Sacred Flesh (9 page)

Soon Haggai raises his head and lifting his arms upward begins speaking loudly, “The beginnings of all beginnings, the course of all courses, be your presences with us Father in twain of the Alpha and Omega rises up the twenty-seventh.”

“He’s gone,” Go Man says into the phone sitting on the edge on the bed in his hotel room.

“What? What are you talking about?” Belo responses in surprise, having been awaken by the call and realizing that go-man doesn’t understand the time difference between Rome and the United States.

“Jim Dunbar is nowhere to be found that’s what I’m saying not home, not at work, nowhere. I’d say fear has kicked in and he’s run off.”

“That’s a major complication. What happened over there? Why didn’t you keep a careful watch on him?”

“I followed as much as I could. He didn’t want to hear what I had to say. What else was I suppose to do, kidnap him?”

“This is terrible. Does he still have the samples?”

“I can’t say with certainty but my estimation would be yes. He’s probably discovered something usual and realizing the implications he panicked and ran.”

“If he has the Sacred Sample then he is in great danger, if the
Elite
catch up to him they will kill him for running out on them.”

“I tried telling him they were trouble, all that was pretty new and foreign information to him. How could we expect him to just believe it first off?”

“This is trouble, a great deal of trouble. They find him, kill him and then they have the Sacred Sample.”

“I’m aware.”

“You must have some idea where he could have gone. You must find him fast. I’m sure the
Elite
are searching too. Whoever gets to Jim Dunbar first will laid their hands on the flesh of our Lord. While we will save him they will kill him without blinking an eye,” Belo says.

“The Americans are involved too. They want to talk to him as much as we do. I saw them go into his house.”

“A search, perhaps they found something that could give us a clue to where he is. You should follow them, if they are on his trail, if they know something we must know it too! They will confiscate the sample and then how do we petition the American government to get it back? Oh excuse us there Uncle Sam yes, if you don’t mind that little rectangle box over there with the 2000 year old foreskin yes, yes that’s the one, you see that’s ours and we would like it back okay, thanks so much.

“I can try to follow them. I have somewhat of a connection, not much of one though.”

“Use whatever resources you process and use them now! The fickle vessel of time empties itself even as we speak.”

“I’m aware,” he answers coldly.

“I haven’t heard anything from him for over a week. He missed the Thursday meeting when he was supposed to return the second sample,” Glenn says.

“He has the second sample still? No good, no good,” Logo says shaking his head.

“I thought you said he was stable, dependable and now where are we? Look at us, hiding in this old warehouse. Our whole operation is riding on that second sample and we don’t even know where it is,” Haggai shouts. His aggravation confounded by his dislike of the warehouse facilities.

“I know what happened; somebody must have got to him. That P.I we paid off, Dunbar must have been suspicious for some reason otherwise he wouldn’t have hired a P.I. to investigate us,” Logo says.

“No, he wouldn’t have,” Glenn says.

“Can’t you see what has happened? He knows about the operation. Someone’s tipped him off to our plan,” Haggai says.

“Who?” Logo asks.

“Who else? Rome got to him! Maybe they have him now. Maybe they have our sample too. I bet they’re trying to get Dunbar out of the country right now,” Haggai says.

“Possible,” Glenn offers.

“Likely, Dunbar isn’t smart enough to figure this out all by himself,” Logo says.

“No, he isn’t. I think you’re right they’ve got to him,” Glenn says.

“This leaves us with no time, if he’s still in the country we have to get him and the sample. I don’t care who’s got him or not,” Haggai says.

“He’s running because the second sample must have revealed itself to him. He looked and he has seen inside the sacred flesh. It’s something in all his years of biological work he has never seen, something in all the history of science itself no one has ever seen-but he has seen it, and whatever it looks like he has run with it,” Logo says.

“We get to Jim Dunbar. We get the second sample then finally we can begin the impregnation process. I don’t care who we run over to get him, just get him. Put everyone out in the field and do it now,” Haggai says.

“When we find him and we take back the sacred sample, what then of Mr. Dunbar?” Logo asks.

“Simple enough, kill him!” Haggai shouts.

Mr. Dunbar you fool. You are in great jeopardy this very night your life may be taken from you. It is not wise to play games with the
Elite
. If you had only waited until I could have spoken with you. I could have been of great assistance to you. I could have shown you what’s inside the sacred text. I could have got you out of this mess. But now? Though I will search for your whereabouts I am only one and they are many, odds are Mr. Dunbar that they will find you first and then it will be over, perhaps for both of us.

It was simple enough, adorned with a beautiful fresco of the Virgin Mary, the stained glass somewhat faded, a peaceful place to worship as his family had done for generations upon generations. Go Man’s thoughts drift with no clue where to look for Jim Dunbar he finds himself with time, time to remember his grandfather sitting in the wooden pew in front of himself, his mother, two sisters and father. During the mass his mind would wander as is natural for a child. He would gaze up at his grandfather noticing the deep lines running along the back and side of his neck up to the shortly cropped white hair. His grandfather was an affectionate man yet stern and silent. (He would give the children candy on occasion but rarely spoke to or played with them.)

As a boy he loved how majestic the alter appeared before his eyes, how very old it was his mother told him, how could anything be that old he thought, unable to put his mind around such a large span of time.

How innocent those times were, he chuckles to himself. He never would have guessed what secret the church held for all those years, but it had not always been a secret, in fact it once had (hundreds of years ago) been widely promoted that this sacred place of worship processed a relic of unbelievable proportion: a snippet of the Savior Himself, having made its way from the Holy Lands during one of the crusades as had so many other relics. But this tiny portion of flesh from the Lord Himself bought the faithful from far and wide who were compelled to fall to their knees in its presences. The church promoted it greatly for many years encouraging travelers to stop and pray homage. No one questioned its authority. No one doubted it at all even when word arrived that a church in the next town too promoted themselves as owners of the very same piece of sacred flesh. How could this be? The priests thought this a mistake, for there can only be one single piece of this sacred flesh, one and one only, yes they assured themselves that they were the true owners.

Yet time, processing that odd quality of diminishing effect eventually saw a decline in visitors. The relic took a back seat when word spread that seven other churches claimed to have the same piece of sacred flesh. Well, the priests thought perhaps it best to let the issue rest for awhile. Awhile proved a few hundred years. Eventually, in interest of safety the relic found itself locked away in a wall safe in a seldom used office in the undercroft.

There it remained. No one asked about it. Those that did recall its existence passed away quietly, not thinking it worthwhile to even remind anyone that it was down there locked away.

His grandfather who attended the church as a boy wouldn’t have known either. There they all sat worshipping together completely unaware of the great secret that the church held, (the great secret lying so quietly among them.)

It seemed odd, almost like trouble itself which he certainly didn’t need any more of. The tiny coffee pot sitting next to the bathroom sink, “That’ll never be enough caffeine” he says to himself while pouring the water in: not trusting the ability of the device to deliver its morning boast. His mind wanders from thought to thought, staying in hotels never was his favorite thing to do. He quickly plays back the childhood vacations with his mother, father, and sister. His father driving around for hours just to find a motel deal, even if it meant only saving a few dollars. He presses the button and the red light comes on, soon the machine begins to gurgle. He walks out and sits on the edge of the bed flipping through the news channels. He can’t forget why he’s here, what’s brought him to this hotel by the airport, “I can’t stay here forever,” he says out loud to no one.

He contemplates his next move: to fly or drive somewhere, can the
Elite
trace my credit card, my ATM card? He carries a large amount of cash, most of the
Elite
payment, they’ll want that too, they’ll get the sample, kill me and to top it off, take the cash too. But what would I want with it if I’m dead?

After the breakfast buffet, I’ll drive north into sparse terrain and cooler climate maybe to some small town, rent an apartment, just lay low for awhile see what happens. They can’t follow me forever or can they? Maybe I should make a radical move out west California or Canada, what about Europe?

At the buffet he sits alone at a corner table. The breakfast crowd has thinned out being 9 am the business people have all hoped their respective flights. This morning he has chosen well: the French toast with just enough butter and maple syrup, scrambled eggs, fried potatoes, and some melon cubes. It’s all he wants to do, just eat breakfast, if that was all there was to life, breakfast, just eat breakfast and go back to bed, sleep, sleep that great forgetting sphere. His revelry is awaken by the sight of the attractive young waitress, “is everything okay sir?”

“Yes, yes just fine thanks,” he fakes a smile.

Outside he tosses his bag into the back seat of his blue sedan and jumps into the driver’s seat turning the key he looks into the rearview mirror while backing out of the parking space. No one knows I’m here he keeps saying to himself, it’s all right no one knows. He pulls forward into the drive ready to merge into the highway traffic, when suddenly he slams on the breaks as his heart jumps upon hearing the screaming sirens, “oh no!” he looks to his left to see the rapidly approaching police car appear then speed past, “I can’t live like this,” he says out loud as his white knuckles grip the steering wheel.

He waits patiently sitting in his car outside her office. If she’s on the move I should know I should know something soon. He sips at his Styrofoam cup, “Damn, how much coffee am I going to drink?” Nice gig, he thinks, staking out the FBI all day. Who would have thought I’d ever rise to such an occasion, not me that’s for sure, not that boy back in parochial school earmarked for the priesthood, and now just sipping cold coffee waiting for Jill to make a move. She’s got to know something. They’ve got to have some idea where Jim Dunbar is running to. I really want to get this job done and over with and then plead my case for release from their service. His mind wanders, playing back the past, the great missteps oh how stupid! Stupid! Stupid! At least there’s still time to turn it all around. Such a large inheritance, I could do a lot with that cash. Maybe I should just go to grandfather and spill the beans, make my confession, tell him everything. I knew better than to hang out with those guys. I knew they were trouble. Though I didn’t steal anything myself I could easily be considered an accomplice to the deed. I know Grandfather, he’ll say, “no good, no good.” But we all comment errors do we not? Does not The Lord instruct to forgive? That’s quite clear isn’t it? Yes, he will hear me out. He will understand. Why do I need to do Rome’s covert bidding any longer? My grandfather will understand we are blood after all. Of Course, he’ll understand but it could be a hell of a risk though, I can’t say for certain what he’ll think, he just isn’t the kind of person that allows others close enough that they can gauge his thoughts. Not even me his beloved grandson.

His eyes perk up at the sight of her green sedan pulling out of the underground parking lot. She’s off. He spills the rest of his cold coffee on the dashboard while reaching for the gear shift, “Damn it!” He glues his eyes to the window as she speeds away.

Jim stops having driven for awhile. Now over 100 miles from home he feels hunger beginning to build. He pulls onto the exit and into the parking lot of the first place he sees: the local family restaurant. Pass the rocking chairs and post cards for sale he hurries in for a chicken pot pie and coffee. His mind wanders: should’ve brought a newspaper. His thoughts drift to his marriage and the vacations with his wife and daughter, stopping on the interstate eating at places like this, staying in hotels on the drive down to Disney World. Why? Why didn’t I spend more time with them? Emily grew up so fast. I wasn’t around much back then or ever really. I should have been damn it! I wasn’t there for Janet either, always working, working, working and for what, to get myself in this mess, running from a bunch of nuts who probably want to kill me?