Alex checked himself, as if realizing he was getting carried away. "Anyway, they're all on the list." He pointed to the third sheet. "The one in black ink is a list of all registered stigmata. People who apparently bear the crucifixion wounds of Christ. You know? Unexplained wounds in the hands, feet, and side. I just thought it might be worth running some of the blood from their 'wounds' through the Genescope."
Jasmine could see Jack nodding as he went through the list. Alex's notes were neat, thorough, scholarly. Even credible. Jack was plainly hooked and she had to admit she was interested too. Alex knew his stuff, but it was the old man's understated excitement that was so infectious. He was letting Jack sell the idea to himself.
"What about the stars in the right-hand column?" asked Jack. "Three for promising, one for a long shot?"
"Exactly."
"Not many three stars," Jack said, flicking the pages over. "In fact, they're almost all one stars."
Alex gave a wry smile. "I didn't say it would be easy. And given the time I'd only bother with the three stars. The others are undoubtedly fakes. I only listed them to show how many places claim to have this kind of relic."
"Which do you think are the most promising of the few three stars then? You've given the Lanciano Eucharist a good writeup for containing an authentic sample of Christ's blood. And the bleeding Oleograph in Mirebeau."
Alex reached across the table, squinted behind his glasses and directed Jack to a couple of other entries. "The shrine of the Holy Blood in Jerusalem looks good. Relatively. And it's worth checking out the hair sample in Santiago de Compostela in Spain. The circumcised foreskin kept in Calcata was very promising--but that was stolen some years ago. I wouldn't bother with most of the other phenomena or relics."
Jack read them. "What about the Turin Shroud? I thought that was a sure thing."
"Tom needs biological remains. Not fabric."
Jack nodded. "Uh-huh. How about the stigmata?"
Alex shrugged. "Anybody's guess. But the Michelle Pickard woman in Paris and Roberto Zuccato in Turin seem the most authentic. The rest are pretty dubious. Of the total items on all three lists I would say that at least five or six are realistically worth examining."
Jack seemed to become further wrapped up in the list as he quizzed the erudite Alex on the different items. But Jasmine felt more and more confused. On the one hand, she remembered reading about some of the entries in Time magazine, which made the idea suddenly seem less fanciful, even possible. And on the other hand, she couldn't stop herself thinking that the whole notion was blasphemous. She had always squared her Christian beliefs with her work on genetics by telling herself she was saving lives--and therefore the sin of letting people die had to be greater than any charge of tampering with God's work. God, after all, had seen fit to give mankind the intelligence to learn the secrets of its own existence. But this was different--wasn't it?
Jack, oblivious to her disquiet, was clearly more con cerned with the practical considerations. "Okay, Tom, so maybe, just maybe, you get lucky. You find an authentic sample, but surely after two thousand years it'll be in no state for you to do anything with it?"
Tom shook his head. "That shouldn't be a problem. In the mid-nineties scientists were analyzing the DNA of Egyptian pharaohs over three thousand years old. That's over a thousand years earlier. There's even been successful DNA analysis done on the five-thousand-year-old remains of indigenous Indians in South America. As long as the sample's been kept dry it should be okay. Basically, if we can find the DNA, we should be able to use it."
Tom seemed so confident, so sure that this was the right thing to do for Holly, that for the first time Jasmine could recall, she found herself avoiding his eye. Even so, the scientist in her forced her to consider the implications of her friend's proposal. What if they could analyze the genes of the man responsible for the greatest religion the world has ever known? A performer of miracles believed by many to be the son of God, God made flesh? What would they find in the DNA of that flesh?
She felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck. Yes, this was definitely different from normal genetics. This wasn't just playing with the genes of man; this was far more ambitious--and dangerous. This was playing with the genes of God.
Tom turned to look at her, and she heard the concern in his voice when he said: "Jazz, you've been pretty quiet. How do you feel about all this?"
She still wasn't sure how she felt. Except deeply uncomfortable. "I don't like it. It doesn't feel right," she said quickly. The words came out wrong and sounded unreasonable. But Tom just nodded, indicating he was listening.
She went on, "You don't understand what you're saying. You won't find what you're looking for in Christ's genes. You can't just dissect what made him divine and examine it under a microscope. Christ's power came from God. It was spiritual... Not physical. By even trying to find his DNA you're saying that Christ wasn't resurrected and didn't ascend into heaven. You're assuming he was just a normal man whose bones are lying around somewhere. That goes against everything I've been taught to believe."
Tom shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. "You think I'm trying to attack Christianity but I'm not. I need your help too much to mock what you regard as important." He turned to Jack then, who nodded his head thoughtfully. "I need the help of all of you. Without it I've got no chance."
Tom looked back to Jasmine, and she saw him smile, but his honest eyes seemed to bore right into her. She was glad he hadn't used the blackmail card of curing Holly. She would do anything to help her goddaughter. Almost.
She heard Alex clear his throat then run a hand through his still-thick white hair. The old man looked pensive, as if trying to solve a problem. "It doesn't have to be at odds with your beliefs, Jasmine," he said gently.
Her fingers absentmindedly played with the handle of her coffee cup. "Why not?"
The old man stood and began to pace around the kitchen, hands clasped behind his back, as if he were giving one of his theology lectures. "First of all, the resurrection and the ascension are central to your religion. Without them there is no Christianity, right?"
She nodded.
Alex gestured to the papers on the table. "But if you look at the lists you will see not one mention of a physical part of Jesus that would cast doubt on the resurrection and the ascension. All the samples cited could have come from his body before death--hair, blood, and even the famous circumcised foreskin. In fact I could find no records or claims for relics which deny this central tenet of Christianity. Even the Ossuaries found in Jerusalem in 1996, the ones that were claimed to contain Christ's bones, were empty. So even if we wanted to threaten your faith we could find nothing to do so."
Jasmine gave a noncommittal shrug, and waited for Alex to continue.
"You also believe Christ is God incarnate, right? The son of God made flesh?"
"Yes, I do."
"But there's nothing in your religion which tells you how your God passed on his powers to his son. Is there?"
A wary frown. "Not really, no."
"So God could have passed his strength down spiritually, or--and this is what we don't know--Christ may have literally been God incarnate, God made flesh. So that as well as communing with his father through prayer he could, just possibly, have been given something in his genes which gave him his powers--a touch of the divine if you like." The old man paused and looked at her while his right hand fiddled with the fob watch in his vest pocket. "Is that possible, Jazz?"
"It's possible but--"
"But wouldn't you like to find out?"
As always Alex had made her think. The scientist in her challenged the Christian, and posed the great question: What if itwere possible to find divine genes in Jesus' DNA?
Alex reclaimed his seat and leaned back, relaxed. He said, "You could well be right about Jesus getting his power through purely spiritual means. But if you're not and his divinity, as you call it, is in his genes, you still won't have compromised your beliefs. Either
way your faith is safe." The old man sat forward then, the blue eyes sparkling with youthful enthusiasm. "But just imagine for a moment that we could isolate what made him special and use it to help mankind. Not just Holly, but everyone. How could your God be against that? Isn't that what he put his son in the world to do in the first place? Who knows? It might even be what he intended."
Jasmine turned from Alex and looked again at Tom. She saw a man who didn't share her faith, but believed in her values. A man more "Christian" than most she'd met along the way. And then she thought of her goddaughter--a brave, bright kid who deserved every chance.
When she met Tom's blue eyes she knew there was only one choice she could make.
"I think you're wrong," she said. "And I don't think you'll find what you're looking for." Jasmine turned to look at them all gathered around the table: at Jack and Alex and Carter. They were her friends, almost family. She shrugged. "I'll need to sleep on it before I give a final decision, but if everyone else is committed, then you may as well count me in for now."
She tried to match the others' smiles, but deep down inside her she couldn't quell a small dissenting voice that refused to stay quiet.
Tom Carter felt both grateful and relieved as he regarded the others around the table. Just getting this crazy idea off his chest with the people he trusted most had been a release. Over the last few days the idea had been echoing around in his head. And his mood had fluctuated from great confidence that the idea would work, to horror that he was even considering it. As always his father had helped, not just in researching the subject, but in playing the role Olivia had always done: asking him questions and helping order his jumbled thoughts. In the end they had boiled it down to three ifs and a then:
If they could find a sample of Christ's DNA and
If they could find unique genes in his DNA that had healing properties and
If they could exploit these unique genes or their coded proteins
Then they might cure Holly and who knew who else.
It sounded so simple.
But it had been vitally important to get the others on board. Jack as ever had been more concerned with the practical issues, but Tom had misjudged Jasmine badly. He had foolishly thought that being a Christian she would applaud his desire to turn to Jesus for salvation. He'd immediately realized how wrong he was when he'd seen her face. Luckily Alex had been able to show her that his plan didn't have to undermine her beliefs.
"Right," he said, "as Jack's already identified, the first task is going to be finding the DNA. Because unless we can do this the whole idea is just that--an idea. I'll try and get blood samples from the stigmata sufferers."
He turned to Jasmine. "Jazz, could you section off one of the upgraded Genescopes and fit it with all the latest software? It will also need to be calibrated to handle old and possibly corrupted DNA. Can you also check IGOR to see if any of the current subjects have a record of faith healing in their files? And if so, whether they possess any unusual genes? It's a long shot, but it's worth a try."
"Okay. But why do you want to 'section off' one of the Genescopes?"
"I want this to be kept secret even within the company. And only involve trusted personnel as and when we have to. So we'll need to cordon off part of the Mendel Laboratory Suite. The individual Genescope you prepare will need to go in the cordoned-off area."
"How much space will you need?" asked Jack with a frown.
"Not much. About a fifth of the second floor. We could use the back section of the suite, the Crick Lab and conference room. That should be enough."
"Won't that disrupt the other projects?"
"We should be able to handle it. And I really do think this should be kept discreet. I particularly don't want any of our NIH colleagues getting wind of this. We haven't got time to gain ethical approvals."
Jack frowned again. "I suppose so. Christ, if Jazz feels uneasy about this project, then just imagine how they could feel. Plus I don't think our shareholders will necessarily understand either. We'll need a cover story."
Tom had already thought of this. "We could advance the project under the guise of something to do with that evil gene project. You know? That ridiculous thing the President's been trying to get us to help him on."
"You mean the Criminal Gene Project?" offered Jasmine. "The one we've been steering clear of?"
"Yeah, that's the one. If people start to pry, then we could say we had a change of heart and now believe there might be genes that account for good and criminal behavior. And that this is a feasibility study to attempt to answer the question." Tom paused and then stressed, "But this is a cover story we only use if we have to--which we shouldn't."
Jack nodded. "Okay, I'll arrange the cordoning off. And you'll need account codes for funding. What else do you want me to do?"
Tom hesitated. This was going to be the difficult one. "I need your advice on the four or five samples we want from Alex's list." He reached across the table and pulled the papers to him, scanning them for the relevant entries. "The Lanciano Eucharist, the remains at Santiago de Compostela, the bleeding Oleograph at Mirebeau, the shrine of the Holy Blood in Jerusalem--"
"What kind of advice?"
"The how-to-get-hold-of-them kind."
Comprehension dawned on Jack's rugged features. "So I take it then, that you don't plan on asking permission?"
"Not enough time. And there's no guarantee we'd get it if we did. We only need a scraping. No one will miss what we take."
"So you want me to recommend people who can help liberate these relics?"
"Yes."
A great buccaneering grin suddenly creased Jack's whole face. Just as Tom had hoped, the ex-FBI man relished the idea of using his old contacts.
"When do you want everything?"
"As soon as possible. It's now the middle of February, so let's say the end of March at the latest." Tom looked around the table. "Okay?" He felt like King Arthur as each in turn nodded, knights of the Round Table preparing to embark on their search for the Holy Grail.
Jack reached across to the manila folder in front of Alex, Tom's Merlin, and slid the folder closer to him. "Project Cana?" Jack said, reading the title on the front. "Is that what we're to call this among ourselves?"
Tom looked to his father. "It's Alex's idea. I don't see why not."
Jack nodded and pushed the folder back. "Okay. But why Cana, Alex?"
"I bet I can guess that," replied Jasmine before Alex could respond. "The wedding at Cana was where the water was turned into wine."
Jack shrugged. "I know that, but so what?"
"It was Christ's first miracle," Jasmine explained. "The first of many."
PART II
Project Cana
Chapter Twelve.
Three weeks later
Paris
Maria Benariac sipped her coffee in the smoky cafe on the rue de Castiglione. She glanced at the clock above the bar, where the obese patron was trying his luck with an aging blonde. It was almost two in the afternoon. Maria had been watching the clinic across the rain-soaked street for almost three hours now, but still no one had arrived to explain why Dr. Carter had rented the small examination room.
Since Dr. Carter's trip to Sardinia three weeks ago Maria had kept a close eye on him--despite what Brother Bernard had said. It was maddening; when she had last contacted the Champion of the Secondary Imperative to check on what his plans were for the scientist, she had been told in no uncertain terms to stay away from him. When she'd asked why Dr. Carter was being ignored, he had warned her about becoming obsessed with the man.
Obsessed? She wasn't obsessed, just concerned. Which was just as well, since Bernard Trier didn't seem to care. Her role in the organization was to perform the Righteous Cleansings; that was what she had been trained for. So, if the scientist was deemed a prime candidate for cleansing in Stockholm, why wasn't he anymore? What had changed?
Who was Brother Bernard to tell her who she should or shouldn't stay awa
y from? Just the memory of his officious voice telling her she was "only an operative" was enough to provoke her. It was as if she wasn't a member of the Brotherhood--just hired help to be bossed around. She took a deep breath and reminded herself that when she confirmed her suspicions about Dr. Carter, then the Father and Brother Bernard would be forced to listen.
She had tailed Dr. Carter easily. His discreet police protection amounted to little more than a patrol car keeping an occasional eye on his house, and following him to and from work. But outside the United States he was on his own, apart from Jack Nichols, who had been by his side some of the time. She had already tracked Dr. Carter to Turin, Frankfurt, and now Paris.
"Encore du cafe?" The obese patron was suddenly standing over her with a pot of coffee. She looked up and caught him leering at her. The lust in his small beady eyes reminded her of Sly Fontana. It brought back the older memories along with a cold clammy panic. She immediately wished she'd come disguised as a man, and gave him her coldest glare.
the Miracle Strain (aka The Messiah Code) (1997) Page 13