"Just what is it you think I can help you with?"
"Doctor Hamilton, I need you to use your cloning techniques to reproduce the life of he whose form is indelibly seared into these fibers."
Steven felt the impact of realization hit him like a hammer. “You mean...?"
"Yes, Doctor Hamilton. I need you to clone Jesus of Nazareth for me so that he might live once more."
Steven wasn't sure he was processing this revelation correctly for a moment. He had a vague awareness of falling back into his chair as a sense of unreality enveloped him. “Jesus,” he muttered.
"Precisely,” Angelino answered.
He sat shaking his head in disbelief. Then he looked up at Angelino. “You can't possibly be serious."
"I am very serious, Doctor. I need you to clone Jesus from this cloth."
Steven laughed, more out of anxiety than humor. “Do you know what you're asking? Do you have any idea how insane that is?"
Angelino and Susan remained silent.
"Haven't you been listening to the news? All cloning of higher life forms has been made illegal. Even if I wanted to help you, my hands are tied."
"Doctor Hamilton, think for a moment. Do you comprehend the implications of what I am asking you to do?"
Steven snorted, “Yeah ... a huge fine, jail, and the total ruination of what little remains of my career. Does this look like some dark castle in Transylvania to you? You're crazy if you think I'm going to participate in something like this."
Angelino's blue eyes sparkled and Steven found himself unable to turn away from them. There was something different about this priest. In the dim light of the laboratory, he imagined that he saw a border of light outlining Angelino's form. A sense of dreamlike unreality overcame him. With great effort he broke eye contact.
Angelino smiled gently and said, “Is what I ask within the capabilities of your methods?"
"I don't know. Maybe. But you're not listening to me. What you want is illegal and the government is very serious about this stuff. They're watching me very closely."
"Doctor Hamilton, put aside all of that for a moment and think about this. Suppose you are successful and can recreate The Master. Do you realize how historic it would be, to have Jesus himself here in this lab with you? Think of all the questions he could answer for you. The doubts he could remove, the answers he could provide not just to you, but all of mankind."
Steven's imagination was triggered by the suggestion. Yes, it would be a remarkable event. And how he would love to be able to quiz Jesus about the events of his life. How accurately had the story been passed down over the centuries? Was he merely man, or was he indeed, God? He could probe that question with a scientist's eye, not the emotionalism of the religious believer. What's the matter with you, Hamilton? This is insanity.
"I see in your eyes this idea intrigues you, Doctor."
"Yes, Angelino, I confess it does. What scientist wouldn't be intrigued by the chance of talking face to face with the most influential man who has ever lived?"
"Then you will help us?"
He thought deeply for a few moments, avoiding the penetrating eyes of Angelino, as if fearing that they would pull from him the answer his heart wanted to give, but which his head knew he could not.
"I'm sorry, Angelino, but I must refuse your request."
"I see,” Angelino's disappointment was apparent.
"Don't look at me like that. You are asking me to risk everything I have worked my entire life to build."
"Am I, Doctor? I thought I was asking you to give some true meaning to that which you have built."
Angelino's words hit Steven like a hammer.
Angelino pressed his advantage. “What good is science if it doesn't lead mankind to answers?” He gestured toward the half-packed boxes. “What does all of the work you have invested over your lifetime matter, if it is all reduced to a room full of cardboard boxes?” Angelino grew more intense. “Doctor Hamilton, we came here today bearing a great gift for you—the opportunity to discover a secret that all of mankind wants answered—and you sit there paralyzed by petty fear, afraid to open the door for which we have provided you the key."
Steven merely stared back at him silently.
"Your discovery will undoubtedly lead to many wonderful things ... cures for many diseases and birth defects, increased longevity for the human species, and many other benefits that we can only begin to imagine. You yourself testified to that before the Senate committee the other day. Of what value is the elimination of disease and longer life if the deeper questions of life remain unanswered?"
Steven finally spoke, “Angelino, it was the fear of the answer to those questions that led to my research being outlawed."
Angelino leaned forward over Steven's desk and confronted his gaze. “And you are willing to slither away with your tail between your legs because some small-minded cowards were not willing to face their own nature?"
Steven winced.
Angelino said loudly, “If so, Doctor Hamilton, then you are an even bigger coward than those whom you look at with such disdain. They at least are being true to their own fears. But you ... you have allowed those whom you consider weak and small to dictate your own destiny. You have allowed them to reduce you to their own petty, small stature."
Steven glanced toward Susan. He had almost forgotten she was present. Her face was soft and kind and she looked at him with sadness. Shame welled up within him and he lowered his eyes, unable to look directly at either of them.
Angelino turned to Susan and said icily, “Come, Ms. Morgan. It seems that we have made a mistake coming here.” He turned abruptly, without waiting for any response from her, and headed toward the door. Susan followed, glancing once over her shoulder back at Steven, before following Angelino.
"Angelino ... wait!"
They both stopped. Angelino turned slowly. “What is it, Doctor Hamilton? We have much to do, so please be brief."
Steven rose from his chair and walked over to him so he could look directly into his eyes. “Angelino, you're right. I did not come this far only to end my career as a coward. I'll do it."
Angelino's face softened and he smiled broadly, taking Steven by the shoulders affectionately. “Wonderful, my friend.” Then he smiled at Susan, who was smiling herself and said, “You see, Ms Morgan. All is unfolding as it must."
"Yes, Father Angelino. I understand."
"When would you like me to start?"
"We do not have time to waste, Doctor Hamilton. I suggest we begin now."
"Now? You mean like now, this minute?"
"Yes, Doctor Hamilton. I believe that is what now means."
Steven just shook his head and muttered, mostly to himself, “Christ, this is heavy.” Then to Angelino he said, “I have to call John Barber. I'm going to need him to help me."
Angelino nodded. “I hope he's not as stubborn as you are."
"Even more. But he is pissed ... um ... excuse me, Father, I mean angry enough with the powers that be that I can pretty much assure you he will do it just to defy them."
"Then, let us begin, Doctor Hamilton. Time is of the essence."
* * * *
RAY CUTLER WAS a throwback to an earlier era. As a small boy he watched with admiration as Edward R. Murrow almost single-handedly dismantled the demagoguery of the witch-hunter Joseph McCarthy. From that time on, Ray never wanted to be anything but a reporter.
As a child, when his friends were at the playground playing baseball, little Ray would set up a cardboard box, with a large rectangular opening cut into it, and pretend he was delivering the news on television. When he entered high school, one of the first things he did was sign up to work on the school newspaper. He became its editor in his junior year.
There was no doubt among those who knew him when he graduated Northwestern University's School of Journalism that he would make his mark. Their predictions came true very shortly thereafter when the young reporter found himself stationed in Saigo
n as the first salvo was fired, marking the beginning of the famous Tet offensive in January of 1968. His on-the-scene reports and courage under fire earned him the respect not only of his peers and superiors in the industry, but that of the American public as well. Soon, comparisons to his own personal hero, Edward R. Murrow, who had risen to fame while reporting from the rooftops of an England under siege, were being made. He developed a reputation for hard-hitting honesty and a unique knack for finding an original angle to even the most mundane story.
After the war, he found himself assigned as the White House reporter for CBS news, and almost immediately landed in the thick of the scandal that would eventually bring a president to the brink of impeachment, forcing his resignation in disgrace—Watergate. He displayed an impartial tenacity in reporting the events of Watergate, which made him the only reporter in Washington who was equally liked by Democrats and Republicans. It soon became a political coup to be the subject of one of his famous one-on-one interviews, which were a staple of prime time television during the 80's. To appear on Ray Cutler's The Nation, it was said, was worth seven to eight approval points in the polls.
So it was no surprise when newspaper mogul Peter Arlington announced he was forming the new cable news network NBS and that Ray Cutler would be asked to sign on as its Managing Editor. NBS debuted with the most successful opening in television history. In just a few short years, NBS had risen to parity with the three major networks, and was generally considered superior in its political reporting. Ray had one inflexible rule—get the facts and keep your personal views out of the story. All sources had to be checked, not just twice, but three times, for a story to make it on the air. There was only one exception to that rule—when the reporter himself was the source of the story.
Ray was mulling all this over as he contemplated a move that would put a reputation built over decades at risk. On the other hand, it was precisely because of that pristine reputation that no one but he could get away with running such a wild story. What was the value of a reputation if it could not be taken advantage of for something important? He was perhaps the only newsman in the world who could do what he was about to do. He studied the tape he held, of Susan's feed of Father Angelino's message. Are you willing to risk your entire career on the word of man you don't even know? He smiled to himself when he had to admit that was, in fact, the essence of his business—trusting those he did not know personally.
In the intervening weeks since that night in Susan's hospital room, he had tried in vain to find her. She had disappeared the next day, along with the mysterious cleric, Angelino. Repeatedly, he had attempted to convince himself he had been the victim of some elaborately staged hoax. He knew what he had witnessed that night, however it might have defied the laws of nature and common sense, had indeed happened just as he had witnessed it. Angelino had brought Susan back from the dead. He and Doctor Mancini had discussed Susan's medical condition in great detail, and there was no doubt that the extent of her injuries had been fatal.
For the past few weeks, he had been wrestling with himself about what he had come to refer to as The Angelino Tape. Although he found what Angelino had to say quite unbelievable on the one hand, on the other he trusted the priest, and not exclusively because of the act he had observed in the hospital. There was something about Angelino, which Ray instinctively trusted. Having spent the greater part of the past twenty years interviewing and reporting the ongoings of politicians, he had, like most who inhabit that strange world of expediency and disingenuousness, developed a cynicism about man's ability to act without deviousness and with noble purpose. Perhaps Angelino was that rare man of integrity. He had watched the tape repeatedly, training his experienced eye on the gentle priest, looking for something in his eyes, his facial expression, or his body language that might betray dishonesty, and never finding it. If Angelino were a liar, he was the best he had ever seen, and he had seen some of the best.
Ray interrupted his musings, his decision made. He picked up his phone and dialed the extension for Sally Burns, the Director of Promotions. “Sally. Ray here. Listen, I'm going to send you down some promotional copy that I want you to get on the air as soon as you can. I have a huge story here and we need to get it on the air right away. I want you to run it as much as you can. We'll go with the story tomorrow night at eight o'clock. I'm doing the lead."
"You're doing the lead?” Ray rarely appeared on camera anymore. This must be one big story. “Will do, Chief,” she said and hung up the phone.
Ray hit the “SEND” key on his computer, which would deliver the copy he had already composed down to Sally. Then he walked over to his private safe and deposited the tape in it, closed the door, and turned the dial, locking it. Only he and his secretary, Marge, had the combination. He felt lighter for having decided, he always did when he made a tough call. He hoped his usually reliable instincts had not betrayed him this time.
He lifted the phone to make another call. He didn't want Peter Arlington to be blindsided by the story. He owed him that much.
* * * *
"THE RENEGADE PRIEST has still not been found, Number One."
"That is not good. He could be a problem for us."
"Also, we have just learned that the girl still lives."
"How can that be?"
"I am not certain, Number One. Her wounds were fatal, but she, too, has disappeared."
"Undoubtedly she is with the priest. They must be found."
"We will find them."
"Yes, you will,” Number One's voiced carried a hint of menace. “We have planned this far too long. The Agenda must be fulfilled."
"Yes, Number One. I understand."
* * * *
"YOU'RE GOING TO what? You called me back here to enlist me in this ... this ... craziness. John was waving his arms in disbelief. “Who are these people?” he said, pointing at Angelino and Susan as if they weren't in the room with them.
"My name is Angelino, and this is Susan Morgan.
"Are you the maniacs behind this looniness?"
Angelino nodded politely, despite the insult. “Yes. The plan is mine."
"Steven, you can't be seriously considering this."
"Calm down, John. Yes. I've thought it over and Father Angelino is right. Our work means very little if we don't take it to the limits. Come on. Tell me that the idea doesn't intrigue you just a little."
"It does not!” John said, with a little too much emphasis.
"Come here,” Steven said, leading him over to the unfolded shroud. “Take a look at this. Do you know what it is?"
John gasped and looked at the priest, then back to the shroud. “Is this the Shroud of Turin?"
"Yes."
"The one that was stolen?"
"More or less, Doctor Barber,” Angelino's eyes twinkled playfully.
"Why, you're nothing but a common thief.” Then to Steven, “We should be calling the police and turning these two fruitcakes in."
Steven laughed. “John, when did you become a messenger for ‘The Man'?"
"That's not funny, Steven."
"Okay, okay. But just look at it, would you please?"
Reluctantly, John got down on his knees to study the Shroud. Immediately, his scientific curiosity took over. He had heard so much about the Shroud and he had assumed that the controversy surrounding the scorched image had been manufactured. It couldn't possibly be as detailed and realistic as he had read. Yet, here before his very eyes, he could see that whatever processes that might have burned the image into the shroud had produced a perfect photographic negative. The mystery of the image had remained undiscovered until the arrival of modern photography, when someone took a picture of the shroud and was shocked to see that the negative of the photo displayed a perfect positive image of the man on the shroud.
John was overcome with the realization that he might be touching the very burial cloth of Jesus himself. “My God it's beautiful. What are those burn marks?"
"The shroud was in
a fire several hundred years ago. Those marks were made by melted silver searing the cloth.” Angelino answered.
"I see. Steven, do you have a magnifying glass?"
Steven rummaged through one of his packed boxes, produced a large magnifying glass and handed it to John.
"Hmm ... This image doesn't seem to be burned in. It looks like it penetrates the entire fiber.” He continued to move the glass up and down the shroud then stopped abruptly. “Are those stains...?"
"Blood?” Angelino finished the question for him. “Yes, Doctor Barber. Those stains are the very blood of Christ."
John fell back onto the floor and let out a disbelieving sigh. “My God."
"John,” Steven said. “What do you think? Can we use those blood stains for our culture?"
"Maybe, Steven. Obviously, as much as the shroud has been handled over the centuries, the blood stains are the only DNA that we can be assured came from the person who was buried in it.” Then he caught himself. “Steven, this is insane. Do you know how much trouble we could get in for this? Count me out.” He rose to his feet, ready to walk out.
Steven blocked his path to the door. “John, listen to me for a minute."
"I'm not going to do this, Steven, so save your breath."
"John, I reacted just as you are now. I understand how you feel. The whole idea is crazy, yes. But think about if for a minute. What if it works? What if we can clone Jesus Christ? Do you know what that would mean?"
He seemed to be listening.
"John, we have nothing to lose. If we fail, no one even needs to know that we attempted it. But if we succeed, what better way to shove it back in the faces of those Neanderthals who have made our research illegal?"
This point brought a sly smile to John's face. “You know, it would be worth it just to see their faces. Hell, after that, they can lock me up and throw away the key for all I'd give a shit."
Steven said seriously. “John, will you help me?"
"I don't know, Steven...."
"I'm going to do this with you or without you. I would much prefer that it be with you."
John sat down and appeared to be in deep thought. He stood up after a while and walked back over to the shroud, pacing up and down its length for several minutes. Steven was about to say something but Angelino waved him silent. This decision was John's to make, on his own.
Shrouded Destiny Page 11