Shrouded Destiny

by Richard William Bates

  "Please, Monsieur. Do not shoot me. I have a family.” Why did they always think an attacker would care one whit whether his victim was going to leave behind any survivors or not, Arnold thought to himself wryly.

  "Why have you been following me?” he demanded, pressing the nozzle of his pistol a little harder into the man's ashen face.

  The man was frozen with fear, obviously not having anticipated this turn of events.

  "Talk! Who are you? Why are you following me?"

  "Please, I ... I ... I mean you no harm."

  "Who are you?"

  "My name is Claude Chambleau."

  Arnold stepped back, recognizing the name. “Chambleau? Are you any relation to Robert Chambleau?"

  The mention of his cousin's name seemed to be a sincere surprise to Claude, who blinked for a moment before responding. “Why, oui. How is it you know of him?"

  "Never mind that. Why are you following me?"

  "Is it possible you might lower your weapon, Monsieur? Guns make me very uncomfortable, especially when they are pressed into my face."

  Arnold considered the request for a moment as he sized up the diminutive Chambleau. Convinced he posed no physical threat and certain he could run him down if he attempted to flee, he slowly lowered his pistol. He did not holster it, however. No point in letting his guard down completely.

  Claude relaxed noticeably. “Thank you, Monsieur Wills."

  "Why are you following me?"

  "May we go somewhere and talk, Monsieur? It is not healthy for me to be seen in public with you,” he said, looking around anxiously.

  Arnold saw Claude was genuinely afraid of being discovered with him.

  "We can go to my hotel."

  "No, Monsieur Wills. That is too conspicuous. Please come with me. I keep a small flat not far from here. We will be able to talk there. You are in grave danger, and I have some of the answers I think you are looking for."

  "What answers?"

  "Monsieur, please! Not here."

  Arnold did not quite know what to do. This sort of intrigue would have been more up Julian Michaels’ alley than his. He knew he would never pull the trigger on the small man who stood before him. He could only hope Claude did not know that, or at least was not willing to risk it, if he was to keep his advantage. He could be walking in to a trap, although he doubted it. But then, Julian had not seen the trap he had walked into, either. Arnold guessed whoever his enemies in France might be, they were quite possibly shared by Claude. He was a frightened man, and it was not likely it was solely because Arnold had gotten the drop on him.

  "Alright. Let's go,” Arnold said. “But no funny stuff.” He waved the gun as a reminder, feeling somewhat silly doing so.

  Twenty minutes later, Arnold found himself in a small apartment located above a dry cleaner. It was in disarray, although it appeared clean. Books and papers were strewn everywhere. A half-filled teacup, surrounded by more books and papers, sat on a large round table that was the clear focal point of activity in the room. Beyond that, there was nothing sinister or out of the ordinary. Arnold knew from Julian's report that the Chambleau family was one of the wealthiest families in Paris, yet Claude seemed to have chosen a more modest lifestyle than the rest of his well-placed family.

  "Please, Monsieur Wills, sit down. I have a story to tell you.” Shooting a look at the pistol still in Arnold's hand, he added, “and I tell a better story when I am not staring down the barrel of a pistol."

  "Sorry,” Arnold said, somewhat sheepishly, holstering the pistol he did not need.

  "Thank you, Monsieur,” Claude said gratefully. He sat down at the table and gestured for Arnold, who was still standing, to take a seat opposite him at the table. “May I get you some tea? I'm afraid I have no coffee to offer you. We Europeans do not share the American taste for coffee, I fear.” He attempted a feeble smile.

  "No, thank you, Mr. Chambleau. I'm fine."

  "Very well. First, please accept my apology for following you. I meant no sinister intent. I was merely looking for an opportune moment to approach you for the conversation we are about to have. I know who murdered your friend. And I know why."

  Arnold leaned forward with grave interest. His eyes met Claude's. The man did not flinch from his gaze. Now that he felt safe, his demeanor had become more confident.

  "You know?"

  "Oui."

  "And you did not bother to report this to the police?” Arnold felt his anger rise.

  "I'm afraid that would be impossible, Monsieur Wills. The police are controlled by the very people who murdered your friend. If they knew I knew, it would be certain death for me."

  "Come now, Mr. Chambleau, you are being overly dramatic, aren't you?"

  Claude grew earnest. “Oh no, Monsieur. I assure you the dangers are real ... both to me and to you. You must know that, given the fate of your friend. You must take me seriously, sir."

  Arnold leaned back and made a gesture for Claude to continue.

  "You have heard of the Exalted Council Of Most Highs, I presume?"

  "Yes, but only recently, when that nutso priest, Angelino started talking about it."

  "Do not regard Father Angelino so lightly. He is not the fool the church has made him out to be. Surely you must understand how vital it has been for the church and its master, the Council to discredit him. He is the first person with inside knowledge of the Council to ever publicly expose it to outsiders. When I am finished, you will perhaps understand a little better why he did so."

  To Arnold's annoyance, he produced a cigarette and lit it. Claude ignored the grimace on his face and offered the pack to Arnold, who declined. The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders and returned the pack of cigarettes to his pocket.

  "Angelino's story about the history of the Council was more or less factual. Select members of my family have had a permanent seat on the Council since the days of the Knights Templar. So secret is this arrangement that seldom do others in the family know this. One of our descendants was a highly ranked member of the Order of the Knights Templar. They play an important role in my story. But I am getting ahead of myself.

  "The Council is watching you. You are not safe here. You must believe me when I tell you they will not hesitate to kill you."

  "I'm sorry, but I just find it difficult to believe this Council could be anywhere near as powerful as you say it is."

  "Is that so, Monsieur Wills? Do you think if they can kill a Pope without blinking an eye they will have any compunctions about killing you?"

  "What you saying?"

  "I am saying exactly what you think I am saying. The death of Pope Timothy I was not from natural causes. Number One himself delivered the fatal blow. Timothy's successor, Gregory MacArthur, the current Pope, stood nearby as the fatal knife thrust was delivered.” He watched closely as Arnold's expression turned to one of disbelieving horror.

  "Yes, Monsieur Wills. You see we are dealing with people for whom murder is not only tolerated but is a standard method of achieving its goals. The modern day mafia is unknowingly modeled after the Council. One does not earn a seat on the Council if they have not demonstrated their willingness to commit murder. Of course, to them it is not considered murder. To them it is merely a method for advancing the Agenda. Any person, organization or even government which stands between them and the accomplishment of that agenda will be eliminated, if they cannot be compromised or enlisted in some other way."

  "But why kill the Pope?” Arnold was still grappling with disbelief, hoping to find a reason to move into denial. It wasn't going that well.

  "Timothy was a serious liability. He was a lifelong friend of Angelino and the Council could not afford to take the chance that friendship would cause him to question his allegiance to it ... or worse, to work against the Agenda. Of course there was little chance of that ... Timothy was loyal ... but the Council will never rely on chance when it has a way of eliminating or reducing it. Monsieur Wills,” he said gravely, “these are serious people
who take no chances. So, again, I caution you, do not imagine they will hesitate to eliminate you just as they did your friend."

  "I see,” Arnold managed to utter softly.

  "Angelino is an unknown variable to these people, as are the alleged Twelve Knights of the Ascension he revealed to the public. Despite the tight control the Council has had over events both here and in the Americas, it had no knowledge of the existence of such an organization. At first, its members were inclined to regard it as a fantasy or maybe even a huge bluff calculated to flush the Council out into the open. Indeed, it was only then that they made their move on the papacy. So to a certain extent, whether by design or happenstance, the Council was flushed out to some extent.

  "But the real shock was the cloning of Jesus. The Council has good reason to believe him to be a fraud."

  "What reason?"

  "The secret your friend discovered before he was killed. It was the last thing he saw before his life was taken from him. There are two shrouds, Monsieur Wills."

  The American was thunderstruck. “What? What do you mean two shrouds?"

  "I mean what I say, Sir. The Council has had the original and authentic shroud under its control for nearly 600 years, hidden in the bowels of the de Charny estate."

  "The de Charny family? I know of them. Julian attended a banquet in their honor the night before he disappeared. They are an honored family of France, aren't they?"

  "Oui. One of the most revered families of France, to be exact. The de Charny family was entrusted with the Shroud many centuries ago. They were entrusted with a secret which was known to only a few men in the entire world ... there were two shrouds. One was displayed publicly. It is a forgery. An excellent forgery, but a forgery nonetheless. The true shroud was to be hidden from the public. In exchange for guarding this secret, the de Charnys were ensured honor and riches for all time and a perpetual seat on the Council.

  "The appearance of Jesus, cloned from the Shroud, was a disturbing development for the Council. Soon, however, they realized this Jesus could not be authentic, as the shroud from which he was cloned could not possess any of his DNA. That is what they thought ... and it is what they continue to believe."

  "What are you saying?"

  Claude laughed loudly. “The world is full of irony, is it not, Monsieur Wills?"

  Arnold could only stare back in bewilderment.

  "The Council intends to join forces with Jesus ... the artificial Jesus ... and use him toward their own ends.” His demeanor changed to one of contempt. “They are fools!” he spat with venom. “Arrogance is the fatal weakness of the powerful, Monsieur Wills. It blinds them to the flaws in their own thinking."

  "What arrogance are you referring to?"

  Strangely, a broad smile crossed Claude's face.

  "The Council has been betrayed by its own belief in its infallibility, Monsieur. Yes, there are two shrouds. And, yes, one of them is a forgery. But the forgery is the one which hangs in the castle of Gerrard de Charny.” He could not contain himself from laughing loudly.

  "Don't you see?” he managed through tears of laughter, to a somewhat confused Arnold Wills, who was not seeing the humor. “They have allowed the real Jesus to be cloned! They do not know this, however. They think the Jesus they hope to align with is a counterfeit, a tool they can use to their advantage. Imagine their shock when they discover they have unleashed the one force which can stop them.” He continued laughing for several more minutes before finally regaining control.

  "How can you be certain which shroud is the forgery?"

  "Let me show you.” Claude produced a photo, taken from the video of Angelino's first television address. It was the scene where Angelino had displayed the Shroud for all to see. He produced a magnifying glass and held it over the lower corner of the photo.

  "Do you see the crest etched into the Shroud, Monsieur Wills?"

  Arnold nodded.

  "That is the de Charny family crest, a red cross overlaid on a white rose. It is a variation of the crest of the famous Knights Templar, to which the de Charny family once belonged."

  "What does it mean?"

  "It means, Monsieur Wills, the Shroud in this picture is the authentic Shroud. That seal was placed on it by the de Charny family centuries ago as a way of marking the original, should the need ever arise to identify it. It will be just a matter of time before the Council makes this discovery, if it hasn't discovered it already."

  Arnold did not see much significance to this revelation, but it was clear Claude enjoyed contemplating the perceived defeat of the Council. Certainly it did not answer the question that was most important to him.

  "What does all of this have to do with Julian Michaels’ murder?” he demanded.

  "Didn't you hear what I said?” Claude was not through with his previous point.

  "Yeah, I heard you. I don't see the importance of it, however. It seems to me the Jesus who has been cloned by those GEP boys is not what many people expected. I am not convinced he will be inclined to stop the Council. Some of my colleagues seem to feel Jesus has his own agenda."

  Claude slumped back in his chair, deflated.

  "That would be terrible,” he said quietly. “He is the only hope mankind has to defeat the agenda of the Council."

  Arnold sat silently. Maybe he better give Claude's concerns some credence. He could do that later. He wanted answers and was beginning to tire of the game Claude was playing.

  "Claude, tell me about Julian."

  "Your friend was killed because he discovered the existence of the second Shroud."

  "I see."

  "It took my de Charny about thirty seconds to see through his cover. Your friend never had a chance."

  "Why are you telling me all of this? How do I know I am not being set up to be the next victim of the Council? How do I know I can trust you?"

  "That is a fair question ... and one you have a right to know the answer to.” He gestured to the disarray of the books and papers strewn around the small flat. “When you look at how I live, you must think I am some sort of recluse who lives within the world of his books and writings. You would not be entirely wrong in that assessment, Monsieur Wills. Research is my first love. It is my research which has uncovered something I could not ignore."

  He stood up and began pacing as he continued.

  "Are you familiar with the legend of the Holy Grail, Monsieur Wills?"

  "My expertise on the grail legend begins and ends with the Monty Python movie,” Arnold said wryly.

  "I have a story to tell you, Monsieur Wills, unlike any story you have ever heard before,” Claude said, gravely. Then he added, “And every word of it is true, however unbelievable it may seem to you. Once I am finished, perhaps then you will know why I betray my own family and its heritage."

  In spite of himself, Arnold's natural curiosity grabbed hold, and he sat back to listen to Claude's tale.

  * * * *

  "SUSAN, I DON'T know how you did it, but I thank you,” Ray Cutler said over the telephone.

  "Has he arrived yet?"

  "He just got here. They have him in makeup now. What did you say to him to convince him to be interviewed?"

  "I really didn't have to say much, which makes me a little suspicious. I just mentioned it to him, he thought for a moment, and then agreed."

  "Just like that?"

  "Yep. Just like that."

  "Well, I have never been one to stare a gift horse in the mouth. I'm grateful."

  Susan smiled on the other end of the connection.

  "Ray, I owed you. We both know it."

  "And don't you forget it,” Ray cracked.

  She laughed softly, then added seriously, “Ray, watch yourself. I think Jesus is doing this interview for his own purposes. I sure wish I could fathom his agenda. Don't let him use you."

  "Susan, I've never done an interview yet in which the subject was not hoping for some sort of push from the interview. Don't forget, once upon a time they said an interv
iew by me was worth as much as eight rating points in the polls,” he smiled. “But I don't think Jesus needs any help in the polls from me. 98% approval rating is pretty solid support."

  "I hear you. Just be careful, okay?"

  "I always am, Susan. I've gotta run. We go live in about ten minutes and I still haven't been to wardrobe. Thanks again. Let's see what comes from all of this."

  "Goodbye, Ray. Break a leg."

  Ten minutes later, Ray, feeling a bit awkward, found himself sitting next to Jesus. Ray had deliberately kept the set simple, just the two of them with no distracting flashy background. He wanted no distractions to intrude on the content of the interview. He had asked for, and received, permission to broadcast without commercial interruption, much to the consternation of the suits in accounting. Well, they had their priorities and he had his, and at this point in time it was he who had the greater influence.

  As was his custom, he had no prior contact with the subject of his interview. He always preferred his interviews be fresh and spontaneous and therefore he would never consent to pre-agreed questions, nor would he tip off his guests to the questions he was going to ask. Jesus had agreed to those conditions without protest. Crowley and Mathias had not been pleased by that.

  The familiar bumper for NBS Reports faded into the background and Ray, yet one more time in his illustrious career, faced the live camera.

  "Good evening. I'm Ray Cutler. Tonight I'm told we will probably be the most watched television program in history, as my guest this evening is none other than Yoshua ben Yoseff, to use his given name, which translates in our language to Jesus, son of Joseph. To us he is known as Jesus of Nazareth. Jesus, allow me to welcome you both to our program and to the twentieth century."

  The surrealism of the moment was not lost on Ray as the camera closed in on the face of Jesus.

  "Thank you, Mr. Cutler."

  "It goes without saying, Jesus, no interview in the history of civilization has been quite as momentous as this one. I'm grateful you have at last allowed this close-up look at you. Mankind has been waiting for this moment for two thousand years."