The Messiah Code (26 page)

"What do you want to access IGOR for?"

Ezekiel was as surprised as the other two brothers by the question. They had assumed that Dr. Carter must now know why they needed access to his database of over one hundred million people.

Brother Helix frowned. "Why, to find a match, of course."

Ezekiel could see the revelation dawn on Dr. Carter's face. It had clearly never occurred to him that someone alive today could possess Christ's divine genes. Carter said nothing for a while. He toyed with his wine goblet and appeared to think through the consequences. Then he frowned and asked Brother Helix, "Won't this new Messiah of yours know about his abilities by now? Wouldn't he have already come to your attention?"

Helix shook his head. "Not necessarily. He may have been aware of these gifts as a child but then 'learned' that he shouldn't be able to do the things he can. He might smother his unusual talent in order to conform. So he isn't seen as different from his friends. His gifts could then lie dormant perhaps forever."

Carter nodded thoughtfully.

"Or," continued Helix, "he might be unaware of his genetic ability. Simply not use it. After all, every ability needs to be developed through use and practice."

Carter shrugged. "It's possible."

A small pause and Ezekiel saw the two Brothers dart a quick look in his direction.

He cleared his throat. "So, Dr. Carter, if you had Christ's DNA, do you believe you could use your Genescope and IGOR to find us a match for our Messiah?"

There was a slight pause. "If one exists," said Carter. "And it's on the database, then yes. I suppose so."

Bernard and Helix both flashed Ezekiel a quick triumphant smile. Perhaps this unholy alliance could work.

"Dr. Carter, if we give you a genuine sample, then you must deliver your part of the bargain, and invest all your resources in a search for a match. If you don't, then we would be forced to...
react
." Ezekiel met the scientist's eye with his. It was imperative that Carter realize he would be punished if he reneged on their agreement.

Carter smiled. "Don't worry. I'm as interested in finding a match as you are. However, don't forget one small thing. We need an
authentic
sample. Without that, all this talk of a deal is just that. Talk."

Ezekiel paused momentarily and looked down at his hands and the ruby glowing like a hot coal on his gnarled finger. Now was the moment of truth. They'd come this far. "To the trade then," he said, getting to his feet once more.

He turned toward the altar. "Come, Dr. Carter. There's something I wish to show you."

T
om Carter followed Ezekiel De La Croix to the altar. His mind raced from what he'd just been told. That they'd discovered IGOR only confirmed what they'd told him on the invitation. But the idea that somebody alive could have the same genes as Christ was so simple, it was brilliant. It opened up a whole new avenue for helping Holly. Once DAN had analyzed Christ's genome, he could search any DNA database for a match of someone alive who carried the same set of genes.

He watched Ezekiel pass the white flame issuing from a leadlined hole in the floor and walk to a sealed door set flush into the stone wall behind the altar. To the left of the door was a waist-high wooden stake jutting out of the rock wall, a noose of rough hemp hanging from the end.

As Tom walked past he casually toyed with the noose with his hand.

"I suggest you don't touch that," said Ezekiel firmly.

Tom pulled his hand away. "Why? What is it?"

Ezekiel gave him a strange smile. "It's what you might call a final precaution. Please leave it." Then he bent down and pulled another wooden lever concealed in the floor behind the altar.

Tom heard a grating rumble as the sealed door slid to

one side. There was just enough space to walk through in single file. Ezekiel pushed through and Tom waited for Helix and Bernard, but they didn't move. Clearly Ezekiel and he were going alone.

The air behind the door smelled different: mustier and much older. The small, featureless space was lit by two electric lamps powered by a small gas generator. He figured that this tall, shallow room had little oxygen. Then he saw another door in front and immediately realized that they weren't in a room at all, but a buffer area between the large cavern and whatever lay beyond the second door. Sure enough, Ezekiel turned and pulled another lever behind him, closing the door they'd just come through, sealing them in.

Tom watched the ancient Leader of the Brotherhood walk to the second door ahead of them and pull another lever. This door opened with a noise similar to the first, revealing an opening of inky darkness. Ezekiel disappeared into it, Tom heard the click of a switch, and the room was suddenly illuminated by bright light.

"This is our Vault of Remembrance," announced Ezekiel, without explanation.

Tom's first feeling when he recovered from the dazzle of the lights was disappointment. He hadn't expected to see a treasure of gold and precious stones, but even so, he had expected more than this. The unprepossessing room looked like a cross between a vast janitor's cupboard and a tiny, dusty museum. Long rickety shelves containing boxes, documents, and unusual artifacts lined the walls. Five ancient chests rested on the rough-hewn stone floor. And at the far end a rope ladder dangled from a narrow fissure in the rough ceiling. An almost indiscernible breeze came from the fissure and Tom assumed it would eventually lead all the way to the surface if you had the stamina or the motivation to climb it. Next to the rope ladder was a recess, no taller than three feet high, carved into the far wall. It was covered by a fabric screen. Nothing in the room
looked
valuable--not at first sight anyway.

Then he walked to one box and peered inside. He saw wellpreserved scrolls that must have been hundreds--per haps thousands--of years old, and ancient books written in languages he would never know. He looked down the shelf and vaguely recognized weapons and other artifacts that had long outlived the civilizations that fashioned them. He stood back and studied the small room with fresh eyes and felt the excitement return. Even with his untrained eye he could tell that the treasures in this time capsule were not just valuable; they were priceless.

Tom was particularly drawn to one scroll resting on the edge of a stone ledge. Something about the faded script on the cracked parchment fascinated him. He leaned closer to study it, but made no move to touch the fragile document. He noticed Ezekiel watching him closely.

"That is the account of Lazarus's dream, written in his own hand," the old man explained. "It describes this place and the prophecy of the Sacred Flame--all recorded from his vision. It also lays down the objectives and laws of the Brotherhood, which have remained virtually unchanged for twenty centuries."

Tom nodded slowly, trying to take it all in, his eyes scanning the shelves until they alighted on a folded piece of threadbare cloth. It looked soiled and was covered loosely in a protective leather wrap.

Ezekiel, still studying him, asked, "Do you know what that is?"

He shook his head. But he was sure his father would know. Alex would give an arm to see just one of these treasures.

The old man's voice lowered in deference. "That is the shroud of our Lord."

Tom couldn't help it. Despite his atheism a shiver ran through him. "But I thought that was in Turin."

A dry, contemptuous laugh. "That is nothing but a circus hoax--to dupe the gullible and secure their allegiance--and money."

Tom said nothing. What could he say? For the first time in his life he was seeing what appeared to be evidence of a religion that he'd dismissed most of his life. The historical significance of the artifacts was undeniable, but he still remained unconvinced of their spiritual importance.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of an ancient helmet, complete with noseguard. And next to it, leaning against the wall as casually as a baseball bat in a child's cupboard, was the largest sword Tom had ever seen. Its magnificent polished blade was thick tempered steel, its heavy hilt boldly ornate, and the handle bound in some worn fabric he didn't recognize. At its base, set deep into the metal, was a large ruby stone, twice the size of the one in Ezekiel's ring. The sword looked as weighty as a girder, and he couldn't see how anyone could possibly lift it, let alone wield it in battle.

Ezekiel said with obvious pride, "That sword and helmet belonged to Sir Antoine De La Croix, a Crusader of the Knights Templars garrisoned at the castle of Krak de Chevaliers in Syria. He became Leader of the Brotherhood almost a thousand years ago. I am descended from his bloodline."

"The sword's remarkable. But how did he use it? It's enormous."

A dismissive shrug. The voice wistful. "Men were more disciplined then."

Tom looked at other scrolls and noticed an impressive tablet of stone. There was script carved into its surface, but he couldn't understand the characters. He shook his head in bewilderment.

"Where did you get all these treasures? And why do you keep them secret from the rest of the world?"

Ezekiel's black eyes drilled into his. "Our founder and subsequent followers have salvaged, redeemed, and handed down these items from generation to generation throughout the last two millennia." The old head nodded in thought. "Dr. Carter, history is not a science. It is only memory. The selective memory of powerful men. If the powerful choose to forget something in the past, or change it, they can. But you can't argue with evidence. History is like faith; it is dependent on what you believe. But unlike faith, one's view, or memory, of history can be supported by evidence." The frail hands swept around the room. "These items constitute our evidence and help us to keep the faith. So long as these survive, and are kept safe from today's political powermongers who want to kill religion, then we shall always have proof of what we believe. Of what we
know
in our hearts."

Tom suddenly felt the discomfort of the outsider. He knew Ezekiel must regard him with his atheism and science as one of those powermongers intent upon eroding the relevance of religion--using the promise of the future to wipe out the relevance of the past.

"Do you think that by seeing these pieces of evidence I will believe what you believe?"

A shrug. "Perhaps."

"But history
isn't
religion. I believe Kennedy existed and that he was a great man. But I don't
worship
him because of it."

"Just consider one thought, Dr. Carter. If we hadn't believed in the divinity of Christ and sought to validate our faith in him by collecting the objects you see around you--if we had chosen instead to ignore the past and scramble blindly toward a technologically breathtaking but spiritually bankrupt future--if we had done this, would we still possess the very thing that you seek?"

Tom gave a noncommittal shrug. The Brotherhood's use of souvenirs to justify their faith, and Ezekiel's obvious contempt for mankind's desire to take charge of its own destiny, provoked strong feelings in him, but now was not the time to debate them.

Ezekiel stared at him for a moment, then turned abruptly and said, "We've talked enough. We should proceed."

He took a small gold key from around his neck and walked to the recess at the end of the room. He pulled back the fabric curtain to reveal an ornate, gilt cage about three feet tall, with a high gabled roof and latticed walls. The craftsmanship was breathtaking.

Tom watched the ancient man bend slowly and use the key to unlock the lattice door. He heard the hinges squeak with lack of use as Ezekiel reached slowly inside. The man seemed to take forever before he eventually straightened. In his hands Ezekiel held what appeared to be a casket of precious metal inlaid with gemstones. Tom strained to get

a closer look as Ezekiel opened it, the lid hinging away from him.

Ezekiel looked up at him. "Our founder, Lazarus, brought these here with the shroud. To serve as a reminder of what happened on the day mankind crucified its savior."

Tom stood speechless as Ezekiel walked toward him, holding the open box close to his chest. On the side of the small casket that faced him, Tom could see what appeared to be rubies set in silver, forming a cross. Four emeralds adorned the beaten gold of each corner.

Said Ezekiel, "These have never been allowed out of this vault. Not for two thousand years."

His black eyes looked into Tom's, and thin sinewy arms extended toward him. The exquisite casket was now only inches away. Tom's precise surgeon's hands were shaking as he took the box and tried to peer over the hinged lid. The objects were nestled, partially concealed in a bed of purple silk. Then he realized what they were--or thought he did. He turned to Ezekiel and tried to speak.

The black eyes took in his obvious shock, and the ancient head nodded slowly in confirmation. "If you doubt them, touch them," the old man whispered.

Tom rested the casket in his left palm, then with delicate fingers carefully picked the two objects out of the concealing silk. Now, lying there on the palm of his right hand, it was obvious to him what they were.

A six-inch rusty nail and a yellowed human tooth.

F
rom her vantage point outside the doorway to the Cave of the Sacred Light, Maria Benariac could see that the meeting was coming to a close. The Inner Guards protecting the Brotherhood's Sanctuary had allowed her to come down unannounced as long as she stayed outside the cavern and didn't disturb the Father. She had waited for nearly an hour, and was impatient to surprise him.

As she looked around the half-open door, past the pillars, she could see the Father standing with Brother Bernard and Brother Helix. They had a guest with them; she would have to contain her impatience. She craned her head around to