The Hand of Christ

by Joseph Nagle

  Michael’s face contorted with rage as it became clear that his wife’s and father’s lives were being threatened. He knew that there was nothing that he could do, and his demeanor became resigned.

  “Ah, I see that the breadth of our power is becoming more apparent to you. You are wondering how I know about them. Right now, you think that they are safe in your cozy little cabin in the mountains and that only you know where they are. What’s the name of that mountain? Saxon is it?”

  Michael was frozen. He knows about our cabin! There was a second team!

  “You see, Dr Sterling, we are everywhere, we control everything. You had already failed in your mission before you had even begun. This world that you think you know is but a mirage. You believe that everything around you is real simply because you can see it or touch it. But what you do not realize is that all of it has been engineered and planned. You have been trained to believe in free-will, but haven’t the faintest of clues that it doesn’t exist. You are our cattle!"

  Geoffrey stared at Michael for a moment, and then screamed, "Your small and insignificant mind has no idea what reality is! Let me give you a lesson: right now your wife and father are sitting in your quaint little mountain cabin sipping on coffee or tea, or whatever it is you gnats like to drink, thinking that they are safe. The two of them are waiting for the heroic and triumphant return of Dr. Michael Sterling, CIA Officer extraordinaire!”

  The priest stopped his crazed diatribe and scratched his head for a moment with the end of his gun, and then continued, “Try to imagine this, Dr. Sterling. There will be a knock on the cabin’s door. One of them will get up to look out of the window and when they do – do you know what they will see?”

  Geoffrey didn’t wait for an answer.

  “They will see the car of the local Sheriff. They will feel relieved, or perhaps they may feel afraid that something has happened to you, but regardless, they will go to the door and they will open it. It is what you peons are trained to do in the face of authority, but I digress. The Sheriff will be with his deputy, and, undoubtedly, your wife will politely ask them inside for a cup of coffee or some freshly baked pastry, all the while, wondering what it is that they may want.”

  Michael’s eyes were rippling like a river of fire. His blood pressure was rising. He took one step toward the armed man. He wanted to squeeze the man’s throat until every last bit of air was gone. It took every ounce of his control not to propel himself at the Monsignor, but the priest raised his weapon higher as he moved closer. Michael stopped. The man had the advantage.

  Geoffrey continued, “They will be chatting politely, the Sheriff telling them that he is just stopping by to check on them. He’ll tell them some story about a mountain storm coming in and he wants to make sure they are safe. Then the Sheriff will receive a phone call and will politely excuse himself from the conversation to answer it. When he answers the phone he will hear one of two things. Do you want to know what those two things are, Michael?”

  Michael stood with his fists clinched in two tight balls. He wanted to pummel the arrogant priest, but didn’t say a word, or do a thing.

  “Are you finding it a bit too difficult to answer my question, Dr. Sterling? That’s quite alright, I understand. Given your current predicament, I am not surprised. Here’s what is going to happen.”

  Geoffrey walked over to the dark mahogany table; he had to step over Jimmy’s body. “You are going to come over to this table,” he was spreading out the Apocryphal across the table’s top, “and you will decode both of these documents. After I know that the codes are real, I will call the Sheriff and tell him he is needed elsewhere, or I will tell him to kill your wife and your father. Without my call, he will kill them anyway. It is your choice, Dr. Sterling.”

  Michael had no choice. Sonia was his weakness. Looking down at the Colonel, Michael saw him blink again as he walked to the table.

  The Apocryphal was laid out flat; next to it was the book. The document that had been written by Paul was weathered and brown. Looking upon it, he saw that the black writing was written in Greek. How the hell am I going to do this? I don’t know Greek! He took a breath and began.

  Geoffrey watched intensely as Michael went to work. He had been patient for years while perfecting the plan and now it was starting to take shape. The Persian may not have been successful but that mattered not: he would be; he knew that his rewards would be great.

  Originally it had been the Messenger’s plan, but then the Other called making an offer he couldn’t refuse. He had been the Messenger’s Second for so many years, but the man had offered him nothing but betrayal for his loyalty. The Other had told him about Shalid; the Messenger had another Second! When Geoffrey had learned of this, his heart had sunk; he had wanted to throw himself from the top of the Vatican. For so many years he had toiled, worked, and waited patiently, only to be betrayed by the very man that he worshipped. It had been an easy matter accepting the Other’s offer.

  He knew that at this moment that the two high ranking men of The Order would be at their most sacred place, and waiting for the Primitus. Two of them would die; it would just be a simple matter of waiting to find out which two.

  With the codes, he would have leverage. At his command and his command alone, he could unleash the fury of The Order. The world would never know what hit them, but the power of The Order would become absolute. The Order would have political and social control of both the West and the East; both halves of the world, all because of him. He would rise to the next level, the question was: whose spot would he take? He salivated at what was transpiring before him.

  Michael stared at the documents; he didn’t know where to begin. The faded, blood-red handprint of Christ stared back at him from the Apocryphal. He opened the book to the first page. Laid side-by-side was the two handprints; they were identical. Michael turned the page to the riddle and re-read it:

  Two halves of the world, evil leads to good. He is the first, the key to the beginning. To the sea i go. To the Presidents’ Mother. It is the second key to our power. It is Hidden.

  He read it again and thought, “Michael,” his father would say, “There are always three ways to solve a problem, Michael. Find them and pick the most obvious.”

  Michael was having problems finding the first way much less all three. Scratching his head, he closed his eyes. What he saw didn’t surprise him. The mental image of his father saying those words always came to him when he was stuck on a problem. Standing in front of the table, he thought about when he first showed his father the riddle. What was it that his father had said when he had shown it to him?

  It took a moment; Geoffrey was getting impatient, “Hurry up, Dr. Sterling!”

  What had his father said to him back at his office? Michael furrowed his brow as he squeezed his shut eyes tighter. Then it came. His father’s voice was in his head, “The Apocryphal will contain clues to the entire key. It would be from where The Order derived it originally.”

  He opened his eyes and looked at the Apocryphal once more. All of it was in Greek, it would be impossible to translate. His eyes were drawn to the only thing that wasn’t Greek; the handprint. He turned the page of the book back to the vellum. He stared at both. Back and forth, from one to the other; like a fingerprint, they were exact matches. Scanning the document and the book over and over again, something caught his eye. He stopped.

  Michael picked up the book and mumbled, “Sorry, Dad,” and yanked out the first page of the book, the page with the handprint of Christ on it.

  Geoffrey saw this and screamed, “What the hell are you doing?”

  “You want me to solve the riddle or not?” Michael replied.

  Holding the page upwards and toward the light, Michael could almost see through the translucent vellum.

  Geoffrey backed off.

  Michael then placed the torn out page over the top of the Apocryphal. The two handprints of Christ were on top of one another and Michael could see the handprint on the Apo
cryphal through the top page of the book. He moved them so that the index fingers of Christ were directly over one another and then Michael smiled. Geoffrey saw him.

  “What is it? You have found something haven’t you?”

  Michael ignored the questions and barked, “Get me something to write with!”

  Geoffrey smiled, “In the box in front of you is the Pope’s pen. Use it!”

  From the wooden box Michael took the pen not paying attention to its worth. Next to it was a small writing pad. Michael ripped off a page. Returning to the two red fingers he lowered his gaze. In the middle of the finger on the Apocryphal, he saw it. Barely detectable to the naked eye was the Roman numeral I. It was the same numeral that was embossed into the cover of the book. This has to be the key!

  Turning back to the riddle he read the first part: Two halves of the world, evil leads to good. He is the first, the key to the beginning.

  The first part was easy, it was the “key to the key”; instructions on how to put together the code. His father had said that the codes would be separated:

  Two halves of the world, evil leads to good.

  Michael was thinking out loud now, his words coming out in mumbles, “Two halves of the world? Two halves. Hemispheres, two hemispheres! East and West. Good and evil. Two hemispheres, evil leads to good. Dad, you are brilliant!”

  Michael began to write on the pad. The first part of the code was in the eastern half of the world, the “evil” half, the half of the world that The Order is trying to control. Code number two was in the western half, the “good” half, the half of the world they have already conquered. He moved on to the next sentence of the riddle.

  He is the first, the key to the beginning.

  “He, first, key, beginning.” His mind took him back to an introductory class at the Farm. Code breaking 101 they had called it. The first rule was to rid the code of any unnecessary filler words.

  Out loud he repeated the words over and over again, “He, first, key, beginning.”

  Geoffrey moved slightly closer.

  Michael continued to speak out loud, “He must be Christ. Christ was the first. The first what? The first Christian? The first Bishop? The first what? Occam’s Razor, Michael, the answer has to be the most obvious choice!” Michael looked at Geoffrey, the Monsignor stared back.

  Uneasily the two men stared at each other. The Monsignor was about to speak, but before he could, Michael knew, and said, “He was the first one of you. Christ was the first of the rightful heirs to the throne. He was the key to the beginning of The Order. His name is the first code.”

  Geoffrey wasn’t so sure, “The code is a number, not a name! Try again, keep looking!”

  “His name is a number. Every name is a number: Alphabetics.”

  “Alphabetics? What are you talking about?”

  Michael ignored him and went back to work. The name Yeshua was written below the handprint, but it was in Hebrew whereas the rest of the document was in Greek. This hadn’t stood out before, but now it made sense. He is the first, the key to the beginning. The barely detectable number was Roman, the document Greek, and His name in Hebrew. The use of different languages couldn’t be without reason, this was purposeful, and, more importantly, was simple. Thank you, Occam, thought Michael.

  The only problem was that Michael had no idea what numbers equated to the Hebrew letters of the name Yeshua.

  Rubbing his neck he tilted his head back to relax the muscles. As he worked out the kinks in his neck a smile began to grow across his face. Staring back at him were books, thousands of them. “Your Holiness?”

  Leo looked broken. His heart rate monitor was beeping slowly, too slow. Through glossy eyes the half-dead man looked to Michael and responded with a feeble and almost disinterested, “Yes?”

  “Are all of these books yours?”

  “Yes they are. All of them are mine.”

  Michael was already moving toward the vast shelves that lined the walls. Geoffrey followed him closely with the gun. “What are you doing, Dr. Sterling?”

  Ignoring the priest Michael was fingering the titles he knew what he was looking for and asked the Pope, “Are these books categorized by title?”

  “Yes, Dr. Sterling, they are,” answered the Pope.

  And then he found it: Gematria. It really wasn’t a stroke of luck that the Pope had owned the old text. Thirty years ago the book had been all the rage in the theo-centric world.

  It was small and dusty from its lack of use. The binding was slightly damaged and the title faded, but here it was. Michael had once used the book as a reference item in an advanced Religious Studies course on Jewish numerology. It outlined a well-debated system of assigning numbers to Hebrew letters. He had not given the book any more attention than another when using it for the class, but was now immensely glad that he had used it. Snatching it from the shelf, he took it back to the writing table and opened it. He knew where in the book to go. In the back of it was a table of numerical equivalents of Hebrew letters.

  On the Apocryphal and under the hand the name Yeshua was written in Hebrew: ישוע

  Flipping through its pages and to the back, Michael found the Alphabetics table that he was looking for. He scanned the table of for the Hebrew letters in the index of Gematria and for the numbers that corresponded with them, and wrote:

  ע = 70 ו = 6 ש = 300 י =10

  Geoffrey watched intensely as Michael scribbled the numbers onto the paper. His pulse quickened with each subsequent number that he wrote. Michael sat up and looked at the numbers and then to Geoffrey.

  The thoughts of both men were the same, the first code!

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Near Saxon Mountain

  Colorado

  The sound of approaching tires rolling on the gravel driveway broke Sonia’s attention from the news. Dr. Sterling Sr. stood and walked to the window; he peeked outside through a slight separation in the blinds, and announced, “It’s the Clear Creek Sheriff; he has a deputy with him.” He reached for the handle of the front door that was next to the window. He was about to turn it.

  Sonia stood, “Dad, get away from the door.” Her voice was clear, level, and in control. She had been through this once already.

  Dr. Sterling Sr. released the handle and looked at his daughter-in-law with confused eyes.

  Sonia commanded, “Get into the basement.”

  She offered no explanation; but her voice carried an authority that told him he should listen.

  If I know my husband, and I am pretty sure that I know him, he has a way out of here, thought Sonia.

  There was a knock on the door. The Sheriff called out, "Dr. Sterling, it's the Sheriff. I am here with my deputy."

  Sonia didn't answer. She ran to the basement following the elder Sterling. At the base of the stairs, she pushed past the confused man. Stepping aside, he watched as Sonia frantically moved old boxes aside.

  “Sonia, what are you doing?”

  “Dad, come over here and help. Move these boxes away from the wall.”

  Without question, Dr. Sterling, Sr. did as he was told. The look in Sonia’s eyes told him to obey. Soon, an old, small door emerged. Michael had told her that the old door had gone unused for a couple of generations and that the chute had been filled in; now, she wasn’t so sure.

  Out loud, Sonia muttered, “Michael, I hope you lied about this, too.”

  Sonia turned the handle; nothing happened. Looking frantically around, she soon found what she needed: a flat-head screwdriver was on a nearby shelf.

  “Dad, throw me that screwdriver,” she commanded.

  “Here you go; what are you doing, Sonia?” asked Dr. Sterling, Sr.

  “Getting us out of here.”

  Outside, the Sheriff looked around and saw no one; the he looked at his watch. It was time.

  Speaking to his deputy, he said, "She must have run to the store. Go to the squad car and grab my coffee. We're gonna wait here on the porch until the good doctor ret
urns."

  The Deputy nodded and turned toward the car. His back was to the Sheriff. He hadn't noticed that his boss's hand had been on the butt of his pistol, and that he quietly unsnapped the latch that secured it in its holster. He certainly didn't see him slowly pull the pistol from where it rested. The moment the Deputy's boot left the last step of the porch and touched down on the dirt, the Sheriff pulled the trigger.

  The sound of the bullet pierced the thick wood line.

  No one would hear it, no one except for the people still in the cabin; perhaps a deer or two.

  The sound of the gunshot startled them. Sonia jumped and then looked at her father-in-law. Neither said a word.

  With a renewed vigor, Sonia pushed the tip of the screwdriver into the small crevice between the door’s edge and its frame. Above them, they both heard the front door exploding from its frame as the Sheriff barreled through it.

  In the basement, they were breathless. Sonia jammed the screwdriver further into the small door's frame.

  Overhead, the slow footsteps of the Sheriff echoed across the floor and then stopped. The Sheriff reached into his chest pocket and pulled out a half empty pack of camels. He rolled one of the unfiltered cigarettes across the tip of his tongue and then lit it. He inhaled deeply and slowly; his eyes studied the interior.

  Dr. Sterling, Sr. whispered, “Sonia, he's in the house! Hurry!”

  With a quiet grunt, Sonia levered the door slightly ajar; a tiny wisp of sunlight peaked through the opening.

  Sonia slipped the narrow fingers of both hands into the crack and pulled. The door opened. The space was just large enough for the two of them.

  “Dad, get in!”

  The old man groaned as he slipped his body into the chute; Sonia followed. The two of them scampered through the chute and were soon outside of the cabin and into the woods.

  Inside, the Sheriff pulled open the basement door. With his pistol in front of him, he made his way to the basement. There he saw the opened coal chute. Kneeling, his pistol still drawn, he stared up the chute.