In His Image

by James Beauseigneur

  A moment later Professor Goodman appeared. “How are you, Decker? How have you been?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “You look like you’ve put on some weight and lost more hair.” Decker cringed a little at Goodman’s recognition of what was obvious to everyone but himself.

  “And you must be Hope,” the professor said, looking in her direction. “I’ll bet you’d like to meet my grandnephew, Christopher.” Goodman turned toward the back door where a young boy was standing with his nose pressed against the screen, looking in. “Christopher, come in here and meet Mr. Hawthorne and his daughter Hope.”

  Decker had never seen Goodman so animated or in such a good mood. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr. Hawthorne,” Christopher said as he entered and extended his right hand.

  “It’s very nice to meet you as well,” Decker responded, “but we actually met about four years ago when you were seven. You’ve grown quite a bit since then.”

  Martha Goodman emerged from the kitchen with a plate full of chocolate chip cookies. “Oh, good. I love chocolate-chip,” said Professor Goodman.

  “They’re not for you,” teased Martha. “They’re for the children. Hope, would you and Christopher like to come out in the backyard with me and have some cookies and milk?” Hope—who didn’t like being thought of as a child but who did like chocolate-chip cookies—nodded and went with Christopher and Mrs. Goodman to the backyard.

  Decker and Goodman settled in for a long conversation. “Professor, you look great,” Decker began. “I swear, you look ten years younger than the last time I saw you.”

  “I feel great,” Goodman answered. “I’ve lost twenty-four pounds. My blood pressure is down. I’m even regular most of the time,” he added with a chuckle.

  “That’s another thing,” said Decker. “You seem … well, almost jolly. What’s going on?”

  Goodman looked toward the back door. Christopher was standing there with the screen door part way open, watching as Hope and Mrs. Goodman inspected some flowers. Certain he wouldn’t be missed, Christopher ran to his granduncle. From his shirt pocket he pulled two chocolate-chip cookies. Goodman took the cookies and accepted the hug that came along with them. Christopher put the side of his index finger to his lips to signify a pact of silence and then went over to Decker and reached back into his shirt pocket. As he did, he saw the results the hug had on the two remaining cookies. Looking at the badly broken cookie remains he offered them apologetically to Decker. Decker accepted graciously as Christopher gave the same code-of-silence signal and ran out the back door before he could be missed.

  “ ‘What’s going on?’” Goodman said, repeating Decker’s previous question. “That’s what’s going on.” Goodman nodded toward where Christopher had made his exit. “I may look ten years younger, but I feel like I’m forty again.”

  Decker knew from his last visit with Goodman that Christopher’s parents had been killed in an auto accident. His closest surviving relative was his grandfather, Goodman’s older brother, who was unable to take care of him because of his failing health. So Christopher had moved in with Harry and Martha.

  “Originally, I thought we were too old to take care of a child, but Martha insisted,” Goodman continued. “We never had any children of our own, you know. Christopher has been the best thing to ever happen to Martha and me. But, I was right—we were too old. So we just got younger.”

  Decker smiled.

  “Well, let’s get down to business,” said Goodman. “This time I think we’ve really got something. Let me go get my notes.” Goodman left the room for a moment and returned with three overstuffed notebooks. Two hours later it was clear to Decker that Goodman was right. Goodman had developed a vaccine for treating many of the viruses that can cause cancer, such as Rous sarcoma and Epstein-Barr. Further testing was necessary to determine if the vaccine development process was universal, and there would have to be actual testing in humans, but all of the tests to date had been remarkable, proving as much as 93 percent effective in lab animals.

  “So what you’ve done is to grow and support massive cultures of the C-cells, and then introduce the cancer virus in vitro,” Decker said. “In that environment, the virus attacks the C-cells, which respond by producing antibodies, resulting in the complete arrest and ultimate elimination of the virus.”

  “In a nutshell, that’s it,” Goodman concluded. “And if the vaccine development process proves out, it will probably be just as successful with any other virus, including AIDS or even the common cold. Admittedly, those will be a little tougher because of all the mutations of the AIDS virus and all the varieties of cold viruses.”

  “This is fantastic! I think I can guarantee you a major story on this. I’d be surprised if my editor doesn’t put your picture on next week’s cover.”

  “So, we’ll go with the same plan as before to explain the origin of the C-cells?” Decker asked.

  “There’s no reason to change it that I know of. I’ll say that I developed the C-cells through genetic engineering and that I can’t say more without revealing the process.”

  “Good,” Decker responded. “I’d like to spend some more time looking over your notes, but I promised Elizabeth we wouldn’t be late.”

  “I’m way ahead of you,” interrupted Goodman. “I’ve already made copies. Just make sure you keep them under lock and key and call me if you have any questions.”

  Goodman gathered his papers and the conversation soon turned to small talk. Decker told Goodman that after visiting with Elizabeth’s sister for a few days, he’d be going to Israel for six weeks to relieve the NewsWorld reporter covering the recent Palestinian protests. “By the way, do you remember Dr. Rosen from the Turin expedition?” Decker asked.

  “Joshua Rosen?” Goodman asked. “Of course. Seems I read something about him somewhere a couple years back.”

  “That was my story in NewsWorld,” Decker responded. “I sent you a copy.”

  “I remember it now. It was something about him leaving the U.S. and going to Israel after they cut his program from the defense budget.”

  “Right. Well, he’s still there. They finally granted him citizenship. I’ll be staying with him for a couple days.”

  “That’s right, I had forgotten about that. He wanted to become an Israeli citizen but they wouldn’t let him,” Goodman recalled.

  At that moment Martha Goodman, Hope, and Christopher came in the front door from a long walk. “Would you and Hope like to stay for supper?” she asked Decker.

  “I’m sorry, we really can’t,” Decker answered.

  “Are you sure? I know that Christopher would enjoy Hope’s company for a while longer.”

  “Thanks, but Elizabeth and Louisa are expecting us,” Decker explained. Soon they said their good-byes and Decker and Hope were on their way.

  As the miles rolled by and the highway scenery grew redundant, Hope told her father about her visit with Christopher and Martha Goodman. “We had a lot of fun,” she said. “He’s really a nice kid. It’s a shame he’ll be thirteen in a couple years.”

  “Why’s that?” Decker asked.

  “Because thirteen-year-old boys are so obnoxious,” she answered.

  “Obnoxious?” Decker said. “I thought you saved that term for your little sister.”

  Hope didn’t answer but her father’s comment reminded her of something. “Mrs. Goodman said that it’s tough on Christopher because he doesn’t have any brothers or sisters to play with and there’s no one else his age in the neighborhood. She said that she and Professor Goodman were both only children, too, and that I was really lucky to have a little sister. I told her I didn’t think so. So, anyway, if it’s all right with you and Mom, I told her she could have Louisa to keep Christopher company.”

  Decker rolled his eyes. “Real funny.”

  “Yeah, Mrs. Goodman didn’t think you’d go for it, either.”

  As they continued their trip Decker’s thoughts went back and forth between his discussion with Goodma
n and his planned trip to Israel. He looked forward to visiting with the Rosens, and he especially looked forward to spending some time with his old friend Tom Donafin, who had joined NewsWorld magazine a few weeks earlier. He was not, however, looking forward to being away from Elizabeth, Hope, and Louisa for so long, although they would be joining him in Israel for Christmas.

  They were now about a hundred and twenty miles from Los Angeles. The temperature was near perfect. The sun would be setting soon. Suddenly Decker took his foot off the gas pedal and let the car drift to a stop on the shoulder of the road.

  “What’s the matter, Dad?” Hope asked.

  But Decker didn’t answer. For a long moment he just stared as if in shock. “How could I have missed it?” he asked himself out loud.

  “What?” Hope asked.

  “We’re going back,” he said finally. Hope tried to object, but it was fruitless. Decker forgot all about his promise to Elizabeth not to be late. Two hours later they were back where they had started at Goodman’s house, with Hope, who was still operating on Eastern time, asleep in the backseat. Decker went up to the front door and knocked.

  Goodman and Christopher opened the door together. No one spoke for a moment; Goodman just stared at Decker in confusion. Christopher stood beside him dressed in pajamas, his hair still damp and freshly combed after his bath.

  “Did you forget something?” Goodman asked finally. But Decker had already stooped down to Christopher’s level and was closely examining his facial features.

  “Hi, Mr. Hawthorne,” Christopher said. “It’s so nice to see you again. Can Hope come in and play some more?” The intensity in Decker’s eyes began to melt away, until he looked back up at Goodman, who was staring down at him.

  “What on earth is the matter with you?” Goodman asked.

  Decker stood up again. “You did it. Didn’t you?”

  “What are you talking about?” Goodman said, trying to appear calm and in control.

  “You know very well what I’m talking about!” Decker answered without hesitation. Goodman felt like a rabbit in a snare. Could Decker have meant something else? he asked himself.

  “The cloning!” Decker blurted.

  “Christopher,” Goodman said as calmly as he could, “Mr. Hawthorne and I need to talk for a while. Go back in the house. Tell your Aunt Martha I’m on the front porch.”

  Decker waited until Christopher closed the door before speaking again. “You cloned the cells from the Shroud!” Decker said in a whisper so loud and emphatic he may as well have been shouting. “Christopher isn’t your brother’s grandson! You don’t even have a brother! You were an only child!” he blurted, abandoning any pretense of discretion.

  The night was warm and the moonlight shone on Mrs. Goodman’s flowers; their fragrance filled the air, but it went totally unnoticed by the two men. Goodman looked closely into Decker’s eyes, examining his face for any sign of a twitch that might signal that Decker was bluffing. He found none.

  Decker didn’t flinch, but he was bluffing, at least a little. While he now knew that Christopher could not be Goodman’s grand-nephew, that certainly was not conclusive evidence he was the clone of the man on the Shroud. The story about Goodman’s brother might have been created for dozens of other reasons that had nothing at all to do with the Shroud.

  “Decker, you can’t tell anyone. You can’t,” Goodman pleaded. “They’ll make him a zoo specimen. He’s just a little boy!”

  Decker shook his head, stunned that he had been right. “That’s why you named him Christopher, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Goodman answered, realizing that the damage had already been done and hoping to inspire a cooperative spirit in Decker.

  “After Christ!”

  For a moment Goodman honestly didn’t understand what Decker meant, then it hit him. “Christ?! Don’t be absurd!” he said, indignantly. “Columbus! I named him after Christopher Columbus.”

  “Why in the world would you name him after Columbus?”

  The question surprised Goodman, who thought the answer was obvious.

  “I told you I had made the greatest discovery since Columbus discovered the New World. I wasn’t just talking about finding the cells or the possible medical benefits. I was talking about Christopher. I had already successfully implanted the cloned embryo in the surrogate mother, and she was several months into an otherwise normal pregnancy. I never expected it to work. It shouldn’t have worked! Cloning a human is far more difficult than you can imagine. But the C-cells proved so resilient that transfer of the genetic material to the surrogate’s egg worked the first time. I was going to tell you about it, but you got so bent out of shape when I mentioned cloning that I didn’t dare.

  “Don’t you see, Decker? I’ve proven that somewhere out there in our galaxy there’s life! The man on the Shroud may have come from the same race of people who first planted life on this planet four billion years ago. I thought if I could clone the man on the Shroud, I could learn more about them. I hoped it might lead us to that master race. I hoped that like Columbus, Christopher might help lead us to a new world—a better world.

  “After Christopher was born I studied him. I watched him. I tested him. And you know what I found? Not an alien; not a god. What I found was a little boy.”

  “He’s not just a little boy, though. He’s the clone of a man who lived nearly two thousand years ago.”

  “But he has no memory of any of that. For all he knows, he’s just a normal eleven-year-old.”

  “And you’re saying that there’s no difference between Christopher and any other kid?” Decker asked incredulously.

  “Yes, all right, there are some differences. He’s never been sick and when he gets a cut or scrape he heals quickly. But that’s all.”

  “He seems awfully intelligent,” Decker countered.

  “He is intelligent,” Goodman conceded, “but not exceptionally so. Besides, both Mrs. Goodman and I have spent many hours working with him at home in addition to his schoolwork.”

  “Mrs. Goodman?” Decker asked. “Does she know about Christopher?”

  “Of course not. After he was born I paid the surrogate and dispatched her immediately back to Mexico to prevent any problems that might arise from bonding. I rented an apartment and hired a nurse to take care of him. I know it sounds terribly irresponsible now, but I had absolutely no plans about what I was going to do with him as he got older. I was so involved with the overall project that I didn’t think about the child as a person. By the time I realized my responsibilities, he was nearly a year old. I couldn’t just leave him on the doorstep of some orphanage, so I left him on my own doorstep. I put him in a basket, left a note, the whole nine yards. Martha had always wanted children, and after a few days of taking care of him while we ‘considered what to do,’ it wasn’t very difficult to convince her that we should keep him in case the mother ever came back looking for him. Later we made up the story about him being our grandnephew and I had a birth certificate and some other papers forged to cover our tracks.

  “Decker, maybe it was a mistake to go through with the cloning. If you’d like, you may say ‘I told you so.’ But I don’t regret it. He’s been like my own son. If you report that Christopher is a clone you’ll destroy three lives: his, mine, and Martha’s. Christopher will never have another normal day in his life. You can’t do that to him. You have children. Can a story in some stupid magazine really be worth that much?”

  Goodman waited for Decker to answer, but Decker didn’t like the answer that came to mind. No, he didn’t want to ruin Christopher’s life, but there had to be some way to tell the story and still protect those involved. The standard promise of anonymity wouldn’t work. It was too big a story. Someone would figure it out. And if he didn’t use names and explain the circumstances, no one would believe the story anyway. There had to be some way around it. He needed time to think.

  Goodman provided the answer. He had waited so long for Decker’s response that he
began to worry he wasn’t going to get the answer he wanted. “Look,” he said, “why don’t you come back here next week and spend some time getting to know Christopher better?”

  Goodman hoped that once Decker got to know Christopher he wouldn’t want to risk hurting the boy no matter how big the story. It sounded like a good suggestion to Decker as well, but for a different reason. It would give him the time he needed to think, and if he did figure out something he would have a lot more information for the article.

  Decker’s answer was implied. “Can’t do it next week. I’m going to Israel, remember?” Then a thought hit him. It was a long shot but Decker’s career had been built on long shots and being at the right place at the right time. “How about if I take Christopher with me to Israel? Who knows? Maybe it will jog his memory a little.”

  Anger swept over Goodman’s face. “Are you crazy! Absolutely not! How would I explain that to Martha?”

  “Okay! Okay! I just thought it would be a neat idea.”

  “Well it’s not!” Goodman shot back.

  “Look,” Decker said, preparing to strike a bargain, “I’ll keep my mouth shut for the time being. I’ll be back from Israel in January, so plan on having me around for at least a week or so.”

  Goodman swallowed hard. He was thinking more along the lines of a few hours, a day at most. He agreed anyway in hopes of arguing later for a compromise.

  Decker and Hope were soon on their way again, nearly six hours later than they had planned. Decker wondered how he was going to explain to Elizabeth why he was so late.

  6

  Secrets of the Lost Ark

  Nablus, Israel

  “TOM, HOW DO YOU TAKE YOURS?” Joshua Rosen asked as he poured coffee for himself, his wife, and his two American guests. Tom Donafin wanted his black. Decker started to answer but Joshua interrupted. “I don’t need to ask you. I remember. You like yours with too much cream and too much sugar, just like you’d serve it to a baby.”