It might have been the first time in Geri’s life that she’d crossed herself. But it seemed natural and right, so she did it. Then she put the wooden cup to her lips and drank the water from the river. Every drop.
“Amen,” said Brother Timothy.
“Amen,” echoed Geri.
The meaning of it all overwhelmed her. She was having trouble deciding which path to let her thoughts go down. The light in the cave began to seem much brighter. She lay down, prostrate, and let her conscious mind go.
February 26, 2006, 11:49 a.m.
Beneath the Monastery of St. John
Chora, Patmos
* * *
Jaime clearly heard the sound of running water over her earpiece and Geri and Brother Timothy talking about the river of life and drinking from it. The fact that there was a river explained why all the paths were leading down. This one was smooth but sloped precipitously, and it was all Jaime could do to keep from setting ahead at a jog.
Finally she succumbed, her penlight aimed at the ground, and let herself slip ahead more quickly. She was nearly running when she saw that up ahead the path flattened out. It was a relief. She nearly tumbled out onto the even surface and subconsciously realized it would take her three or four steps to stop her momentum.
She’d barely had time to make this realization when her third step on the walk didn’t hit a walk at all. She stumbled and realized there was no longer any floor in front of her. There was nothing.
She gave a small cry, knew her balance was lost, and tried to fling herself backward onto solid ground.
Jaime sat down hard, both her legs free-falling, realized she had no balance on the ledge at all, rolled backward, flinging her feet up, praying there was something, anything, there to hold them.
The problem was, there was nothing to grab hold of. There was a very narrow shelf, but she couldn’t get her balance on it. Hot tears burned her eyes. She didn’t want to tumble into an abyss. She didn’t want to die—at least, not this way!
“Please, God!” she cried.
Somehow, she managed to flip onto her stomach, with both hands on the ground. The shelf wasn’t wide enough to hold all of her, but she managed to get enough of her weight onto the wedge of earth that she stopped falling.
Jaime lay for a minute, afraid to move. Finally, she pushed herself back and lay on her side. She made herself lie absolutely still until she was sure that she was no longer falling. She breathed, feeling the firm earth beneath her hands. Her breathing was ragged, and her heart revved like a motorcycle.
She had to be more careful.
It occurred to her that she no longer heard anything from either Geri or Brother Timothy. She cautiously reached one hand up to her ear. The earpiece was gone.
Rats.
Was this it, then? Had she fallen for it, taken the “pirate path,” let the door to the world close behind her? Was she relegated to stay in this purgatory until she eventually died from thirst? It didn’t seem like a very pleasant way to go. Maybe it would have been better to hurtle off into the darkness and have done with it.
She measured the width of the shelf in her mind. If she was canny and careful, it seemed possible that she could creep back to where the passage led back up. She remembered very well that she’d tried the door after it had closed behind her, and knew it wouldn’t budge. But, if she could get back there, at least she could sit without threat of falling into the chasm before her.
But what was the best way to get there?
“Lord, help me; quiet my mind. Give me wisdom,” she breathed.
She didn’t dare sit up or even get onto her hands and knees. Instead, she laboriously pulled herself forward, an inch at a time.
It took her five endless minutes to reach the path she’d come down, at which point she felt secure enough to get up onto her hands and knees. As she continued to crawl forward, her hand hit something—which she found to be her earpiece. Thank God. Moving up into the pathway a foot or so, she took the handheld that she’d been clutching and checked that the tether was still strong. This was now her last link to humanity.
She wondered if she could complete a call from in here. To whom? Yani, of course. And tell him what? Come, chase down many dark passages, take whatever doors I try to describe that I took, and come be stuck with me?
Or, more likely, Go, get my backup, and use that person to find the kidnapped kids, like you should have in the first place. When you’ve successfully completed the mission in the way you wanted to all along, come find me. I’ll wait here.
She would almost rather thirst to death.
Yani was treating her as incompetent, or so it felt. As if to prove him right, here she sat, stuck, between heaven and earth.
She tried to find a signal, to know if she even could get a call out. It looked iffy.
Jaime knew she needed to center herself, to start thinking clearly, to think outside the box. Or the passageway.
She shone the light beam forward into the depth. She couldn’t see anything at all. No bottom, no sides.
Rats.
She took a moment to bemoan the fact that she was trying to stop swearing. Because if ever a time was made for swearing, this was probably a lot like how it would feel.
On the plus side, she did seem to have plenty of oxygen. And while it was chilly, she was wearing a jacket and was not uncomfortable.
She put the earpiece back into her ear but heard nothing. What was going on down there?
She sat in the pitch-black of the cave that had no beginning and no end and did her best to think.
February 26, 2006, 12:26 p.m.
Beneath the Monastery of St. John
Chora, Patmos
* * *
Geri was startled by the sound of the trumpet. It was vibrant and clear, and the tone was so rich that she felt it pulsate through her whole body.
Where did the sound come from?
She looked up and was amazed to find that she was outside and above her was the most incredible clear sky, a blue that was close to sapphire but shimmering. She felt a wind, and when she looked down to make certain she had her balance, she gasped. She was not standing on earth at all. She was high up in the clouds—clouds that billowed and churned. They were a bright, pure white, but they must have been reflecting the sun, because they were laced with gold. She reached out to touch them and found them soft.
It was then the voice spoke.
“Geri,” it said. It was not loud, but it was otherworldly and full of authority.
She gasped. Before she had time to figure out what to do, the angelic voice continued.
“Grace and peace to you from him who is, and who was, and who is to come! From him who loves us and made us to be a kingdom, and priests to serve his God and Father—to him be glory and power forever and ever! Amen.”
The trumpet began again, mixed in with the sweet sound of bells, and the clouds began furling and unfurling around her feet.
Geri trembled and felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned around, expecting to find some manner of heavenly host, but instead she found a man, dressed simply in a robe with a plain rope belt, standing behind her. He was clean-shaven and had silvering hair. When he spoke, his voice was comforting and sure.
“Grace to you, and peace, Geri. I am John, your brother and companion in the suffering and kingdom and patient endurance that are ours in Jesus. I was sent here to Patmos because I dared to teach the world of God. Many years ago, on the Lord’s Day, I was in the Spirit, and I, too, heard a voice like a trumpet.”
Geri couldn’t help herself. She grasped his arm as he stood slightly behind her, and held on to him for support. His smile was kind. With his free hand, he directed her attention to the sky before them.
“See what you also have been chosen to see,” he said. At this, there was a great swell of music and a swirling of light and color, and Geri had to hide her eyes, the light shone so brightly. And there in the distance was a large chair—a throne—and a circle of col
ors.
John rested a hand on her left shoulder, as if to say, It has all led to this.
As he continued, the throne disappeared and a large cloud descended in front of them. “Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth. I saw the Holy City, the New Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband.”
As she saw this before her, a shimmering city in the clouds, the first voice, the angel’s voice, said, “Now the dwelling of God is with men, and he will live with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away. He who was seated on the throne said, ‘I am making everything new!’”
No more death. The words resonated in Geri. No more death.
John, who still stood a step behind her, now pointed down, and she saw the cave, the very cave where she and Brother Timothy had sat by the river only minutes before.
John said, “Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, as clear as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb. No longer will the curse of death reign over humankind. Blessed are those who wash their robes, so that they will have the right to drink from the river of life and may enter the city by the gates!”
Geri sat down—right there, on the cloud above the cave—and she began to cry.
John knelt beside her. “I have waited for you,” he said. “For you and Brother Timothy, who will keep the secret of the river of life and bring the worthy here. You have been given the gifts and the means. When the time is right, you shall bring the worthy, that they shall not die, and God’s kingdom shall be established here on earth.”
She looked up at John, through her tears, and she nodded.
“Close your eyes,” he said.
She did so willingly. “The Spirit and the Bride say, ‘Come!’ Let him who hears say, ‘Come!’ Whoever is thirsty, let him come, and whoever wishes, let him take the free gift of the water of life.”
The wind blew, and briefly there was a pungent smell.
“Amen, come Lord Jesus,” said John.
Geri couldn’t stand it anymore. She fainted dead away.
February 26, 2006, 12:46 p.m.
Beneath the Monastery of St. John
Chora, Patmos
* * *
“Holy shit,” was all Jaime could think to say, even to herself.
Angels? Trumpets? The Apostle John? Whatever was happening, she had to get down there.
It was unacceptable to be stuck here. Simply unacceptable.
She stood up, grabbed her handheld from where it was still tethered to her belt loop, and stood up. She turned on the penlight again.
Jaime remembered Brother Timothy saying something to Geri as they walked, something about having courage and almost reaching a railing.
Supposing Jaime hadn’t taken a wrong turn? What if Brother Timothy and Geri had come this way? If you’d need to have courage in any part of your descent, this would be it.
Supposing Brother Timothy and Geri had made their way across this tiny shelf? Why would there be a shelf here at all, if this was just an abyss and nothing more?
Take courage, Jaime said to herself. She put her back to the wall and flattened herself as much as she possibly could. Then she started moving sideways. Her heels and half the ball of each foot were firmly on the ledge; her toes were over air. She shone the light stream just ahead of where she was walking. The ledge went on as far as the beam shone.
She began shuffling sideways.
She paused once and allowed herself to look back to where the path up disappeared behind her. Then she continued on.
Why would someone go to such trouble to build a shelf if it didn’t go anywhere? she asked herself.
Finally, she saw it. The railing of which Brother Timothy had spoken.
It took another couple of minutes of the sideways shuffle to reach it. But when she did, she found it was made of metal, which surprised her, and that it was solidly fastened into the ground.
Then it turned a corner, the shelf disappeared, and she was once again on a downward-sloping path.
Jaime allowed herself to exhale mightily and to start carefully down the path, never going faster or farther than her light would illuminate.
February 26, 2006, 12:46 p.m.
Research Laboratory
* * *
This is unbelievable! Britta read and reread the data she had produced earlier that day. The odds of four very different subjects having such similar, almost twinlike, sections of their DNA, were astronomical.
The next step would be to compare these sequences against the database she had built from years of DNA research. Every octogenarian (or older) she encountered, she had asked permission to draw a blood sample. Then, after mapping their mitochondrial DNA, she placed the results into her database. She had hoped she might find, in that database, the clues to a long life.
If Dr. Edders were here, he would be so excited. She paused. Or would he?
The scientist remembered back to their many hours of friendly arguments about research ethics. She had thought some of the scenarios he presented were ludicrous, but now she wondered if he hadn’t been trying to tell her something.
“Just suppose…” He had caught her attention one day while they sat in the lab, drinking the sick excuse for coffee that one of the graduate students had thrown together.
“Just suppose we were to isolate some very strong mitochondrial DNA patterns, patterns that enabled their hosts to live two, maybe three times longer than the average human.”
Britta laughed, because she knew he was exaggerating to make his point.
“And then suppose further, we had perfected this technique of yours to insert the DNA strand into another host and successfully encouraged it to replicate.”
Britta waited for the punch line. There was always a punch line with Jorgen Edders.
“Who gets this new DNA? The rich? The powerful? Or maybe those who score high on an IQ test and so merit extra time in this world to use their extraordinary gifts?”
Britta knew he was baiting her, but she still found herself taking this a little bit personally.
“For starters, those who could benefit medically from this discovery? Those whose lives have actually been shortened due to their own DNA pattern.”
“Yes, very appropriate. But I ask you, who finally decides who is worthy? At some point, a wealthy corporation will buy the technology, because you and I know that research requires money. And the scientist is not the one who ultimately will decide who gets to enjoy the fruits of their—our—labors.”
It was the way it had always been and would always be. The tension between pure science, for the joy of discovery, and the need for corporate funding.
“So are you saying that something like this should not be pursued because the wrong people may benefit?”
“No, not at all. I just want to be comfortable that the human race is ready to handle such a gift if we hand it to them.”
Britta had thought her mentor was speaking hypothetically. But maybe he’d known more about what they might discover than he had let on.
And now here she was, facing the very situation he mentioned. She had sold out to a corporation, which would ultimately use her research in whatever way they chose. And which, at this moment, was deciding the future of her research.
Well, she wouldn’t let it lie only in their hands. She couldn’t. She did not trust that they would make her results available to the scientific community at large.
Britta placed a CD in her computer and started copying all of the relevant data on her project.
February 26, 2006, 1:06 p.m.
Beneath the Monastery of St. John
Chora, Patmos
* * *
The sound of rushing water got louder and louder. Jaime was fairly sure she was nearing Brother Timothy’s “river of lif
e.”
As the passageway made a final turn, Jaime noticed something completely out of context. The stone wall beside her had a doorknob.
Hunh, she thought. And she opened it, just a little, and looked through.
The light was blinding.
She stepped back into the darkness, closed her eyes, then opened the door again, looking at the ground until her eyes adjusted.
The ground had a tile floor.
When she could, she looked up and found herself in a passageway. Straight ahead, perhaps thirty feet on, was another closed wooden door. The passage seemed to make a right turn there also.
Fortunately, the passage was empty. The walls themselves were still made of stone, but fluorescent tubing lit the hall from above.
Hunh, thought Jaime again.
She stepped into the passageway and closed the door quietly behind her. She again flattened herself against the inside wall, and continued down the hall.
Jaime came to the end of the wall and stood, wondering if she should risk opening the wooden door. Before she did, she peered around to look down the adjacent passage.
It was a short hall and also currently unoccupied. But what caught Jaime’s attention was that in the midst of the passage, on the same wall as the door, was a huge picture window. It was perhaps 10 feet long and 6 feet tall. Beyond it, even from her corner angle, she could see movement.
She couldn’t help herself. She snuck out into the hallway and stood before the window.
It was tinted and thick, which led her to believe it was one-way glass—that she could see out, but no one on the other side could see in.
And what was on the other side was a pounding waterfall.
A huge one. She was behind it, looking through the cascading flow. It took her a moment of squinting to get to the point where she could decipher what was in the glowing light on the other side of the free-falling water.
It was an enormous cave. She couldn’t see the roof, but the interior stretched on and on. There was a pool at the bottom of the waterfall, and from it ran the river of which Brother Timothy must have spoken. The expanse alone was awe-inspiring, as was the brilliant light—especially after coming from such a length of pitch-black as she just had.
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