Tintoretto snarled back, “I cannot stand by and see the Board of Antiquities squander its scientific credibility to support this obvious forgery!”
He glared at her. “If it is such an obvious fraud, then why are you the only person to condemn it as such?” he asked. Before she could answer, he turned to the reporters. “Ladies and gentlemen of the press,” he said. “I regret that this woman could not put her prejudices on hold for a single day to let us mourn our dead. But we will not let hatred from rigid atheists or religious fanatics silence the truth of our findings. The Pilate scroll was, in fact, spared from the blast because it was being transferred to the main museum at the moment the suicide bomber struck. We are still determined to share both the scroll and its contents with you tomorrow, to show that the enemies of scientific truth and professional integrity will NOT be allowed to win! I invite you all to be here at three PM tomorrow to see the ‘Testimonium Pilatus’ for yourself. At that time we will reply to all the objections made by Dr. Tintoretto in detail. And as for you—” He rounded on the former board member in fury. “You, madam, are trespassing on museum property. You will vacate the premises immediately or I will have you physically removed!”
She paled. “You would not DARE!” she snapped. “I am an employee of this museum!”
“Not anymore,” he said. “I spoke to the board on the way over and they have just unanimously agreed to terminate your contract. Now, I would politely ask you to depart!”
Tintoretto stormed off the steps and disappeared into the crowd of journalists as the reporters’ cameras clicked furiously. Guioccini watched her depart and then walked into the museum, ignoring their shouted questions. Josh turned the TV off, picked up the bottle of pills, and went back to Isabella.
Her tears had stopped, but her eyes were still red with grief. He gave her a Percocet and sat on the edge of the bed. She took his hand in hers and pressed it to her cheek, closing her eyes for a moment or two. Then she looked at him directly.
“I don’t get it, Josh,” she said.
“What don’t you get?” he asked.
“You say that God loves us so much that He sacrificed Himself for us in the person of his only Son. You say that He hears and answers prayer. You say He deserves our absolute love and devotion,” she said.
“I believe all those things to be true,” he said calmly.
“Then why is there so much shit in the world?” she asked bitterly. “Why do children starve, and good people die of cancer, and innocent girls get raped and evil clerics blow up innocent people in the name of Allah? Why is Giuseppe dead?” Unable to contain her emotions, she broke into fresh sobs.
Josh looked at her long and hard. “If you expect that my faith somehow gives me all the answers to the unfairness of life, you are going to be disappointed,” he said. “I don’t know all the answers. I have asked the same questions of God that you just asked me. But I do know a few truths that might just help you understand a little,” he said.
“Right now I need all the help I can get,” she said.
“OK,” he said. “Here goes. There are two things that keep this world from being the perfect place God made it to be. The first of these is what has cursed man from the beginning—the fact that God made us with free will. Since the garden, every man and woman has been free to choose their own path. There are people in the world who voluntarily choose to do evil. God usually does not stop them—not because He is complicit in their evil, but because He will not force someone to behave as He wishes them to. Secondly, and hand in hand with that, there is the presence of sin. Sin is the cancer that eats up everything that is good in people and replaces it with bile and hatred. Sin is what twisted Dr. Tintoretto’s life and filled her with anger and misery. Sin is what drives fanatics to murder in the name of a supposedly compassionate god. Sin ties us in knots and keeps us from reaching for the good and perfect life that God has waiting for us.”
She nodded, understanding but not convinced. “And there is something else,” Josh added. “That is the fact that God is omniscient and we are not. When something like today happens, all we see is the short-term pain and anguish and not the eternal consequences. Sometimes great evil can be turned into an even greater good. And sometimes pain is the way that God draws us nearer to Himself. Did I ever tell you about my cat, Lovecraft?”
Isabella actually laughed a bit. “You named your cat after a writer of Gothic horror stories?” she asked.
Josh sighed. “I told you I was a total nerd,” he said. “Lovecraft was a pretty Siamese, friendly and approachable. Far and away the best-natured cat I have ever owned! Of course, she had to be, given that I was a very typical mischievous teenager. But one evening, we went off to Wednesday church services, and Lovecraft the cat found her way into our garage. Dad had been bass fishing that Saturday, and left a rod and reel leaning in the corner with a lure still on it. The lure was something called a ‘Devil’s Horse’—about three inches long, shiny, and with three treble hooks attached to it. I guess the lure was hanging free and the cat batted at it with her paw. The treble hook bit in and got hold of her. The more she yanked and pulled, the deeper it went. So, being a cat, she tried kicking at the lure with her back claws to make it let go—and she got a hook in her back leg as well. By now the rod was broken and the garage has got fishing wire everywhere. When panic and flight did not work, Lovecraft tried aggression again. She BIT the lure to make it let go—and got a third treble hook through the cheek!”
Isabella looked at him, laughing and crying at the same time. “I think I know that feeling!” she said. “Everything you do makes the situation worse!”
“Exactly!” Josh said. “So we get home from church and Dad’s fishing rod is smashed, there is fishing line all over the garage, stuff is strewn everywhere, and in one corner, tangled in a huge ball of fishing line and miscellaneous things that had gotten caught up with her, was my poor cat, yowling, hissing, and ready to claw the eyes out of anyone who got close!”
Isabella was giggling now, as the Percocet took hold. “So what did you do?” she asked.
“I wasn’t able to do anything,” Josh said. “I was only ten years old. But my Dad got a beach towel and threw it over the cat, wrapping her up tight. Then he uncovered one pierced cat member at a time, pushed the hook through the wound until the barbs came out the other side, used wire cutters to cut the barb off the hook, and then pulled it back out. You should have heard the cat howl! It sounded like she was being disemboweled! And despite the towel and two pairs of hands helping, she still managed to claw my dad up pretty good. After he got the last hook out and cut her free of all the fishing line, she bit him for good measure, went streaking out of the garage and under the house, and did not come out for two days!”
“Poor kitty!” Isabella said.
“The thing is,” Josh continued, “to her limited understanding, Dad was just torturing her. There was no rhyme or reason to his actions that she could understand. All she felt was the pain. But the whole time, he was actively working to free her from the mess she had gotten herself into. And she clawed and bit him for his troubles!”
Isabella was quiet now, her rich brown eyes staring up at Josh.
“That’s us,” he said. “That’s our whole world. We are so caught up in our own sin, our own misery, and their consequences that we can’t even begin to see a way out. And when God tries to help us, we fight back because we can’t see the situation from his perspective. All we see is more pain, so we lash out at Him. But the whole time He is just patiently trying to extricate us from the mess we landed ourselves in by our own stubbornness and pride.”
Isabella was quiet for a very long time, and he thought that perhaps she had gone to sleep. But when she spoke, her voice was soft but very clear. “Thank you, Joshua,” she said. “It doesn’t make everything better—but it helps me understand. A little. I still wish Simone and Giuseppe did not have to die.”
Josh’s own tears started up again, surprising him. �
�Me too,” he said softly.
“I love you,” she said as she faded off to sleep.
“I love you, too,” he breathed softly. He held her hand for a long time, and then limped in to the couch to call his parents.
* * *
Hundreds of miles away, Ibrahim Abbasside watched the evening news with disgust. The fool Hassan had blown himself up and let the very thing he was seeking to destroy get away! The scroll would be read to the press tomorrow and there was nothing anyone could do to prevent it.
Abbasside stepped outside and paced under the light of the moon for a while. The sobs of his fourth wife could still be heard from their bedroom. She was only fifteen, and pleasingly proportioned, but had made the mistake of talking to him during the news broadcast. The bruises would heal soon enough, he thought, and perhaps she would have a better understanding of a junior wife’s place when they did.
So the scroll was going to be read and publicized, he thought. The infidel Italian woman, Tintoretto, had already created a narrative of fraud and disbelief around it—may Allah grant her mercy! he thought. Of course, the authorities would then announce that the scroll itself must be tested to verify its age. That meant that, at some point, it would have to be moved, he mused. That could present an opportunity—to do what?
If the scroll were destroyed before it could be tested, then its claims would lose much validity. In time, it would be forgotten, and the religion of truth could continue to grow and thrive, while the heresy of Christianity would continue its slow decline. That was it, he nodded. He would have to get close enough to the museum to be ready to strike the moment the scroll left the grounds there, which would mean abandoning his long-time sanctuary. But, he decided as he strolled back into the small cinderblock building he called home, this time there would be no intermediary to carry out the job. Sometimes, he thought as he walked past his cowering child bride, if you want a job done, you just had to do it yourself.
NEW DETAILS EMERGE IN MUSEUM BOMBING
AL QAEDA LINK CONFIRMED
(UPN) Authorities continue to investigate the deadly terror attack in Naples, Italy yesterday, when eight people were killed at a research lab that is part of the National Museum of Antiquities complex. The attack killed archeologist Giuseppe Rossini, paleobotanist Simone Apriceno, Cardinal Heinrich Klein, a renowned archeologist with the Vatican Museum, British journalist Valeria Witherspoon, Museum security guard Lucien Luccatori, and an American couple, Tristan Wooten and Brooke Blue, who were vacationing in Naples and were struck by wreckage from the blast.
The suicide bomb was made up of approximately 1500 pounds of ammonium nitrate fertilizer rigged with an electronic detonator. The bomber, Ali bin-Hassan, has been confirmed to be a high-ranking Al Qaeda leader who trained in Afghanistan with Osama bin Laden. He sent a video statement to several media outlets proclaiming that he was acting in order to prevent the ‘Testimonium Pilatus,’ a recently discovered first century manuscript that reportedly describes the trial of Jesus of Nazareth, from being read to the press at a conference scheduled for Friday.
Ironically, the blast did not destroy the ancient papyrus scroll, which was in another building at the moment the explosives were detonated. The Museum has announced that the postponed press conference will be held Saturday, despite the fact that one disgruntled board member has denounced the discovery as a fraud. Security around the Museum has been beefed up in anticipation of the press conference.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Josh woke up the next morning with a groan of agony. Every muscle in his body ached with a pain that was only surpassed by the throbbing of his head. He slowly levered himself upright, trying to remember where he was and why he hurt so much. He saw that he was in an unfamiliar apartment, and then the memories came crashing in. The lab destroyed, his friends dead, priceless artifacts gone forever . . . the memories hurt almost as much as his injuries. He picked up the bottle of painkillers and staggered to the sink, pouring himself a glass of water, and took two of them. Then he looked at the clock and saw it was nearly nine in the morning. His muscles were beginning to loosen up a bit, and he limped down the hall to Isabella’s room a bit more steadily than he had stumbled to the kitchen.
She was still sound asleep, her face finally relaxed and calm. Her blouse had ridden up a bit, exposing her perfectly toned belly. A single scabbed-over scratch, courtesy of broken glass from the lab, marred its feminine perfection. He lovingly pulled the blanket over her and sat down. She stirred and gave a deep groan, then opened one eye.
“Josh?” she said. “What are you—” Then her face resumed its grieved expression as she remembered the awful events of that dreadful Friday. Finally she let out a long sigh. “I was so hoping it was all a dream,” she said. “But I know it wasn’t.”
“I woke up thinking the same thing,” Josh said.
She sat up with a deep groan. “I am not sure what hurts worse,” she said. “My body or my soul!”
“Well, I can pray for one and provide narcotics for the other,” Josh said. She gave him a faint smile and took the Percocet gratefully. She swallowed the pills with several gulps of water and rubbed her eyes.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“A little after nine in the morning,” he said.
“I guess we had better get to the museum before noon,” she said. “Why don’t you let me take a shower and get dressed—unless you would like to go first?” she added.
“All my clean clothes are at the hotel,” he said with a rueful smile. “You go ahead and get ready and then you can walk me there. Or better yet, catch a cab. It’s only a few blocks, but I am not terribly steady on my feet just yet.”
“All right,” she said, sitting up. The effort caused a wince of pain. “I keep thinking I will find some part of me that does not hurt,” she said.
“I’m still looking,” he replied. “So far, my left ear and my right pinkie finger are about it.”
She got up slowly and grabbed a few things, then trudged down the hall to the bathroom. Josh limped into the kitchen and looked in the fridge. He saw some eggs and a few slices of smoked ham, and decided to make some breakfast. In a few minutes he had a frying pan heated up, and was grilling the ham with a dash of butter. After it was lightly browned on both sides, he pulled it up with some tongs and cracked about a half dozen eggs into the bowl. He stirred them with a whisk, adding salt and pepper, then diced the ham and stirred it in.
“That smells delicious!” Isabella said as she walked in a few minutes later, toweling her hair dry. She had opted for a simple pair of khaki pants and a beige blouse, with a small golden pin in the shape of a dove on the left side.
“I realized neither of us has eaten a bite since breakfast yesterday,” he said. “And, no matter how bad the heartbreak, the body still needs fuel. Grab us a pair of plates, please.”
The eggs and ham disappeared very quickly, and each of them drank a cold glass of water to wash it down. Josh quickly washed and rinsed the dishes, and Isabella put them away. Both of them were feeling the pain fade from their bodies as they stretched, walked, and used their sore and bruised muscles. The Percocet helped, too.
By the time they were done, Josh decided that maybe the walk to the hotel would do him good. It was about six blocks, and they covered the distance quite rapidly, considering all they had been through. About 100 feet from the front door, however, Isabella grabbed his arms and pulled him into the front door of a curio shop.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Look around the hotel entrance!” she said.
Sure enough, about two dozen reporters, most of them with cameras around their necks, were milling around, waiting for Josh to come out. He let out a long sigh, looking down at his clothes, which were still filthy with ash, dirt stains, and blood. What would the papers make of him showing up with a freshly cleaned and showered Isabella, while still wearing the clothes he had survived the explosion in?
“Go into this shop for a moment, and wait f
or them to leave,” Isabella said.
Josh looked around the corner doubtfully. “I don’t see any tents,” he said, “but that looks like a pretty permanent base camp to me. We’ll still be here at suppertime if we wait for them to disperse on their own!”
She gave him her first real smile since the explosion. “Dr. Parker,” she said, “just watch me work!” She brushed past him and took off toward the hotel at a brisk pace that belied the pain he knew she must be feeling from yesterday’s trauma. She got within about twenty feet of the press corps before one of the photographers recognized her, and within moments they were thronging around her, asking for comments. Josh could hear her strong clear voice over the traffic.
“Gentlemen, Dr. Parker will not be down for at least an hour—he is still very sore from the blast and just woke up a few moments ago when I called him. I would like to make a statement, but if it is all right with you, let’s walk over to the museum steps before I speak. It’s a much better backdrop for the cameras, don’t you think?” she asked. Josh watched in amazement as she headed down the street with the press following meekly behind her, looking like a flock of sheep following a shepherdess to their watering hole. He waited a few minutes, purchased a newspaper at the shop, buried his face in it, and walked over to the hotel.
Forty-five minutes and one very long, hot shower later, he emerged from the elevator into the lobby to find Isabella, Dr. Martens, and Alicia waiting for him. He greeted them warmly and gave Isabella an affectionate kiss. “You really saved me just then,” he said. “There was no way I could have faced that pack in my condition!”
The Testimonium Page 31