The Shroud Conspiracy

by John Heubusch

  “Domenika, don’t say a word,” Bondurant whispered. Her eyes grew wider as she pushed against the pillow. He could tell she thought she might suffocate. “I will remove this if you promise on your life to keep quiet. Will you do that for me?”

  She shook her head no.

  He pressed the pillow even more firmly against her mouth to signal how serious he was.

  “I mean it, Domenika,” he said. “We are both going to die if you scream.”

  She eventually nodded her head, and he slowly pulled the pillow back, uncertain whether she would keep the promise. Then she pushed herself into a sitting position and stared at him silently as though she were looking at a ghost.

  “What’s happened to you? Where have you been all this time?” she whispered. “Why didn’t you answer my letters?”

  “Letters? What letters?” Bondurant asked.

  “And where is Christopher?” she said as she looked around in a panic. Her voice grew louder as she looked around them and flattened her back against the headboard. “Where is our son?”

  Bondurant, completely taken aback by her first words to him in almost a year, recoiled. She wasn’t making sense. He realized she hadn’t fully regained her senses.

  “What do you mean, our son?” he asked. He remembered Sehgal’s last words and was trying to sort out the truth. “Domenika, did you willingly have this child?”

  “Of course I did,” she said, weak but exasperated. “We should have been more careful in Turin, I know. But he is ours now, and, Jon, you have never seen such a child.”

  “And you’re certain I’m the father?” he asked.

  Her reaction to his words was immediate. She swung her arm in a wide arc and slapped his face with enough force to nearly knock him off the bed. The stinging in his cheek had just begun to sink in when she reared back to strike him once more. He reached out and stopped her arm midswing.

  “How dare you say something like that? It doesn’t matter whether you want any part of him or not, he’s ours. How dare you?” she cried out loud enough to give them away.

  She struggled to free her arms from his grip to strike him again. He could tell by the look in her eyes and her growing outrage that she was absolutely convinced what she’d said was the truth. He also knew that if he didn’t escape with her in the next few seconds, both of them would be dead.

  “There’s no time to argue,” Bondurant said. “And it’s too hard to explain. But the child is not ours. You’ve been tricked into bearing it. And if we don’t get out of here now, we’ll both die.”

  “I’m not leaving here without our baby,” she cried out.

  “I said, it’s not ours,” Bondurant insisted.

  He grabbed her by the arms and yanked her from the bed. He heard a commotion starting several rooms away and knew they’d been discovered. As they struggled, her right arm broke free, and she swung her fist. She punched him squarely in the middle of his face. A bolt of pain shot toward both his temples, and he was certain she’d broken his nose.

  Time had run out. He heard voices and footsteps rush down the hallway toward them. He had no choice if they were going to get out alive.

  “Domenika, I love you,” he said. Then, with one swift blow from his fist to the side of her head, he knocked her unconscious. He heaved her limp body over his shoulder and looked wildly about them for the best way out. The last sound he heard in the room was a deafening pounding as her captors struggled to get past the barricaded door. He leaned over with Domenika slung across his back and ran at full tilt toward the large bay glass window beside the bed. Then he ducked his head and burst through it at full speed, smashing it into a thousand pieces.

  He was bloodied from head to toe, but still standing. He knew he needed to reach the hedgerow for cover, and beyond that it would be an all-out footrace to his car. But with his adrenaline now in full rush, he hesitated briefly, then turned back toward the convent and the first window he’d spied. He had to do it. He knew he’d never get this close to the child clone again, and he had no choice but to try to rescue it as well. Without hesitation, but with great fear for what waited inside, he kicked out the window of the nursery with two swift blows and shattered its glass across the room. Only a gaping hole lay between him and the incubator inside.

  He struggled to draw his gun from his pocket with his left hand while his right hand clutched Domenika, draped from his shoulder on the other side. Miraculously, the infant still lay sound asleep in the incubator, and the giant of a man who once sat there to guard it was gone. Bondurant pressed his way through the shattered panes of the window and painfully gashed his side on the way in. He could see that Domenika had cuts of her own as small trickles of blood made their way from her exposed legs to drip on the floor below.

  He was in, but the recognition of his next big problem came fast. He had only two hands, when it was clear he needed three. The only way to grasp the infant in such a rush was to either lose the gun, which was his ultimate protection, or Domenika, whom he could not leave behind. He lost precious time as he clumsily shoved the pistol back into his jacket only to lose it as it fell to the darkness of the floor below. Bondurant could hear that his pursuers, plenty of them, had smashed their way through Domenika’s bedroom next door. He knew the nursery was next. He quickly flipped the cover from the incubator, grabbed the tightly wrapped infant, and cradled it like a football in the crook of his arm. Then he started to run.

  Before he could make it cleanly back out the window, a piercing pain the likes of which he had never felt before shot through his shoulder, causing his entire body to shudder from the force of the thrust.

  “No,” a deep voice boomed forth in the darkness. “Give me the boy. Then I cut you to pieces.”

  Bondurant turned toward his attacker and could see behind him the towering behemoth who had once sat asleep in the rocker behind them. From the corner of his eye, he could also see the wooden handle of what he was sure was a large bowie knife, its blade buried deep in his side.

  Bondurant cried out from the incredible pain that felt like a bolt of lightning had shot through him. With no sense of feeling in one arm, he dropped the baby to the floor.

  “Yes, Jesus Christ. That’s what they say,” the giant man said. “This, I don’t know.” Inches before the clone child hit the ground, the assailant’s massive hand, one that looked larger than the child itself, scooped the baby up. “I think we keep the girl too, hmmm?” he said as he started to tug at Domenika’s leg.

  As the behemoth stepped back slowly to claim his prize and set the child back into its incubator crib, Bondurant slumped against the window’s ledge. While his heart raced, his body barely had the will. He saw but one way out. He used all the energy he had left to retrieve the long blade sunk through his shoulder, halfway into his chest. In one great heave, he slowly and painfully pulled the bloody knife from his body, inch by inch, until a thick and shiny blade eight inches long emerged. Then, as the attacker’s back was turned, Bondurant raised his good arm high and planted the blade squarely in his enemy’s back. The blade went only halfway in, as though it had plowed into stone. Bondurant heard a resultant roar, as if he had only temporarily angered a bear.

  He had no time. His pursuer grunted and swung his giant arms around his back in order to reach and extract the blade. Bondurant knew if he were to escape with Domenika alive, he had to leave with only her. With his one good shoulder, he pressed his way through the window just in time to miss the onrush of more guards, who crushed their way into the room like linebackers on a blitz. Once outside, Bondurant never looked back.

  He limped across the lawn and made it to the service road before his pursuers got through the door at the other end of the convent and got a fix on his direction. By then, Bondurant had reached Sehgal’s car, hit the gas, and sped down the road.

  CHAPTER 48

  Rome, Italy

  April 2015

  The first thing Domenika saw when she woke up was Bondurant. He was leaning over h
er hospital bed, staring directly at her. He could tell she had no idea where she was or why she felt so drugged. He watched her as she struggled to focus, trying desperately to regain full consciousness. Bondurant, exhausted from his vigil at her bedside, waited anxiously for the powerful sedative to wear off. It had been a long journey from Mumbai to the papal suite in Rome’s Gemelli Hospital. The doctor aboard the chartered jet had kept Domenika heavily sedated. She had been unconscious for nearly twenty-four hours.

  Bondurant smiled at her and stroked the bandaged side of her head where he had struck her. Both of his eyes were slightly blackened from the punch he taken from her in the nose. His left hand, both arms, and his right side were bandaged from the cuts and stabs he’d received during their escape.

  “You hit me,” Domenika said quizzically.

  “You hit me first,” Bondurant said. He smiled and pointed to his raccoonlike eyes. He could tell from her voice that her throat was parched. He poured a glass of water from the pitcher and handed it to her. She gulped down a few mouthfuls, watching him warily.

  “You really hit me,” she said as she rubbed the side of her head and tried to sit up. He knew she had no idea where she was.

  “Domenika, I want you to listen to me. The doctor said you will feel weak and a little confused for a few hours until the medication wears off. There is a lot to say, but I need you to trust me. What I’m about to tell you requires suspension of disbelief. And it’s going to be difficult to accept. Do you feel clearheaded enough to proceed?”

  “Yes, I think so,” she said. She was still disoriented, but he could see that her eyes had started to focus. “Where am I?”

  “Rome,” Bondurant said. “Our friend Father Parenti was able to get to the pope when I reached him from Mumbai. He told them our story. It’s the Vatican that brought us here.”

  “The pope? Why on earth? I’m in Rome?” She held her head in both hands as she struggled to comprehend his words. Then her eyes widened.

  “Christopher! Where is he? Tell me he’s here. Tell me we haven’t lost him. Jon, I don’t know where he is in this hospital, but go get him.”

  Bondurant cringed. He knew he had to answer her, and he had prepared for this moment. But he also knew the story would devastate her and rob her of everything she held dear. But he had no choice. He took both of her hands in his and leaned forward, locking his eyes with hers.

  “He’s safe,” he said, hoping it was true. “I have spent the last year of my life searching for you and for the true source of blood on the Shroud. Your instincts were right—we should have listened to you from the start. Sehgal was lying about the Shroud. O’Neil and Father Parenti helped uncover the truth. We discovered there were two different sources of DNA from human blood to be found on the Shroud. No one had any idea that Sehgal was working with the Demanians in a crazed attempt to bring about a second coming of Christ. He deceived us all.”

  Domenika interrupted. “Jon, please stop,” she said.

  Bondurant watched as she tried to raise herself from the bed in order to get up and find the child on her own if necessary. “These are interesting stories, but I want our son.”

  More than a half dozen wires and tubes connected her body to machines around her, putting a stop to any search.

  “What can you remember happened when you arrived in India?” Bondurant asked.

  “Ravi begged me to come. He said it was all a mistake. That there was a problem with the results in his lab and he would fix it. I had no choice but to pursue it,” she said.

  Bondurant shook his head.

  “Domenika, what could possibly have possessed you to stay there with him? I understand you had to know, but why did you remain with him?”

  “I went to his home. He said an assistant had made a mistake in the tests. He told me he would correct it. We had tea, and then I’m told I fainted. The next thing I knew, I was with the Sisters of Mercy in their convent. I was told I fainted because I was pregnant. Now, Jon, please, if you love me, you will bring me our baby.”

  The pieces of the puzzle quickly began to take shape for Bondurant. He now understood what Sehgal had told him with his dying words.

  “Domenika, you didn’t faint. You were drugged,” he said. “Sehgal told me so himself. You became pregnant very soon after, but—”

  “But what?” Domenika said.

  “But the child wasn’t ours. It couldn’t be.”

  “Jon, what are you saying? Of course he’s ours. You’re the only one I— He is yours.”

  Bondurant closed his eyes.

  “Domenika, as much as I wanted to make love to you that night, I couldn’t bring myself to do it,” he said. “I was not going to let it happen that way, not with you in that condition. I didn’t want either of us to have regrets. I’m so sorry, but I’m absolutely certain you did not conceive that night.”

  Domenika looked at Bondurant in complete disbelief. She let go of his hands and said nothing for several minutes. She only stared blankly at the white hospital wall. Then she pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped the sheet around her body as if to protect herself. Bondurant was alarmed at how pale her face had become.

  “Are you saying I became pregnant because I was raped as I slept?” she said as she shook her head over and over. “That I carried someone else’s child?”

  Bondurant watched as her entire body trembled. He was filled with anguish. “Not just any child. From what Sehgal confessed to me, you bore the child of the Shroud.” He looked down, unable to look at her face.

  Domenika’s body instinctively began to convulse, and she looked as though she were going to vomit. But she was so weak and dehydrated that she only dry-heaved into her pillow, the spasms wracking her body.

  “And Ravi is dead?” she choked out.

  “Yes. He shot himself. But not before he told me where I could find you.”

  “And my complications? They were a lie as well?” she asked. She buried her face in the pillow.

  “What complications?”

  “Jon, do you really think I would stay in India, a million miles from my family, from you, from everything I know, when I found I was pregnant?” she said. He was heartened by the sound of anger creeping into her voice. He could see by her eyes that she too had started to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

  “Why didn’t you reach out? I was desperate to find you,” he said.

  “I tried. But I was deceived twice. Twice,” she said as her voice began to trail off. Bondurant could see she was totally exhausted.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “When I woke in the convent, there were the Sisters of Mercy. They were wonderful and tended to me so kindly. Always hovering nearby was Ravi. And then, there was Dr. Laurence.”

  “Doctor who?”

  “Dr. Lau—” She stopped herself. “Oh my God,” she cried out. “It was him, wasn’t it? By another name.” Her eyes began to well with tears. Bondurant tried to take her hands again, but she pushed him away.

  “Jon, I was confined to my bed. The doctor told me I couldn’t move. Not an inch. He said I had placenta previa and that my baby’s life depended on complete immobility,” she said. “It’s why I stayed until you took me away.”

  “But not a word from you, ever?” Bondurant said.

  “It was a convent, Jon. It was like a trip back in time to the Middle Ages. There were no phones, television, computer, radio, visitors, or contact with the outside world. Nothing. The only way that I could reach you was through my letters. And you never answered a single one. You never—” She stopped midsentence. “You never got them, did you?”

  “I’d have been there in a minute,” Bondurant said. He knew he couldn’t begin to imagine the shock she felt and that it would be a long time before she came to terms with what she’d learned. He searched his heart for something—anything—he could tell her, but the only words that came out were those he felt he’d waited a lifetime to say: “I love you, Domenika.”

 
She looked at him, pulled him toward her by his collar, and wept as he enveloped her in his arms. He held her like that for a long time.

  Eventually, she seemed to have cried herself out. She sighed and sat up. She wiped her eyes. Then she turned to him and took his face in her hands, looked into his eyes, and said, “Jon, I am absolutely, hopelessly in love with you.”

  At that moment, the door to her room swung open, and someone carrying an enormous arrangement of roses stumbled in. The arrangement was so tall that they could see only the legs of the visitor behind the stems. Nearly losing his balance, but then finding his way to a bedside table, the gift-bearer set down the massive vase. Parenti peered out from behind the arrangement and could see they were in each other’s arms.

  “You see,” he said to Bondurant. “Just as I told you. It’s in all the American movies. You say ‘I love you.’ She kisses you. And that is that.” He stepped out from behind the roses.

  “Father, I haven’t kissed him yet,” Domenika said, now smiling for the first time. “Besides, I—” She stopped, and it was obvious she couldn’t believe her eyes. “My God in heaven, you’ve been cured! You must be—”

  “Five feet tall,” Parenti said, beaming.

  “It was a miracle,” Bondurant said. “I was there to see it.”

  “Correction. You were there to help,” Parenti said. He came over, stood erect before them, and hugged Domenika. She pulled him in close to her and held him tight like the old friend he was.

  “Jon Bondurant believing in miracles?” she asked. “That’s a miracle in itself.” She held them in both her arms. “Tell me all about it. I don’t ever want to let go.”

  “It’s a long story, angel,” Bondurant said. He smiled. He couldn’t remember being more happy in his entire life. “But something incredible happened while you were gone, and it changed my life forever.”

  “Tell me, tell me,” she demanded. “But, please, Jon. Where is my baby? Where is he?”