“It’s all true. But that’s not our job at this lab. We just spit out the numbers. What other scientists do with that information is none of our business.”
“Fair enough,” she said and turned to another page. “Around the time of Christ, the herringbone twill of the Shroud was common in ancient Syria, but there’s no evidence it existed in Europe during the medieval period.”
“Like I said, what we put out is just one piece of evidence,” he said and pointed to her notebook. “But there’s obviously other evidence.”
She read another page. “The wounds on the head suggest it was more like a rounded cap rather than a crown that we see in paintings. The wounds from the nails are on the wrists, not the hands. The Bible says it was a crown of thorns and the nails were in the hands. Most paintings of the period show it this way. So why would a forger make a mistake like this? Or was the Bible maybe a few words off from what actually happened? My dad’s a cop, and he’ll tell you that every witness tells something a little differently. It’s how we know the event really happened. If they all said the same exact thing, then we know they’re in collusion with each other. The gospels are an eyewitness account, so we can expect a few discrepancies. But any forger who wanted to pass this off as the real shroud of Jesus wouldn’t have known that. He would have made it look like the gospels, like the other paintings of the age.”
He shrugged and scratched the back of his head, right under his obnoxious orange cap. “We just put out the numbers. Like I said, science is my wheelhouse. What you’re talking about is for historians and Bible scholars.”
She could see this was leading nowhere. He was clueless about anything regarding the Shroud that wasn’t related to physics. Baiting him to make statements that discredited his work wasn’t going to work. And she felt a little ashamed for trying. It was time to move on. “Okay, fair enough,” she said and flipped another page. “Let’s stick with the science then. I’m sure you’re familiar with STURP.”
“The Shroud of Turin Research Project. Of course. I’ve met some of those guys. Top of their field.”
“Impressive. You get around.”
“You know, conferences, things like that.”
“So tell me about the VP8 camera. This camera says the Shroud is a 3-D image. Can you explain that one to me?”
“The VP8 was used by NASA to map out the terrain of the moon. It plots light and dark areas into a 3-D grid using a computer. The computer interprets the brighter areas as being closer to the camera and the darker areas as being farther away.”
“Oh, okay. It makes much more sense when you explain it. Interesting. Thank you.”
“My pleasure. You’ve done your research here. I’m impressed.”
“I like to be thorough.” She wasn’t sure if he meant that, or if he was just being polite. “So according to my thorough research . . . are you really impressed? Coming from someone like you, that’s a big compliment.”
“Heck, yeah, I’m impressed. It must have taken you months to get all of that together.”
“Not months. Weeks, maybe.”
“Then I’m even more impressed. Jenny said you were determined. Said she’d never seen anyone like you before. I see what she means now.”
“She really said that about me? I figured she thought I was crazy.”
“Was Einstein crazy? Was Thomas Edison? They were determined, just like you.”
“That’s very sweet of you. Thank you for saying that.”
“I call it like I see it.”
Amari returned his smile for an awkward moment. She broke eye contact and went back to her notes. “I’m sorry, where were we?”
“You were talking about STURP.”
“That’s right,” she said, moving finger down the page to find the right spot. “When Dr. Jackson and Dr. Jumper analyzed the Shroud with the VP8 camera, they found a 3-D image. But when they did the same thing with any other paintings or photographs, all they got was electronic noise. Apparently, no other image like the Shroud exists.”
“Not that we know of.”
“Right, not that we know of. So how could a forger know to encode a 3-D image that could only be interpreted by a VP8 analyzer? And while we’re on the subject, how could a forger make an image that is only clearly revealed with a photographic negative, when they didn’t even have cameras back then? Not to mention the fact that there are no pigments, dyes, or binding agents that we see with paint. So if it wasn’t painted or drawn, then can you tell me how this could have been forged?”
“Well, isn’t it obvious?”
Was he a believer? Jenny certainly never mentioned he was a Christian. She had assumed all these science types were either atheist or agnostic at best. “It’s obvious to me. But what do you think?”
“Aliens, obviously,” he said emphatically. “They’re the only ones with the technology to pull this off. It’s got to be aliens.”
Chapter 14
Amari cracked a curious grin. Was she supposed to laugh at that? Was he for real? But Kevin wasn’t smiling. He just leaned back in his chair with his fingers laced behind his head with a serious look on his face.
“Aliens,” Amari said. “Like from Mars?”
“Oh, not from Mars,” he replied. “Way farther out.”
“Little green men made the Shroud of Turin?”
His expression remained firm and he gave a slow nod of his head. “Aliens. It’s the only way.”
The door suddenly came open and startled her. Kevin quickly sat up in his chair. A fifty-something man with Arab features stood under the door frame. His black hair was streaked with gray and his eyes seemed slightly misaligned so she couldn’t tell if he was looking at her or Kevin.
“Dr. Rahal,” Kevin said. “I didn’t think you’d be back until tomorrow.” He sifted through papers on his desk. “I’ve got that report for you somewhere.”
“I just had a question or two.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Who is your guest?”
She stood and straightened her skirt. “Amari Johnston,” she said and offered her hand. A firm handshake, look him straight in, well, one of his eyes.
Dr. Rahal refused her hand. He eyed her suspiciously and gave a small nod. “What business do you have with the lab? Are you a vendor? A radiocarbon client? From a museum?”
“No, nothing like that,” she replied. “I’m his cousin’s roommate. I was just asking him a few questions.”
“Questions? Questions about what?”
“She’s just curious about how carbon dating works,” Kevin broke in.
“Then go to the library. Dr. Brenner is not being paid to answer your questions. He has work to do.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”
“Just finish up quickly. Dr. Brenner, when you are finished you can see me in my office,” he said and closed the door behind him.
She cringed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”
“That’s Dr. Rahal,” Kevin said. “He’s the director here. My boss. Stickler for the rules. I’ve never seen him smile. I think maybe it’s a cultural thing. He’s from the middle east.”
“So he’s Muslim?”
“Not sure, didn’t ask. He signs my check and that’s good enough for me. I wouldn’t worry about him, though. All bark, no bite. Besides, I’m in good with Dr. Weiss, the emeritus professor here.”
“So Dr. Weiss is who your lab is named after?”
“He’s the one who started this place. Gotta name it something. He’s got a lot of clout with the university. If Dr. Weiss wanted Rahal gone, I bet he could manage it.”
“So what exactly does an emeritus professor do?”
“It’s a professor that’s sort of retired. Only they’re still involved. They offer advice and serve on university boards. Stuff like that.”
“So they still have power, but don’t actually have to put in a nine to five day.”
“Something like that. Dr. Weiss likes
me. Jerry, out there in the lab, the guy that I was talking to? That’s his grandson.”
“You mean Jeremy.”
“I like to call him Jerry. He doesn’t mind. We’re pretty good buds. He’s thinking about changing his major to physics so Dr. Weiss got him this gig so he can try it on for size.”
“That was nice of him.”
“He’s a really nice man. Jerry thinks the world of him. Worships the ground he walks on.”
Suddenly, Jeremy pushed the door open using a handkerchief.
“Speak of the devil,” Kevin said. “What’s up, Jerry? I was just telling Amari here how great your granddad is.”
“Sorry to bug you, Dr. Brenner, but we have another problem. We’re still losing pressure in the number three carbon extraction line.”
“We tightened all the valves, didn’t we?”
“I did so personally.”
“Well, crap, only thing I know to do is get new seals. Hey, tell you what. Dilute out a little dish soap and put some on all the seals. If you see bubbles, there’s the problem. At least we can narrow down which seals we need to replace.”
Jeremy didn’t look impressed.
“Hey, don’t knock it. Back in Tennessee, that’s how I found inner tube leaks on my ATV. Soap bubbles show you where to put the patch.”
Jeremy hiked his brows over those blue eyes of his. “Simple yet effective. I’ll let you know how it works. Sorry for the intrusion.” He used the handkerchief to close the door behind him.
Kevin waited for a few seconds before speaking. Then he leaned closer and said, “He’s a germaphobe. That’s why he uses the handkerchief.”
“I can see that.”
“He claims he has problems with his immune system. Personally,” he said in a whisper. “I think he’s just a hypochondriac.”
“That must be why he wouldn’t shake my hand.”
“Girl germs, ick,” he said and crinkled his nose in disgust.
“You’re funny, Kevin. Listen, I better let you go before Dr. Rahal comes back and catches me. Hey, do you like Pizza?”
“Who doesn’t?”
“I work at the Pizza Hut down the street. Come by for a freebie. I get free pizza on dinner break. I’d like to ask some more questions.” She hoped that didn’t sound like she was asking him out. But obviously they couldn’t talk at the lab and she had a whole lot more questions.
“I’d like that. But I’m going to be here kind of late this evening. Got things to do, you know.”
“That’s okay. I’ll be there kind of late. No pressure, come by if you’re hungry. Or maybe I can just call you with more questions if you’d prefer it that way.”
“I’ll see what time I can get out of here,” he said and slid his desk drawer open. “Just in case, here’s my card if you want to call me later.”
“Thank you, Dr. Brenner.”
“Kevin.”
“Thank you, Kevin. You’ve been a big help.”
****
“So do you want pan or original crust?” Amari asked the family of four, pencil pressed against note pad.
“We’ll take the pan,” the dad said. “Hey, ask them if they can burn the cheese a little.”
“Burn cheese, got it.”
Amari took the order back to the kitchen. She slumped over the prep station and made the pizza herself since the main cook was doing dishes. It was after 8:30 and the dinner rush had died down, so it was cleanup time. She might as well be useful since it didn’t look like Kevin would show. Apparently, he had better things to do. She would just have to get the information she needed by phone call, or maybe relay information through Jenny.
She made a couple more pizzas and then went back to check on her tables. A grown man played Mrs. Pac Man over by the front door. She widened her eyes and did a double take. The bright orange rim of a baseball cap jutted out of his front pocket.
Wakawakawakawakewaka the game sounded. “Dang! Ah, come on!” The machine twirped and whined, signifying game over.
“Dr. Benner,” she said. “You made it.”
He stood up and thumbed over to the machine. “I rock on regular Pac Man, but this lady Pac Man, just can’t beat it.”
“Must be rigged,” she said with a big grin.
“Must be.”
“So you hungry?”
“Starved. Just got off work. Me and Jerry had a time with those valves. More than one was leaking.”
“Let me get you a seat. You want a booth or a table?”
“Booth is fine.”
She led him to a booth by the window. The red curtains matched the red seats which also matched the red and white checkered table cloth, which was made of vinyl instead of fabric so it could be easily wiped down with a wet rag.
“What do you want to drink?”
“Mountain Dew if you got it.”
“We only carry Coke products.”
“Then make it a Coke. I’m not choosy.”
“What do you want on your pizza?”
“Anything but anchovies. Who eats those things anyway?”
“Pepperoni and mushrooms?”
“My favorite.”
She turned in her order and clocked out for the day since the dinner rush was over. She ran to her car, got her notebook, and came back. She tucked the notebook under her armpit, carried the drinks to the table, and slid into the booth across from him.
“Okay,” she said and exhaled. “Where were we?”
“Before Dr. Nay-All interrupted. That’s what we all call him. Nay, nay, nay, is all he says. Won’t agree to anything.”
She stared blankly into those easy-going brown eyes under his wavy, feather-cut, parted in the middle brown hair. She hoped her face wasn’t too greasy. She didn’t wear much makeup, but the little she did, she’d touched up before he came.
“Nay-All rhymes with Rahal, get it?”
She broke from her trance. “Oh, I get it. You’re so funny.”
“It’s funnier if you knew the guy.”
“I guess so. Hey, listen, thank you for coming, Dr. Benner. I was beginning to think you couldn’t make it.”
“Kevin, remember. Just call me Kevin.”
“Thank you, Kevin.”
“Hey, it’s no problem. It’s on my way home anyway. I live in Rio Vista.”
“In the foothills, nice.”
“Right under them. And they’re okay. Lot cheaper and better than anything close to campus. I’d of been here sooner, but we got to get up and going before next week. Hey, ever heard of the Dead Sea scrolls?”
“Of course.”
“We’re supposed to carbon date some of those in January.”
“That’s amazing. The Dead Sea scrolls.”
“Yep. So what else did you need to talk about?”
“That’s right,” she said and flipped open her notebook. She had to focus, just stick to business. He was just doing his cousin a favor, nothing more. “Well, aside from your alien theory,” she said and hiked a brow, “I’ve got my own idea as to how the carbon date might appear medieval.”
“You got a more down to earth theory?”
“Yeah, mine has nothing to do with little green men, I promise.”
“I’d like to hear your theory then.”
She took a deep breath and dove in. “Okay, I’m sort of an expert in weaving.”
“An expert, huh?”
“Okay, not an expert. Not the way my mother was. But it’s a skill my mother passed down to me. I’ve read some books on the subject and I’m pretty knowledgeable about ancient weave techniques. I also know that before modern factories, it took a lot of hours to produce something as simple as a cloak. If you got a tear, you fixed it. You didn’t throw it out and go down to the mall and buy a new one made in China. It was much easier and less expensive to make a repair, and in the past, they were experts at the craft.”
He dug his straw into the crushed ice. “I’m listening. Go ahead.”
“Now that corner they took the
carbon date from might as well have been called a handle because every time they displayed the Shroud, they would have to grab it at one of the four corners. In fact, I’ve got a picture of an old painting at home that shows them holding the Shroud on that same corner. They must have done this hundreds, even thousands of times over the last two thousand years. There’s no way that corner couldn’t have been damaged. And for that matter, there’s a good chance someone could have snipped off a piece of the corner to sell or even keep as a souvenir.”
He hit the bottom of his drink and made slurping noises like an eight-year old kid. For some reason that didn’t bother her. It made her feel even more connected to him, like he was really down to earth with his own flaws, just like her. His laid-back, relaxed manner was contagious and she felt at ease just being close to him, like she’d known him all her life, like they were somehow connected.
“You want some more Coke?” she asked.
“Sorry, just trying to get more glucose to my brain. You really got the wheels turning. Go ahead, this is interesting.”
“I’m sure you’re aware of the fire that broke out in 1532 at the Sainte Chapelle church in Chambery. Silver from the box that held the Shroud melted and caused the burn marks that are so noticeable.”
“That’s right. The marks look so much alike because it was folded.”
“Right. So in April of 1534, Chambery’s Poor Clare nuns repaired the Shroud. They sewed a backing into the cloth for support and then they patched the holes from the fire. I think it’s very possible that they also repaired the corners. And if not in 1534, then another time. The French weavers in the Court of Margaret in Austria could have easily done this. Just because there is no history of another repair, doesn’t mean there wasn’t one. So what I think happened is fibers from the sixteenth century got mixed in with fibers from the first century and that’s why we come up with a date somewhere in between.”
Rebecca, the other waitress, stopped at the table. “Sir, would you like another Coke?”
“That would be awesome,” he said and returned his focus on Amari. “That’s an interesting theory. Actually, it explains something unusual I found.”
Carbon-14: The Shroud of Turin (An Amari Johnston Novel) Page 8
