CS 01 The Grail Conspiracy

by Lynn Sholes

  "The Second Coming is at hand, and you and I have been chosen to make it happen. Matthew twenty-four-when asked when He would come again, Jesus indicated a time when nation would rise against nation, there would be famines, earthquakes, and pestilence. He called those things the beginning of birth pains. Is this not what we are witnessing across the globe-earthquakes, volcanoes, floods, unusual weather patterns that have catastrophic effects?

  "Apocalypse, chapter six, verse eight, St. John's vision of the pale horse-are we not discovering new diseases springing up around the world on a continuous basis-diseases resistant to anything man does to stop them?

  "Apocalypse, chapter six, verse five-famine. Over a billion people face starvation this year. Is that not astounding in a world that has seen a man walk on the moon?

  "The scriptures teach us that the single generation that witnesses the rebirth of Israel will also witness the promised return of the Messiah. And we have seen the false prophets that precede his returnthe Jim Joneses and David Koreshs leading their followers into mass suicides. We now have the weapons and the technology to completely annihilate all life on earth. Would that not explain the prophecies of attacks from the air, the poisoning of a third of the planet, the death of billions? God's precise plan that was outlined thousands of years ago is unfolding.

  "The time is now. His divine hand has brought the two of us together-you as a Prince of the Church, and I, an unworthy servant to whom God has given the gift of knowledge so His will may be done, that His son will live again. We must have the courage to do what He asks-to be instruments of the Father."

  Sinclair stared intently at Ianucci. "Do you have the courage to take up this task, Eminence?"

  Ianucci's thoughts flapped through his head like batwings-trying to make sense of what Sinclair said, scrolling through all the biblical text that had been brought up, and more-Isaiah, Daniel, Luke, Zechariah-for confirmation. What Sinclair said sounded logical. But it went against everything the cardinal had ever believed and had been taught. Maybe the man was deranged. Yes, that was it. Sinclair was demented-obsessed with his own power-driven by his super ego.

  "You're insane," lanucci said, standing to pace.

  Sinclair remained calm and soft-spoken. "No, Eminence. I'm not only perfectly sane, I'm inspired. Just consider it for a moment. Why do you think the Cup was delivered to you personally? Why now? Even the Talmud speaks of the birth pangs of the Messiah ... irresponsible government, wars, poverty, the breakup of families, and great scientific advances-a time of miracles. Is it not a time of miracles when from a minute drop of the very blood He shed for us, with our help, He will live again? In the days of the Blessed Virgin, who could have imagined the miracle of the Virgin Birth? Don't you see? This is The Miracle."

  "You are wrong. This is wrong," the cardinal said, rubbing his chest, feeling as if a vise had clamped over his ribs. "Stop. I want to hear no more."

  "How do you know I'm wrong? The world is not flat, Eminence. Christ said `Blessed are those who have not seen and yet believe.' He has chosen you. How can you refuse?"

  lanucci turned his back to Sinclair, looking out the window into the courtyard below. "A clone of Jesus, even if it were possible, would simply be a replica, not ... Christ, not our Redeemer. Perhaps you can clone a man, but how do you give a replica the soul of our Savior?" The cardinal faced his visitor and watched the geneticist's eyes soften.

  "I can't," Sinclair said.

  The words hung in the air as if he wanted lanucci to think about the question.

  "You're right," Sinclair finally said. "It will be a replica only ... until the Holy Spirit enters it. Just as the Holy Spirit entered the Virgin Mary so she could conceive and give birth. If you believe that was possible, you cannot deny this. And you will be his mentor. The child will be your charge. Think of it. You are the one God has selected. You cannot refuse."

  "Mentor the Christ child?" lanucci could not get enough air into his lungs, and for an instant his heart lost its rhythm and fluttered randomly. He coughed, and with the length of his forefinger the cardinal swabbed the perspiration from his upper lip. "But the Cup was buried in the desert for centuries. There's no way the DNA could be preserved."

  Sinclair maintained that constant vague smile as he continued. "Not true-for two reasons. First, from a scientific point of view, although the blood cells would have broken down over the millennia, the nuclear material present in the white blood cells would have remained intact in the form of chromosomes. The chromosomes could be preserved because the Cup contained wine from the Last Supper prior to catching the blood. The presence of alcohol would have acted as a preservative preventing the bacterial-induced degradation of the nuclear material. I can extract the nuclei and insert them into a human egg. After the sperm and egg nuclei fuse, the process is arrested, and the diploid nucleus is removed and replaced with a diploid nucleus extracted from the material in the Grail. This is similar to the way Dolly the sheep was created. The engineered zygote is allowed to divide a number of times in a lab culture before being implanted into a surrogate mother."

  lanucci held up his hand, shaking his head. "That means nothing to me, Dr. Sinclair. Nothing. You might as well be speaking Martian." He walked back to his chair and sat.

  "Then perhaps this will. The DNA has been preserved because it is Christ's blood-divine blood. This is the work of the Father, and by His hand it is preserved. It is truly a time of miracles, Eminence."

  The full impact of Sinclair's reasoning shook the cardinal. Deep inside his core, something that felt like a large pane of glass cleaved, fractured, shattered. It just could be that Sinclair was not mad, but perfectly sane ... exactly right. He calculated how it made sense. Ianucci's words came with difficulty. "It has already been decided that the wax will not be removed-no research will be done on the so called residue beneath. It is out of my hands. Tampering with the relic in any way would be discovered immediately."

  Sinclair took the titanium travel case and sat it on the cardinal's desk. "I have a solution."

  lanucci stared at the case. He said a quick, silent prayer for strength. He needed more, something that would kill the last fragment of doubt. "Dr. Sinclair, I think you have an amazing imagination, but it will take more than your theories to convince me that either you or I, or anyone on this Earth for that matter has been chosen to help bring about the Second Coming."

  "With all that I've presented you, Eminence, what more of a sign would you need?"

  The synapses in lanucci's brain fired like sparks from a green wood fire. "One that would be unquestionable," he said. "One that I could not ignore."

  The phone on the cardinal's desk rang. "Excuse me," lanucci said to Sinclair before picking it up. "I asked not to be interrupted." He listened for about thirty seconds before placing the receiver back on its cradle. A glacial chill surged through him, and he wrung his hands to still the tremors. lanucci sank deep into his chair. Looking up, he saw Sinclair staring at him.

  "Are you all right, Eminence?"

  "The Holy Father.. ." lanucci voice quaked.

  "What?"

  "The Holy Father is dead."

  THE SEED

  IT WAS MIDNIGHT AS the black limousine sped west along Interstate 10 away from New Orleans International, its interior shielded from view by dark tinted windows. Charles Sinclair sank into the plush leather, relieved to be home from Rome. He felt exhilarated, having done his job convincingly.

  "You look content, Charles," the old man said. "I take it things went well"

  Sinclair had slipped into the limo so quickly he hadn't noticed the old man sitting in the darkness opposite him. His eyes slowly adjusted.

  "Things went very well," Sinclair said. "The cardinal's intense faith made him the ideal choice. That along with his ego."

  He and the old man had not spoken since the christening in St. Louis Cathedral. Sinclair was still amazed at how, without hesitation, he had placed his entire future in the old man's hands.

 
; It had started when Sinclair was struggling to find elusive answers to persistent roadblocks in his research. The old man came to him and presented solutions that quickly proved correct, ultimately lead ing to international recognition and notoriety. Funding, grants, and lavish fees for lecture tours made Sinclair one of the wealthiest scientists in the world. Universities fought to have his name associated with their institutions. Corporations pressed him to join their boards, openly admitting that they sought the prestige of his fame. He quickly took on the mantel of celebrity-his counsel sought from every corner of the globe.

  "Have you shared your progress with your fellow Guardians?" the old man asked.

  "They are pleased. We're close to reaching our goals-nothing stands in our way."

  "Except the woman."

  "You mean the reporter? But I assumed once the Cup passed out of her possession, she was no longer a threat."

  "Do you think it a coincidence that Archer gave her the relic and now she stirs the winds around Wingate?"

  Heat surged through Sinclair's body-the old man's words cut like a stiletto.

  "She was chosen. Everything is by design, Charles."

  "What are you talking about? She's just a news reporter-a rookie at that. She stumbled across a story, reported it, gained some notoriety, and moved on. Besides, every reporter is nosing around Wingate." Sinclair's palms turned clammy-his underarms dampened. "What do you mean by she was chosen?"

  "How can I say this so you will understand? It is a complicated matter, on a magnitude that is difficult for you to comprehend." He was quiet a few moments, looking out at the passing city as if searching for the right words. "Some years ago, a former associate betrayed me-contracted with my adversary. He was weak, unable to cope with ... life. So pathetic, he died by his own hand. As part of that contract he proffered his seed, his daughter. She is the reporter."

  Sinclair's gut twisted. Adversary? Contract? Proffered his seed? The air turned to syrup making him work at breathing. They'd never discussed who the old man was-intentional on Sinclair's part. If he didn't ask, he wouldn't have to know. And if he didn't know, he could sleep at night. But with these latest revelations, there would be no more claiming ignorance-no more pretending the old man was just a brilliant consultant. Sinclair was about to cross a line. He had tasted the rewards that the old man delivered-the fame, wealth, powerknowing they couldn't compare to what was coming in the New World he was helping create. Now he must make a choice. He remembered the question the Time science correspondent had asked-do you always win?

  There could be no turning back.

  "Then Stone is guided by the hand of God?" Sinclair asked.

  "Yes," the old man said. "Our only advantage is that she has not yet discovered her true nature. The last time we spoke, I offered to have an old friend help with this matter. I have been in touch with him several times since then. He said he contacted you, but you declined his offer to assist."

  "I told him we did not need his help at the moment."

  "But you do, Charles. And he is the one who can give it to you. He can get you information vital to keeping this matter from getting out of control."

  Sinclair needed straightforward information, not more of the old man's riddles. "But Stone seems so weak, confused. Vulnerable."

  "Do not underestimate her. Those things which you might see as weaknesses in her are strengths. You must distract her, slow her down until the project is complete."

  Until a few moments ago, Cotten Stone was a non-issue-nothing more to worry about. Now Sinclair faced a whole new set of challenges. But before he could address them, he had to ask a question that had constantly eaten at him from the beginning-the question of the Cup itself.

  "There is still no scientific confirmation that the relic is genuine or that the residue inside is actually blood;" Sinclair said. "The Vatican refused to test it. So far, it's just conjecture on your part."

  "You still have reservations? Such little faith. Have I ever misled you? Told you anything that proved untrue?"

  "But we are basing everything on your word alone. Are you positive that the relic is authentic?"

  "Charles, I know it is hard for you to grasp the scope of what you are dealing with. Trust me, the Cup is authentic, and what is inside is the blood of Jesus Christ."

  "How can you be so sure?"

  "Because I was there when they nailed Him to the cross." The old man smiled at Sinclair. "I am the one who sealed the Cup."

  THE SECRET ARCHIVES

  THE CARDINAL'S FOOTSTEPS BARELY made a sound along the dark corridor below the Tower of the Winds. On each side, hidden in shadow, were bookshelves that if set end-to-end would reach over seven miles. Like a twilight apparition, the red-cloaked figure gripping the handle of a silver travel case entered the Hall of the Parchments. Around him were gathered thousands of historic documents that he knew, sadly, were turning purple from a violet-colored fungus that conservators had been unable to control.

  At 2:00 AM, the passageways through the Secret Archives were deserted-to save energy, a minimum of lamps barely lit the way. From one small island of light to another, he felt the illusion of being in an underground world.

  The cardinal passed the shelves that housed the transcripts of the conclaves for papal elections dating from the fifteenth century. Anticipation quivered in his stomach. Would his name be among them someday?

  He'd been caught off guard by both Sinclair's visit and by the pope's death. For days he had had difficulty sleeping, and he lacked an appetite-much unlike him. He'd prayed for guidance. At last, in a dream, he believed God had come to him, shown him a vision of himself standing on the papal balcony wearing the triple tiara of the papacy, holding the hand of a small boy, and the people below falling on their knees in praise. Tonight he took the first steps on the Lord's chosen path. Tears streamed down his cheeks, overwhelmed that God had chosen him above all others.

  Near the end of the corridor, a large carved walnut door stood closed. As Vatican Curator, Cardinal Ianucci was the only person other than the prefect to possess its key. He inserted it into the lock. With a faint click, the bolt gave way, and the door opened.

  Ianucci entered the oldest part of the Secret Archives where the most ancient and precious items were kept. Huge cabinets bearing the coat of arms of Paul V, the Borghese pope who set up the Archives in the seventeenth century, lined the vault. Priceless collections of handwritten letters and documents dating back to the eleven hundreds were stored there, including letters of the Kahn of Mongolia; notes to the pope from Michelangelo; Henry VIII's petition seeking the annulment of his marriage to Catherine of Aragon; the last letter of Mary Stuart written a few days before she fell under the axe of Elizabeth; a letter from a Ming empress written in 1655 on silk asking that more Jesuit missionaries be sent to China; and the original dogma of the Immaculate Conception bound in pale blue velvet, its ink over time turning a warm yellow so that it appeared written in gold.

  Digitizing them seemed so clinical and sterile to Ianucci. Gooseflesh broke out on his arms. He treasured these beautifully marredwith-age documents, their musty parchment smell being a perfume to his senses. But he understood the need for technology. The iron in Michelangelo's ink had turned corrosive and ate away at the great master's letters, leaving them full of minute slashes. The purple fungus that seemed to have slipped into every nook almost overnight proved unstoppable. Decomposition of these great works was defeating the conservators, forcing the Church to embrace technology. The Church, which so often wallowed in the past, raised its muddied head and slowly moved into the new world. The wolf and the lamb ...

  Sinclair was right, the cardinal thought. This was a different world -one of miraculous technology. Of course God had provided the knowledge-so, of course, He meant it to be used.

  Passing through the vault, Ianucci descended a wide spiral stairway to a sublevel. At the bottom, a second vault door stood closed. Beside it was an electronic alarm keypad. Pressing in his code, the cardin
al waited until the large internal bolts shifted open, and the heavy door swung forward.

  He entered a chamber about the size of a high school gymnasium. Narrow aisles formed a labyrinth between the network of high shelves and cabinets. Passing by some of the most precious relics of the Church, including pieces of the True Cross and tiny bone fragments of the apostles, he stopped at a large black safe, its front bearing the symbol, IHS. Below the monogram was a combination wheel lock. He placed the travel case on the floor, then turned the wheel lock first clockwise, then counterclockwise, then again clockwise until he heard a soft click. Ianucci opened the door, touched a sensor, and the inside of the safe illuminated. A variety of boxes, envelopes, and other containers filled two of three shelves. On the top self sat the medieval puzzle cube.

  The cardinal's hands trembled as he slipped on a pair of cotton gloves before reaching for the cube. Setting it on top of the safe, he repeated the motions John Tyler had shown him to open the box and carefully removed the cloth-wrapped chalice. His ears filled with the sound of his coursing blood-his chest pounding with every thump. Cardinal lanucci crossed himself, asking God to make him worthy to touch the Cup of Christ.

  He opened the titanium travel case and removed the replica of the Grail, carefully jacketing it in the Templar cloth before putting it in the cube. Then he placed the Cup in the foam cutout insulation inside the travel case, closed the lid, and sat it on the floor just outside the door of the safe. After returning the cube to its resting place, the cardinal checked over the interior of the safe while removing his gloves, stuffing them in his pocket. Everything was in place. With his sleeved elbow he touched the sensor, and the vault was instantly in darkness. Slowly, he shut the safe door and spun the combination lock.