The Didymus Contingency (26 page)

“How’s the throat?” George asked.

Jake rubbed his throat. It hurt like hell. “That woman can throw a punch.”

“And she’s as smart as she is strong, so don’t go assuming she’s out of the game just yet,” George said.

“Yes, sir.”

“What’s the status on our little friends?”

“Prepped and ready to go. We know where and when Sally and Roberts are, and with the onboard facial recognition software, the other two shouldn’t be too much more difficult to track down.”

“Has the poison been altered?”

“Of course, sir. The poison acts the same, but its kill time has been accelerated to a half hour. Sally will have little time to find them and administer the antidote. Of course, by then, it will be too late for all of them.”

“Excellent. What a regrettable mess this is. It’s a PR nightmare, really.”

“Spencer and a team are prepping to retrieve the bodies even as we speak. I think a helicopter crash would be a fitting way to dispose of the bodies.”

George leaned back with a smile. “You’re trying to make director.”

Jake smiled. “I believe we have an opening.”

“Get this done for me... Consider the position filled.”

Jake stood to his feet and headed for an empty wall. “Better have my door etched. This won’t take long.”

The wall whooshed open in front of Jake. He exited the bare room and turned to the right, his pace quickening with every step. The door closed silently behind him, leaving him alone in the cool hallway. George was a blind fool. Jake was far more than an assistant. He ran this company. He was in charge. As soon as he finished cleaning up George’s mess, he would apply himself to usurping his boss and taking this company to places of power never before dreamed of.

“Do you think it’s possible?” Jake asked himself aloud.

“We think so.” Jake answered.

“So do we!”

“Yes!”

“This is so fun!”

*   *   *   *   *

Tom laughed loudly at Matthew’s impression of a Pharisee. It was uncanny. Jesus and the twelve had been dining together in a room they had rented for the night. Rarely did they eat a meal so good that wasn’t given to them for free. This meal was different, it was bought and paid for and the men and women who served them were not being charitable. They were being paid. This wasn’t just another meal. It was formal, as formal as a meal could be when you’re all lying around a table, digging into the same piles of food with shards of ancient Pita bread.

How the meal had begun was even stranger. Jesus had washed all their feet. Tom had grown used to having his feet washed by servants; it was customary here in the past where everyone wore sandals and ate while reclining, placing their dusty feet precariously close to the food. But Tom had never had his feet washed by another disciple, let alone Jesus. He was amazed at how humbling an experience it was.

But the washing of Tom’s feet was nothing compared to what Jesus did next. He took some bread and some wine, said something about how it was his blood and flesh and then they all ate it. It took Tom, and he imagined everyone else, some time to shake the feeling that this was Jesus’s way of saying goodbye. Tom wished David were here to explain what was happening.

The fact that David wasn’t present caused Tom some distress at first because of the recent serious mood. David was waiting outside, eating by himself. Jesus and David had agreed that this meal was for the disciples’ benefit alone. But Tom didn’t feel up to any big surprises. He could usually judge from David’s facial expressions when something good or bad was about to happen, but David wasn’t there. Tom did his best to settle in and forget about what might or might not happen. So far, the meal had gone as they usually did. Matthew told jokes. Everyone laughed.

Tom had been sitting next to the disciple named John, who was likable enough, but who Tom had never gotten to know very well. The two had bonded over dinner as people who eat and joke together sometimes do. There were twelve disciples after all, and all were almost always busy. Groups of friends had formed among the disciples and getting to know everyone hadn’t been the priority over the past few years. But now Tom wondered if he hadn’t been missing out on something.

John was smart. Damn smart, and Tom enjoyed hearing John’s theories on everything from how birds fly to what craters on the moon were. What impressed Tom the most was that John was often close to the mark. If he hadn’t become a disciple of Jesus, John might well have been the world’s first Da Vinci.

Tom looked up from his food and saw Judas re-enter the room. He had been fidgety and nervous all night. Tom decided to ask Judas what was wrong in the morning. Right now, he was having too much fun and Judas was busy ordering food and paying servants.

“Friends, brothers, a moment please,” Jesus said, as he stood up.

The room fell silent and all eyes were on Jesus. “Now that you’re all here, there is something I need to tell you…something I need to tell you now so that when it happens, you will believe what I have taught you. You might not believe what I’m about to say, but be assured, it is the truth... One of you…will betray me.”

Everyone stopped breathing. The disciples looked at each other. Was he serious? Who was he talking about?

A rumble of discomfort shot through Tom’s stomach. He had almost betrayed Jesus. Did that count? Was Jesus talking about him? Or was it Judas? He knew history believed Judas to be the betrayer of Jesus, but it didn’t seem remotely possible. Tom looked for Judas and found him talking to a servant, not even paying attention at the moment. The man had proven to be a good friend, not a killer.

Peter, who was sitting next to John, who was sitting next to Jesus, nudged John with his bony elbow. “Ask him who it is.”

John nodded and turned to Jesus, “Who betrays you? Tell us, which one of us will it be?”

There was one last piece of bread on the table. Jesus picked it up. “I will give this bread to the one who betrays me after I have dipped it in the oil.”

Jesus took the bread and dipped it in a small dish of olive oil, garlic and assorted spices. Just then, Judas, who had been all but oblivious to the conversation, as he was talking to a servant about money, leaned down to Jesus’s ear and said, “We’re out of bread, should I go purchase some more?”

Jesus turned to Judas and replied, “You are kind to offer, but you have not eaten yet. Take this bread to fill your stomach.”

Judas took the bread. “Thank you.”

“Do what you are about to do quickly,” Jesus said. “Time is running out.”

“I won’t be long,” Judas said, and he exited quickly.

Jesus turned back to the disciples, who looked disappointed.

Peter looked at Tom, who looked at John, who looked at Matthew and so on. All were confused and frustrated with anticipation. “Uh, Jesus,” Tom said, “What about the bread and betrayal? You were going hand it to the betrayer, but you just gave the bread to Judas...to eat...and he left!”

Jesus looked around the table. “It would appear that we are out of bread.”

“Judas went to get more bread?” John asked.

Jesus nodded.

“Well can’t we use a piece of fruit or chicken leg or something?”

Jesus smiled. “I’m afraid we’ll just have to wait on Judas.”

No one liked that answer, but what choice did they have? They returned to their previous conversations, which now included speculation as to who would be the betrayer of Jesus.

*   *   *   *   *

The rest of the night had gone by quickly and the morning had come even quicker, and still no sign of Judas. Tom wanted to take some of the disciples and search for Judas, but Jesus insisted Judas was fine and the group headed out early for the garden of Gethsemane on the Mount of Olives, just east of Bethany and Jerusalem.

Jesus left the disciples in the garden, which was an olive grove lined with sweet smelling, bright red Crown Anemone. He said he needed to speak to his Father. The disciples carried on conversations like nothing had changed. But Tom could sense a change, as though an unseen force were squeezing his skull. He went for a walk to clear his mind.

After five minutes, Tom stopped and sat on a large rock and took a deep breath. He was constantly amazed at how clear the air was here. In Arizona, there wasn’t a lot in the way of air pollution, but on particularly windy days, they’d get blasted by smog from the L.A. basin. Here, the air was always clean.

“Have you noticed where you’re sitting?” David asked.

Startled by David’s sudden appearance, Tom almost fell off the rock backwards, but he quickly recovered. “On a rock.”

“What do you see in front of you, down the hill? Picture a thousand people all gazing up at you. Go back a few years.”

Tom looked around and his mind began recalling the events of the past. He hopped down from the rock and peered at it. “I’ll be damned,” he said. “This is where it all started.”

Tom walked a few feet away and turned toward the rock again. “I was standing here; you were on the rock… Seems like a lifetime ago.”

Tom walked to the rock and rubbed it with his hand like it was an old friend. “You might not believe it, but I don’t particularly miss the future. I have things here I never had there: a large group of friends, I’m seeing the world, learning. In the future we stopped learning, did you ever realize that? We were just working every day, putting into practice what we already knew. Here we learn something new every day.”

“You forgot something,” David added.

“Mary. I know. But I have to return to the future. What we’ve started…the time travel devices… Who else is going to take care of it? Make sure it isn’t abused?”

David raised his eyebrows with a humored expression, “I can’t think of anyone better than us.”

“Right,” Tom said. “We have to go back.”

After walking a few feet away, David turned and faced Tom. His face was sour.

“What’s wrong?” Tom asked, curious as to the change in emotion.

David walked to the rock slowly and leaned against it. “You know how I told you how the past can’t be changed, because it’s already happened?” David asked.

“You’re not having doubts, are you? It’s a sound theory,” Tom said.

“No, I don’t have any doubts. I just wish it were wrong,” David explained.

Tom felt a sudden urgency, “Why? What’s going to happen?”

“It’s already happening.”

“What is?”

“Did you see Judas leave last night?” David asked, looking Tom in the eyes.

“Did something happen to him? Is he okay?”

“Did you see what he had in his hand?”

“Just a piece of bread that Jesus—” Tom’s muscles tensed. It couldn’t be...but the fact was undeniable. “Judas... He gave the bread to Judas! The exchange seemed so casual, it seemed Jesus had forgotten what the bread was meant for…but he didn’t, did he?”

“ARGHH!” A man’s voice cried out in anguish from the olive grove.

Tom jumped off the rock, ready for action.

David stood up straight. “It’s begun.”

—NINETEEN—

Trials

30 A.D.

5:12 P.M.

Mount of Olives, Israel

Tom had never pushed his lungs to the edge of endurance like this before. He was running as fast as he could. And David, the old man, was right behind him. Tom and David hopped over rocks and wove between trees like rabbits eluding a predator. But rather than running from the predator, they were headed straight for it.

As they rounded a group of trees, the clearing in the olive grove where the other disciples had been came into view. The disciples were in chaos, arguing about what to do, what not to do. No one had a clear course of action.

Dust kicked into the air as Tom came to an abrupt stop. He was completely winded, but didn’t bother sucking in air before speaking. There wasn’t time to breathe. “What happened? Tom asked. “Where’s Jesus? Who screamed?”

“They took him!” Matthew said. His face then contorted to a disdainful expression. “Judas was the betrayer!”

“I tried to stop them,” Peter said, as he held a sword in the air, its metal blade smeared with scarlet blood. “But he took the soldier’s ear and put it back on...like I had never cut it off...just put it right back on...”

“Where did they go?” Tom asked in a hurry.

“They’re leaving the grove even now. Headed for Jerusalem and a trial by the Romans,” Matthew said, hardly believing it himself.

Tom looked at David desperately, “We have to stop them.”

“We can’t. You know that.”

“Even if we fail. History doesn’t say we didn’t try, right?”

“No.”

“Good enough for me.”

Being at the top of the hilled olive grove made reaching top speed again that much easier. Tom was thirty feet away within seconds and would soon be out of sight. David followed after him, careening down the hill, arms flailing to maintain balance around the curves.

Matthew looked at Peter, forehead wrinkled. “Stop them? Did they see how many men there were?”

The wind tore through Tom’s hair and his muscles burned with life as he rounded a corner on the twisting path of switchbacks, which exited the olive grove. Ten feet in front of him stood a Roman soldier, apparently placed to stop any would-be rescue efforts by desperate disciples. This man alone, while not a huge physical threat to a group of disciples, carried the weight of the Roman Empire. If the soldier was killed, it would be open season on the disciples. The guard saw Tom coming and after pushing his red cape out of the way, drew his sword, thinking a show of force would be enough.

Tom eyed the sword, but knew the outcome of most fights often depended on who struck first, on who was most aggressive. Brute force didn’t replace his tactics—brute force was his tactic. Tom ran straight for the soldier.

“Stop where you are!” the soldier yelled, caught off guard by Tom’s undaunted charge.

Tom collided with the soldier like a battering ram. The soldier sailed through the air and slammed against a tree. The man slid to the ground and hit his head on a stone. Tom pressed on, satisfied that the soldier wouldn’t be running anyone through anytime soon.