"Sure. If you can take the abuse, I'll be happy to dish it out."
Harold chuckled. Although he and Stuart were as far apart politically as two men could be, they had somehow formed a close bond and friendship as only those isolated in the lonely world of Washington politics could. “How does it look for Tuesday morning ... say, a nine o’ clock tee time?"
"Nine o'clock is fine. Five dollars a hole, as usual?"
"Hell, Stuart. You're the one with all the millions. How the fuck did you ever become a liberal anyway?"
"I got smart, Harold. When you going to catch up?"
"Ok, five dollars a hole. But I warn you, I've been practicing."
"Not that you needed to."
"I can see it's time to teach the Honorable Senator from Massachusetts a long overdue lesson in humility. I'll see you Tuesday morning."
"Ok. Look forward to it."
"Me too.” And then more seriously, “Thank you, Stuart. This looks like this could become a political hot potato and we are going to both need each other, I think."
"Glad to help out."
"Goodbye, Stuart."
Harold sighed to himself as he hung up the phone. It was going to be good to see his old friend, but he was not going to enjoy going up against him yet again.
* * * *
POPE TIMOTHY FINGERED the keys of his computer with the clumsiness of one who had never formally learned to type. Being of the old school, he did not enter the world of cyberspace joyfully. He recognized, however, that it was necessary for the church to stay abreast of the secular world in the things that could affect it. The church had learned its lessons with Galileo, and he wasn't going to let it be embarrassed again like that on his watch. There was no doubt that computers and the internet mattered these days. After his initial reluctance, he actually found himself enjoying excursions on the net. Often, during these late hours, to relax and for amusement, he would enter one of the various religious chat rooms—anonymously—and listen to the conversations, even participating in them from time to time. It was quite enlightening and educational for him to eavesdrop in this way. Plus it was kind of fun to be able to just be one of the people again. It often saddened him how isolated he had become from the normal life he had once enjoyed so thoroughly. Oh well, that was the trade-off he had made in order to serve God as he had been commanded to do. He got a kick out of wondering what the people in the chat rooms would think if they knew that one of their co-participants was the Bishop of Rome himself.
Displaying uncharacteristic humor, he had chosen the screen name WHOLEY MOSES.
The Pope clicked on the icon that dialed into his internet provider, listened for the familiar screeching sound of the modem ... handshaking someone had told him once ... as it negotiated its connection. Soon he was greeted with
*** WELCOME! YOU ARE NOW CHATTING IN “CATHOLICISM” ***
At the right of the screen was a separate panel, filled with the screen names of all the others who were in this particular chat “room.” He noticed several that seemed to always be there. He wondered if they ever slept, or if instead they simply handed the keyboard off to someone else in a form of chat room relay. It was hard for him to believe that some people might actually spend that much time in front of their computers.
SUE1699:—I think it was some satanic cult, myself.
ROGER DODGER:—Why, Sue? Just because someone steals a relic doesn't mean that it was satanically inspired.
SUE1699:—I know that, RD. It's just my opinion
HEAVENLY DOVE:—Well, your opinion is just plain silly, Sue.
WHOLEY MOSES:—Are you talking about the theft of the Holy Shroud?
JOHN THE BAPTIST:—Yep, WM.
WHOLEY MOSES:—What do you think about that?
SUE1699:—I think that the shroud was taken by Satanists.
WHOLEY MOSES:—What makes you say that?
SUE1699:—It just stands to reason, doesn't it?
HEAVENLY DOVE:—Sue, your reasoning is faulty. There are a lot of people who could have stolen the shroud.
TOMMY TUNE:—Hi, everyone? ... what's up?
HEAVENLY DOVE:—Hi, TT. We're talking about the theft of the Shroud of Turin. SUE thinks it was stolen by Satanists. :)
JOHN THE BAPTIST:—Personally, I think it was stolen for ransom. Does anyone know if a ransom demand was made yet?
TOMMY TUNE:—Not that I've heard, JTB.
WHOLEY MOSES:—What is your theory, Heavenly?
HEAVENLY DOVE:—I kinda side with JTB on this one. Ransom.
WHOLEY MOSES:—If you had taken the shroud, HD, how much would you ask for ransom?
HEAVENLY DOVE:—Hmmm ... Millions, WM
WHOLEY MOSES:—You think its worth that much?
HEAVENLY DOVE:—Oh, yes! It was the cloth that Jesus was buried in ... that's priceless.
JOHN THE BAPTIST:—You believe that nonsense, Heavenly?
HEAVENLY DOVE:—It's not nonsense, John.
JOHN THE BAPTIST:—Yeah, right.
Suddenly, a small window opened on Timothy's screen. He recognized this as the private message window, in which one could engage in a private conversation with another, if both parties agreed. The message in the window made Timothy gasp out loud.
ANGELINO:—It's a bit late for you, isn't it Ronald?
Brazenly, Angelino had not bothered to even disguise his identity with an alias. Timothy felt his face grow red as a seething anger began to percolate within him. He pounded on the keyboard in response.
WHOLEY MOSES:—How dare you!
Angelino typed back the universal abbreviation that meant laughing out loud.
ANGELINO:—LOL. You never had much of a sense of humor, did you? But as weak as your sense of humor was, you were Jerry Lewis next to Gregory. How is ol’ Gregory, anyway?
The Pope ignored the jibes.
WHOLEY MOSES:—Return the Shroud!!
ANGELINO:—Shroud? Whatever gave you the impression that I had the shroud? ... What use could I possibly have for it?
Timothy's anger was boiling now. The frustration of years was taking over his psyche.
WHOLEY MOSES:—You will not get away with this, Anthony.
ANGELINO:—But I already have, Ronald.
WHOLEY MOSES:—So! You admit you stole the shroud?
ANGELINO:—Did I say that?
Pope Timothy struggled to compose himself. His hands were shaking with rage as he typed.
WHOLEY MOSES:—Damn you to Hell! Stop this game. We both know that you stole it. What I want to know is ... why?
There was a long pause before Angelino responded. So long that Timothy feared that his nemesis might have been disconnected from the internet.
ANGELINO:—Alright, Ronald. No games.
WHOLEY MOSES:—Where is the shroud?
ANGELINO:—Do not worry. It is safe.
WHOLEY MOSES:—You expect me to believe you?
ANGELINO:—Have I ever lied to you?
WHOLEY MOSES:—You have lied to God, Himself. Why would I expect that you would not lie to me?
ANGELINO:—I have never lied to God, Ronald. What I do, I do for God ... I do for all of Mankind.
WHOLEY MOSES:—To steal from God's Holy Church cannot be the will of God.
ANGELINO:—Ah, my poor, poor friend. After all these years you still do not understand, do you?
WHOLEY MOSES:—I understand enough to know that your soul was long ago condemned to burn in Hell for eternity.
ANGELINO:—Why is it that men like you ... men who the world honors and respects ... why is it that you are all soulless?
WHOLEY MOSES:—Soulless??? Have you forgotten that I am your Pope?
ANGELINO:—Forgotten? Not at all. You bear the title with as much pomp and ceremony as any man who has ever held the title, Ronald. It was always your deepest ambition to become Pope, although I never really understood why.
WHOLEY MOSES:—No, I suppose you didn't. Godless men like you cannot know what moves the hearts of men like
me.
ANGELINO:—Oh, that's good, Ronald. I think after lying to yourself for so many years you have even begun to believe those lies yourself.
WHOLEY MOSES:—What is it you want?
ANGELINO:—Want? What could you possibly have that I would ever want, Ronald?
WHOLEY MOSES:—God's forgiveness.
ANGELINO:—God's forgiveness is not yours to bestow.
WHOLEY MOSES:—You never believed did you? Not really.
Timothy almost felt the sadness of Angelino's words.
ANGELINO:—You are very wrong, Ronald. I believed with all my heart and soul. I still do.
For a moment, it was no longer foe vs. foe, it was Ronald Johnson, friend and companion of Anthony Angelino Sabbatini, and his heart filled with compassion.
WHOLEY MOSES:—What happened to you, Anthony? Why did you lose faith?
ANGELINO:—Fairy tales were replaced by truth, Ronald. I guess I could ask, why did that never happen for you?
WHOLEY MOSES:—Faith has brought me to where I am today.
ANGELINO:—Really? And just where is it that you think you are?
WHOLEY MOSES:—I am the leader of the Holy Roman Catholic Church. The true representative of God on earth, descended from Peter himself.
ANGELINO:—And this has made you happy?
Timothy felt his anger start to rise once again. He was being patronized and by this ... this ... pagan!
WHOLEY MOSES:—Happiness awaits those who serve God in this life in the life that follows.
ANGELINO:—Ronald, are you familiar with the concept of “cattle?” You should be, since you belong in a large and mindless herd.
That was the last straw.
WHOLEY MOSES:—Enough of this! I will not debate you any longer. Return the shroud at once.
ANGELINO:—The shroud does not belong to you, my old friend.
WHOLEY MOSES:—The shroud is the property of the Roman Catholic Church. I demand that you return it at once.
ANGELINO:—Or what?
Timothy was almost spitting, his frustration was so profound.
WHOLEY MOSES:—I will excommunicate you from the church
ANGELINO:—Oh, please don't throw me in the briar patch, bre'r Pope. You will not excommunicate me, Ronald, and you know it.
Angelino was right and Timothy knew it. He had regretted his empty threat as soon as he had typed it. To excommunicate Angelino would merely divide the church at a time when he could not afford that to happen. He had been solidifying the church, slowly returning it to the traditions of the days before the Second Vatican Council in 1965, which had, in the minds of many Catholics, perverted the mission of the Church. It was a very delicate time for the Catholic Church. That was why this theft of the Shroud, a very important relic of the church whatever scientists might think of its validity, infuriated him so intensely. Although he would never have admitted it out loud, he tended to agree with SUE1699. The Devil's minions were indeed at work, thwarting his Holy Mission.
Timothy sat fuming, staring at the computer monitor.
ANGELINO:—You still there, Ronald?
No response.
ANGELINO:—Am I excommunicated yet?
Timothy was torn between wanting to rip the phone line out of the wall and hurl the monitor across the room in rage, and trying to draw some information from Angelino that might help him identify the location of the Holy Shroud.
WHOLEY MOSES:—How did you know how to find me here?
ANGELINO:—It wasn't hard, Ronald, although I must say, your screen name threw me a bit ... uncharacteristically humorous and clever.
WHOLEY MOSES:—You always thought you knew me better than you did.
ANGELINO:—Did I, Ronald? Are you sure I don't?
The Pope wasn't about to be detoured down that road.
WHOLEY MOSES:—What do you intend to do with the shroud?
ANGELINO:—I have not admitted to having the shroud, Ronald. But, to humor you, let's assume that I do have it. What if I were to tell you that the shroud carries within it the entire hope for the human race? What would you say to that?
WHOLEY MOSES:—I would say that I am exceedingly suspicious of your true plans. What is it you want? ... Money? How much do you want?
ANGELINO:—My dear friend. I do not need, nor do I want your money. I intend to save mankind. My intentions run no deeper than that.
WHOLEY MOSES:—What do you mean “save mankind?” Why do you think it needs saving?
ANGELINO:—Your enemies grow stronger, Ronald, yet you are blind to the true evil that confronts you. Those you trust will betray you. Those with whom you ally yourself will ultimately destroy you.
WHOLEY MOSES:—You talk in riddles, Anthony.
ANGELINO:—Have you forgotten already what Father Michael warned you about back at St. Mary's?
WHOLEY MOSES:—What??
Father Michael. How long had it been since Timothy allowed himself to remember that dear old priest who had taken the three of them under his wing? His gruesome death had been horrifying to him as a young student in the seminary. His murder had never been solved.
ANGELINO: You never believed the warning he was giving us.
WHOLEY MOSES:—What do you mean? You never believed either.
ANGELINO:—Hear me well, my old friend. Father Michael was telling the truth. Mankind and the earth itself, are about to be destroyed by forces which have been plotting its destruction for two-thousand years.
WHOLEY MOSES:—Nonsense!
ANGELINO:—It is true, Ronald. And only the shroud can save us. There is much work to be done. I must leave you now.
With that, the window closed and Angelino was gone.
Timothy sat for a moment, staring blankly into the screen. Absent-mindedly, he clicked the appropriate buttons to disconnect himself from the internet, too lost in his own thoughts to think to say goodbye to the other members in the room. His anger had turned to deep concern. Angelino was dangerous. Dangerous to the faith, dangerous to the Doctrine. Too many young people in the church were being seduced by his permissive ideas. If it ever got out that Angelino was the one who stole the Shroud, the damage it would to do the traditions of the Catholic Church would be devastating, perhaps undoing everything Timothy and MacArthur had worked so hard to achieve. Perhaps he did not need to look any deeper than that for Angelino's true motives. Angelino had always disagreed with the direction in which they had been leading the Church.
Surely God would not allow Angelino to thwart the Church's mission. His cause was God's cause, and he fully expected that He would favor his efforts. God always tested His servants and this was simply one such test. He would not fail God. The thought of that was unthinkable. With that final thought comforting him, Pope Timothy I rose from his chair and headed to bed for some much needed sleep.
* * * *
DAVID WARRENGER STUDIED the printouts cautiously. “Steven, it certainly looks sound to me. You're sure about these figures?” Under other circumstances the question would have been an insult to someone of Steven's experience and stature. But these were not normal circumstances, and he took the question in that spirit.
"Yes, David. We've double-checked the findings over and over, isolated any variables that could account for the apparent duplication ... and I mean every variable, even some that never occurred to us before. It's perfect exact replicant cloning."
"Have you told anyone else about this?"
"Of course not."
"Okay. Good. You're not going to like this, but I want you to repeat the experiment again, step by step.” He saw Steven's face flush ever so briefly.
"Yes, I know, Steven. It is overkill. But before we announce this, I'm going to make absolutely certain there aren't any booby traps in the data. If we make this public and some pre-grad student from some bumfuck two-bit college bordering a cornfield in Iowa finds something we've overlooked, we'll never have a chance to do this again. No one will take us seriously, and quite frankly, if that happens, they s
houldn't."
Warrenger could see Steven did not relish the idea of recreating the process yet again. They had run this experiment until they could do the process in their sleep. But he knew it was the right thing to do. The scientific community was often more credulous than one would have believed possible on the one hand, and on the other hand, did not forget or forgive easily if it was taken in by a sloppy experiment, however well-meaning its proponents might be. Too much rode on this to let the egos or impatience of his scientists get in the way. Warrenger also knew that even with mountains of data to support him, many scientists were going to have a hard time believing they had accomplished what they had. To some—the mindless lemmings Steven had often called them—just because they believed that something wasn't expected to be done for twenty years meant that doing it any sooner wasn't possible. They had to be absolutely certain.
"John and I will get started right away,” Steven said with resignation.
"Thank you,” Warrenger said. He rose and headed for the door. As he opened the door, he turned back and said, “Steven, congratulations. This is huge."
"Thank you, David. We'll start the experiment right away. We should have something for you in a couple days."
"That fast?” He still could not completely grasp just how remarkable their discovery had truly been.
"Yep. That fast."
"Oh. Okay. Keep me posted."
Rather than pleasing him, the news made his stomach tighten. This was all happening way too fast. It was almost as if these scientists were suddenly seeing something so obvious that, like Poe's purloined letter, it was overlooked because it was there right in front of them all along.
As the door closed, Steven shrugged his shoulders and quipped to John, “Well, you heard the man. Send in the clones."
Chapter 3
HAROLD BENNETT'S TEE shot began curling right, homing in on the thickest rough of the hole as if equipped with a gyroscope programmed to place it exactly there.
"Bah!” he snorted in disgust.
Stuart chuckled. “Harold, I thought you said you've been practicing."
Harold grinned sheepishly. “What can I say? I lied. I thought maybe if you thought I had gotten better it might intimidate you into playing badly."
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