The Shroud Conspiracy

by John Heubusch

  Whatever the pontiff’s rationale, Bondurant was happy to play along. Two weeks to study the Shroud up close was definitely not enough time, and his team would have to conduct their experiments at a frantic pace around the clock. But, with the right planning and the best talent he could find, it would be enough time to credibly study the relic and collect the samples the Church would permit for further study in sophisticated labs in the weeks ahead.

  Bondurant had assembled a team of renowned scientists, each bringing a unique expertise in his or her field to the project. He was certain their collective work would help to redefine “sindonology.” He was determined that their conclusions would be beyond reproach and would settle, once and for all, the mystery of the Shroud.

  His team stemmed from three fundamentally important disciplines: biological and medical forensics, material historical analysis, and material chemical analysis. Including Bondurant as lead, the group comprised seven scientists, some of whom he had worked with before. To a person, they had jumped at the unprecedented opportunity to join the highest-profile examination of an important religious artifact in many years. Even before the investigation had begun, hundreds of media outlets had covered the Vatican’s announcement of its willingness to allow an intense investigation of the Shroud. Chat rooms were buzzing, dozens of related blogs had been started, and more than a million tweets had been recorded concerning the Church’s decision. Nearly all of them speculated on what Bondurant’s team would find. There was even a betting line in Las Vegas, where odds were running two-to-one in favor of evidence proving the Shroud was a fake.

  From the field of biological and medical forensics, a field in which Bondurant was considered preeminent, he had selected two other scientists. For his role, Bondurant would lead the anatomical forensics review. In some respects, he held the role of “coroner,” but without a body. His investigation would determine in precise detail the “anatomical correctness” of the image of the body presented on the Shroud. Were the body parts as represented on the image natural and in proper proportion to the rest of the body, or were there subtle distortions that would imply the image had been fabricated by something other than human remains? Were the various markings on the image connoting torture and crucifixion indicative of how such trauma would actually appear in these areas of the body? Bondurant’s work would represent the closest examination possible of the Shroud’s bodily image short of an autopsy.

  In the field of image analysis, he had chosen Dr. Haruki Sato, a leader in digital image processing research at Sony Labs. He held thirty-seven patents, making his net worth in excess of $400 million. He was best known for his work using computer image analysis to differentiate shades of color so fine that it was possible to determine whether an image had originally been formed in two or three dimensions. Three-dimensional images, those with “depth” that might have been naturally formed by an object such as a human body, could be made distinguishable from two-dimensional images that had been painted on a surface such as canvas or cloth. Sato had recently been involved in solving several celebrated cases with this technology. Supposed priceless masterpieces had been discovered to be fakes because he’d found highly irregular and computer-generated brushstrokes during microscopic image analysis.

  Bondurant had been introduced to the eccentric Sato by a mutual friend just prior to a classic-car auction in Philadelphia. Bondurant was interested in a single car at the auction. He had been stalking it in the market for three years—a 1965 Jaguar XKE 4.2, serial #00001. Unfortunately for him, it had turned out that Sato had flown in on his private jet from Kyoto to purchase the same car and was intent on outbidding all buyers. The two had become fast friends.

  To round out the field for the biological and medical forensics team, Bondurant thought he had pulled off a master stroke. While he had never met him before, he had flown round-trip from Baltimore to India over a four-day weekend and succeeded in convincing Dr. Ravi Sehgal, the recent Nobel Prize–winning biologist from India, to join the team.

  Sehgal’s findings, next to the data gleaned from radiocarbon dating, were likely going to provide more definitive evidence than any other discipline on the authenticity of the Shroud. He had made a worldwide name for himself in the field of ancient DNA analysis, and his presence on the project meant instant credibility. His work was going to be crucial in determining whether the bloodstains purportedly present on the Shroud, and any other microscopic evidence of DNA discovered, were actually real. And if they were real, his examination would be able to pinpoint their source as animal or human and their date of origin, blood type, and composition.

  To represent the field of material historical analysis, he had enlisted two acknowledged experts, one in ancient fabrics and the other in soil particle analysis. While the field was little known, it was a certainty that Dr. Jean Boudreau possessed a body of knowledge on textile analysis like no other. In his mid-fifties, quiet, and balding, he was the only grossly overweight Frenchman Bondurant had ever met. He had marveled at Boudreau’s obesity until he realized years after first meeting him that Dr. Jean Boudreau was the same Jean Boudreau who had authored the three bestselling French cookbooks of the last decade.

  His laboratory in Paris, right across the street from his famous restaurant, held the world’s largest collection of ancient fabrics. It was possible for Boudreau to differentiate between region-specific Middle Eastern twill patterns and sewing techniques found in every century leading back to ancient Egypt. If the linen represented as the Shroud of Jesus was found to be of material that originated anywhere but in the Middle East during the first century AD, or if it revealed a sewing pattern not found until the Middle Ages, Boudreau would catch it.

  Boudreau was not the only team member from an obscure field of study. Dr. Michael Lessel, of the University of New Mexico, was a world authority on soil particle analysis. He knew dirt like no other. A bona fide redneck from Alabama with a drawl so deep it deceived many an observer into underestimating his IQ, he was both brilliant and uncannily strong. Pushing seventy-five years old, Lessel was half Bondurant’s size, but he had once challenged Bondurant to an arm wrestling contest in a biker bar not far from his home in St. Michaels following an academic conference. After five straight losses, Bondurant had become a laughingstock in front of a swarm of bikers and some rowdy cadets from the US Naval Academy in Annapolis.

  Lessel knew that the Shroud, like any other material of its kind and age, very likely contained trace elements of various soils that could be isolated and identified in terms of composition. Using high-resolution devices on microscopic particles of dirt, he was able to determine whether soil samples found on objects were native to a particular region of the world or even a specific locale. If dirt samples taken from the Shroud didn’t match the known properties of Middle Eastern soils in the area of Jerusalem, this would be a sure sign that the relic was a fake. Lessel had his suspicions.

  Finally, in the field of material chemical analysis, Bondurant had secured his good friend and colleague Dr. Terry O’Neil, one of the world’s leading authorities on radiocarbon dating. O’Neil, dean of the University of Oxford’s Chemistry Department, had worked with Bondurant on previous investigations of relics, including those involving Amelia Earhart. They’d both gone to Stanford, though almost a generation apart, and had become good friends. O’Neil knew how important this investigation was to Bondurant and his reputation, and Bondurant knew O’Neil would ensure that the data he gathered was beyond reproach.

  Using a process developed by scientists at the University of Chicago in the late 1940s, O’Neil had a proven track record of determining the age of any ancient substance by measuring its levels of radioisotopic carbon-14. There were two things that Bondurant and O’Neil were sure of before the investigation began. First, unless the Shroud was from another universe, it was a carbon-bearing substance. And second, given this, it could be dated—not within a year or two, or even a decade, but with O’Neil involved, Bondurant was convinced the or
igin of the Shroud could be pinpointed to within as few as fifty years. There was no test of the relic’s age more important than radiocarbon dating, and Bondurant knew he had the world’s greatest authority in O’Neil.

  The last scientist to join the team was Dr. Lisa Montrose, an expert in the study of material pigmentation analysis at Duke University. Bondurant knew her by reputation only. Calm and soft-spoken, she was an authority used often by the National Geographic Society when highly complicated analysis was required on the composition of unusual artifacts. She specialized in the area of microfiber analysis using electron microscopes to determine the chemical composition of compounds found on ancient materials. Determining precisely what substance had left the ghostlike image on the Shroud would not be easy, given its age, but it was a certainty she could produce the most definitive results. Had the image of the Shroud been painted on the relic’s linen surface using any chemical compound known to man, she would be able to determine the source.

  Bondurant stared at the letter from the Vatican one more time. Worth framing someday, he thought. He folded it and put it away. Then he looked at his watch. The blue digital numerals at its center slowly blinked a pair of numbers: 11:07.

  Eleven years. Seven months.

  CHAPTER 8

  Geneva, Switzerland

  June 2014

  Geneva had a reputation for being a peaceful, beautiful city, but the stark and modern two-story cement compound that presented itself when their driver slowly pulled up to the guard gate resembled a bunker from the Cold War era. It was a cheerless place. Rain from an early summer thunderstorm was coming down in sheets, and the steely sky above blanketed the entire world around him in muted shades of gray. The guard who greeted their black limo peered in through the crack of the rear passenger window to identify them by sight, his mood clearly matching the weather.

  Dr. François Laurent had one simple goal for the meeting he was about to enter inside the Demanian Church headquarters. He wanted it to end with an agreement so they could launch a plan before it was too late. Of the two men he had gathered, he was fully familiar with one. He had been of service to Hans Meyer, the supreme elder of the Demanian Church, for just over two years. It was two years more than he liked. With any luck, within a year his obligation to Meyer and his absurd cult would end, and he would be able to return to Paris with his family, restart his medical practice, and move on.

  The third person who had accompanied him on the dreary ride to the sect’s stronghold that morning was Ravi Sehgal. Laurent had greeted him in person for the first time only an hour before at the Geneva airport. The Nobel laureate had a layover on his way to Turin. Their conversation on the rainy car ride to Meyer’s fortresslike offices in the Carouge district along the banks of the Rue du Rhône had been promising. Laurent found Sehgal likable, if a bit naive. Laurent had known him by reputation to be somewhat vain, but their string of conference calls during the past week had convinced him that Sehgal and Meyer might have enough common ground in mind to make a deal possible.

  Laurent knew that for Sehgal’s part, he wanted simply to “save the world.” Laughable, thought Laurent. Sehgal had spoken of some altruistic dream he had that, with his knowledge of DNA, might conjure up a child with Christlike powers, a scientific “second coming” as it were. Sehgal imagined a child who would grow to adulthood under his care and would learn to rain miracles down on the world and save the poor—especially the children—from their plight.

  Laurent knew Meyer’s vision of their creation was not nearly as altruistic as Sehgal’s. For Meyer, the creation of such a child was all about power. Power for his church, and power for himself. Laurent felt he would be able to control Sehgal during their meeting to reach an agreement, but was not as confident about his sway over Meyer.

  •  •  •

  “So what are you saying, Dr. Sehgal?” Meyer asked as he looked directly at him.

  The Demanian leader was an unappealing middle-aged figure, sullen, with thinning hair and afflicted with a horrendous case of adult acne. On the table in front of him was an Electrolarynx, a small machine the size of a toaster, without which their conversation would be impossible. Meyer had lost his vocal cords from a laryngectomy a decade earlier, an operation made necessary due to throat cancer from smoking several packs a day. His voice, amplified by the microphone pressed to the spot where his larynx had once been, generated words in a sickeningly electronic monotone. They had been negotiating for thirty minutes, and time was growing short. Sehgal’s flight to Italy, where he was due to meet with Bondurant, was scheduled to depart in just a few hours. Meyer pressed the microphone pad to the side of his throat and asked again. “I said, so what are you saying?”

  Sehgal shuddered, the drone of the robotic voice unnerving. “I’m saying that this is going to be a struggle,” Sehgal said. “It comes down to how many blood samples I can get my hands on. It’s possible that Dr. Bondurant may not be able to secure enough from his agreement with the Vatican to do the job. He’ll provide me a shred of the evidence he’ll gather, but I may need it all. Every last bit. We won’t know until we know.”

  “I thought this was a slam dunk for you, with your Nobel and all,” Meyer said. “You’re not backing away from that claim now, are you?”

  Sehgal grew red in the face.

  “Sometimes I wish I could just bury that prize,” Sehgal said. “It’s more of a nuisance than anything.”

  Laurent looked surprised.

  “How could you say that?” Laurent asked. “It’s over a million dollars. It’s fame worldwide.”

  “It’s also very difficult to achieve the results that people want to see,” Sehgal said. “Yes, we can sweep DNA clean. Yes, we can work with particulate DNA as never before. But if the DNA is badly contaminated, and has been for thousands of years, we may need all the blood we can find for this to work. I’m telling you it’s no mean feat to pull this off.”

  “You’ll do your best to get it all, Doctor,” Meyer replied in an expressionless voice. “And if you can’t, I won’t wait for you. I’ll have my people there to obtain every drop by any means necessary. Time is short. Laurent, who did you say is overseeing all this for the Church?”

  “I have a source that’s identified her,” Laurent said. “She’s apparently close to the pope.”

  “Make a note, then,” Meyer said. “I want her tailed. Everywhere she goes. If the Church gets cold feet for any reason and they’re holding up my blood samples, we’re just going to need to take them. That’s all there is to it.”

  “I am also going to need to play with the results a little,” Sehgal said. “Enough to keep the scientific community at bay for a while.”

  “What does that mean, Ravi?” Laurent asked. It was not something they had discussed.

  “I need you to listen very carefully here,” Sehgal said. “Lord only knows what we might find on this Shroud. A speck of dirt? A Roman sentry’s blood? The precious blood of Christ our Savior? I don’t know. But I do know this. If I make an announcement that Christ’s blood is in our midst and there is even the slightest hint that Demanians are involved, we all know where that will lead.”

  “I know where you’re going with this,” Meyer said.

  “It means the world is going to presume we are near the point of a clone-born Christ. I cannot attempt to do my work with a grand circus surrounding me. I don’t think we want millions to believe the impossible is real before we make it real. There will be many who want to stop us. That would be a terrible distraction, I think.”

  “He has a point, Laurent,” Meyer said. “So now what?”

  “Create a distraction, if we can. I’m simply going to have to manage the results if need be. I don’t want to. I don’t like it. But we’ll need to throw everyone off the trail and take their attention elsewhere. I’m not sure exactly what I’ll say when the time comes, but I have some ideas, starting with leaking a document so that—”

  “Fine, fine, fine,” Meyer interrupt
ed. “Spare us the details. Now, what is this I hear from Laurent about your insistence on the notion of using a virgin? Are there really any left in this world? This is a joke, right?”

  Laurent could see Sehgal wince at Meyer’s question. Try as he might, he had not been able to get Meyer to agree with one of Sehgal’s more peculiar demands. It was up to Sehgal now to make the case for himself.

  “It has obvious biblical precedent. This child will enter the world as he should, under the chastest of circumstances,” Sehgal stated flatly. “There is no other way. You want my help? That’s my condition.” This was the swagger that Laurent had detected before. He had seen very few men stand their ground with the supreme elder. He braced himself for Meyer’s response.

  “You see some of my chattel, Dr. Sehgal?” Meyer said as he pointed to two attractive women as they passed by the glass-walled conference room they sat in. The women walked down the hallway with eyes cast directly in front of them. A steady stream of women had headed in the same direction for the last half hour. “You know where they are going, I presume?”

  “I’ve been told it’s your egg depository,” Sehgal said.

  “The largest in the world, my friend. We have five of them on three continents. Tell him, Dr. Laurent. Tell him how many are now stored.”

  “Over a hundred thousand eggs at last count, Hans,” Laurent said.