Chapter
1
February 14, 2003 Jerusalem, Israel
The hard, cold wooden seats of the conference room's
waiting area didn't lend themselves to any warm, fuzzy feelings that Sonja
Martin might have towards this Board of Governors of the Jerusalem New
Testament Biblical Institute. Her
friend Elana Dutros was inside pitching their project to a dubious Board with a
disinterested leader and Sonja knew it was best to let Elana lay out their
project. Then she could
strike—just go in and dazzle them with her genetics concepts sandwiched
between layers of biblical education and Christian commitment.
Smugly looking at his Board, the Reverend Simon Lewis
disdainfully shook his head. "What do you think is so worthy of not only my
time, but that of this whole Board?
You girls need to understand we are busy and don't have time to waste on
foolish projects!" As irritating
as it always was to have so many women intruding into his world of biblical
studies, Lewis thought he hid his feelings well when such negative thoughts
coursed through his mind. Why are these girls pushing their way into
Biblical studies? This is a man's
field! The Catholics have it
right—keep the women where they belong!
Observing Reverend Lewis' clumsy body language with
negativism oozing out of every puffy pore, Elana couldn't suppress her
thoughts: Won't even look at me when he's
speaking! Pompous little old man
with clothes that don't fit and a rear end so big no light from the window
escapes onto the floor. A short man with an even shorter man's syndrome! Look up 'arrogance' in the
dictionary and there's his picture! "I…I
understand. No disrespect
of your time or the rest of the Board's is intended. I hope and believe you will find my proposal an interesting
and worthy project for the wonderful Institute you've created here."
Dutiful employee that she was at the Biblical
Institute, Elana found it difficult to suppress her disappointment in these
biased attitudes of her superiors.
Raised in Athens, Greece, she understood the primitive Byzantine
perceptions men had about women, especially in the workplace. But these men were Americans and she
expected them to be more enlightened, not stuck in that same old mindset of diminished
expectations and condescending attitudes so prevalent in the Old World. Elana hadn't spent much time with
Reverend Lewis and hardly any with the other members of the Board, but she
sensed enough to be anxious about the impact Sonja's unaffected beauty,
imposing height and smashing intellect might have on them—especially this
little, rumpled, frumpled Reverend Lewis.
Squirming in her seat, yet confident of her ability to
face the Board with no hands wringing and no toes tapping, Sonja still couldn't
dispel the impact of Elana's last-minute warning: "Just don't intimidate
them!" What could she do? She couldn't change her 5'9" height or
brilliant hazel eyes framed by long, flowing brown hair, and that's what she
thought Elana meant when she spoke about her 'ravishing beauty'. Beauty wasn't something Sonja
associated with herself because she never grew up seeking her image in a
mirror. Beauty is what she only
saw in other people. But her
intellect was different, something she frequently needed to hide so as not to
intimidate the males in her life.
Sonja's deductive reasoning was analytically quick and comprehensively
superior. No few males had their
testosterone-inflated egos crushed by her problem solving capabilities.
But Elana's earlier words had burrowed deeply into the
strata of her subconscious: "Be
careful with this Reverend Lewis!
His grossly-oversized ego has only a flirting relationship with reality. Those long, athletically-beautiful legs
of yours could be threatening to a dumpy little old man who would see them as
being longer than he was tall."
After surveying the rest of the Board, Elana now
brought her focus back to Lewis. "Once you meet Sonja Martin I think you'll
understand my enthusiasm for her and our project. She's uniquely inspiring, as is her concept of biblical
genetics." Watching him standing
there brought shivers of anxiety through her mind as she doubted men's ability
to deal with women in the study of religion. But now, regaining her composure after a momentary pause,
she was again keenly focused and her confidence was soaring like the positivism
of her thoughts: We hold all the aces with superior
knowledge, insight and judgment.
We'll be fine if we can only avoid
the YCSS—that Y-Chromosome Suffocation Syndrome where weak men strangle
the work of strong women whose minds are too advanced for their fragile male
egos.
Without
Lewis acknowledging anything, Elana continued, "Hiring a biblical researcher
with a background in genetic research makes no sense under normal
circumstances, but these aren't normal times and Sonja Martin isn't a normal
molecular geneticist. I think
recent events justify adding Sonja to our payroll to develop a unique project;
the genetic evaluation of a limestone burial box, the Ossuary of James, son of
Joseph and brother of Jesus. A
practicing Christian geneticist is unique and exactly what's needed. That's what we get in Sonja
Martin!"
Sonja wished she knew what was going on behind that
big door, but she trusted Elana to get the job done. They first met three years ago at Strayton University when
Elana arrived to do some post-graduate work in the New Testament. Each had spent some time at the home of
the other; Manchester, Vermont for Sonja and Athens, Greece for Elana. And now here she sat, eagerly and nervously
awaiting the results of Elana's pleas and proposal to the Board.
On the other side of the door, Elana and the four
Board members were trying to reach some consensus as the Reverend Lewis had the
floor. With his back to Elana
while gazing out the boardroom window, he tried to bring this discussion to an
honorable conclusion. He was sure
these girls were wasting his time, because what could they do for him that he
couldn't do? He understood the world had changed, and
he also accepted he was more comfortable with men since religion had always
been about men's wisdom. "Let's
face it," he often said to his manly colleagues, "God is a man. If He wanted women around, He would
have created a wife to sit somewhere behind Him." The very pious reverend may have understood this changing
world, but that didn't mean he had to like it, nor understand how distant he
was from it.
"Miss Dutros," Reverend Lewis caustically
questioned while still looking out the window, "how can you begin to think a
molecular geneticist can have any potential benefit to this Institute? Even if she spends some of her time
doing our biblical research, how do we justify any time dabbling in this
unheard-of field of biblical genetics.
There is no rationale for it!
I understand Miss Martin is committed to our cause, but where does
genetics come into play in a world of New Testament manuscripts? My dear girl, maybe it's about
business, something you really don't understand."
Ignoring Lewis' stupid slight, Elana resisted the
temptation to rise from her chair.
She knew her thick brown hair and dark brown eyes, in combination with
her height of 5 feet 7 inches, would be far too intimidating a presence for
such a small, egotistical man. But
she was also concerned her anxiety might show and make her look small and
weak. An uncontrollable twitching
of her nose erupted when she was nervous, and she hoped now wouldn't be one of
those times. She feared this
Reverend Lewis would try anything to disparage her proposal. "It comes into play," replied an
un-intimidated and un-offended Elana, as she leaned forward on the table and
folded her hands in front of her, "on pieces of bone. I know this concept is stretching one's imagination,
but Miss Martin's research, based on what is known as the Jewish Priest Study,
has created a place for genetic studies in our shared area of
interest—biblical research."
Turning from the window, and with his hand stroking
his ample chin, Lewis admitted to himself he didn't really understand what she
was talking about. With a slow and
arrogant tilting of his head he looked at Elana, then followed with an
imperious raising of all three of his chins. "Tell me more about this study and why you think it has
merit for my Institute."
Finally, there's hope I can
get these guys to think outside the box.
She chuckled at what she just thought, then made every effort to
repress an emerging smile. What a thing
to think! I want them thinking
inside the box, inside Moshe Levin's limestone box. She nodded approvingly towards Lewis, acknowledging his
superior sense of wisdom and timing, while her own confidence was growing and
her nose wasn't twitching.
"Thank you for allowing me to
clarify Sonja's work and its potential importance for us at the
Institute."
Boredom dominated Lewis and he made no pretense of
hiding it as he peered out the window.
An eager Elana started firing on all cylinders. "As you know, the surname Cohen was the
name historically given to men who were Jewish priests. I don't think it's presumptuous to
assume that we all understand how Jewish priests come only from fathers who
were also Jewish priests. It's
patrilineal. And since Aaron, the
brother of Moses, was the first priest, isn't it reasonable to assume the
lineage of priests descends from Aaron to present day Jewish priests? And would they not be genetically
related due to this patrilineage?
Is it, Reverend Lewis, being out of line to make these
assumptions?"
Lewis' body language changed and Elana sensed a light
going on in his small, obtuse brain.
Afraid he lost some edge by delaying any response, he now gave her a
stern look then responded in a very formal fashion, "That is true if there had
been a pure patrilineage, only and always Jewish priests descending from Jewish
priest fathers. But how can we
know that the chain of purity was never broken or tainted by an adopted son or
someone who was falsely projected as a son? You know it wouldn't have been uncommon for some women to
have been cheating on their Jewish priest husbands."
Nodding approvingly, giving the impression she was
aware of his keen insight, Elana repressed her desire to defend the reputations
and integrity of these slandered Jewish women. "Well, we can't assume with 100% certainty there are no
frauds in the lineage, but we can rely on reasonable degrees of certainty if we
provide some genetic link among the men who themselves are linked to the Jewish
priesthood. That research is what
stimulated Sonja Martin's work at a genetics laboratory called MolecuGen."
"You mean she was trying to find a genetic link among
Jewish priests? "
queried Lewis with an inquisitive look on a bloated face framed by his unkempt,
arched eyebrows meeting together above his nose to form a shaggy
'unibrow'.
Maybe she finally had him hooked! He jumped at the bait and his curiosity
had set the hook. She kept
nodding. "The Jewish Priest Study
was already done by other people who studied the DNA of many randomly chosen
men named Cohen, the historical name of Jewish priests. What did they find? A common genetic marker projecting a
shared genetic linkage with the historical lineage of Jewish priests. Sonja used these findings as she
focused on the genetic sequence of the building blocks of DNA, things called
nucleotides. As individuals, we all have our own unique coding or order of
these nucleotides, and Sonja was trying to find something special in their
arrangement. While the Jewish
Priest study did find special sequencing markers in the lineage of Aaron, Sonja
speculated there might be something similarly unique in any lineage of Jesus."
Leaning forward, elbows on the table and left hand
stroking his chins, Lewis was now intrigued. He didn't understand too much about genetics, but he thought
he understood where this was going.
"Speculated?" he asked. "Of
what value is a theory if no proof can
validate it? Speculation
then shifts to sheer stupidity!"
"Your doubt is understandable," replied Elana as she
gently, but definitively, pounded the palms of her hands on the table, "but
let's bring in Miss Martin to tell you about her work?"
Lewis lumbered over to the door and as he opened it, a
surprised Sonja jumped up from her seat and found herself facing this short,
heavy-set older man whose gaze shocked her. He appeared interested in her, but his formal tone was
absent of any warmth. "Miss
Martin, I am the Reverend Simon Lewis.
Would you please come in and introduce us to your research at
MolecuGen? Miss Dutros has
made a very compelling case on your behalf, and now we would like you to share
some of your experiences with us.
Please… please come in," he said as he extended his hand to her as a
greeting.
"Thank you," gushed Sonja as she shook his limp hand
and realized she was stooping slightly so as not to tower over him. "I'm pleased to meet you and so excited
you've found interest in my project."
Quick to put her at ease, Lewis replied, "I do, or
should I say we members of the Board certainly find your research of interest,
and would like you to share more of your vision with us."
Almost sprinting into the room, she saw Elana at the
table with an open chair next to her.
As she moved towards the chair, Lewis was struck by her size—size
was always important to him even though he didn't have any and couldn't admit
it to himself. Where do these tall women come from? This Martin girl must be over 5
½ feet tall with the same dark looks as Dutros. He pointed to the chair. "Please sit down and make yourself
comfortable. We are very
interested in what you have to say.
Miss Dutros explained the issue of the Jewish priest lineage and your
genetic research. While it sounds
intriguing, what does this have to do with us?"
Hesitating for only a second, she wondered how much,
or how well Elana had described her research. Anxious thoughts raced through her mind: Just
answer the questions. Don't get
caught-up with confusion or assumptions. Then she looked Reverend Lewis right in the eye.
"Independent of the Jewish Priest Study, my research at MolecuGen verified
their findings that a genetic marker could be traced in men named Cohen all the
way back to Aaron, the brother of Moses.
I believe Elana already discussed that with you. But I was curious about the very
special ordering of DNA building blocks.
These building blocks, called nucleotides, are what make up all human
DNA, and there are only four of them: adenine, guanine, thymine and cytosine. We usually refer to them only by their
letter designation of A, G, T and C.
While millions of A, C, T and G are uniquely arranged for each human,
there are sometimes recurring patterns called microsatellites such as: A-C, C-G, A-C, C-G. If many patterns were found to be
atypically common, the inference is these microsatellites could be uniquely
shared by genetically-related people and also serve as a mechanism for the
identification of other relatives."
A condescending Lewis nodded, "All very interesting,
but what does all this mean for my Institute?"
With confidence building, and while edging up in her
chair to close the deal, Sonja looked over at Elana and saw that small nervous
twitching of her nose. "Prior to
January 7, 2003, it didn't have much potential to be anything other than a
theory."
Looking a bit perturbed from being fed in small
morsels, Lewis wanted it all in one bite.
"What happened on January 7, 2003?"
Quick to respond, Sonja kept her focus on Lewis'
face. "That's the day an obscure
Jerusalem antiquities dealer announced to the world he had a limestone box, an
ossuary, on which carbon dating had been done. The results of the dating showed the box, or its contents,
could have come from the time of Christ."
"Was the box 2,000 years old, or just the piece of
limestone from which it was made?
You know other people have discovered 2,000 year old antiques, so what
is so special about this one?" harshly queried Lewis trying to test her mettle
to see if she was worthy of any investment.
Repressing her desire to get up from her chair and
look down on him, Sonja quickly blurted out, "Actually, for the carbon dating
to have any legitimacy, you need organic remains in the box since you can't
test the limestone itself.
No one has found an antique like this ossuary and on its lid is the
chiseled inscription: 'James, son
of Joseph, brother of Jesus'."
"Are there bones in the box? Do you really think this ossuary is that of James?" now
probed a very curious Lewis whose haughty look was one of the last tricks in
his arsenal of sexist intimidation.
Unwavering, Sonja didn't hesitate. She knew her position, having reviewed
it in her mind hundreds of times before.
"The box is listed as being sealed, but something inside was analyzed
before it was sealed. Apparently
it was found outside Israel in a dry cave complex similar to the site of the
Dead Sea Scrolls. I can't say
what's in it, be it bones, bone residue or just limestone dust. I can't even be sure if the ossuary is
a fraud or not. The man who owns
it has a jaded history in the antiquities realm, but this time he's contracted
for some legitimizing research from several very prestigious research
institutions."
Impatient about how his Biblical Institute might fit
into this unfolding mystery, Lewis unquestionably wanted to be on the leading
edge of a discovery. But he also
didn't want to look like a fool putting his support behind these girls and then
discovering the ossuary was a fraud.
It would be his and the Institute's reputations that needed
protected. He curbed a rising look
of eager anticipation while assuming an air of detached aloofness. "Even if the ossuary is 2,000
years old and holds something, how do we know what that something is? If there are bones in the box, how do
we know whose bones they were?
This could be a genetic detective story with a dead end—a very
dead end!"
Struggling to stay glued to her seat, Sonja leaned
closer to the table, placed both elbows on it and then prayerfully folded her
hands as she then wasted not a second in firing back her retort. "Please bear in mind the chiseled
inscription said important things.
If the inscription was legitimately chiseled at the time of James'
death, it links James to Joseph—something that's not really
disputed. However, by saying
'brother of Jesus', ancient people of that time only talked about a brother if
he actually was a blood brother.
Not a step-brother or adopted brother or anything else. This alone would imply that James
was not only the brother of Jesus, but also a biological child of Mary!"
"Yes," proclaimed a pompous Lewis, "it would confirm
what the Bible said about Jesus having brothers and sisters. It could also confirm what we
Protestants believe, and create a basis for a resolution of one of the
stumbling blocks in the search for greater Christian unity. God only knows how critical it is that
all Christians stand as a unified force against the negative forces emerging
from the non-Christian world."
"Precisely," said Sonja, almost jumping from her
chair, "but let's take this further.
Since Mary was of the lineage of Aaron, if we found some of those unique
Jewish Priest Study microsatellite patterns in just a trace of DNA from what we
think is James bones, this would support our position of James being of the
blood of Mary. It's not perfect
proof of anything, but sometimes you have to accumulate a lot of scientific
data before definitively proving a hypothesis. Needless to say, just by looking at an inscription in that ossuary
lid doesn't prove that any genetic material found inside would be of
James."
"Exactly what I was worried about," said a smug Lewis
as he turned to look away from Sonja to again show her his back while he mused,
"If that is the case, why would we get involved with this ossuary? It looks interesting and tantalizing,
yet could lead us to something not provable."
Not able to hold back any longer, Sonja stood up, "I
agree what we have may not be perfect, but it's a step in the right direction. And while we don't know from where our
next genetic information will come, look at where we end up by tracing this
genetic pathway. The thought of
the Jewish Priest microsatellite sequencing possibly shared by James makes one
wonder if that same sequence might be holy, a Holy Sequence shared by Mary and
ultimately Jesus."
Bathing in his unsubstantiated arrogance, the
malevolent minister persisted, "How will you know if some DNA you're thinking
is James' might not be that of a woman?"
"That's not a difficult issue to verify even in
severely altered DNA. You can look
at the Amelogenin loci or the base-pair sequences in highly fragmented
remains. It's no problem, but not
what we're after."
"I see," interjected Reverend Lewis as the quizzical
look, raised unibrow included, now returned to his countenance. "Then you're assuming the identifiable
genetic material of the Cohen research would have come from Aaron and you're
wondering if it could have been shared not only by Elizabeth, but also Mary,
James and then Jesus."
"Correct," trumpeted Elana, halfway out of her chair
before realizing she needed some restraint. "Excuse me, I… I just couldn't contain myself."
You could feel the emergent energy around the table as
everyone had absorbed her enthusiasm as the project unfolded.
"Yes," exclaimed a beaming Sonja. "And," she paused, "if there are any
bone fragments in that ossuary whose genetic content is similar to what was
found in the Jewish Priest Study, it's reasonable to assume the bone material
in the box does in fact belong to James."
A beaming Lewis added, "And an old Christian conundrum
would be solved if I proved James was of the blood of Mary, not a stepchild
from a previous wife of Joseph, nor an illegitimate or even an adopted
child."
Twitching gone, an increasingly confident Elana
replied, "Yes sir, you're right."
And this time she stayed firmly seated. "We wouldn't have perfect proof, but would have built a
stronger data base with this holy sequencing that strengthened the Protestant
position. And sir, by doing so,
you would be seen as the Great Resolver of the Christian Conundrum—the
leader of this Righteous Resolution."
Lewis leapt at the opportunity as a quick thought
seared its imprint into his imagination:
These girls can be useful. Why not give them a chance to see what
greatness they can bring me that I can show to all the world? If they fail, it won't hurt my reputation,
only theirs. If they find
something useful, naturally I, the risk-taker and entrepreneur in this venture,
can rightfully take credit for it.
How can I lose? Take the
credit for the good or let them assume the responsibility, as they so rightly
should, if they fail me or my Biblical Institute. I'll only further enhance my reputation as the Bold
Innovator I've always been. "Miss
Dutros, your recommendation is accepted!"
Strutting around the table, this plump peacock of a
pastor continued, "On behalf of the Board of the Jerusalem New Testament
Biblical Institute, we would like to offer to Miss Martin, a position on our
staff. Naturally we will provide
all the funding requested," as he winked at her, "but I must tell you a secret. I never had a trace of doubt in you or
your project from the very beginning.
We on the Board simply wanted to determine if you had the same level of
confidence in yourself that we already had in you. Come now!
Please stand up and meet your new employers."
Sonja stood up tall, then instantly stooped slightly
as a response shot from her lips, "Thank you. I accept your offer and look forward to working with you and
Miss Dutros."
Arms spread wide as if to bring the flock closer to
him, a joyous Lewis couldn't contain his enthusiasm, nor his smile. "Now where do we go from here with my
project?"
Smugly satisfied, Elana replied, "Our first step is to
go to the exhibit at King Solomon Hall.
Let's see what this Moshe Levin really has."
Buy Trace : The Divine
Sequence Now
Chapter 2
3/15/2003, Tarbert, County Kerry,
Ireland
Like a brilliant comet streaking across the sky, the
super-confident Rigel was always the brightest star, but this time some doubts
festered about getting his men focused on this new agenda. Maybe
too much money too soon was the problem, he thought while wondering whether
they could take on his new project—a pilgrimage of sorts. Would these bones of Jesus' brother
rattle their cages enough to grab their interest?
Getting up from the kitchen table, Liam's thick,
resonating Irish brogue got everyone's attention. Despite his short height and disheveled brown hair
half-covering his blood-shot brown eyes, the grimace on his unshaven face
projected the doubt in his mind.
"It's a bloody mess concerning ourselves with things in Israel. We made our fortunes elsewhere;
here in Europe, North America, Russia and from the Saudis. Why now Jerusalem? Is that where we want ta be?"
Liam's words brought to the surface an exploding
pustule of underlying uncertainty seeping through him, as well as Conor and
Viktor. Conor, like Liam, a
devoted ally of Rigel, rose from his chair only to stare out the window at the
River Shannon coursing its way out of Ireland to greet the Atlantic Ocean. Same short height as Liam, but more
intimidating with the shoulders and neck of a bull, and a ferocious gaze that
intimidated no small number of his victims. But now, as he turned towards Liam, the look in his dark
brown eyes was only that of a long-standing friendship. Running his fingers through his long,
oily brown hair, his Irishness dripped like honey on every ripe word rolling
from his lips. "He's never
led us astray before, but I'll be damned if I can figure out what he's up ta
this time."
A deep Russian voice, coming from the large hulk of an
unsmiling man, filled the room with a thick atmosphere of doubt. Viktor Koronovski felt like an outsider
since all his partners were Irish, but he never felt so uncomfortable that he
wouldn't give his opinion, usually smothered in his slow, halting Russian
style. Looking first at Liam, then
Conor, he spewed out, "You two are Irish, like him and maybe you grow up
trusting each other, but I trust no one but Rigel. Rigel always makes good
decisions, but I can't understand Jerusalem. Nothing but religion and hatred there!"
"Right ya are," responded Liam, "and Rigel hasn't told
us what's so good there. Why lose
our momentum now when the spoils from our Belarus trip generates the power ta
make our biggest score?"
The door burst open and there stood Rigel, as tall as
Viktor, but with a trim, well-toned body and an undeniable projection of
self-assurance. Donovan O'Rafferty,
the 32 year old Irishman with the piercing blue eyes coming from under his mop
of unruly red hair, was certainly the man-of-the-hour for these men. Forsaking his birth name years
ago and now known only as Rigel, he was always the brightest light leading the
way. With his ability to
lead Orion, the name he gave his pack of larcenous hunters, they were seeking
fortune wherever his nose and his brain took them. A good group of
hunters they are, he thought, and if
I'm their brightest light, I can't keep them in the dark forever. "Lads, what's in those craniums a
yours?" he asked while surveying this collage of confused faces.
A spontaneous Viktor blurted out before anyone else
had a chance, "When you not here, we talk. And when we talk, we wonder what Rigel thinks about
Jerusalem? Why we go there?"
Rigel's Orion group, together for nine years, had
great team chemistry but this was the first time they challenged him.
Emboldened by Viktor's bluntness, Liam got off
his chair. "Rigel, my boy, ya know
we're always prepared ta go with ya, but there's a fog over this mission. We've been making money hand-over-fist,
especially after the Vatican, so why change course? Makes no sense ta go ta Israel—it's not part a the
plan."
Unfazed by this collective doubt, Rigel still realized
he kept his men in the dark long enough.
He walked over to the big window in the room, and after flinging its
curtain wide open, looked out longingly toward the sky before turning back to
them. "Lads, we're off ta
Jerusalem and going ta look at an old antique, a relic from about 2,000 years
ago. From the time a Jesus if ya
can believe it."
Conor couldn't hold back. "But we're not in the antiques business. Why do such a thing when we can make
more money in a day looting with our computers than ya can make in a lifetime
selling antiques? It might be OK
for your old age," Conor laughed as he bent over and mimicked an older person
hobbling with a cane, "but for now, haven't ya gone off the deep end just a wee
bit?"
Suppressing his sly smile, Rigel reflected, I guess I need to whet their appetites,
then focused on Conor. "We're not
going ta be antique dealers.
Already enough crooks there.
I'm looking for something a little more legitimate than what we've been
doing—something like the business a religion."
Twisting in his chair, Liam spat out, "Rigel,
c'mon! Ya say enough crooks are
already in antiques, but have ya forgot about religion? Don't ya think there are enough thieves
already in the churches who'll make us look like saints no matter how bad we
are?"
Sometimes timid, but this time able to speak his mind,
Conor chimed in, "Is the mad cow disease making your brain spongy? We know ya hate the Church because a
your brother Michael, but religion?
You a all people, a religious man ya aren't."
So true, a religious man I'm not. Rigel mused as his mind wandered to a
different time. He wasn't
religious now, but as a boy, he'd been very religious until he needed the
protection of Orion the Hunter. He
looked at Conor, then nodded, "You're right. I don't love the Church, but they've been loving me since I
was a little lad. What an ingrate
ya must think I am!"
Growing up poor in Ireland, there weren't many
pathways to success for a very bright little boy. With his father's Irish Disease, never sober enough to give
any guidance, Rigel's chances were bleak.
His only hope was his mum and the Church. Despite having her hands full with four children, she was
able to instill in them a combination of mental discipline and intellectual
drive. Like so many women of that
era, poor and without help from a supportive spouse, Margaret O'Rafferty did
all she could to get her children a foothold in life. She knew they had only one chance, and that was for them to
excel in the church school and then maybe the priests would get behind them and
push them to success.
But Rigel was the only one to get ahead. He always said his brother Michael couldn't deal with the
Church's abuse, which destroyed him. And his sisters? They took the only way out of their destitute lives by becoming
nuns. Rigel thought of them often,
and how the carnivorous Church had in one way or another consumed their
flesh. The Church, he thought, where
would I be without the Church? Why
was I the only one to escape it with most of me being intact? I
could handle the constant pushing, poking and prodding, but my poor Michael
couldn't. The Church destroyed
him, and for that I'll make it pay.
Rigel's superior intelligence, and maybe a little help
with his mum cleaning the parish house, accelerated him through the local
church schools and ultimately to Trinity College in Dublin. But before he got to Trinity, his
loyalty to this great benefactor had long since wistfully waned. He didn't have the blind devotion
of his mum, and his love of the Church had long since vanished; a love lost
just like that for a father not there to protect and love him back.
While still in his pre-university schooling, Rigel
realized the Church was not all it was projected to be. He knew it helped men, women and
children, but it also created some of the difficulties the Irish people
had. With not enough land to farm
since too many children were born to most families, the people were dependent
on the Church for charity. And with no birth control, the lives of the devout were
doomed to over-populated hand-to-mouth poverty. Knowing there was no chance for success, men drank
themselves into lives of desperate denial, duly depriving their families of a
better life. The Church's
emissaries, its priests, were always there to serve the people, and to have the
people serve them back—a system of salvation and functional slavery all
wrapped into one neat guilt-ridden package.
As a teenager Rigel went from loving the Church, to
fearing it and then finally loathing it.
He became unsure about all the secrecy and actions from the confessional
to the convent, but his mum always said 'ta trust the priests, nuns and the
Church' because they were his only hope.
'They'll take care a ya,' she always said, but his unhappiness increased
as he grew older and he understood his Michael's mistreatment. That unhappiness with the Church was
finally overcome when he followed its own advice, the words he always heard
from the pious pulpit: 'When
you're in trouble, look ta God—look ta the heavens for your comfort and
peace.' And every night when those
profound problems consumed him, out to the fields he went to lie on his back to
seek his peace and salvation in the heavens. While he never saw his Father in Heaven, he did find
something else; the constellation Orion with its three stars in a diagonal
row. Why always Orion the
Hunter? Were the stars telling him
what his Father in Heaven wasn't?
From that time thereafter, he understood that heavenly message from
Orion, the Hunter, and no longer wanted to be Donovan O'Rafferty, the
hunted. And from the brightest
star in the constellation, he took the name Rigel, the perfect name for the
brightest of boys—and a single name for the most solitary of boys. As Rigel, he would someday settle the
score for all the innocents, for all the little ones, especially his little
brother Michael!
Like a miracle, the system worked! With the Church's persistent prodding,
he was off to Trinity College in Dublin, only to be known as Rigel. At Trinity he came to understand how
his powerful ability to lead men combined with his education in finance and
international business created a perfect fit for an unlimited future. While his friends at Trinity were of
similar educational backgrounds, and whose stars never shined as brightly as
his, they would be clustered around his brilliance and become his Orion. And like Orion the Hunter, they would
be hunters—hunters of fortune with highly sophisticated computer hacking
skills and the knowledge of how the international business world
functioned. Forsaking the ideas of
that foolish Englishman Robin Hood, Orion would find ways to take from the
'haves' and keep for themselves.
Walking over to the kitchen table, Rigel sat on the
only available chair. "Lads,
don't ya worry a bit, I won't lead ya ta Jerusalem for a wrong reason. And Liam, don't be doubting our
mission. We'll make more money
than a supercomputer can count before we're done."
Rigel had taken care of Liam before by saving him from
an unruly Dublin crowd which disapproved of his socialist, public
provocations. Liam Flynn
from Portaferry, Northern Ireland wasn't of the town's Theodore Flynn family
which had sired that Hollywood star, Errol. Ever since their first chance meeting at Trinity, Rigel might
poke a little fun at him about Errol, but in Liam's mind, he hoped someday to
be a real swashbuckler for the cause of Irish independence. Growing-up in Northern Ireland, and
like most Northern Irish Catholics, Liam considered himself only Irish.
When Liam
traveled the A20 from Portaferry to Belfast and saw those portraits of IRA
freedom fighters painted on the red brick Belfast apartment buildings, the
fires of Irish nationalism were stoked and burned strongly within him. As a little lad, he always heard, at
the knee of his grandfather, and then at the side of his father, the legendary
exploits of the IRA patriots, especially the great Dan Keating, who when he
turned 100 years old, refused his Republic of Ireland $3,500 award since the
President of Ireland was not, in his mind, the President of a true
Ireland. While Liam hadn't
been a violent participant in any of Orion's business actions—they had
Conor and Viktor for that—his aggressiveness and hostility were pent-up
for the day he would need
them. A day that would come when he'd have the chance to fight for
the cause of Irish Republicanism and a united Ireland!
Conor O'Mahoney and Liam were pals since they first
met Rigel at Trinity, yet Conor was of a different style than Liam. Conor wasn't one of the typical lads
who left Kinsale, County Cork to go to Trinity. He was very bright and took great pride in being Irish, not
Northern Irish. But frequently his
behavior was an enigma to those around him. Conor always seemed low-key and introverted in his
relationships within Orion, but both Liam and Rigel had seen the behavioral
transformation that occurred when something or someone outside upset him. For
all his life, or at least since he was 14 or 15, something could arise from
deep within those tortuous caverns of his psyche, and a bit of a monstrous mean
streak would surface that got him in trouble with the priests and the local
authorities.
On the streets of Kinsale, more than one inebriated
tourist, walking alone at night after a day golfing at the Old Head, had been
accosted by this Conor, nicknamed the 'Bull'. They never knew what hit them until the next day when they
found themselves free of their wallets and some of their senses. Though not very tall, when he was in a
fight, Conor made up for it with a quick, explosive aggressiveness that made
him seem a foot taller. And while
his dark side never surfaced in his relationships with Orion, Rigel had seen
Conor kill a man wearing the colors of the Protestant Orange at a brawl up in
the Portadown section of Belfast.
It was only Rigel's quick thinking that evacuated Conor from the
situation before he was arrested.
Conor knew he was beholden to Rigel, the only one able to tame that
unstable aggressiveness. Or maybe
it should be said that Rigel simply learned to channel it into the directions
which best served his Orion.
Liam and Conor were inseparable, despite Conor's
chiding about not being a 'pure' Irishman. 'Just a bit tainted by those Northern Irish Protestants'
Conor would say when he wanted to get Liam riled-up. Yet, they were a perfect team. Liam was a computer genius who could solve any problem or
fix any computer failure. He was a
hacker extraordinaire and could create more viruses than God himself. There was no computer system alive he
couldn't hack into, and no virus too difficult for him to create, or if needed,
prevent. Despite Conor's physical
prowess having bailed out Liam several times, it was Conor's mathematical and
accounting genius that provided the real support Liam needed. Liam and Conor had been good for each
other and Orion had been good for them.
Rigel had met Liam and Conor at Trinity where they
realized their feelings about life, society and the Church were very similar,
and maybe not acceptable in a Catholic society. If Communism hadn't gone out of style, with its internal
decay and flawed designs, they might have evolved into revolutionaries of some
kind, possibly spies like the
Cambridge men from the 1940's—Philby, Burgess, Maclean, Blunt and
Cairncross. Rigel had guided his
men to understand if you couldn't change a society, you should take from
it. And take from it they did.
Coming to Orion from a different path, Viktor was born
in Belarus, then raised and educated in the old Soviet system before being sent
to Trinity for post-graduate training.
His time at Trinity was a part of an educational program created to
bring Christian exposure to the heathens of the old Soviet bloc. But Viktor never seemed to be a real
student. He was four years older
than Rigel, Liam and Conor, and didn't seem too interested in school. His main strength appeared to be more
brawn than brain. Rigel always
thought Viktor was a KGB agent, and with the collapse of the Soviet Union, he
sensed Viktor's desperation to find some stability without returning to
Russia. Viktor chose to
forsake the new Russia and allied himself with Rigel who, with Liam and Conor,
hacked into the Ireland Immigration and Naturalization Service to create his
citizenship papers.
So loyal was Viktor, he had the constellation Orion's
three diagonal stars tattooed on his right hand—imprinted forever with
his commitment to Rigel. Frequently,
a proud Viktor regaled over how he repaid Rigel's trust by leading Orion back
home to Belarus where, at a poorly guarded nuclear arsenal, he single-handedly
stole two powerful minibombs.
Overpowered the guards, bound them with duct tape and drove Orion and
the bombs in a stolen truck out of the country before the Russians knew what
hit them.
Always Orion's main target for a special brand of
financial restitution, the Church couldn't escape the crosshairs of Rigel's
aim. Even after the Vatican's banking
scandal in the 1980's with Banco Ambrosiano, the Vatican's accounts were easy
to access, especially with someone of the talent of Liam. A church dominated by old, white men
that didn't trust itself couldn't trust new technology driven by young people
of different colors, nationalities and religions, if they had any religion at
all. Too many secrets needed to be
hidden and that meant keeping as much as possible stored in the old, failing
minds of the Vatican. Far too
little protection for such wealthy assets, and Rigel knew how to get at them. He also knew how to use one of Viktor's
bombs to extort from the Vatican without anyone in the outside world knowing.
"So, Conor," Rigel queried as he surveyed the men
around the table and then fixed his eyes on him, "ya think I've gone soft have
ya? Maybe I've always been a
closet Christian and now it's time ta come out a the closet."
"Are you gay?" said a perplexed and confused-looking
Viktor.
"No," laughed Rigel, sensing his confusion, "and I'm
not a Christian in-hiding. But I
do think this Christian relic in Jerusalem is worth pursuing."
"But Rigel," Conor interrupted, "do the math. How much can we make in the antique
business? It can't compare ta what
we can steal every day on the internet."
"I know where you're going Conor," replied Rigel, "but
let me show ya a new road map ta fortune.
And this time we might even look more legitimate, a little
cleaner."
"All from antiques?" asked a stupefied Viktor.
Rigel knew it was time to lay all the cards on
the table. "Here it is lads," he
said as he sat at the table and poured himself a cup of lukewarm tea. "The antique we're going after is a
burial box. A limestone box called
an ossuary that held the bones from a man thought ta be James, the brother a
Jesus."
"The bones a the brother of Jesus?" asked a shocked
Liam. "Didn't know he had a
brother."
Looking dismissively, Rigel addressed Liam, "That's
because we're Catholics, and Catholics and Orthodox Christians don't believe
the Books a Matthew and Mark where it says Jesus had brothers and sisters. Maybe they believe the Bible, but they
don't believe these brothers and sisters were a Jesus' blood. Could be adopted or stepchildren a Joseph,
but the Protestants think different, mind ya."
"Always different," chimed in Liam. "Ya should try living with
them—always some kind a yoke around your neck."
"You're right," chuckled Rigel, "they're
different. And for our needs,
thank heaven they're very different.
They believe the brothers and sisters a Jesus were a His blood. Brothers and sisters who were born ta
Mary and Joseph after Jesus was born."
"What does this have ta do with us?" prodded Liam.
Smiling as he made eye contact with each of them,
Rigel continued. "This
burial box, this ossuary, is being offered for sale as a sealed box whose lid
has an engraving that says it contains the bones a James, son a Joseph and brother
a Jesus. If there're any bones in
that box, we might find a genetic link ta Jesus."
"A genetic link?" asked Conor. "How da we make any money with a
genetic link ta Jesus, even if ya did find one?"
Wagging a finger at Conor, Rigel quickly replied, "Ya
remember Christ was the lamb.
Always, some a the flock needs ta be sheared. But we'll do it one better and fleece the whole God-damned
flock!"
Ever quick to sense Rigel's direction, Liam intoned,
"But how da we get at the flock?
How's it that ya see us fleecing them?"
"Liam, don't ya be a doubting Liam," a coy Rigel
replied as he stepped towards him.
"We'll create the flock, our own flock, and why not our own Church? We can do it if we can find some
genetic material and link it ta millions a people who, like us, have been
disconnected from their religious roots.
Now that they love technology more than they love the God they'd grown
up with, why not create some kind a techno-God?"
"And what da we bring ta them?" asked an expressive
Liam with both arms held out and his empty palms pointed upwards. "An antique? A limestone box?
Da we put the limestone box on wheels and become the Church a the
Rolling Stone? C'mon Rigel, ya've
been a great leader, but your hatred a the Church, because a your brother, has
always been in your craw. Why da
ya want ta get us in this religion business?"
A confident smile swept over his face as he
answered Liam. "If I'm right, and
there's bones a James in that box, I'll link the genetic material ta my church,
my Church a the Internet. The
world is full a internet nerds and we'll have both God and salvation on the
internet for them. These nerds
love their technology and we'll make technology, their internet and our
genetics, their new god. It'll be
a new kind a Trinity replacing Father, Son and Holy Ghost. We'll fleece them twice over. When ya look at how the
televangelists have worked over their flocks, especially in the U.S., we'll
fleece them even better.
Especially all those Protestants who seem ta go for any scam ya can
dream up."
"Twice?" asked a confounded Viktor.
Rigel reached over to grasp Viktor's hand and focused
only on him. "First we'll get them tithing ta the church and then charge them
separately so they can get a little genetic link with Jesus. We'll genetically engineer a little a
Jesus from the shared genes a James—engineered genes to be carried into
our parishioners' cells using an inhaled spray mist system. No different from what's been already
used with gene-altering treatments for a disease called cystic fibrosis."
"What you saying?" asked an even more deeply confused
Viktor.
Rigel continued as he made eye contact with all three
of his men. "It's already been
shown ya can breathe in a mist containing genes which were altered. These engineered genes are then
incorporated into your own cells, and in this way, ya can transmit some a Jesus
ta each a our flock. And the
Protestants aren't our only market.
We'll get the Catholics too!"
"How can we get Catholics ta jump ship?" asked Conor,
now shaking his head. "If they
don't already believe in James being a the blood a Jesus, what'll make them
start now?"
Quick to reply, Rigel retorted in a flash. "Except for Christianity only growing
in Africa and South America, the world is full a Catholics and non-Catholics
who've fallen by the wayside.
Church attendance is down so far in Protestant Britain and Catholic
France that people are waiting for something or someone ta believe in. We'll give it ta them, and with our
Church a the Internet, they still won't have ta change their pattern a not
going ta church. My, or someone
else's messages will come ta them over the internet. 'Ya've got mail' will come ta mean 'Ya've got God'. Naturally from our Church a the
Internet, and for only a small donation."
Viktor stood,
then ambled over to Rigel. "I
always trust you and will go where you lead. But how we get into genetics engineering with no
experience?"
Pointing his right index finger towards his head,
Rigel then smiled. "I've already
got that covered. Someone who's
part a Orion, but not here a part a Orion, will do the deed."
Liam butted in, "Ya said ya had the genetic issue
solved, but what da ya mean?
Someone who's part a us, but not part a us? Another religious mystery like Holy Communion?"
Glaring intensely at his men, Rigel quickly broke into
a smile, "Haven't any a ya taken a phone message for me in some code? Da ya remember the name?"
"Dali, a guy named Salvador Dali," reflexively
answered Conor, not only a great mathematician but also the owner of a great
memory trap from which nothing escaped. "Some sort a strange guy like that Spanish painter
with the waxed mustache and strange paintings."
"Ya got it," replied a detached Rigel as his mind
wandered, If you only knew, "His code
name for us will be just that, Salvador Dali, and he'll only be called by that
name until I tell ya differently."
Viktor edged in, "When do we meet him?"
A now impatient Rigel confronted this consortium of
curiosity. "I don't know when or even
if you're going ta meet him. I'll
tell ya when the time comes, if it comes at all." As he walked over to the bay window to look out at the
Shannon on its way out to the Atlantic Ocean, the blank stare on Rigel's face
conveyed to his men that his mind had now moved elsewhere. Salvador
Dali, Rigel thought to himself, if
they only knew. An artist?
Yea! A creative genius? Absolutely!
Rigel had known Dali, Dr. Geoffrey Salvatore, for over
10 years since their time together at Trinity when Rigel met him before any
others of his Orion group.
Geoffrey graduated before the other Orion friendships had evolved and
his relationship with Rigel existed outside of the awareness of anyone else.
When Rigel met Geoffrey at Trinity, he was surprised
to find this very Italian name belonged to a red-headed Scotsman. And like most people, Rigel was unaware
of Italians migrating to western Scotland in the 1600's to work as artisans and
craftsmen. While Geoffrey
was a Scotsman, he was also a Catholic, albeit a lapsed one. A biochemistry major, Geoffrey was
infatuated with genetics, and loved the concept of genetic manipulation. Being a proud Scot, he hoped for a
career back in Scotland, the home of so much scientific research.
In the tradition of Sir James Fleming, the
discoverer of penicillin, Scottish health researchers had been at the cutting
edge of innovation. 'Salvador
Dali' hoped he'd get his chance to cut up his share of the intellectual pie,
but confided to Rigel that the 'old boy' network might not look kindly on a
Catholic Scotsman with an Italian name who'd gotten his education in
Ireland. Despite the fact that
Geoffrey needed to expand his genetic research back in Scotland, where the
Catholic Church couldn't constrain genetic research as it did in Ireland, he
feared never being accepted as a 'true' Scotsman in the eyes of the Protestant
Scottish research elite.
Symbiotically, Rigel and Dali had been bonded by a religion that hadn't
brought them an ounce of peace and tranquility.
Not able to stop looking out that bay window at the
water of the Shannon, Rigel's eyes looked upwards as his mind focused, What the Scots missed, they'll never know. And he thought of how his very loyal
men of Orion might never know who or what 'Salvador Dali' really represented to
their plan. "Lads," Rigel said as
he turned away from the window, "when the time comes ta meet 'Salvador Dali',
you'll be the first ta know."