by Paul L Maier
They showed him banner headlines from various international newspapers on sale in Jerusalem. The story was inchoate, but the main sensational facts were not lost on any of them.
“They don’t know that the papyrus and the bones are at the Rockefeller,” Jennings explained. “They think they’re here. That’s why we’re under siege.”
“We should be grateful for small favors, I suppose,” Jon retorted. “Who’s in charge of the army out there, Gideon?”
“Colonel Chaim Nahshon.”
“Can he keep a confidence?”
“He’s one of our best.”
“Why not have him transfer a strong detachment of his troops to beef up security at the Rockefeller? They should stay out of sight, if possible, but be ready to appear on a moment’s notice.”
“Fine! Back in a moment.” He walked outside.
The ghastly noise of an electronic megaphone now blared at them from the crowd gathered around the gate: “Hello, professor Jennings and professor Weber! Rodney Cornwall of Reuters here. We have a news pool now, so you’ll have to tell your story only once. May I please have an interview?”
Jon quickly discussed strategy with Jennings, who nodded. Then he stepped to the window and yelled, “Come in, Cornwall!”
Gideon Ben-Yaakov had returned in the meantime.
“Where in Jerusalem would we have room enough for a news conference?” Jennings asked him.
“I’d say the convention room of the Diplomat Hotel.”
“Would they let us?”
“Of course. Free advertising!”
“Would you call them for us?”
“Certainly.”
Rodney Cornwall stepped inside, a mustachioed little Englishman who had been on top of many of the world’s headlines over the past decade. “Frightfully nice of you to grant me this interview.” He smiled his words.
“We’re not granting you an interview, Mr. Cornwall. We’re merely asking you to relay a message to that mob outside.”
“Oh?” His eyebrows arched. “What message?”
Gideon, at the phone, gave them the thumbs-up sign, and asked, “Day after tomorrow? In the afternoon?”
“Fine.” Then Jon turned to Cornwall and said, “Please tell everyone out there two things. One, none of the artifacts or remains discovered at the cavern site are on the premises here, so please tell everyone to leave.”
“And where are they, then, Professor Weber?”
“No comment, Mr. Cornwall. The second mes-sage is this—we’ll hold a general news conference, to which all the media are invited, at the convention center of the Diplomat Hotel in Jerusalem the day after tomorrow at 3 PM.”
“That’s it? That’s all you can tell me?”
“That’s it, Mr. Cornwall. Good night.”
Cornwall turned and left. Soon his voice was heard again on the bullhorn, addressing the crowd.
“What do you know!” said Jennings. “For once the press got something right!”
“It actually seems to be working!” said Shannon. “The mob’s starting to leave.”
For the next hour, they plotted strategy. Jon, they insisted, should be the spokesman. But he was seething that their discoveries were now public. “This is a horrible complication for us! That bloody, snooping stringer—I’d like to take that creep and twist his . . . At the news conference, why don’t we simply tell the media to bug off until we’re finished?”
“It won’t work, Jon,” said Brampton. “Not with this story.”
“I guess you’re right. They’d hound us to death.” Jon walked over to a window and looked out again at the Judean hills. In his present mood, he would have loved to orchestrate a whole pack of jackals, baying at the moon. Then he turned and said, “I suggest we tell the story simply and honestly, so we’re not accused of a cover-up later on. But I’ll stress—overemphasize—that everything is preliminary, there are no conclusions, much more testing is necessary, et cetera. Well, what do you think? Bless that strategy or shoot it down.”
Jennings sighed. “It’s really all we can do.”
As Gideon turned to leave, he put his arms around Shannon and asked, “May I see you tomorrow night, my little shiksa? ”
Jon overheard, and suddenly forgot all about the current chaos.
“Ah . . . Gideon,” Shannon responded, “I . . . have something to tell you. Shall we . . . ah . . . take a little walk?”
Jon smiled exuberantly, then returned to the crisis at hand.
The convention center at the Diplomat Hotel was jammed to capacity. All five hundred seats were taken, and the world’s press corps spilled over to the walls. The podium was festooned with a forest of micro-phones, television lights beamed in on the dais, and tripods supporting a network-headquarters’ worth of television cameras rimmed the hall. Reporters of every skin color were standing or sitting in whatever space they could find, notepads at the ready. A special section, reserved for church leaders, was occupied by the Latin Patriarch of Jerusalem, the Greek Orthodox, Coptic, Armenian, Abyssinian, and other ethnic patriarchs, as well as emissaries from the pope, the archbishop of Canterbury, the Lutheran World Federation, and the World Council of Churches.
On his way to the dais, Jon saw a familiar face in the crowd. He stopped and walked over to give Kevin Sullivan a clap on the shoulder. “And what brings you here from Rome, old buddy?” he asked wickedly.
“Our mutual friend in the Vatican sent me to rep-resent him, Jon. You’d best tell us what you’ve been up to!”
“I will indeed, Kevin. Let’s hoist one later, okay?”
“Only one? See you afterward!”
The cacophony in the room stilled to a hush as Brampton, Jennings, and Shannon joined him at the green table behind the dais. At 3:10 PM, Jon stepped up to the battery of microphones and said, “Honored clergy, emissaries, and ladies and gentlemen of the news media, permit me to read a prepared statement, after which I’ll entertain questions. But first let me introduce my colleagues here: Dr. Clive Brampton, associate director of the excavations at Rama; Professor Austin Balfour Jennings, the distinguished director; Shannon Jennings, his daughter, who is the recorder; and I’m Jonathan Weber, their associate.
“We must first assure you that this news conference was forced upon us by the unauthorized and entirely premature publication of our discoveries at Rama. This was absolutely unwarranted, and it was accomplished by unethical means. According to all canons of archaeological science, we wanted to test our findings extensively before making any of them public. Several tests have taken place, but by no means all of them. Accordingly, I can’t emphasize strongly enough that all our findings to date are extremely preliminary, and that no conclusions whatsoever have been made about the significance, or, indeed, the basic authenticity of our discoveries. We expect you to be absolutely clear on that point, and I hope your questions afterward will reflect that clarity.”
Jon went on to give a brief history of the dig and its discoveries, as well as the tests they had applied to date. He made no mention of the attempted murder at Sinai or the role of Claude Montaigne.
Finally he stated, “Because a quite inadequate, at places garbled, version of the purported letter of Joseph of Arimathea has been published, we will now supply you with copies of the authorized translation, as well as photographs of the titulus, juglet, and papyrus. I’m sure the world’s scholarly community will be interested in helping us gauge the final authenticity—or lack of same—in these items. We’re now open for questions.”
More than fifty hands shot up. Jon recognized them as best he could.
“Hans Steinle, Frankfurter Allgemeine. Why don’t we have a photograph of the bones you discovered? And where are the . . . ah . . . the remains at present?”
“We have no present plans to provide photographs of the human remains. Aside from the matter of taste, further evaluation will first be necessary. You should also be satisfied with the photographs provided. Many archaeologists take months or even years to
publish their photographs. We did so only because of the potential significance of these finds. . . . Yes?”
“Blandford Morgan, Manchester Guardian. You didn’t tell us where the papyrus and other items are at present.”
“No, and that was intentional. . . . Yes?”
“Louis Rambeaux, Paris Match. The radiocarbon tests you’ve applied thus far prove the validity of your finds, I would think. Why don’t you simply accept them as genuine?”
“Too much is at stake here for any simplistic conclusions in that regard.”
“But if there had been no parchment or papyrus to identify these remains so . . . so sensationally, wouldn’t you by now have been convinced that your discoveries are authentic?”
“Probably. But we’d still do more tests and far more study. On second thought, I’m going to ask you to strike that word probably, for it could be misinterpreted. Make it possibly. ”
“Arthur Blake, New York Times. What other tests do you plan?”
“Perhaps Professor Jennings would be kind enough to clarify that.”
Jennings moved to the battery of microphones and said, “We plan thermoluminescence for the ceramics, additional radio-carbon samplings, metallurgical studies of the coin, pollen analysis of the parchment, papyrus, and linen. Perhaps collagen fiber analysis too. And, of course, general spectroscopic studies of all the artifacts, as well as neutron activation analysis to gauge their origin. There may well be other tests, as this series progresses.”
“Helen Cronin, Melbourne Daily News. Suppose the tests all support the authenticity of your finds, and you and the other scholars declare them genuine. Would that spell the end of Christianity as a viable religion?”
A buzzing of whispers augmented into general commotion in the crowded hall. Jon motioned for quiet, and replied, “I don’t like responding to such a question for several reasons. One, we just don’t have time for speculation involving matters of such urgent concern. Two, this is more a theological question than one relating to scientific archaeology. Purely as a personal reaction, I’d certainly hope that neither this nor any other archaeological discovery would ever undermine the Christian faith. . . . Yes?”
“Dan Rather, CBS Evening News. Now clearly, Professor Weber, these finds are either genuine or they are not. If not, how could the papyrus ever have been forged? How could it date back so accurately if it’s a hoax? How could you set up first-century bones in a first-century grave?”
“It’s called ‘salting a dig,’ Mr. Rather. The perpetrator plants the artifacts or buries them for ‘discovery’ later on. Perhaps Dr. Clive Brampton here can give us a brief rundown on some of the more celebrated archaeological hoaxes in the past.”
Clive stepped to the microphones and listed some of the great fakes, ranging from the familiar Piltdown Skull in England to the Runic Stone in Minnesota. He went on to celebrated art frauds, like the supposedly ancient Scythian gold tiara of Saitapharnes, which fooled the French—it was all crafted in the nineteenth century AD—or the Hacilar double-headed pot from Turkey that duped English experts at Oxford. Its origin was not the claimed fiftieth century BC, but the twentieth AD! Brampton concluded with famous written forgeries, ranging from the “Donation of Constantine” to the “Hitler Diaries.”
Rather stood up again. “But that still doesn’t explain how the papyrus tests out as an ancient document in your carbon-14 readings. If, that is, it were a fraud.”
Jon returned to the microphones and said, “The perpetrator could have used the blank beginning or end of an ancient scroll for fabricating his message.”
“But how could he write such perfect Aramaic? In so convincing a script?”
“I . . . don’t really know. . . . Yes?”
“Howard Go Whu, Hong Kong Telegraph. Don’t you professors wonder how all these things could have been fabricated? The complexity, dear sirs, seems enormous. And who would attempt some-thing like that? And why?”
“I’ll admit, if this does prove to be a hoax, it will also be the most elaborate fraud in all of history.”
“But again,” Go Whu persisted, “it may not be a hoax at all. And the more I hear of your discoveries, the more genuine they seem to me. And I believe this feeling is also shared by many of us gathered here.”
“No comment, because you are opining, not asking.” Again there was a loud commotion.
Jon fielded questions for another hour before he made his closing statements. “I must again ask you to curb any speculation about the Rama discoveries, since definitive conclusions simply do not exist at this point. I would urge all the media to show restraint in your reporting and avoid any sensationalizing for reasons that are obvious enough. Otherwise, you’ll be doing a profound disservice to the cause of truth.
“And now, finally, I should like to introduce several other members of our archaeological staff at Rama: Naomi Sharon, our ceramicist; Achmed Sa’ad, who is in charge of our labor force; and Professor Noel Nottingham, our anthropologist. None of them knew of the titulus or the papyrus until this past week, when they learned along with the rest of you. They certainly had every reason to feel affronted that we kept these items from them, but they’ve been gracious enough to forgive us in view of the unparalleled circumstances.”
A round of applause brought smiles to the entire Rama crew.
“We’ll keep you informed of our progress with the subsequent tests. Meanwhile, thank you, ladies and gentlemen, and good day.”
Jon and Kevin Sullivan sat at a secluded table in the bar of the Jerusalem Hilton, caressing frosty bottles of Heineken. There were some attempts at levity and a few smiles, but both were weighing the effects of Rama on the world.
“This, obviously, was what sidetracked our problem with Mark in the Vaticanus, right?” asked Sullivan.
“You’ve got it, friend!”
“At the time, I wondered what could possibly have been more important than that potential bomb-shell, but you certainly came up with it! In spades!”
“It’s really frightening how that deleted line seems to blend in with Rama, isn’t it?”
“Exactly what I thought too.”
“I promise that as soon as this nightmare is over, Kevin, I’ll pull out all the stops for Saint Mark.”
“Fine. By the way, you did a masterful job at the press conference.”
“Not at all. The whole business is idiotically pre-mature. I’d like to smash the silly face of that stringer AP has in Jerusalem for breaking the story!”
“Well, it’s out, for better or worse. Probably worse. And now you’d better prepare for the tidal wave.”
“What do you mean, Kev?”
“I mean, ‘you ain’t seen nuthin’ yet,’ as the saying goes. Up to now, the world has had only fluff and froth, unsubstantiated rumors, sensational stuff. You find it all the time in National Enquirer and the other tabloids. You know the headlines: ‘Woman Bites Herself in Half,’ ‘I Slept with a Hooker from Outer Space,’ and ‘Team Finds Body of Jesus.’ Get it? But now the world has authoritative information that substantiates what seemed impossible at first. Now’s when it really hits the fan!”
Jon wrinkled his brow. “You’re probably dead right. Did I spill too much out there?”
“At first I thought you did. But on second thought, maybe your ‘honest and open’ approach is the best after all. Nobody can accuse you of holding back.”
“You see, the problem was this—they already had a poor translation of the papyrus circulating, so we had to correct that. The rest they’d have found out inevitably.”
“True enough. But you’d best batten down your hatches, pal, because a real storm is brewing. Mark my words.”
“What do you think’ll happen?”
“Anything. Remember, religion and fanaticism are next-door neighbors in too many brains in this world. Touch people’s faith and they go looney. You can expect anything from feces sent you in the mail—I mean real ones—to assassination attempts. How many are now dead because of Ru
shdie’s book? And that was fiction! The Fundies will call you and Jennings the ‘Judases of the Twenty-First Century,’ and that’ll be the kindest of their phrases.”
“Well, I’m more concerned about the effect on the rest of the Church. If our stuff proves authentic, how would you gauge the impact?”
“Devastating. Absolutely devastating! Sure, it won’t bother some of our liberals, but it’ll savage the faith of 98 percent of our membership. Christianity is tough enough to believe in a secular age. This could well-nigh do it in.”
Jon nodded, sadly. Then he asked, “By the way, how did the pope react?”
“He turned absolutely ashen when I brought him the first reports. Then he wanted to issue an immediate statement that the discoveries ‘must be an impious fraud,’ but I begged him to hold off until I saw you.”
“Let him go ahead with his statement, I’d say. It’d be a nice counterpoint to what’ll doubtless be some sensationalizing reports from that crowd today. But now you do have me worried, Kevin. Yeah, I’d best batten down those hatches!”
“Please stay in close touch, Jon. Here’s my private number at the Vatican. Favor an old friend and keep the Holy Father and me as closely posted as you can, will you?”
“Of course. I promise.”
Jon had no sooner stepped out of the Peugeot at Ramallah that night than two arms twined them-selves about his neck and he was pulled down for a delicious kiss. After that, Shannon asked, “So how did it feel to be the center of the world’s attention, my darling?”
“All I felt was this ache to be alone with you.”
“Oh sure, sure, Jon! That’s why you handled all those questions so brilliantly.”
“No way! And even if the old noggin stayed in gear, my heart was with you the whole time. By the way, I never had the chance to ask. How did your talk go with Gideon?”
“Maybe I should’ve been easier on him or broken the news gradually. He’s taking it very badly. He seemed shocked out of his mind.”
“Can’t say I blame him. If I lost you, I’d fall apart too.” He paused, and then added. “I can’t believe it. My eyes are actually getting filmy just thinking about that! What have you done to me?”
