”

  “What about the original scrolls?”

  “Hidden,” Silverstein replied.

  “Hidden?”

  “Henri was an eccentric. More than likely, he found a safe place for the scrolls somewhere near Jerusalem. But it’s doubtful we’ll find much of anything until we locate the disk.”

  “Because the coded part of the disk includes the English translation and directions to Henri’s hiding place,” I guessed, enthralled by what lay ahead.

  “You’re right,” Silverstein confirmed. “Supposedly the directions to the scrolls are encrypted along with the complete translation of the book.”

  Since Silverstein had not invited me to sit, I was still on my feet separated from the billionaire by his desk. I felt appropriately inferior. “Since you bankrolled a lot of Kurios’s operations, you must have some idea of what the book says,” I conjectured.

  Silverstein puffed himself up. “Shortly before Benjamin died, he predicted that the Book of Nathan would prove to be the most important document of our time. He was betting his credibility on what’s in that book.”

  I had no idea why Silverstein was giving me so much information. No matter. I wanted more. “You pumped a lot of money into Kurios’s operations. Why wouldn’t he tell you what was in the book?”

  Silverstein gave me another ocular MRI. “A promise.”

  “A promise?”

  “A promise Benjamin made to Le Campion. You see, Henri demanded secrecy. He didn’t want the book’s contents disclosed to anyone until Benjamin could orchestrate an event where it would get worldwide attention.”

  “The Citrus Bowl revival.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And Kurios was so honor bound that he wouldn’t even talk to his inner circle?”

  Silverstein paused to relight his cigar.

  “Apparently so.”

  “He kept you totally in the dark about the Book of Nathan?”

  “Not totally.”

  I had perfected my interrogation skills quizzing homeless men. The right information doesn’t fall into your lap. It’s all about knowing what questions to ask. “So, Kurios did slip you some information?”

  “Information might not be the right word,” corrected Silverstein in a surprisingly matter-of-fact tone. “More like a hint, actually. Benjamin inferred that the book would resolve one of the most divisive issues mankind has ever had to deal with.”

  My skin tingled. I tried not to show my excitement, but it bubbled into my next question. “Did he tell you what that issue happened to be?”

  “Not directly, since that would have broken his pledge to Henri. But he did leave a trail of large crumbs.”

  “And?”

  Silverstein used another pause to keep me in suspense. “It seems the Book of Nathan includes God’s definition of when life begins.”

  Now it was my turn to blink. “Excuse me?”

  “You’ve heard of ensoulment?”

  “The point in time when the soul enters the body?”

  “Yes. It’s at the core of an age-old debate.”

  “You mean the dividing line between the pro-lifers and the pro-choicers?”

  “Exactly,” Silverstein confirmed. “The Bible as it currently exists isn’t clear on ensoulment. Is it something that happens at conception? Three months into a pregnancy? At birth? According to Benjamin, the Book of Nathan answers the question and finally settles the contentious argument about abortion.”

  I pictured my parents listening to this conversation. The last thing they needed to judge the legitimacy of an abortion was a religious text. To them, an abortion was far more acceptable than irresponsible or accidental reproduction, and there wasn’t a scripture ever written that would have changed their minds. I wondered if Silverstein knew I shared many of my parent’s thoughts. I wasn’t one to march around preaching the importance of protecting a woman’s right to choose, but if pressed, I’d be quick to argue that a decision to abort or go full term should be based more on common sense than religious hoopla. I would usually toss in a caveat—that abortion is a lousy type of birth control that unfairly penalizes women more so than men. But these were the views of an agnostic that I had learned a long time ago ran counter to America’s religious mainstream. To the vast majority of people, the Book of Nathan’s definition of ensoulment would be big news—so big that I was still skeptical.

  “Out of nowhere, a missing book turns up and just like that, the abortion debate is over?” I asked. “No matter what the Book of Nathan says, a lot of people will blow off the message.”

  “Exactly what Henri feared.” The banker leaned forward until his biceps pressed against the surface of the desk. With just his head and shoulders exposed, he looked like a talking bust. “Which is why he wanted Dr. Kurios to be the messenger.”

  “Could Kurios have pulled it off?”

  Silverstein blew out a cloud of smoke. “We’ll never know, will we?”

  “Nope,” I concurred. “Of course, if the missing computer disk is found, somebody might take another shot at making the book public.”

  “That’s a possibility.”

  “Which I assume is why you want the disk.”

  “Let’s just say it would be a way to recoup some of my investment in Benjamin’s good work.”

  I was getting a better sense of Silverstein’s determination. It had little to do with educating mankind. “And if you did get the disk?” I asked.

  “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On a careful review of Le Campion’s translation.”

  “In other words, if the Book of Nathan lines up with your point of view about—what did you call it?—ensoulment, then you might look for another Benjamin Kurios to spread the word.” Even I was surprised by the bluntness of my words.

  “Something like that.”

  “So, what is your point of view?” I asked, not expecting—and not getting—much of a response.

  Silverstein turned his chair until he had a sideways view of the woman captured in oil on canvas. He locked on to the painting for several seconds and then stood up, walked around his desk, and positioned himself in front of me. “Let’s get back to Mr. Zeusenoerdorf. I think he may know more about the missing disk than he’s admitted.”

  “So, what you want me to do is grill Zeusenoerdorf about the Book of Nathan. Whether he actually killed Kurios is secondary.”

  “More information about the disk may prove helpful to Mr. Zeusenoerdorf.”

  “I want you to know that I’m in this to figure out if Zeus is innocent or guilty. The only reason I’d dig around for the disk is to find out what happened in Orlando.”

  “Whatever your motivation, keep our business relationship in mind,” Silverstein advised. “If you learn anything about the disk, I’ll expect you to notify me before you talk to anyone else.”

  Silverstein had put me in his pocket wi
thout my knowing what happened. No wonder the man was a billionaire. “And if I should forget?”

  The short man glowered. “That would be a serious misjudgment. There would be consequences.”

  I was tempted to tell the little man that a dozen years at the Gateway had made me immune to threats. But I didn’t want to risk cutting the cord to someone who had the connections and resources that could help Zeusenoerdorf. “Okay, I hear what you’re saying.”

  “I’m pleased that you do,” Silverstein guided me toward the library door. Halfway across the room, I put on the brakes.

  “Who else might want Benjamin dead?” I asked. “Or maybe another way of asking the same question—who else might want the Book of Nathan disk?”

  Arthur surprised me with a fast comeback. “Quia Vita.”

  “Quia Vita?”

  “Yes.”

  “The medallion we found not far from where Kurios was killed—that Quia Vita?”

  “Yes.”

  “The medallion might have no connection to what happened to Kurios,” I proposed. “We found it in a gutter. Anyone could have lost the thing.”

  “That’s possible,” Silverstein conceded. He walked back behind his desk and ground out what was left of his cigar, glancing once again at the painting of the young woman. “On the other hand, the medallion might be pointing you—us—in a very important direction. What we know for certain is that Quia Vita has its reasons to be concerned about what’s in the Book of Nathan.”

  “Isn’t Quia Vita an ultra pro-life group?”

  Silverstein nodded.

  “Wouldn’t that put them in the same corner as Kurios? I’m guessing Benjamin was against abortion since he was as Christian as they come.”

  “Check his writings and sermons,” Silverstein suggested. “He was more flexible on that issue than Quia Vita would have liked him to be.”

  “Meaning what? Kurios might have endorsed abortion if the procedure were done before the soul showed up in a fetus?”

  “He might have. Yes.”

  “So, your hypothesis is that since Quia Vita couldn’t be sure about what was on the disk, they didn’t want Kurios to go public with the Book of Nathan.”