“So you know of these people, Doctor?” Parenti asked.
“Yes. They are well-known in the field of religious studies, but their symbol is not. And believe me, these people are completely nuts.”
The headline from the Times appeared at the top of the fold on page A-3 in broad, bold type:
DEMANIANS MOVE ILLEGAL CLONING EXPERIMENTS OFFSHORE
Bondurant scanned the story quickly and placed his finger on the last paragraph of the piece. He read it several times before he looked up. He had a troubled look on his face.
“What is it, Jon? Come on. What is it?” Domenika pleaded.
“It’s a big problem,” he said as he stared down at the article once more.
“Domenika,” Father Parenti intoned. “Don’t you see, these people are—”
“Crazy,” Bondurant said emphatically, with a tinge of fear in his voice. “I mean just C-R-A-Z-Y.”
Domenika looked frustrated. “I’m sorry. I’m just not getting this,” she said.
Bondurant sat back in his seat and shook his head.
“The good news is that Dr. Laurent might have left the Demanians,” he said. “The bad news is that no one can find him.”
“Explanation, please, Jon,” Domenika begged.
“Long story,” he said. “Demanism is a ‘UFO religion’ of sorts, or better put, a cult. They believe that life on earth is the result of aliens from another planet. They’re atheists, but not my kind. They don’t believe in a God, but they do believe in aliens. The sect was founded in the ’60s by a Frenchman who adopted the name of ‘Déman.’ There are tens of thousands of Demanians scattered around the world.”
“So what does that have to do with us?” she asked.
“You have to know something about their origin,” Bondurant said as he set Aldo on the table and got up from his chair to pace. “Demanians believe not only that a species of extraterrestrials—the ‘Sevarin’—created life on earth, but that the religions in existence today are really the result of prophets sent by the Sevarin to instruct mankind on their behalf. According to them, Moses, Buddha, and, Domenika, even your Jesus Christ were such prophets sent to inform and guide us all to a peaceful future.”
“Oh, please,” Domenika protested.
“Yes, I agree. They’re crazy. But—and my apologies to you both—no more loony than just about every other organized religion I’ve studied.”
“Here we go again,” Domenika deadpanned. “Prepare yourself, Father.”
“No, no. I’ll stick to the Demanians,” Bondurant said as he paced nervously in a circle around the table, the dog now following in his wake. “This particular religion has all the usual trappings involved in the absurd origin of just about every faith. Its founder claims to have been beamed into a spacecraft, where he joined a Last Supper of sorts with everyone from Jesus to Buddha to Muhammad. Like many sects, while they’re just plain absurd—these are the ‘crop circle’ guys—but they’re considered harmless and have been ignored for decades.”
“Then why the worried look, Jon?” Domenika asked as she pushed the stack of books on the Third Reich away from her.
“Because, like the headline says, they are also the cloning people, Domenika,” he said as he picked up the news article before him. “Here’s the deal. At the root of their religion is a belief in eternal life.”
“That’s no different than Christianity, Jon,” Domenika objected.
“Yes, but these people don’t buy the kind of resurrection that you do. They believe that mankind is destined to live forever through human cloning. Throw in some nanotechnology—the rapid, guided self-assembly of cellular ‘machines’—and the transfer of one’s personality into a clone, and mankind can be made to live forever. Scientific resurrection. For infinity. Remember their symbol? It’s an infinite loop as well.”
“I’m not fully getting it. How’s that possible?” she asked.
“The idea is you extract a small sample of someone’s DNA when they have developed the wisdom, personality, and memories that you would like to see last forever. You preserve the sample. On the day of the person’s death, you remove cells to be used for future cloning.”
“But human cloning is impossible,” Parenti objected.
“Some would beg to differ, Father,” Bondurant said. “Mankind has perfected the cloning of several animals, some with genetic makeups similar to humans. The list is long, and growing by the day. From frogs to cats to dogs to pigs and horses and sheep. Monkeys, wolves, cattle, and deer have all been added to the list in the last few years.”
“All animals,” Parenti said.
“Humans could be next,” Bondurant said. “Even ancient ones. Scientists have replicated genome sequences of humans from as far back as the dawn of man. There’s little difference in what we can understand genetically about a caveman and someone walking the earth today.”
“It’s illegal. Human cloning has to be illegal,” Parenti said with certainty.
“Not exactly, Father,” he responded. “Experimentation on human cloning might be discouraged in many countries, but the UN has never been able to pass more than a nonbinding resolution to ban it.”
“The Vatican has opposed it, I am sure,” Domenika said as she looked toward Father Parenti for reassurance.
“They have,” Bondurant continued. “But their neighbors in the Middle and Far East are a real issue. There are no anti-cloning laws there, which has made the region a magnet for secret human cloning research. And these Demanians have been a real problem lately. They have the goal of mass cloning of humans in mind. Their leader is Hans Meyer, the German industrialist who claimed to have created the first human clone, a daughter named ‘Eve,’ a few years ago. While most believe it was a hoax, there are many who also now believe we are close to the point where a breakthrough on human cloning is near.”
“This is all interesting, Jon, but what does it have to do with why we were attacked last night?” Domenika asked.
“It was likely for the same reason we barely escaped with our lives intact the other day,” Parenti said. “Our cab ride back to the hotel became a high-speed pursuit. It had to be the Demanians tailing us.”
“High-speed pursuit?” Bondurant asked. “Domenika, you never said anything about a high-speed pursuit.”
“Perhaps Father Parenti’s side of the cab saw more action than mine,” Domenika said as the priest did his best to hide his sheepish look. “But now I know why we were tailed. And no doubt it must have been these Demanians.”
“Anyway,” Bondurant said, “Meyer and these Demanians, as crazy as they might be, are not without important supporters. Some of them are reputable scientists who have helped to finance and form a genetic engineering company, GenenClone. It’s here in this story. It’s run by Dr. François Laurent, and it’s the same company this story says was just banned from the United States. Meyer has had some wild ideas that would make your hair stand on end.”
“Such as?” Parenti asked.
“Such as the cloning of Adolf Hitler in order to bring him back from the dead so he can face war trials at Nuremberg. Sound like a good idea? Or how about his solution to suicide bombers in the Middle East: He thinks we can prevent these attacks by the mere threat of cloning. The idea is that these bombers, knowing they can be cloned and returned to life on this planet after their suicidal crimes to face their punishment, will see such attacks as futile.”
“That’s ridiculous. He’s mad!” Parenti exclaimed.
“Quite right, Father,” he said. “And his chief scientist mentioned here, Laurent, is a piece of work. His interest in human cloning has a tragic origin. He’s an obstetrician and a synthetic biologist. One of the best. He lost an infant son to an accident in childbirth and vowed to bring him back, no matter what the cost. And now this, I’m afraid.”
“This?” Domenika asked.
Bondurant stopped his pacing, grabbed his armored briefcase, and set it on the table. Aldo leapt back onto the table to inspec
t it. Bondurant entered the combination on both latches and opened it up before them. Inside sat four miniature glass vials, all neatly and separately cushioned, each containing a single tiny fragment of the Holy Shroud.
“Domenika,” Bondurant said with real urgency, “we need to reach out to Ravi Sehgal the moment he touches down in India with that blood sample he’s carrying, and we need to warn him to protect it at all costs.”
“Ravi? Why Ravi?” she asked.
“Do you believe in Jesus Christ, Domenika?” Bondurant asked with grave seriousness.
“Yes, of course I do,” she said. He could tell she was amazed he had asked the question.
“Do you believe he shed his blood for all mankind?”
“Yes, with all my heart,” she replied.
Bondurant lowered his voice to a whisper, reached out his hands, and held her by her shoulders. He looked directly into her eyes.
“Domenika, I think these men, Meyer and this Laurent who has gone missing, are out to get what they believe is the blood of Jesus Christ. As much of it as they can.”
“With the purpose—” Domenika clasped her hands over her mouth and stopped short of saying the unthinkable. He could see that her legs grew weak, forcing her to take a chair.
“Of cloning—” Parenti could not bring himself to say it either. Aldo dove into his lap as if for comfort.
“All right,” Bondurant said. “I’ll say it. A ‘second coming.’ The scientific resurrection of Jesus Christ himself.”
CHAPTER 26
Turin, Italy
June 2014
Hey, Sis. Hope I didn’t wake you.”
It was two o’clock in the morning in Turin, and Domenika’s sister was calling from New York, where it was only eight p.m. As usual, Joanna hadn’t a clue what time it was anywhere in the world except for wherever she was.
“No, no. Joanna, that’s all right,” Domenika said with as much liveliness as she could muster, given she’d been woken from a troubled sleep. She had the hotel room’s thick drapes drawn tight, and the only light was from her cell phone, a green luminescence in the dark.
“Nika”—only her sister ever called her that—“I am going out tonight with that football player from the Giants. You know, the cute one. The one who sent the picture of his rear from my phone—the one I met at Table 50?”
“Yes, yes,” Domenika said, now certain the call could have waited until daylight. The absurd photo Domenika had received the previous week had been followed a minute later by a text message asking Domenika to drop what she was doing and fly to New York for the weekend to meet one of his teammates.
“He has a friend, Nika,” Joanna said. She sounded giddy. “He wants to meet you. I told him we were twins. You know, we almost are.”
“Tell him that Nika already has her hands full with an American over here.”
“Yes, yes, yes! Tell me. How is your American boyfriend treating you? The curious one.”
“Boyfriend? Who said he was my boyfriend?” Domenika protested. “It’s purely professional.”
“Nika, stop. It’s me. You went on and on about your date with him the last time we talked.”
Domenika sighed. “I didn’t say ‘date,’ or ‘curious’ either.”
“It sounded like a date.”
“Joanna, it was not a date. It was lunch. It’s all over.”
“Over you? Already? He is curious.”
“No, what I mean is that—” Domenika stopped herself short. A week earlier she couldn’t have imagined defending Bondurant to anyone. But so much had happened since then, and she’d learned a lot that somewhat explained the man she had once despised. “What I mean is that he’s complicated, Jo. He’s a wonderful enigma, all mixed up inside. He’s like a loner who’s afraid of being alone, you know?”
“Sounds like a head case to me.”
“Maybe so. But he’s smart, and charming, and kind. The sad thing is there’s just not a thing involving faith that we agree with.”
“Who used to tell me that opposites attract, Nika?”
“No, I mean it. I don’t think we agree on anything. At least the important things.”
“Ah, I wouldn’t worry too much about that. He sounds like Papa.”
Good observation, Domenika thought. Especially from more than four thousand miles away.
“Papa would love this man, Sis,” Domenika said. “Right up to the part where he claims there is no God. No Jesus Christ.”
“Oh, that’s not good, Nika. Handsome?”
“Would you believe gorgeous? And—” She stopped herself again, surprised she had just described him that way.
“Then what are you waiting for? Have some fun.”
“Oh, we are having fun, all right. Two nights ago he was willing to throw his career off a bridge to save my life. And a few nights before that he saved someone else.” She knew her sister would never fully appreciate any of this, and it was too long of a story to tell.
“Wonderful—sounds like a lifeguard,” Joanna said. “What is his name again? Have you ever Googled him?”
“Why would I want to do that?” She had, but it was a long time ago, before they had debated at Cambridge, which now seemed like a thousand years ago.
“Seriously now, what’s his name?”
“Bondurant. Jon Bondurant. Dr. Jon Bondurant.”
“Okay, hold on.” Joanna put her on speakerphone.
“No, Joanna, really. Don’t.”
Almost a minute passed. She closed her eyes, pulled her blanket all the way to her chin, and wondered again why she had bothered to answer the phone.
“Wow! Do you know how many hits you get for your doctor boyfriend, Nika?”
“I can’t say that I do,” she said. She tried to sound as disinterested as possible.
“1,386,200.”
“Mmmmm. Not surprising,” Domenika said. “He’s a well-known author. You’ll probably find that most of the articles—”
“Religion. Religious studies. Comparative Religion. It just goes on and on. I thought you said he wasn’t religious. That’s all he cares about.”
“No, I said he doesn’t believe in Jesus Christ.”
“Well, he certainly believes in his teachings. He’s a saint, like you,” Joanna said.
“What do you mean?” Domenika asked. She rose up and sat on the edge of her bed, still drowsy.
“I mean it says right here ‘Bondurant’s Donations Top Community’s Charitable List.’ It’s from a paper called the Star Democrat. It says he’s donated over a million dollars from the sales of his books to local charities. Looks like he has a soft spot for abused children. And there’s a center he’s adopted for them as well.”
A slight pain shot through Domenika’s stomach, the same one she’d been feeling since she had learned the news of Bondurant’s past from Parenti days before. She wanted to talk with someone, anyone, to soothe her soul over it, but it was not something she could share with anyone.
“Well, what I said,” Domenika said softly, “was that he didn’t believe in Jesus. I didn’t say he didn’t believe in his teachings.” Did that come out right? she wondered.
“Suit yourself,” her sister said, ready to drop the subject. “I think you like a guy who walks the walk.”
“I know, I know. Hey, listen—”
“No, you listen, Nika,” her sister said. “Do me a favor, will you? It won’t be easy but it will be worth it, I promise.”
“What is it? What favor?”
“You’re headed back to Rome in a few days, right? That’s what Mamma says.”
“Yes, our work here is complete,” Domenika replied.
“Perfect,” Joanna said. “Don’t take his calls when you get home. See how bad he really wants you. Make him come to you.”
“Don’t take his calls? You’ve got this all wrong, Joanna. I don’t expect a single one.”
“That’s not what my sixth sense tell me, Nika. Remember, don’t take his calls. You need to test th
is guy out. Make him come to you. Trust me, he’ll want you even more.”
Buzzzzz.
“Gotta run, Nika. He’s downstairs. Hang on to that doctor but play hard to get. Seems like you got a good one. Love you.”
Before Domenika could protest, her sister hung up.
Now fully awake, Domenika knew she would be up for hours. She got up from her bed and, using her cell phone as a flashlight, went over to the desk where her laptop sat and turned it on.
CHAPTER 27
Turin, Italy
June 2014
Domenika sat across from Bondurant in a quaint outdoor restaurant not far from the Cathedral of St. John. Their table was next to one of many tall plumes of white jasmine in full bloom that left a scent of perfume throughout the leafy green terra-cotta terrace. The lights of the city had just begun to twinkle as the day slowly receded into night. The Alps in the distance, draped in purple and orange, seemed painted against the skyline to frame the perfect scene. The setting was breathtaking. Domenika felt she could stay there all night.
“You know you really didn’t have to do this, Jon,” Domenika said. Their meal was finished, and the server had just removed the last of their plates. “It’s your last night in Turin, and I’m sure you have better things to do before your flight.”
Domenika was actually thrilled Bondurant had summoned the courage to ask her to dinner before they went their separate ways in the morning. But she also knew him to be a klutz when it came to real relationships. She had no idea whether she would hear from him again beyond the business at hand concerning the Shroud.
“Here,” Bondurant said as he poured Domenika another glass of merlot from the decanter. A third bottle sat in a holder beside them. “Let’s have another toast. This one to your success,” he said.
“Success? In what way? That we have proven we possess the burial cloth of Christ?”
“Sure, if that’s what you want,” Bondurant offered.
Domenika stopped for a moment to think about it. She also noticed that the excellent wine they’d enjoyed had set her head slightly abuzz, a feeling she’d not had in ages.
“It seems to me that would turn your whole life upside down, Jon,” she said. “Surely that’s not what you really mean.”
The Shroud Conspiracy Page 19
