The Artifact (67 page)

REVEREND LUKEY: A lot of baloney!

PROFESSOR BUXTON: Shimon paints a confusing portrait of Judas at best. Did Judas consort with Jesus inciting His followers to rebel against the egregious oppression of successive Roman Emperors? Or was he making a point regarding the difficulty of forgiveness.

RABBI FIENSTIEN: Was Judas really a confidant of Judah the Galilean who conspired not to turn his master in to the authorities, but to save Jesus from them?

REVEREND LUKEY: That part of his story is ridiculous. As with most of it. We should stick

with the Holy Bible.

MODERATOR ROBERTS: What do you make of the last conversation between Jesus and His brothers?

BISHOP WOOLY: It is quite clear, in the telling, but in blatant contrast to traditional beliefs. Shimon claims that Jesus openly admits to fostering rebellion. In direct contradiction to an earlier statement by Jesus that His mission was to prepare people to enter the Kingdom of God. Yet in the dungeon Shimon claims that he admitted he was not the Messiah.

ATHEIST DOUGLAS: Historians of ancient Christianity have never been satisfied with the

resurrection hypothesis. The assertion that Jesus appeared in the flesh to His apostles was never mentioned in any extant tract until two centuries later in the Bible.

REVEREND LUKEY: Historians be damned! Christianity has been based on that very premise for 2000 years.

ATHEIST DOUGLAS: Who were Mark, Luke, Mathew and John, but historians, many of whom

pen historical events for their own purposes or with flagrant errors and omissions. An autobiographer, on the other hand, might attempt to protect his own reputation or posture himself as an heroic figure, but rarely use it for the sole purpose of attacking an enemy. It seems pointless to dispute the accuracy of the Bible or Shimon’s tract without more knowledge of relationships.

Lukey slammed a broad palm down on the polished table surface with a resounding crack that caused involuntary bodily jolts and exclamations among the other panelists.

REVEREND LUKEY: All this sacrilegious gobbledygook is outrageous!

Camera three zoomed in on moderator Sinclair Roberts who forced a smile as he tapped his water glass with a gold pencil. Order, please. Let’s all take a deep breath and calm down.

MONSIGNOR GALLAGHER: Whatever Shimon’s reasons for these implications, Jesus does seem to have provoked his sentence by Pilot by admitting to the sobriquet, ‘King of the Jews.’ That would have made Him a clear and obvious threat to both Rome and the Sanhedrin. Regardless of why the Romans executed Him, their reason does not mitigate His fundamental teachings of compassion, good deeds, moral behavior and the promise of eternal life.

MODERATOR ROBERTS: That’s about all we have time for tonight, but I believe it’s appropriate for Rabbi Feinstein to close the curtain, at least temporarily, on this fascinating document and the life of Shimon of Nazareth.

RABBI FIENSTIEN: One fact in Josephus’ historical writings is supported by several other accounts concerning the virtually unassailable Herod’s Tower in Masada, the last rebel stronghold of the mid-first century Roman War, which Shimon indicates he planned to join. After two years of futile attacks on that mountain fortress, the Roman General Titus finally succeeded in building a massive wooden ramp up to the top of the tower on which his charging legions stormed the citadel unmolested. When the leading centurion had scaled the wall of the tower roof, his eyes fell on the bloody sight of almost one thousand Jews slain by their own hands—women and children murdered by husbands and fathers who had then committed suicide rather than submit to Roman slaughter or

slavery. Shimon, brother of Jesus, presumably among them.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Rowe, MA

December 2005

A cold northwest wind whipped the falling flakes across the windows, swirling the damp snow covering the deep accumulation into banked drifts along the lodge and perimeter of nearby trees. Six figures in black coveralls and balaclavas emerged from the edge of the woods, peering through the winter darkness at the heavy drapes drawn across the windows of lighted rooms within. The Federal agents with drawn weapons advanced toward Najarian’s Jeep parked in the drive behind the Land Rover and SUV as powerful klieg lights burst forth, illuminating the circular drive and snow-covered expanse from the railed porch to the edge of the woods.

“Stop where you are,” a stern voice called through a bullhorn. “Drop your weapons, both hands on top of your heads.” Crandall stood on the roof by the chimney dressed in a hooded parka, megaphone and camcorder pointing at the startled agents.

Cassandra stood up from her seat on the couch looking confused and distracted for several moments before leaving the room. Callaghan’s concerned gaze followed her to the doorway, then handed the sheets of copy to Andy, as Sammy tinkered with the video camera and boom microphone.

The walkie-talkie clipped to the General’s belt emitted its distinctive ring. Geoff’s voice was calm, but raised against the background of the screeching wind. “The Feebs are here. Couple of Black Hawks, fifty, sixty agents, shotguns, carbines, SWAT teams, full assault gear.”

When FBI special agent Tom Lowry walked into the kitchen, he ignored his two reprobate comrades standing near the stove and directed his remarks exclusively to Callaghan. “You can make this easy or very hard on yourself, General. You and your people leave the building with me now, and you’re guaranteed a fair trial with ample opportunity to state your case to the press. Or we will have no alternative but to take you into custody by force.”

“You’re a little late in the game,” Callaghan said. “We’ve already been arrested by agent Najarian.”

“It doesn’t look it.” Lowry had shucked his balaclava in the warm room and stood stiffly in his coveralls, utility belt and bulletproof vest. From a large side pocket in his trousers he took a black cap imprinted with the letters of his agency, snapping it firmly on his head, still refusing to acknowledge his associates with even a look in their direction. “They have no authority in this matter, and are in fact wanted for dereliction of duty and violation of their sworn oath of service.”

FBI Deputy Director Kevin Harrington replaced the handset on the multi-line telephone on his desk in his corner office of Bureau Headquarters on Pennsylvania Avenue. His orders from above were vague and unsettling: ‘Prevent any expository broadcast by Callaghan or one of his group at all costs; do not get caught compromising the First Amendment or harming innocent citizens.’

He was sitting on the edge of his chair behind the desk watching the newsreader on NBC preface the announcement from the Artifact Group that would be aired shortly and fed to international media.

Maria knocked on his doorjamb, pausing on the threshold. “They’ve got our SWAT guys on CNN.”

“Sonuvabitch!” Harrington used the remote to switch channels and glared the TV screen depicting the brightly lit expanse outside the Berkshire lodge with Lowry’s black-clad agents crouched behind the snow-crusted vehicles in the driveway.

Gerlach answered Jerry’s request with a curt motion to follow him into the rear hallway and stood outside the bathroom door after the agent closed it. Jerry activated his cell phone as he flushed the toilet and ran the water in the sink. “Bender.”

Jerry opened the bathroom door and followed Gerlach into the kitchen that Lowery had left. Everyone, including Cassandra, had moved to the dining room archway, their attention fixed on Frank Morrissey seated before a blue bed sheet hung on a wall, substituting for a no-scene backdrop. As he passed through the kitchen, Jerry snatched his Glock from the counter, rushed to the outside door and crouched in a shooter’s position as he emptied the magazine at his fellow agents behind the vehicles parked in the driveway.

A surprised expression appeared on the face of the NBC-TV anchorman delivering the early news as he listened to instructions over the tiny speaker inserted in his ear. He accepted a single sheet of paper from a disembodied hand extending into video frame and gave the copy a quick scan as an off-camera voice announced the interruption of their regular report of local events with a special bulletin.

The on-camera newsreader quickly composed himself as he informed his viewers that a

massive task force of FBI SWAT teams armed with assault weapons had surrounded the Artifact

thieves in their remote hideout somewhere in the Berkshire Mountains of western Massachusetts. The government in Washington, the reporter said, had learned that following the religious panel convened to comment on the Shimon autobiography for public enlightenment aired by NBC only moments ago, the perpetrators planned to destroy the original papyrus in Aramaic to prevent further

evaluation and analysis beyond their own interpretation.

During the next fifteen minutes, every communications medium around the globe had informed its listeners and viewers of the intention of the Artifact thieves to obliterate the ancient document to keep it from examination by historians, religious experts and examination by lay Christians. Within the hour, a escalating parade of cars, trucks and busses had joined reporters, photographers and stringers pushing west on the Massachusetts Turnpike toward the Berkshires, led by a caravan of camouflage-painted National Guard 6x6 trucks containing gun crews for their towed 50mm howitzer artillery pieces rolling doggedly after state police cruisers and lumbering plows staggered across the four-lane interstate, sending cascades of airborne snow back on the traffic behind them, in an almost visually impenetrable blanket of white, dangerously obstructing their visibility.

T.P. Viola acknowledged the signal transfer from his counterpart at NBC-TV by pressing a square red button on his console as he spoke the words, “Live feed,” through the thin boom mike attached to his headset, transferring the program broadcast from Sammy’s camcorder to network headquarters in New York.

No advertising commercials had interrupted the smooth transition from the end of the religious panel discussion to Frank Morrissey seated at an unadorned desk before the living room camera from which his image and introductory words would be transmitted via Internet to NBC and around the world. Viola extended a forefinger at the announcer as he heard the network producer’s

pronouncement: “You’re on.”

“My purpose tonight,” Frank began, “is to preface the remarks you will hear from investigative correspondent Andrea Madigan, who single-handedly discovered the whereabouts of the originally mysterious Artifact and the U.S. soldiers, who discovered it under the sands of the Syrian Desert. During her relentless, almost two year-long pursuit of what is now known as the Shimon Autobiography, Ms. Madigan was diagnosed with Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis, a terminal illness commonly known as Lou Gehrig’s Disease. You will witness the professional perseverance and determination of this exceptional woman tonight as she broadcasts her summary report of the circumstances surrounding her successful attempt to bring that ancient document to public view. Andrea Madigan.”

The live camera held a medium long shot of Andrea seated in her wheelchair before the blue sheet. Her hair was freshly cut to shoulder length, the gray band above her left ear turned white, encroaching on the thinning auburn strands brushed back and held by spray. Although Cassandra had taken extra care in masking the reporter’s sunken eyes and cheeks with cosmetics, Sammy would avoid close-up headshots. Andrea had chosen a bright yellow cashmere turtleneck with a single strand of pearls for her final report. A wire from the thumb-size speaker patch attached to her throat ran over her right shoulder to the voice synthesizer encased in a white plastic case on the table beside her, allowing her metallic voice to be transmitted to the largest audience in television history. Andrea seemed drawn and weary as she faced the camera lens, her hands folded in the lap of her navy slacks, a half smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She began reciting the Gettysburg address when the red light on camera three turned red and T.P. Viola asked her to speak through the synthesizer for a voice level so the New York technicians could make their final adjustments to their audio. When T.P. pointed at Andy, she gazed at the camera in silence for a count of four. Then began speaking with only an occasional glance at her copy clipped to a thin

rod attached to the arm of her wheelchair.

“DURING THE PAST SIX MONTHS SINCE I REPORTED THE PROBABLE EXISTENCE OF AN ANCIENT ARTIFACT UNEARTHED IN THE SYRIAN DESERT BY AMERICAN SOLDIERS, I HAVE BEEN THWARTED AT EVERY TURN IN MY ATTEMPTS TO PROVE THAT ASSERTION TRUE OR FALSE. IF TRUE, PRECISELY WHAT THE ARTIFACT WAS, WHERE IT WAS AND WHO POSSESSED IT. MY ULTIMATE GOAL IN MY INVESTIGATION WAS TO REVEAL MY FINDINGS TO THE PUBLIC, AND IF A CRIME HAD BEEN COMMITTED, ALLOW THE APPROPRIATE AUTHORITIES TO TAKE ACTION.