no-heaven

NO HEAVEN EPISODE I OF THE IMAGINE TRILOGY by

LEX ALLEN

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“No Heaven” is a work of fiction. With the exception of historical or public places and figures, the names, characters, locations and events are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious capacity. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, except as mentioned above, is entirely coincidental; while any errors of fact or detail are purely my own.

Copyright ©2013 by Lex Allen Original Title: “The Second Advent: Disciples” All rights reserved.

Print copy ISBN ISBN 10: 1481950592 ISBN 13: 978-1481950596 Cover Design by Tiffani Hollis Ampersand H. Book Design and Marketing http://www.ampersandh.com Edited by Carol Powney www.carocaroediting.co.uk Printed in the United States of America

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FORWARD The philosophy and music of John Lennon, in particularly his post-Beatles phase, has inspired me most of my life. I’ve often compared him to what I think a modern day Jesus would be like… anti-religious ritual, anti-governmental control and opposed to the fear based oppression of people by those in power.

Both John and Jesus believed that love and peace among all men was the key to happiness and that finding true happiness was the primary goal of life. I’m not the first to use words from John’s song “Imagine”, though I’m likely the first to use them in a similar context as John intended in his lyrics.

Heidelberg, Germany Lex Allen

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“When I was 5 years old, my mother always told me that happiness was the key to life. When I went to school, they asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wrote down ‘happy’. They told me I didn’t understand the assignment, and I told them they didn’t understand life.”

– John Lennon

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CHAPTER ONE “For the poor will never cease out of the land; therefore, I command you; you shall open wide your hand to your brother, to the needy and to the poor in the land.”

Deuteronomy 15:11 Jack saw the beggar as soon as he turned the corner from Mühlenbach Strasse to Heumarkt Gasse.

The sight of him, on a street devoid of anyone else, transported Jack back twenty years to another beggar in Somalia. It was October 3, 1993 – day one of the Battle of Mogadishu. ***** The ear bud in Jack’s ear came alive, “Check out the bum, Jack.”

“Roger.” The microphone attached to his collar carried his reply back to the team leader. He altered his course down the rubble-strewn street toward the old man lying slumped against the wall of a burned out building.

Behind him, his Delta Force team was arrayed in a staggered formation that provided maximum dispersion while maintaining visual and covering fire continuity with each other.

Jack approached the man cautiously, his eyes scanning the surrounding area, alert for an ambush.

The bum looked harmless – an old man down on his luck – but the Somali militia, loyal to the warlord Mohammad Aidid often used terrorist tactics, and placing a bomb on an innocent civilian was a tried and true method used by insurgent forces since Vietnam.

The man saw Jack approaching and struggled to get up. Jack stopped a couple of feet away. The bum 1

reached up, silently asking for help.

His mouth formed a broken toothed smile that extended to his watering eyes. Jack took a step backward but, after noticing that the man had only one leg, he reversed course and extended an arm for the old man to latch onto and pull himself up.

“American?” The old man asked, his voice a barely discernible and hoarse whisper Jack nodded and turned his head away from the stink of his breath. He saw the wooden crutch on the ground and picked it up. The old man’s smile widened as he took the crutch and tucked it into his armpit.

Jack flinched as the man placed a hand on his shoulder.

He caught Jack’s eyes and whispered, “Hawiye.”

Recognizing the name of the clan that was supporting Aidid, Jack asked, “Hawiye… here?”

“Hawiye,” the bum repeated and waved his free arm around. He looked over Jack’s shoulder and his eyes widened in fear.

Before Jack could react, the old man’s grip on his shoulder tightened, and he threw himself to the side causing Jack to spin a full hundred and eighty degrees around.

The crack of a rifle split the air, and the bum jerked as the bullet, intended for Jack, struck him in the back. Jack heard his team immediately engage, laying a barrage of weapons fire on the building across from where he stood with the dying bum in his arms.

He clutched the man that had just saved his life and slowly kneeled to lay him on the ground. He was only remotely aware of the sniper falling out of the third floor window and his team moving forward in search of other enemy snipers. The old man held his attention.

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Jack knew that the wound was fatal, simply from the bright red, frothy blood that was bubbling out of his mouth. He searched the old man’s face, wishing there was something he could say or do, some way to thank him. The light faded from the old man’s eyes, but the smile remained on his bloody lips. They barely moved, but Jack heard his last words, “American...gud.” ***** Jack shook his head, clearing the cobwebs of the past, and stared at another beggar, thousands of miles and many years away from Somalia.

This one dozed, half lying against the outside wall of Scott’s Pub. On its crown next to him, was an old, beat up felt hat with a weathered sign leaning on it. The sign read, “Bitte eine Spende.”

He was either very old or the life he’d led and his current lack of shelter and hygiene made him appear so.

Several plastic bags next to him contained, in all probability, everything he owned.

Scott’s Pub was situated in Cologne’s Altstadt, an egg-shaped, twenty-block section of the city along the Rhein River and surrounded by the modern downtown area. The bar was named both for its owner and his nationality – Scott the Scotsman.

Jack was neither local nor a tourist, but he'd traveled through Cologne frequently, and Scott’s was his favorite watering hole whenever he was in town.

Four days had passed since Jack’s last visit, and he was looking forward to a relaxing Kölsch and a pleasant chat with Scott, an old friend of his, before returning to his hotel room to work on his blog.

He’d seen better signs with more entreating messages, but he had a soft spot in his heart for people like this.

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Some people will look at the despondent homeless and walk away with their noses in the air; some will make a wide berth around a beggar and look away as they pass; still others will stop and tell the lazy bastard to get off his ass and find a job.

Not Jack. He believed that no one came to this point in their lives voluntarily. He didn’t know this man’s story, but he was sure it was a sad one and to the beggar at least, justification for his current state.

Ever since the incident in Somalia, Jack always stopped and generously complied with their plea for help.

He sadly shook his head and pulled a wad of Euro bills from his pocket. He didn’t want to simply toss a twenty Euro note into the hat where it could be seen and stolen while the beggar slept, so he leaned over and gently pressed it into the old man’s hand until he felt fingers closing around his own. Confident that the man had the money tightly within his fist, Jack straightened and entered the pub.

The beggar sensed the paper in his fist but only opened his eyes and saw Jack as he was entering the pub.

His blurry eyes squinted at the crushed money, and a small smile cracked his dried out lips. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes while stuffing the bill in one of his many jacket pockets.

Suddenly, he sat up with a start and began wildly searching through his pockets.

He found the crushed Euro bill, straightened it out and held it up and away so that his eyes could focus on it.

Twenty Euros… what was it about twenty Euros?

His thoughts struggled to reclaim the significance of the money. It took him several seconds before he remembered the man he’d met three days ago.

Frantically, he grabbed his plastic bags together and 4

approached the entry to the pub.

He hesitated before the door. He remembered the big Scotsman that had scared him off so many times the past several days, but the man who had given him the twenty Euros, the man he needed to see, was inside and he couldn’t let the fearsome Schotte stop him.

“Jack! ‘Tis good to see ya, lad,” hailed Scott.

Jack waved and walked directly to the opposite end of the bar, his usual place, where the bar curved and abutted the wall leaving room for a single bar stool.

He smiled as Scott set a large Kölsch in front of him. He loved the pale, hoppy beer that was brewed only in Cologne.

“Hey, Scott.” He looked around. “Not so good for a Friday night.”

The pub was currently the resting place for only one couple, at a table near the far corner, and two men at the bar.

Scott waved his hand in dismissal. “Aye, but-it’s early, yit. She’ll be fillin’ up nicely in a coople hoors, me thinks. Usually diz. Sae, ye bin ot gallivantin’ th' toon, hae ye?”

Jack grinned to himself. It had taken him quite a while to become accustomed to Scott’s dialect. Although he still didn’t understand every word, he was able to get the gist of his speech.

He took a small sip of the bitter ale and said, “Just seeing the sights, collecting material, nothing special.”

“Ain haur Ah was thinkin’ ye’d foond yer self a lassie an' shacked up wid ‘er th' lest coopla’ days.” He added a large, comical wink.

“Lassie was a male, you know.”

“A male, ye say?”

“Sure. Lassie, the dog in the movies, the Collie; 5

they were all males.”

“Argh….” Scott waved a hand of dismissal and laughing, turned to see who had just entered the pub.

The beggar stood in the doorway, head and eyes darting to every corner of the room, looking for his man.

He saw Jack, squinted to make sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him in the dimly lit room and started forward with a big smile on his face. The smile disappeared as Scott yelled.

“Hey, whaddya hink yer doin’? Haven’t Ah tol’ ye tae bide awa' frae me bar? Git ootta haur afair Ah traw ye oot’n yer heed!”

Scott had worked hard over the years to build a solid reputation among the inhabitants of the city, as well as the thousands of tourists who flocked to Cologne’s old city every year; and to his mind, the bum was a black mark on that reputation.

He’d run the beggar off several times over the last couple of days, but he kept coming back.

Stereotypically, Scott was a big, brawny man with a bad brogue, a sarcastic sense of humor and a deep, abiding love of Scotch whiskey.

His temper, however, was not typical of his countrymen. It took a long time to rile Scott, but the beggar had exceeded his limit of grace, and it was past time to run the bastard off again - this time for good.

The old man instantly stood frozen to the spot.

His eyes, as wide as saucers, stared at the huge form of the bar keeper.

He didn’t understand the language, but he recognized the tone of the giant yelling at him; just as he had every time the barkeeper had run him off.

He’d always left before - only to return a short time later. Not this time. This time he was not going to 6

turn tail and run.

The bearded berserker was so different to the gentle man that had given him the letter to deliver. The gentle man had reached him on a level that he had not even known he possessed.

If he were capable of expressing himself in such a way, he’d say that the gentle man had touched his soul.

The man had spread warmth, well-being and a passion within him such as he had only experienced once before in his life - when he had fallen in love for the first and only time. He’d been eighteen at the time.

Giselle had been twenty-one.

After Heinz completed his Abitur he’d followed her to the University of Mannheim, where both studied to become lawyers.

For four years, they’d never been apart more than a few hours.

Her death in an automobile accident had devastated him. So much so, that drinking to drown his sorrow replaced studying. Within a couple years, he’d been tossed out of school and was a hopeless alcoholic.

He’d lived on the streets since his mid-twenties and lack of proper diet, hygiene, cigarettes and booze had all combined to ruin his body and mind. He was merely forty-eight, but he looked twenty years older.

His memories of Giselle and their love had never died. Deep inside his atrophied brain, he treasured and fed off of that love; and even had he continued in school and not wound up a homeless wino, he believed that the love they had shared was gone forever.

Three days ago a stranger had awoken the same old feelings in him - feelings of great and abiding love.

Recalling this experience gave him strength. He had promised to deliver the letter, and nothing would stop him from keeping his promise, not even this bear of a 7

Scotsman.

He let his bags drop to the floor. He pulled the bottom of his jacket down and set his feet to run.

He looked to where Jack was sitting, calculating the distance, and as soon as Scott came fuming around the near corner of the bar, he darted forward - toward Jack and, he hoped, safety.

The Scotsman, shocked at the beggar’s blatant display of disrespect and courage, stopped in his tracks and watched, open mouthed, as the interloper hid behind Jack.

When the old man stuck his head up around Jack’s shoulder and smiled at Scott with his broken toothed smile, the barkeeper’s ire returned, and he strode forward, red faced, clearly on a razor thin edge of selfcontrol.

Jack raised a hand - palm forward, “Hold on, Scott. I’ll buy him a drink and make him a legitimate customer. How’s that?”

Not waiting for a response, Jack leaned around the corner of the bar and pulled a bar stool closer. He looked over his shoulder while patting the seat of the bar stool and said in German, “Here. Take this seat.”

Moving cautiously from behind Jack, the old man kept his eyes on Scott, who was still behind the bar a few feet away. Scott hadn’t answered Jack’s comment about buying the hobo a drink. He merely stared at Jack in amazement.

Jack laid a hand on the man’s shoulder and asked, “What’ll you have?”

The beggar merely pointed a dirty finger at Jack’s Kölsch. Jack looked up at Scott and raised his eyebrows.

Scott didn’t like it, but he didn’t want to offend his friend, either. Grumbling under his breath he moved 8

to the taps and drew the requested beer.

Setting the drink in front of the old man, Scott looked at Jack and said, “Ah ain’t likin’ it, Jack; a bloody pint an' its ootta haur wid heem. We clear, mucker?”

Jack nodded, and as Scott returned to the opposite end of the bar, he turned his attention to the beggar who was just then taking his first sip of the cold brew.

Again, Jack addressed him in German, “You took quite a risk getting in here. You don’t need to thank me for the money, you know.”

The beggar held up the crumpled twenty Euro bill in one hand, pointing with the other first at Jack and then, himself.

Jack understood that he was confirming who had given him the money and he nodded, but was puzzled that the old man didn’t say anything.

“Are you unable to speak, my friend?”

The old man, looked down at the floor, shaking his head. He dug around in his jacket’s pockets and pulled out a ragged and faded five by eight card. He handed it to Jack. It read, “I cannot speak. I have cancer of the throat and my larynx has been removed.”

Below that was the man’s name, Heinz Schumacher and below that, the name of a social worker along with the address of a major hospital in Köln.

While Jack read the note, the old man pulled the raggedy scarf from around his neck and pointed to a scar.

As soon as Jack had seen it, he re-wrapped the scarf and looked around to see if anyone else had noticed.

“I’m sorry for you, Heinz.” Jack didn’t know what else to say to the man.

Heinz merely shrugged. He was past the denial and self-pity phases. He’d accepted his fate. He knew the doctors had not gotten all of the cancer, whether they 9

admitted it or not.

He smiled at Jack and thought how two strangers had been so nice to him recently. First the gentle man and now, Jack. Thinking of the gentle man, Heinz again began rummaging through his pockets.

Puzzled, Jack took a sip of his Kölsch and watched him dig. He was surprised when he pulled a battered envelope from his coat and thrust it in his direction, smiling and nodding his head. Jack took the envelope and pulled an equally battered page from it.

Folding it open, he held it up against the dim lights over the bar and read, “Hello Jack Schmidt…”

Shocked, Jack looked back at Heinz. “Where did you get this?” He demanded.

The old man couldn’t answer, of course; he merely smiled, unshaken by Jack’s sudden change of attitude and kept nodding his head while pointing at the envelope and then at Jack.

Jack didn’t wait for an answer. He didn’t expect an answer. He turned his attention back to the note. It was written in English, and the words were formed with an easy and carefully crafted script.

The note read, “You don’t know me, but I would be very pleased to introduce myself personally on Saturday, at the early afternoon mass, in the Kölner Dom. “I am certain that you will discover some interesting material for your blog.”

Jack stared at Heinz for a second and then called out to the barkeeper, “Hey, Scott, get me something to write on, would you?” Scott scowled but began digging through a drawer behind the bar.

While he searched for paper, Jack pulled a pen from his jacket pocket. Scott brought a sheet of paper and Jack set it before Heinz and handed him the pen.

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“Where did you get this?” He asked again, holding up the letter.

As Heinz gingerly took the pen in hand and began to write in a scribbled fashion, Jack tried to think of who could possibly have written this note.

Stranger still, why would the writer give it to an old beggar that didn’t know him? How could the letter writer be sure the old guy would deliver or that Jack would even show up here?

The old man turned the page toward Jack, and he read, “The gentle man.”

“What did this ‘gentle man’ look like?”

Heinz thought for a second, started to write and then stopped. Jack’s mind was spinning faster than the old man could respond.

“Skip that,” Jack said. “What did the man say when he gave you the envelope?”

Heinz began to write. As he did, Jack thought more about the message. Whoever had written it knew that he published a blog. A very popular blog, in fact, that discussed organized religion.

More to the point, the blog was about how organized religion had created a power structure, through fear, that had dominated societies for hundreds of years.

In the blog he discussed the “misinterpretations” of historical documents to the advantage of the power hungry religious leaders, those of the past and present, and their impact on the daily lives of millions of people.

A lot of people know I write a blog, but how in the world did whoever wrote this find me? Jack thought.

Heinz pushed the paper toward Jack. “The gentle man told me that a man would come here and put a twenty Euro bill in my hand. He told me to give this letter to that man.”

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What? This is ridiculous, how…? That’s as far as Jack’s thoughts went before the old man pulled the paper back and began scribbling again. His mind a temporary blank, Jack could only watch him write.

Finished, he pushed the paper across to Jack. It read, “The gentle man promised me a wonderful reward for delivering the letter.”

Jack raised his eyebrows, “A reward? Money?”

Heinz shook his head.

“What then?” He expected more writing, but his mailman simply shrugged his bony shoulders and smiled.

Jack considered that if the “gentle man” had promised a reward, he’d be coming back to find the wino.

That was optimistic he knew; more than likely the letter writer would never come back, and Heinz would wait the rest of his days for his reward.

There was no question that Jack would go to the Dom tomorrow, if for no other reason than to solve this mystery. He would take Heinz with him, too, for identification purposes and to get him his reward.

“Heinz, this letter asks me to go to the Kölner Dom tomorrow. I’d like you to go with me. I want you to show me the man that gave you this letter - if he even shows up. Will you do that for me?”

Heinz pulled the paper toward him, noticed the front side was full and turned it over. He wrote, “I’ll meet you there.”

Before passing the note back to Jack, he looked up, noticed Jack’s narrowed eyes and suspicious demeanor.

Quickly, Heinz scribbled more.

Jack read the beggar’s words and said, “No, Heinz, I mean the man no harm. I’m just curious to meet him. It’s a very strange situation, don’t you agree?”

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Heinz shrugged his shoulders. He’d lived through some strange things. Life was strange and had thrown some hard curves at him. Meeting the gentle man was the best thing that had happened to him for a long time.

He figured the gentle man wouldn’t write to someone that meant him harm and Jack did seem like a nice guy. He grinned at Jack and nodded.

“And, as to meeting me there, I was hoping you’d accept my invitation to a shower, a good meal and a bed to sleep in at my hotel tonight,” Jack said, smiling.

You’re not leaving my sight until I get this thing settled, Heinz, mein freund.

Heinz looked at him skeptically and Jack laughed.

“Come on, let’s go get you fed and cleaned up.”

Jack laid an arm around the old man’s shoulder and said, “Bet you haven’t slept in a decent bed in a while, huh?”

Heinz laughed and shook his head. Jack took it as a laugh; in truth, it was nothing more than a wheezing noise, combined with an open mouthed smile.

Jack called Scott over, settled the bill and walked out with Heinz, now the second beggar to change his life - he just didn’t know it, yet.

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CHAPTER TWO "When the student is ready, the master appears."

Buddha The view from Beth’s apartment was spectacular.

Overlooking the Neckar River, at a point where it crossed under die Alte Brücke, she could see the twin white towers that served as a gate to the city from the Old Bridge and the hundreds of pedestrians that seemed to constantly flow across the bridge.

Directly across the Neckar River and behind the bridge towers was the Altstadt, with its shops and riverside promenades; all snuggled neatly into the bottom of the hill, on top of which looms the Heidelberger Schloss.

The large, 14th century castle, only partially restored, never failed to impress Beth as it dominated Heidelberg’s old town below.

Sitting on her balcony, on good weather days through the early evening, whether grading papers or simply enjoying a glass of wine, she was ever present of history and how old this country was compared to her own United States.

Beth’s apartment was prime real estate and would have drawn a very high rental fee, had it not been owned by the Ruprecht-Karl Universitäts Heidelberg.

The flat was sub-leased, for a pittance, to Doctor Elizabeth Washburn. She had recently joined the staff at the universities’ Theologische Fakultät in the Wissenschaftlich-Theologisches Seminar.

The University of Heidelberg’s Theology School was renowned for its philosophy of a unified research and teaching faculty, and the opportunity to work here had 14

long been one of her goals.

After publication and critical acclaim for her book, The Search for God, Beth had received an invitation to join the History of Religion and Mission Studies Department, which she accepted immediately.

Born and raised in a devout Catholic family Beth knew that she could never become a priest. Nevertheless, that’s what she wanted to be.

Becoming a nun, instead, never entered her mind.

They were merely servants to the priests as far as she was concerned.

Denied the priesthood, she’d turned to the study of theology and ancient languages.

Through the years of study – uncovering document after document of contrary and argumentative discussion between the religious and the scientific communities – had a profoundly negative effect on her.

In researching and writing her book, she’d laid it all out – bared her soul. In the process she’d lost her faith.

Now, working on her new department’s project, Esotericism and New Religious Movements, she hoped to regain what she’d lost, even if it took a form outside the confines of the Church.

On this Thursday evening before Good Friday, Heidelberg was alive with tourists that flocked to the famous city during Easter holidays, but Beth was barely aware of the bustle below her and across the river.

She was deep in thought about the strange man who had come to her class earlier in the day.

Beth had only four lectures a week this semester and Thursday, her last before classes closed for the Easter holidays, was entitled, “Resurrection – the Foundation of Christianity.”

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She had never given this particular lecture before, but as usual, years of experience and intensive preparation allowed her to speak freely, hardly referring to either lesson plan or notes as she spoke.

Although listed as a lecture, Dr. Washburn was well known for her open, sometimes heated, discussions.

Her classes were popular, even for nontheological majors, and they were always filled to capacity. The lecture hall she currently used contained almost one hundred seats in amphitheater design.

All of the seats were filled and scanning the expectant faces of her audience before beginning, Beth’s eyes were immediately drawn to a man, seated in the last row, at the top of the classroom.

He’d looked familiar but she couldn’t place him.

She’d found it hard to take her eyes off him. Beth had moved closer to the first row of seats to get a better look.

His appearance strongly resembled that of a hippie standing on the corner of San Francisco’s Haight and Ashbury Streets in the late 1960’s.

Shoulder length and tangled dark hair framed a thin, aristocratic face. His skin tone was dark – not black or Hispanic – middle eastern perhaps, but inconsistent with the middle-eastern look, brilliant blue eyes stared out beneath bushy eyebrows.

Instead of proclaiming the signature hippie “Peace” sign, his brown T-shirt carried a neon green circle with the words, “Jesus Lives” inside.

Beth couldn’t see, but she was certain he was wearing faded jeans and probably sandals. As she stared at the man, he, too, seemed totally absorbed with her.

Her look was one of puzzled concentration – his open, inviting, friendly. She couldn’t explain it, but she was having difficulty looking away from him.

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Seconds seemed like minutes, but finally, through a sheer force of will, Beth broke eye contact and began her lecture.

“I imagine you are all looking forward to the coming holidays and, because it’s Easter, I thought to talk this morning about the resurrection of Jesus and how that event has shaped Christianity.

“As you know, the Bible tells us that the Romans crucified Jesus, and on the third day, he rose again in a remarkable triumph over death.

“This event forms the foundation of the Catholic Church, in fact, all of Christianity, and for hundreds of years, the miracle of the resurrection has provided proof positive of Jesus’ relationship to God the Father.

“In recent years, however, the resurrection has come under some very close scrutiny and several studies – some tag them simply conspiracy theories – have revealed information that could severely test what the Church and the Bible have said about the resurrection.

“If any of these theories are ever proven, they could literally destroy Christianity.”

Beth noticed the man that had attracted her attention started to leave. She also saw him hand a folded piece of paper to a young woman nearby.

She was sad to see him leave and then, surprised at her reaction. Geesh, Beth how hard up are you? She laughed at herself, gathered her thoughts and continued her lecture.

Class went well, Beth thought, as she packed up her books and notes.

At least until that young man brought up the “swoon theory”.

He had respectfully raised his hand and said, “I believe that Jesus wasn’t dead when taken from the cross.

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“I mean, the Roman guards, and Pilate himself have been recorded as being very surprised that Jesus had died so quickly. I think he was still alive, that there was a conspiracy to…”

“What about the spear thrust into his side, wouldn’t that have killed him?” Beth had interrupted.

Immediately, she’d bitten her tongue, wanting to take the question back. She was keenly aware that only the gospel of John mentions the spear thrust.

Neither Luke nor Mathew mentioned it. It was also not included in the Gospel of Mark, who covered the events leading up to the crucifixion and resurrection in far more detail than any of the other gospel writers.

Beth had been relieved that he hadn’t called her on the question. Instead he’d simply gone on explaining the theory.

“The wound needn’t have been fatal. I think he was still alive, treated for his wounds and a few days later, probably more than three, was seen again before he left the country.

“Later, his followers claimed that he’d been resurrected by God.” Beth could not defend against this theory. For one thing, it was a contributing part of her loss of faith.

For another, the Church never produced a viable argument. The Church, in fact, remained silent on the issue – stubbornly believing that the burden of proof was on the conspirators and they would never be able to prove their claims.

Beth hadn’t wanted to pursue this discussion, and said, “I agree that this is one of the most plausible theories that casts doubt on the resurrection, and one of the theories I mentioned at the beginning of today’s lecture - an argument that, if proven, could destroy 18

Christianity; but I don’t want to take up a lot of time discussing what cannot be solved here.”

She’d thanked the young man for his contribution and continued with her lecture; completing it without further interruption or discussion.

She had everything packed and was turning to leave when she became aware of someone standing at her shoulder. Beth turned to see the same woman that the “hippie” had handed something to as he was leaving.

“Excuse me, Professor. A man asked me to give you this note as he left the lecture.”

“Thank you.” Beth took the paper and slowly unfolded it as she watched her student leave the lecture hall.

It read, “When the student is ready, the master appears.”

She looked out the window.

Buddha? He sends me a note quoting Buddha!

Student – master, where’s the connection? Who is this guy? Shaking her head she chuckled to herself, people are certainly strange sometimes. ***** The Theology Department was located on the grounds of the original university in the Altstadt.

It was a two-block walk from there to the old bridge, across the river and another two blocks to Beth’s apartment.

Altogether, she would walk about fifteen minutes to and from work, and she always walked, regardless the weather.

When the weather was good, as it was this Thursday afternoon, she would often stop at a cafe, sit outside and “people watch” while enjoying a cup of coffee.

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The waiter brought her order just as Beth looked up and saw the same man that had been in her classroom earlier.

He was sitting on a bench in the large, cobblestoned Market Square between the Town Hall and the Heilige Geist Church.

Scores of people were either walking through the square, sitting in outdoor cafe’s or simply enjoying the sunshine on one of the many wrought iron benches scattered about the square, but most of the children were crowded around the “Jesus Lives” man as he performed magic tricks for them.

Gales of childish laughter and applause drifted across the plaza, as the man produced a rose, apparently from thin air. He’s certainly a good magician, Beth thought.

She couldn’t help but smile as she watched. Who was he? She wondered, again. Where does he come from? What was he doing? What was the purpose of the note?

All these questions tumbled through her mind, and she decided to approach him and quench her curiosity.

Distracted while paying her bill, she was surprised when she looked up to discover that he had left.

The children were slowly dispersing among the crowds of people. Beth quickly scanned across the square.

She thought she saw a brown t-shirt topped by shaggy brown hair, but she’d seen him too late and couldn’t be sure it was the right guy. Deciding that she’d missed him, and though disappointed, she also felt relieved. A shy person, normally, it was not in her nature to approach a stranger and especially not a strange man.

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Maybe he’s stalking me? No sooner had that thought crossed her mind, than she dismissed it immediately as ridiculous. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that this man was neither dangerous nor a random somebody who had crossed her path. ***** A creak of wooden floor woke her. She struggled up from a deep sleep, her mind muddled, eyes blurry and looked around the dark bedroom. She lay perfectly still, concentrating on her sense of hearing. There were no more sounds. She couldn’t feel anyone in the room and she certainly couldn’t see anything.

She glanced at her bedside clock; the digital numerals glowed, but not enough to provide light farther than a foot or two around the clock. She noticed that the clock read 3:00 AM. After a couple of minutes of complete silence, she mentally shrugged, deciding the noise that awoke her was no more than the settling of her very old apartment building and drifted back to sleep and a dream.

She was walking along a sandy beach. To her right was a sea and up ahead she could see Jesus talking to two men; fishermen, she decided.

They were standing in front of a small boat with a single sail, gently rocking in the low breakers. She stopped and turned a circle, looking at her surroundings in all directions.

From the sea, the land changed from beach to sandy foothills that continued to rise until they became low, tree covered hills.

In the opposite direction of the fishermen and Jesus, the beach ran along for several hundred meters before slowing, arcing to the right.

21

Beth knew that she was dreaming, but just as she knew she was seeing Jesus, she also recognized this as a place she’d been before – the northern shore of the Sea of Galilee. She looked back toward the group of men and walked toward them.

As she approached them, she saw that the one she’d thought was Jesus looked like the man that had been in her classroom, and the Market Square. The “Jesus Lives” T-shirt was gone, as were the jeans. Now, he wore a white robe, buffeted by a gentle breeze.

The fishermen were similarly dressed, but their robes were stained with the effects of their labor. She glanced down at her own clothing and saw that she also wore robes – gray in color – and sandals.

She could smell the air coming off the sea; she heard the wind and the voices of the men, but not well enough to determine what they were saying.

She walked closer until they stopped talking and turned to face her.

The man from her classroom smiled a greeting.

“Welcome, Beth,” he said. “May I introduce Andrew?”

He indicated the shorter of the two men who nodded his own greeting. Jesus placed his hand upon the shoulder of the taller fisherman, “And this is Simon.”

His countenance stern, Simon made no acknowledgment of the introduction. Beth smiled at him, anyway, but thought, ‘he doesn’t like me… no, women… he doesn’t like women…just as many of my colleagues have suspected.’

She looked at the man from her classroom, “And you are… Jesus?”

His smile grew wider. His piercing but gentle blue eyes held her captive. “Yes, but you knew that already.”

22

“I wasn’t completely sure. I’m dreaming and one can never be sure about dreams.”

Jesus reached for her hand. “Dreams are a visual representation of the subconscious mind…the soul.”

He paused and looked at Andrew and Simon.

Beth knew that they were all speaking Aramaic, the language most commonly spoken in this area during Jesus’ lifetime, but she was hearing English in the dream.

The brothers, however, looked as if Jesus were speaking a totally different language. Had the sentence actually been spoken, only to her, in English?

She didn’t understand it, but she had an incredible urge to ask Jesus questions about this dream scene as it was depicted in the Bible. Even as it happened, she was aware of her conscious mind observing what her subconscious dreamed.

“This is where you take Andrew and Simon as your disciples, isn’t it?”

Jesus raised his eyebrows and smiled, “So it has been written.”

Beth looked around. Simon and Andrew had apparently lost interest in her. They had moved away a few steps and were quietly conversing among themselves.

Looking back, she asked, “Have you already told Simon that he would have a new name, Cephas – the Rock, and that on that rock you would build your church?”

His face serious, his eyes boring into hers, he replied, “No. I never said that.”

She expected that answer; why, she had no idea.

She knew that the Bible was not entirely accurate, but….

“Have you told them to follow you and that you would make them fishers of men?”

This time, Jesus’ response was merely a slow, sad 23

shaking of his head.

Beth laughed.

She couldn’t stop laughing.

Through the tears in her eyes she saw Jesus smiling at her, and she knew he was real and that he was telling her the truth.

Beth awoke. She was no longer on the beach talking to Jesus about Bible verses. What was the implication of Jesus saying, “So it has been written”? Did he mean this literally or had he alluded that those verses were not based on actual events?

He’d flatly denied the verse about building his church on the Rock of Cephas. He’d shaken his head – no, when asked about the “fishers of men” verse.

Thinking back, Beth recalled debates she’d had with other scholars about New Testament Bible verses.

She remembered her amazement at her colleagues’ emphatic and often ridiculously transparent explanations, designed to counter her misgivings about the accuracy and validity of the gospels.

Maybe I’m putting my own suspicions in the mouth of the man I saw today and dreaming him up to be Jesus! She turned to check her alarm clock. The glowing numerals read 3:30 AM. She remembered last checking her clock thirty minutes ago. That was a long dream, she thought.

She got out of bed and padded to the kitchen for a glass of water.

She went to the bathroom, washed her hands and returned to her bed. She snuggled under the covers, her mind pushing away the dream, and closed her eyes.

A draft of cool air drifted from the open window through the bedroom. She heard a shuffling noise across the wooden floor near her bed. She half opened her eyes to see the figure of a man next to her bed.

24

He was kneeling, silhouetted by the full moon that had risen to a point where it shone directly through her bedroom window. She knew immediately who it was, even though she could not see him clearly.

Strangely, she felt no fear. She had no urge to jump from her bed, screaming and running for help. She lay still, watching – waiting for him to speak.

In a voice that was soft, little more than a whisper, he said, “There is no fear in you. That is good. I wish you no harm. Instead, I bring you a message.”

“I dreamed of you, just now.” She could see him nod his head.

He knew that?

“Who are you…really…who are you?”

“I am he whom you believe me to be.”

Beth wasn’t sure who she believed him to be, but she let that go for the moment. “Why are you here, why me?”

“You are very special, Beth. I would ask something of you?”

She shook her head. “I don’t under…”

“On Saturday, near the end of the afternoon Mass, I will be at the Kölner Dom. When you go to Cologne and visit the Dome you will meet a man. His name is Jack Schmidt…”

He knows I’m planning a trip to the Dom? How could he…who is Jack Schmidt?

He was still talking.

She heard him, but at the time her confused mind wasn’t translating until he said, “All will be answered in due time.”

Beth closed her eyes. This is another dream.

Isn’t it?

She opened her eyes. “I…” she began, but she was talking to an empty room.

25

CHAPTER THREE “Know also that wisdom is sweet to your soul; if you find it, there is a future hope for you, and your hope will not be cut off.”

Proverbs 24:14 “Lights, camera, action.” Kate muttered the words under her breath and switched on her video recorder. She pointed it at a middle-aged man in a hideous Hawaiian shirt.

The man ignored her. He sat down on the white stone steps of the Jefferson Memorial and opened a map.

“It’s easy to feel lost these days,” Kate said to her microphone. Her professors really went for cheesy stuff like that, and she had promised herself that for this film project, she would have her priorities straight.

Grades first - then integrity, not the other way around.

The man on the steps got up and walked into the memorial, but Kate didn’t bother following him. She needed a more charismatic subject.

An attractive couple with a toddler had started in her direction. They might work.

The assignment was “inspiring people”- yet another uninspiring topic given by a lackluster professor at American University, where Kate had so far received three years of disappointing education, if you could even call it that.

A film studies major, she had started college with an overload of inspiration.

Everywhere she had looked, she had seen stories to tell, stories that were better than the cliché filled crap they called movies these days.

26

That, she now knew, was freshman thinking.

Real filmmakers, she had learned, understood that every movie needs a hero with an IQ less than the circumference of his bicep, which should, of course, be greater than his leading lady’s hip measurement.

Tack on a Black sidekick with a smart mouth, get him killed in the second act, third if you really like him, and – voila! You’ve got entertainment.

She’d taken this class in documentary filmmaking hoping it would bring back some of her enthusiasm, but all Professor Leighton wanted was schmaltz and sound bites. And he had the guts to say he wanted a film about “inspiring people!”

So here she was, at the Jefferson memorial. She figured looking for a real-live inspiring person would make her just like the kid in The Flim-Flam Man, who held up a lantern, looking for an honest man. She’d have a camera, not a lantern, but she’d still be a vintage moron.

Not being able to find a living, breathing, inspiring person narrowed her choices quite a bit, and she’d settled on good old Thomas Jefferson.

Some people called him a hypocrite for having preached freedom and practiced slavery, but Kate figured he’d done the best he could. Not like he could’ve married Sally Hemmings, or even had her on his arm at a party. He’d still fallen in love with a Black girl, and hadn’t cared about her skin color.

Kate thought that was romantic, if you looked at it logically. She liked romance, and logic, and being African American herself, she could be a member of the TJ fan club without getting called a racist.

A young family started up the steps. Kate followed them with the camera before she started to physically tail them. She spoke into the camera again.

27

“For these folks...” She immediately regretted saying “folks”, but that could be edited later... “For this couple, it’s never too soon to start inspiring your children. Today, they visit the Jefferson memorial, to learn more about our nation’s Founding Fathers.”

Once she had caught up to the family, she called out, “Excuse me, would you like to say a few words for my documentary?”

The family stopped and turned. The man scowled at her camera and then her face, but the woman laughed nervously and said, “Oh, no! Not today! My hair doesn’t normally do this...”

“It’s for a class project about inspiring people,” Kate interrupted.

The man flashed a big, fake smile. “We really don’t have time. We’re just going to snap a picture and then we’ve got a bus to catch. Sorry.”

Kate sighed. She had learned to do so without making a sound, or causing the camera to move. So far, it was the most useful thing she had learned in film school. “Can you at least tell me what inspires you about Thomas Jefferson?”

“Um, he was one of our Founding Fathers,” the woman chimed in.

“What is it, sweetie?” She looked down at her son, who was tugging on her hand.

The boy looked up at his mother, then at Kate. “I want to be in the movie!”

Kate laughed. “Ok, hon. Can you tell me something about Thomas Jefferson?”

“He’s a president,” the boy grinned, proud of himself.

At least, Kate thought sourly, the kid had an excuse for knowing as much history as the average five28

year-old, namely that he looked about five years old.

The boy’s father raised an eyebrow in Kate’s direction, and she swore she could almost hear him say, “You done yet?”

Kate switched off her camera and fished in her backpack. “Now, if you could sign the release forms for appearing in my film...”

Where were those damn things? She flipped through notes from her algebra class, a book on camera techniques, and a folder full of scribbled ideas.

Did you check your back pocket? There’s room for a briefcase in there.

That thought had come out of nowhere. As if her life weren’t crappy enough, apparently her subconscious had decided to make fat jokes.

Finally, she fished out the printed forms from her back pocket. “Sorry, my Professor’s really picky about getting permission; he says its professional ethics.”

The woman reached out to take the paper, but her husband grabbed her wrist and shook his head at Kate.

“I’m sorry. We don’t sign things unless our lawyer looks them over. Look, we really have to go. Good luck with your school thing.”

Those were the words he said out loud, but the look on his face and a voice in her head said, I don’t know what your scam is, kid, but I’m not buying it. Go back to Nigeria and get a job.

“Thanks for your time anyway!” Kate wondered if they got the sarcasm, then decided she didn’t care either way. Even if they did realize they’d been rude, they wouldn’t change.

She sat down on the steps and spoke to the camera again. “Is it impossible to find inspiration in today’s society?

29

Have we become so self-interested, so disillusioned, that we’ve lost our ability to care? Is it...”

“Whom are you talking to?”

The words came from behind her, but she refused to turn around.

That’s what the guy obviously wanted, and she didn’t feel like giving anyone what they wanted at the moment.

She did answer, “My camera.”

“Do you usually talk to your camera? Don’t you have anyone else to talk to?”

The man - it was definitely a man’s voice sounded nice. He had a soft voice and an accent she couldn’t quite place.

Curiosity got the best of her, and she decided to look after all. When she craned her neck to look back, she saw he had sat down beside her.

Her view started at his knees and worked upwards. He was dressed in jeans and a faded old brown tee shirt with something written in horrid, neon green on the front.

A scraggly goatee and a head of shoulder-length brown hair completed the ensemble.

He looked like a hippie college kid or a hip college professor; it was hard to tell his age, but he could have filled either position.

She couldn’t quite discern his race either. He wasn’t Black or Caucasian, something in between Hispanic, perhaps.

A closer look at his facial structure gave Kate further pause.

No, not Hispanic - Middle East maybe...then, she lost herself in the most powerfully brilliant blue eyes she’d ever seen.

30

“Well?” The man gestured to the camera, and she remembered his question.

“Oh!” Kate pulled herself from his hypnotic eyes.

“Well, yeah.

I do this semester.

I’m making documentaries, so I narrate.”

She scooted a few inches away. Not a lot of guys looked at Kate the way this guy was, but she recognized his expression as one she had seen on her sister’s many boyfriends. He was sort of cute, but he was also a total stranger.

“Documentaries.” He nodded slowly and smiled.

His eyes reminded her of Rasputin, the holy man from “Nicholas and Alexandra” who had hypnotized the Empress of Russia with his stare. These eyes could destroy a political system, that’s for sure.

He wasn’t just cute he had real charisma. He looked at Kate like she was some Hollywood beauty, but it was more than that.

She felt like he knew all her secrets, all her problems, all the ugliness inside her, and didn’t care anymore than he cared about the big zit on her nose, or the fact her jeans were a Size 14.

She wondered if that’s how Thomas Jefferson had looked at Sally Hemmings. She felt like crying, and kissing him, and running as fast as she could in the other direction. After all, Ted Bundy had made women feel the same way, right up until he butchered them.

“You don’t like answering questions?” the man observed.

She realized his mouth had been moving, and she hadn’t even paid attention. “Sorry. Did you ask something?”

His smile grew and he said, “Yes. I asked if you’d found what you were looking for?”

31

“What makes you think I’m lookin’ for something?”

“Why have cameras, if not to find what you’re looking for, that others may see as well? You have a vision to share, do you not?”

She chuckled. “Man, are you for real - who talks like that?”

“Jesus.” He offered her his hand, which she shook. He pronounced the name as a Spanish-speaker would, though he didn’t look Hispanic, and his accent wasn’t Mexican.

“Nice to meet you, Jesus No-last-name, I’m Kate – Kate Keepsecrets.”

He managed a real laugh at her lame joke. She laughed too, and remembered she hadn’t really answered his question. Her smile disappeared with a sigh. “I’m supposed to be pulling together a film project on ‘inspiring people’, only it’s not going well.”

She dropped her gaze to her lap to escape his eyes and twisted her camera strap between her fingers. “It seems like all the inspiring people in Washington D.C. are dead. If there is anyone else out there who isn’t, they aren’t talking to me.”

“What about yourself?”

Startled, Kate jerked her head up. “Me?” Jesus met her panicked look and smiled. “Instead of looking for other inspiring people, why not look inside yourself? The research will be easier for one thing.”

Kate’s brain whirled as she suddenly found herself looking at her project from a completely different direction. She could try something completely different... no, not about me, of course not... but maybe do a “how to” angle or... no, I made a decision not to do this again.

Grades first, then integrity...

32

He put his hand on her shoulder and said, “No, that’s not the way.”

“Huh? I didn't say that out loud.” She heard him and saw his lips move, but then she heard his voice again, clearly in her head and his lips did not move. “Now that I have found you, I will make things right. Find enough faith for me and you will find yourself, as well.”

She sidled away. She had a bad habit of nervous talking, and she couldn’t stop herself from bursting out, “You know what’s really weird? Lately, I keep writing dialog, which I was always really bad at before, but it’s like I see someone’s face, and then I think of these lines, and some of them are really good.”

“You are discovering your gifts.”

“I guess.” She shrugged. “Yeah, that’s a nice way to put it. Thanks. You know what? You’re actually sort of inspiring, in a weird way.”

“I have been called so,” he agreed. “It is not always a blessing. However, I believe I can help with your project. Meet me at the Lincoln Memorial, at nine o’clock tomorrow. Bring your camera, and I promise you an inspiring film.”

“Um, ok.” She frowned. “You’re not going to blow anything up, are you? Or kill anybody? All of a sudden I’ve got this whole ‘Seven’ vibe.”

“What does your gift tell you?”

“What, like, ‘what do I think you should say?’"

He smiled and nodded.

Squinting her eyes she looked into his and said, “I guess if I had to write a line for you, it would be...”

She stopped talking, as a voice, his voice, entered her consciousness and she spoke his words aloud, “You know there is no harm in my soul, as I know there is nonein yours. This is the truth. Come tomorrow, Kate 33

Barrow, and find what you seek.”

He laughed. “Good, very good - let that be my reply.”

“No, no. That’s no good. See, I said my last name in the line, even though I didn’t tell you my name earlier. Glad you liked it though. Don’t know where it came from.”

She paused and then whispered; “I heard... I heard your voice in my head.”

She shook her head briskly, dismissing her comment.

“Like I said, you’re kind of inspiring... Jesus.”

She deliberately pronounced his name wrong and looked for a reaction.

He smiled, patted her cheek and stood. Looking down he said, “Yes. I will see you tomorrow.”

Without another word he turned and walked away.

Kate watched until he disappeared into the crowd of tourists. Jesus? Could he really be....naw, couldn’t be...could he?

She shrugged and decided that she would find out tomorrow. Kate put her camera away in her backpack and started for home, humming a random selection of victory music under her breath.

She wasn’t sure what she’d “won” exactly, but she felt like a kid with a blue ribbon.

34

CHAPTER FOUR “As Jesus was sitting on the Mount of Olives, the disciples came to him privately, “Tell us,” they said, “when will this happen, and what will be the sign of your coming and of the end of the age?”

Matthew 24:3 Standing next to one of the immense fluted columns, Jack craned his neck to admire the arched ceiling.

He felt small beside the column and was filled with a sense of awe. Creating such a reaction had no doubt been the builders’ intention back in 1248 when they began the foundation of the Kölner Dom, a cathedral that would never be completed in their lifetimes.

It was respect for those long-ago builders, not religious ecstasy that gave Jack his sense of wonder every time he had visited here.

All around him, tourists pointed and gawked, while pilgrims prayed, their eyes closed, their lips moving silently. Literal blind faith, he thought and shook his head in incomprehension.

He glanced at Heinz and smiled. The old man looked much better than he did when they’d met in Scott’s Pub the night before. Amazing what a shower, decent meal and a real bed can do, he thought.

Since entering the Dome, Heinz had been walking slowly, turning in circles, trying to absorb the splendor the church offered.

His eyes wide in gleeful astonishment, he must have thought he was already in heaven.

“Never been here before, Heinz?”

He shook his head and smiled at Jack. He really 35

liked Jack and he wished he could tell him all about the gentle man.

Heinz thought there were some similarities between the two men, but even if he could speak, he doubted that he could explain how they were alike.

“Well, let’s walk around a bit. Communion will start in a few minutes. If you see the guy that gave you that letter for me, let me know right away… okay?”

Heinz nodded and turned away, looking at faces rather than the treasures of the cathedral.

Near the Sacristy, the GeroKreuz stood, surrounded by a knot of admirers. A middle-aged woman with two fidgeting boys, read aloud from a travel book in a language that might have been Italian.

An elderly couple gazed at the relic as if they expected the wooden Jesus to hop down from the cross and cure their arthritis.

There were others, but Jack’s attention was suddenly drawn to a woman standing by one of the columns, reading a guidebook.

She looked young enough to make the guys jealous if he’d walked into a room with her on his arm, but not so young he’d be accused of having a midlife crisis.

She wore khakis and a white blouse that draped nicely over her figure, while making her look like a professional of some sort.

“Medium” in both height and build, with shoulder-length brown hair, some men might call her ordinary. Jack called her perfect.

“Hmm?” the woman turned and favored him with a half-smile.

Jack hadn’t realized he had said the word out loud and felt more foolish than he had since high school.

36

“Uh… the Dome. It’s perfect, don’t you think?”

Her smile broadened. “Oh, yes! It’s like the builders were inspired by a higher power. In fact, I know they were.”

He knew he should be disappointed that she was apparently a religious nut, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

She reminded him of someone, and it was gnawing at the back of his brain. When she turned back to face the GeroKreuz, he felt a twinge of disappointment that he couldn’t see her face.

He wanted to see her smile again, so he groped for something interesting to say, something that would make him look intelligent and get her attention back.

“You know, the great bell of the south tower used to be a cannon.”

She turned to look at him again, tilting her head like a curious puppy. Encouraged, he continued, “Yeah, it was a French cannon captured in the Franco-Prussian War. They melted it down and made a bell.”

“That’s a beautiful story. Something forged for war and now it calls people together for peace. I’ll remember to tell my students that.”

He hadn’t thought about it that way. He just thought it was a smart use of scrap metal, but he wasn’t about to tell her that.

“What grade do you teach, Mrs...?”

He trailed off, hoping she would correct him about the “Mrs.” part.

“I teach at a university and it’s Doctor Elizabeth Washburn.”

Her tone as she announced her name and title hadn’t the slightest hint of arrogance, as Jack might have 37

expected. Instead, she said it naturally, and Jack appreciated that.

“Doctor, huh? That’s not good for me.” He grinned to show he was teasing.

“You can call me ‘Beth,’ then. Does that fix the problem?”

“Almost,” he grinned. “Would that be Miss...?”

He didn’t bother finishing the quip. Beth wasn’t looking at him anymore, or even at GeroKreuz.

Too short to see over his shoulder, she leaned slightly to the left, staring at something behind him.

He turned to see what held her attention, but was still perplexed. Looking back at her, he asked, “What is it? If you want to walk over and look at the stained glass, I’ll keep you company. You know they used to think it was thicker at the top, the glass, because...”

She shook her head and put a finger to her lips.

She mouthed the words, “Just wait,” and put a hand on his forearm as if to steady herself.

“You OK?” He put his hand over hers; afraid it might feel cold and weak but was shocked to feel the heat radiating from her. Yet it was warmth that was electric rather than feverish, and it made her skin feel somehow more alive than anything he had ever touched.

She nodded. “It’s him. Watch.”

With her free hand, she pointed to a thirtysomething guy wearing blue jeans and a faded tee shirt.

He had thick brown hair and a short beard that looked more like negligence than fashion.

The man was scrawny with a dark brown, serious face that would look right at home on a college campus in any Middle Eastern country.

Jack also thought he looked like your everyday, run of the mill terrorist, sans turban or balaclava.

38

“Is he one of your grad students?” Jack hoped that was it. He still hadn’t found out whether or not she was single.

She laughed softly. “Oh, no… not at all!”

“Your boyfriend?” Jack let his hand drop. He wasn’t afraid of a confrontation but at this point, he wasn’t about to get into one, especially not here in Germany’s most famous cathedral. On his way in, he had noticed a camera crew in the balcony, probably shooting some tourist film. The moment would be immortalized.

“You don’t know, do you?” Beth looked into Jack’s eyes, frowning. She seemed to see a piece missing when she looked at him that way. “You don’t feel it? I was so sure…”

“Maybe if you told me what you’re looking at, I could see it.”

“No, no. It’s all right. Just watch, listen, and wait.

I know you’ll understand… you have to.” She smiled and nodded to herself.

Heinz came running and grabbed Jack by the arm.

He was excited and wanted Jack to follow, pointing toward the front of the cathedral. Jack realized with shock that Heinz was indicating the same man that Beth was so interested in.

“I see him, Heinz. Why don’t you go ahead and get the reward he promised? I’ll be along in a minute.”

Heinz grinned, nodding his head like a little boy and scurried off in a half run toward where the man was standing.

Beth looked at Jack, eyebrows raised. Jack ignored her look and turned his attention back to Heinz’s “gentle man”.

Puzzled, Jack watched the mystery man observing the Sacristy, where three priests were performing the 39

Eucharist Ceremony. Two held ornate goblets and one had a plate of wafers.

The faithful had formed a line, and one by one, they stepped up to the altar, where one of the priests would either offer them a sip from the chalice or a Eucharistic Host from the plate.

Heinz’s gentle man hadn’t joined the line. He stood off to the side, just out of the priests’ line of sight, and had the look of someone ready to leap into action.

Jack felt his own muscles tighten in response. He didn’t think much of the Eucharist Ceremony; the whole “blood and body of Christ” thing had always sounded macabre to him.

Still, those priests weren’t hurting anyone and the skinny guy was acting suspicious.

Since 9/11 Jack had become acutely sensitive to Middle Eastern types. If this guy was about to start something, Jack would intercede.

As if she could read Jack’s thoughts, Beth whispered, “No, he’s not dangerous. Relax.”

She tightened her grip on Jack’s arm and he realized she had felt him tense up. That’s how she’d known he was on alert. She didn’t have any mutant powers, except an uncanny knack for getting Jack to do what she wanted.

He felt a little foolish for thinking otherwise, even for a moment.

Heinz was headed directly towards the man, who saw him coming and greeted him with a big smile. He wrapped his arm over Heinz’s shoulder and leaned over to speak in his ear.

A moment later, to Jack’s surprise, the man wrapped his hand around Heinz’s throat and closed his eyes for a second.

40

Heinz staggered back against the wall. Even from the distance, Jack could see a glow of happiness flood the old wino’s face.

Slowly he fell to his knees. He ran his hands from his throat, down his chest. His lips moved as if talking to himself.

Beth again threw Jack an inquiring look. “Wasn’t that...?”

Jack nodded and said, “Yes, I’ll tell you later…promise.”

They returned their attention to the not-dangerous man as he made his move and strode up to the priest who held the plate with the Eucharistic Hosts.

He rested a hand on the priest’s arm and said, “Father, why are you doing this ritual?”

Good question, bad timing, Jack thought.

The priest opened and closed his mouth several times, clearly at a loss for words. Finally, after an exasperated sigh, he decided to respond. “My son, I will be glad to speak with you about the Eucharist and any of the Holy Sacraments after Mass. Please…”

“But this ceremony is a lie,” the man continued.

“It is based upon an event that did not happen. This ritual is a fictitious rendition of the so-called Last Supper and what I might have said and done.”

Jack glanced at Beth. “Is this some sort of practical joke? Walk up to the priests and pretend to be Jesus? Is that why the camera crew’s here?”

She shook her head emphatically and whispered, “No. For the love of…just listen to what he has to say; and not just with your ears.

He wanted to think of a clever comeback, but before he could, the mystery man announced himself to everyone in the cathedral.

41

“My name is Eloah. Two thousand years ago, your ancestors knew me as Yeshua, son of Joseph or perhaps, as you now remember me, Jesus – Son of God. I will use the name Jesus again.”

The tourists and the faithful alike all stared at the self-proclaimed Jesus, mesmerized. For the second time today, Jack had a sense of tunnel vision.

The would-be messiah had captured his attention almost as strongly as Beth had, but obviously not for the same reason.

Jack felt every hair on his body prickle. If he’d been outside he would have run for cover, sure that lighting was about to strike.

Jesus continued, “Fear not, for I have not come to herald the end of days as prophesied in your Bible. I have returned to save this world from a nuclear holocaust that will occur in a war between the three major religions.

“I bear an inadvertent contribution to this pending disaster by the founding of the Christian religion.

“A religion established in my name, but based upon a misinterpretation of my words and intent; by a resurrection miracle that did not occur.

“The Christian religion was generated by men of power seeking to control humanity through fear; the fear of death and the hope of an unnecessary salvation.”

If this was a practical joke, no one was laughing.

Jesus’ softly spoken words had somehow carried through the entire cathedral, but no one else made a sound.

“My purpose will become clearer in the coming days. In the interim, I have a message for the Catholic Pope.”

Jesus looked toward the camera in the back of the cathedral is if he were staring the Pope in the eyes.

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“Pope John Paul, your church holds documents written by me and Mary Magdalene. I require them to be released to independent scholars – independent of the Church – for authenticity testing.

“Following authentication, I demand the contents of these documents be released to all of the world’s media within ninety-six hours. I don’t believe a threat for non-compliance is necessary.

However, perhaps you will re-read your own Bible, Mark 11:15 through 17.

“These verses describe how I entered the Temple and set about turning over the tables of the money changers.

“They relate to how I pulled seats out from under the men who were selling birds for sacrifice.

“The recorded events tell of how I admonished those who would make a house of prayer into a business.

"I tell you now that what is written there is but a small piece of what I actually did that day, and nothing compared to what I will do if you fail to release these documents.

“I came then in peace, but I carried a sword and I will do so again. This time, however, my patience has worn thin; heed my words of peace or witness the wrath of my sword!”

Jesus appeared to have finished his speech and focused his gaze directly on Jack. Though Jesus did not move his lips, Jack heard the words, “Follow me.”

Jack closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to jar loose the big chunk of crazy that must have lodged itself in his brain.

When he opened his eyes, he saw that Jesus had locked eyes with Beth.

He hadn’t shown any expression for Jack, but he 43

flashed a smile at Beth, and she nodded as if acknowledging a command. Jesus then pivoted and exited the Sacristy through the back.

“What the hell…” before Jack could get his question out, Beth tightened her grip on his arm and pulled him forward.

He thought about grabbing a hold of her and demanding some answers, but decided that for now he’d go along for the ride. After all, he had come here trying to find Heinz’s elusive “gentle man”.

He hadn’t expected him to be “Jesus” and he certainly hadn’t expected to hear him exhorting the Pope.

Regardless, he was determined to get to the bottom of this mystery.

He hesitated only long enough to gently remove Beth’s hand, nod that he was with her and follow as she ran toward the altar.

Heinz was standing near the door that Jesus had gone through a few seconds earlier.

He reached out and grabbed Jack’s arm, stopping him long enough to say, “He cured me! My reward, he cured me!”

Tears were running down his cheeks, and Jack thought he’d never seen happier tears than these. It took him a moment to realize that Heinz was speaking.

Dazed at this new revelation, Jack was at a loss for words.

The urgency of following Beth and Jesus was such that all Jack could do was smile and pat Heinz on the shoulder. That was all he had time or sensibility for.

“Jack! This way!”

Beth’s voice cleared the fog and he managed a quick, “Good for you, Heinz – good for you,” before turning away to catch up with Beth.

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He followed her through the door, then a narrow hallway leading off to the right. They entered a large room filled with cabinets, chests and tables.

Straight ahead was a door and off to their left, another. Beth went straight, but Jack reached forward and grabbed her wrist, swinging her to the left.

From what he knew of the Dome’s layout, the door on the left would lead to the exit, while the other would take them deeper into the Sacristy.

He was right. The door at the end of the tunnel swung open to reveal an alleyway. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack glimpsed a figure as it moved through a doorway in one of the adjoining buildings.

“I see him! Come on.” He grabbed Beth’s hand and ran after the figure, reaching the doorway in a few strides.

He pulled on the wrought-iron handle, but the door wouldn’t budge.

Beth put her hands over his and added her strength to the effort, but it didn’t help.

Without being told, she put her palms flat on the door at the same time Jack did and they shoved together.

It held fast.

“Where could he have gone?” Beth asked.

“I saw him go through here,” Jack replied.

“I did too, just as we came from the Dome.”

She put her hands on her hips and sighed.

Jack continued to examine the door. He didn’t see a lock, though there could be one on the inside. Even if there wasn’t though, the hinges were rusted enough to be frozen.

With an hour and a good tool set, he could probably open it, but Beth didn’t look like someone who could wait an hour and he didn’t have any tools.

45

The look on her face reminded him of a little kid who just found out there’s no Santa Claus. He had a brief fantasy of busting the door down with his shoulder and earning her undying admiration, but knew better than to try it.

The thing looked like solid hardwood and had iron crossties. It had probably been designed to withstand a few blows from a battering ram.

He looked at Beth and shrugged. “Any ideas?”

She shook her head. “None.”

They both turned in circles, looking for another exit – a window, a door or a ladder – anything. There was nothing.

“He did go through this door, didn’t he?” Beth insisted.

Jack stared at the door. “Yeah, or maybe he ascended up to heaven.”

That earned him a small smile from her, but it faded as she stared at the door.

“There’s no way we’re going to get this open, is there?”

“It doesn’t look like it’s been opened this century, that’s for sure. I think we’ve lost him.”

“I think you’re right, we’ve lost him for now, but it’s alright. He’ll find us.”

Apparently satisfied with her own logic, she smiled at him as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

“Listen, Jack, there’s a café not far from here where we can talk over a cup of coffee.”

He didn’t need long to consider the idea. He wanted to spend more time with her. “Sounds good to me.”

He fell into step beside her; there were a few things he wanted to ask without having to look her in the 46

eye while he did. “Why are we trying to catch this guy?”

She stopped cold and pivoted to face him. “I think you know that. Don’t you?”

He didn’t like admitting that he’d heard a mysterious voice in his head, but in the context, he supposed it didn’t sound so bad.

He nodded. “I heard him say, ‘Follow me,’ and then I saw him look at you.”

“I’m so glad! I was starting to worry you hadn’t heard the message.” She exhaled dramatically and started walking again.

“He didn’t move his mouth when he said it,” Jack prodded. When that got no reaction from her, he continued, “And I wouldn’t have been able to hear him even if he had spoken out loud, not with my hearing, and not from that far away.

No one should have been able to hear him without a mike. Even that wouldn’t explain why everyone was listening so intently. You can’t tell me they all spoke English.”

“He had a message for us. We listened.” She said those words slowly, as if explaining something to a child.

He wondered if she realized that wasn’t any kind of explanation. “If he had a message for us, why lock us out? Why say, ‘Follow me,’ and then decide to play hideand-seek?”

She fingered her chin for a moment before answering. “I think…I think he didn’t want us to find him. Not yet.”

“Then what the hell did he want us to find?”

He didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but he couldn’t help laughing. This was all so absurd.

She stopped again and looked him directly in the eyes. “Each other, Jack. He wanted us to find each other.”

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Once again, he wondered where he had met her.

At first, he had thought she just looked like someone he had known, but now he realized it wasn’t just how she looked. It was everything about her.

He ran through everything she had said and done, trying to connect her with some event in his life. He still couldn’t place her, but he realized he had overlooked something very disturbing about her.

“Beth?”

“Yes?” She tilted her head, looking up at him.

“I never told you my name.”

“And you just now noticed?” She laughed and took his hand. They had reached the café and she led him through the door.

Jack hated being out of the loop; not knowing something that someone else obviously did. It was even worse when that someone was a beautiful woman that expected him to be in the know as well.

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CHAPTER FIVE “And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.” John 8:32 “Morning, Kate!”

The voice of Matthew Martinson interrupted her pleasant thoughts as she headed down the stairs.

Unfortunately, a chance meeting with her least favorite neighbor was almost as unpleasant as contemplating a friend's demise.

If some mad scientist were to take all the “bad cop” characters ever created, jam them into a conceptual distillation flask, and fire up the metaphorical Bunsen burner, the crud he collected might resemble Matthew Martinson.

He even looked the part. Aside from perfectly shaped, brilliantly white teeth that always surprised and momentarily held Kate's attention, Matthew had small, beady eyes that glared from the folds of his doughy face, which always looked flushed with a sheen of sweat.

That was probably because he was always angry about something.

A homicide detective for the Washington D.C. Police, he had plenty of things to be upset about -- low budgets, senseless crimes, lousy coffee.

Those weren't the kinds of things he complained about, however.

No, his gripes were more likely to involve the fact that his boss wouldn't fire someone for the heinous crime of being gay, or that the chief had the audacity to put his “best cop” on administrative leave, just for shooting a suspect!

Matt would then go on to explain that it didn't 49

even matter if the guy was a murderer or not. He was a no-good junkie/pimp/ whore/dealer/ insert-criminal-typehere, and if Matt hadn't shot him, the loser would've cost the taxpayers millions of dollars on rehab, courtappointed lawyers and welfare money.

Kate recalled overhearing one of his tirades with another neighbor a few weeks ago. It wasn’t his usual ‘criminals getting away with murder’ diatribe.

No, this time the detective had been outraged about being ordered to see a “fucking shrink”, concerning his anger issues.

Leigh, Kate's roommate and best friend, had suggested that the psychologist would likely find the man had more mental problems than simply a tendency to anger at the slightest provocation.

In fact, Leigh had said that she wouldn’t be a bit surprised to hear on the news that he had flipped completely and gone on a rampage, killing dozens of innocents at the local McDonald’s or something.

“Whatever you do, Katie, don’t piss this guy off!”

Leigh had vowed to put cops like Matt behind bars, which was one of the things Kate liked about her.

Unfortunately, Leigh had about another three years of law school, and in the meantime, Matt was loose on the streets.

Looking at the man's nasty, smirking face made Kate wish she could be a super-powered vigilante.

Leigh would say even Matt deserved a fair trial, but that's why superheroes always hid their identities, even from friends.

Kate smiled at her own far-fetched fantasy and Matt brightened, clearly thinking she was smiling at him.

“Hey, there, what’s the rush?” he rumbled and grabbed Kate's arm - ostensibly to help her walk down 50

the stairs. Instead of seeming the gentleman, he came off as a creepy pervert.

His smile, more of a leer, really, said; Girls like you shouldn't wear pants like those, not unless you're trying to make me grab you. It's a sin to tempt a man like that.

Kate shook off his arm. “Off to work on my movie. You'd like it. It's about Jesus.”

“Oh yeah? Good to hear it! Maybe you'll come to church this Sunday?” Somehow, he made even that invitation sound sleazy.

Kate shuddered. “Look, I can't keep Jesus waiting, so I'll be on my way. I'm sure you're off to shoot some bad guys, right?”

She said that over her shoulder as she slipped through the heavy glass doors of the apartment building.

Matt shook his head. “Nah, just out for a walk, so I'll keep you company. Pretty young woman like you shouldn't be walking alone.”

Kate wanted to scream. The fact that none of her classmates looked twice at her was something she could deal with. She hated going to the gym, didn't have money for makeup and fashion, and wasn't about to trade in her ice cream for yogurt.

If that meant spending Friday nights watching DVDs and waiting for Leigh to get home from her date, that was fine.

The fact that Matt found her attractive was just proof that God had a mean sense of humor.

“I had to get some air after I saw the news this morning,” Matt continued. “CNN just reported that some asshole calling himself Jesus made a speech in some church in Germany. The guy says he 'made a mistake' when he founded the Christian religion!”

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Kate laughed. “That's gotta be the biggest, 'oops' in history!”

Matt turned a deeper shade of red. “It's not funny.

It would be if they'd dragged the guy off to the nut house where he belongs, but they didn't. Wait, it gets worse.

“People in the church said he performed miracles.

This guy could be a serious problem, Kate, everyone needs...”

"Well, did he?" Kate interrupted.

Flustered at the interruption, Matt wasn't sure what Kate had asked him. "Huh, did he...what?"

Slowly, as if talking to a child, Kate said, "Did he work miracles over there in Germany?"

Matt waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, yeah... well... no, of course not! The news had some idiots claiming that the guy spoke to them in their own languages...different languages, you know?

“What a crock! I always wonder where these idiot news people get their stupid eyewitnesses from.

Then there was some homeless piece of sh...."

"I think that if he spoke to everyone in a different language - that would be quite impressive."

"Damn it, aren't you listening to me?" Matt yelled.

"Those news people gave it the spin they wanted, not what really...."

Undaunted, unafraid of Matt's raised voice, Kate remained calm, "So what are you so upset about if it's obvious the reporters are not telling the truth?"

Not waiting for an answer, she turned to continue down the stairs, but Matt grabbed her by the arm. She spun around, pulling herself free.

"Look, Matt, I'm sorry this guy upset you,” Kate lied. “Now I really have to make my film. I need to put some thought into this, so could you please just…”

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“Don’t you understand what I’m telling you, woman? Some guy says he’s Jesus, threatens the Pope and…”

“Ugh! I get it! Look, if it makes you feel any better, I know for a fact that guy's a fake.” She grinned, waiting for Matt to fall into her setup.

“You do?” He beamed.

“Well, sure I do! The real Jesus is here in D.C. I told you, I'm making a movie about him. He's a nice guy… kinda cute too. I'm gonna be late to meet him if I don't hurry up!”

She flashed a smile at Matt as he sputtered an incomprehensible reply while Kate doubled her pace.

Not having a car meant she walked everywhere, and she could really book it when she had to. She glanced at her watch. Eighty thirty AM. She should be able to make it.

As Kate put Matthew behind her, she failed to see that he was trailing her. ***** Kate's heart sank when she arrived at the Lincoln Memorial. Jesus was nowhere to be found. A middleaged man in a sweat suit was jogging up the steps, veering around the families and couples already trooping up to the Lincoln statue to snap their souvenir shot.

Near the top of the stairs, a dozen or so kids and their parents had congregated, though Kate couldn't see what had captured their attention.

She heaved a sigh and stood clutching her backpack in both hands, deliberating about whether or not she should bother taking out her camera.

A young woman in a park ranger's uniform strode up to Kate. She had sandy hair, an athletic figure, and a smile like a leading lady. “Looking for something?”

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“No. Well, kind of. I'm looking for this guy who said he'd meet me here. He's kind of medium height, skinny, long brown hair.” Kate had expected the pretty young ranger to smirk at her misfortune, but instead the woman nodded.

“You're Kate then? I'm Shelly. I met your friend Jesus this morning when I got to work. He asked me to help you find him, said you'd be carrying a big, orange back pack and looking like a lost puppy.”

“Did he, now?” Kate took out her camera and slung her backpack over her shoulder.

“Yeah. He's performing magic for the kids.”

Shelly jerked her head toward the columns at the top of the stairs.

Kate was looking down, fiddling with her camera when Shelly spoke. Instantly, Kate had an image in her mind of Jesus standing among a large group of children and their parents. Looking up to where Shelly had indicated, she was surprised to see that exact same scene in reality.

Momentarily taken aback, she began walking toward him and felt a smile spreading across her face.

Why should today start off any weirder than yesterday ended? She thought.

Shelly matched her stride for stride, and Kate decided she might include the ranger in her film. She flipped on the camera and took a brief shot of Shelly before focusing on Jesus.

“So,” Kate began. “Is it part of your job to find people, like you found me?”

“Oh, no! Mostly I answer questions. I give a tour every day at eleven if you and your friend want to come?”

“It was really nice of you to help then. Thanks.”

54

Shelly shook her head. “No, I wasn't being nice.

Normally, I'd hook them up with security or the Mall Police.

“I mean, can you imagine if I had to track down every husband, wife, or kid who wandered away from the rest of the group? I want to help and all, but come on!”

They passed easily through several dozen parents and stopped at the edge of the group of children. A little girl, cute enough to be Shelly's sister, came running up to Jesus, holding out something in her small fist. When she got closer, Kate could see it was a dandelion.

Jesus knelt in front of the little girl, allowing himself to look her in the eye. “Very good," he told her, holding out his hand, palm up and flat.

The girl dropped the yellow flower into his hand, then turned and walked back to join the rest of the children.

Kate cursed herself for blinking and hoped fervently that her camera had caught what she herself had missed. The dandelion was gone, and Jesus now held a brilliant white lily in its place.

Shelly gasped in amazement and Kate took another shot of her. “Oh, stop,” Shelly snapped. “Don't take your camera off him, he's amazing!"

The girl who had brought the dandelion saw the awed expressions on the other children's faces, heard their applause, and pivoted to see what she had missed.

When she saw the lily she grinned and pointed to it. “Is that my weed?”

Jesus nodded and held the lily toward her. She held out her hand as he had done, palm up, and he dropped the flower.

For a second, it hung suspended above the girl's hand before finally dropping into her palm. She looked 55

from the lily to Jesus, her small brow furrowed in confusion. “How'd you do that?”

Kate wondered the same thing, and she zoomed in for a close up of Jesus’ face.

“I believed that I could,” he said with a straight face.

Kate grinned. She was going to have a movie after all. The little girl nodded slowly and suddenly shy ran back to her parents.

Kate was filming the girl when Shelly touched her shoulder and said, “I'd like to know how he does that?”

She pointed to Jesus, who had levitated himself several inches above the ground.

The children had gone silent, their faces frozen in astonishment. Kate took a few steps back and panned her camera from the audience to the performer.

While the children seemed pleased with the illusion, some of the adults frowned in apparent consternation.

She heard a few snatches of whispered conversation that included, “magnets,” and “mirrors,” and “force fields.”

A teenage girl muttered something about “those physics guys on the science news,” but even she looked rattled.

Jesus noticed Kate filming and nodded in recognition before lowering himself back to the concrete.

When Kate returned to her original spot, Shelly looked away from Jesus with a frown. “That's not the weirdest trick he's done.”

Jesus had asked for a coin, and several people began rummaging in pockets and purses.

Kate laughed. “What the hell do you mean?

What's weirder than floating?”

56

“I told you, when he asked me to find you; I should have told him, 'not my job.' I was about to.

“Then he said the thing about you having a big orange backpack and looking like a lost puppy, and I got this picture in my head.”

“Oh?" Kate chuckled.

“No, not of a dog! I got this picture of a Black girl with her hair in lots of little braids, wearing a yellow Sponge Bob tee shirt. I wondered why I'd imagine something so specific, and I was kind of curious.

“I don't know how he did it, but it's another trick.

He didn't say anything about how you looked or what you were wearing, other than the backpack. Kate, who is this guy?”

She hid her thoughts, shrugged and said, “Just some guy I met. I told him about a movie I was making for school, and he said to come here.”

A boy who looked about ten years old approached Jesus with a quarter in his outstretched hand.

“Huh.” Shelly figured there had to be more to it than that, but withheld further comment.

Jesus clasped his hands together behind his back and leaned forward to peer at the coin, then nodded in satisfaction.

“That will work. I have repaid your father for the coin as it will not survive the transformation.”

“What should I do, check my bank balance?”

A stocky, middle-aged man in jeans and a polo shirt held up his cell phone, eliciting chuckles from the rest of the crowd.

“No, your front pocket.” Jesus patted his own chest for emphasis.

The man shrugged, reached into his breast pocket, and pulled out a coin. He swallowed.

57

“How the hell…?”

The woman with him laughed and clapped her hands. “Oh, that's good! It looks old, too! I'd say we got the better end of the deal Hon; that looks so real…”

“It's a cheap fake!” the man snapped. “Good gimmick though.”

“So what’s gonna happen to my quarter?” the boy demanded.

“Quarter?”

Jesus frowned in mock incomprehension at the boy's hand, then turned to face the camera and winked at Kate.

“Yeah, my… whoa, cool!”

He raised his hand above his head, holding the object in it with his thumb and forefinger. “It's an egg!”

“Careful, son, you have in your hand a potential miracle. Hold your hand like so,” Jesus cupped his own empty hand to illustrate. “Make a nest.”

“I bet he has a bird up his sleeve!” one of the kids called.

The problem with that logic, Kate observed, was that Jesus wore a short-sleeved tee shirt.

Once again, Jesus clasped his hands behind his back. He took two steps away from the boy, but kept his eyes fixed on the egg in the boy's hand.

“I can feel something!” the boy exclaimed. “It's moving.”

“May I?” Kate asked, even as she moved forward and angled the camera for a close-up. Sometimes a good journalist had to be a little pushy.

The egg shuddered, as cracks began to appear in the shell. “This is so cool!” The boy flashed a huge, crooked-toothed grin for the camera then went back to staring at the egg in awe.

“All of us came here today looking for 58

inspiration.” Kate spoke into the microphone but kept the camera on the egg. We came to admire the great men of another age, unable to find what we need in our contemporaries. I came here with my camera and my dreams, not really knowing what it was that I was looking for.”

The phrase ‘lost puppy’ flashed through her mind, and she suppressed a flicker of annoyance. “What I see now…”

A tiny beak protruded through the shell, followed by a head matted with hair and fluid. The boy opened his mouth and looked up at Jesus.

Kate managed to catch the kid's eyes, and she mouthed the word, “quiet,” afraid any noise would scare the little bird.

“What I see now,” she continued, “is a miracle.”

The miracle had finished hatching and now shook its wings as if to clear off the egg mess.

The wet down began to molt, replaced with feathers before her eyes. The boy flattened his palm and held it above his head, eliciting gasps from the onlookers.

Exclamations rippled through the crowd.

“Whoa!”

“No way!”

“Awesome!”

“Sweet Jesus!”

“Who are you?” Kate demanded, craning her neck to glance at Jesus without taking her camera off the bird.

When she turned back to the boy and bird, she saw what now looked like a mature sparrow. It raised one foot, then the other as if trying to figure out how its legs worked.

Next, it flexed its brown-feathered wings and chirped, making the little boy laugh. That startled the 59

sparrow, and it fluttered away to an enthusiastic round of applause.

“Aww! I wanted to keep it.” The boy shook his head in disappointment.

Jesus chuckled. “It is no more miraculous than any other. I am but a man, despite what you have seen me do. Does anyone here believe otherwise?”

No one gave a definite answer, though many shook their heads or shrugged. Kate stepped back and fixed the camera on Jesus while the little boy returned to his parents.

“I have done many things you believe impossible as you do many things that, were they done a century ago, would have appeared miraculous.

“As Jesus of Nazareth, I changed water to wine, and healed those who truly believed that I could.”

This time, he had pronounced his name with a “j” sound. Kate was sure of it. The responses of the crowd ranged from awe, to jeering, to anger.

A woman threw her arms around her two children, repeating, “It's him!” as tears rushed down her face.

The man who had received the coin now tossed it at Jesus’ feet. “I want no part of this.” He turned and started to walk away, dragging his wife by the arm and his son by the hand.

“No, dad!” The boy cried. “I believe him! I do!

Dad, please, I want to see more magic..."

Jesus looked genuinely pained as the man dragged his family away and shot Kate his own “lost puppy” look.

“Well, explain you're not here to end the world...or something!” She pleaded; though the family was already out of earshot. She turned away from Jesus to catch the boy and his family; thinking of her 60

documentary and the release form she needed them to sign.

Suddenly, she heard a loud “pop” followed by shouts and screams. When she turned back, she saw Jesus running back into the memorial.

A second “crack” echoed over the monument as the crowd scattered in all directions. Jesus’ left shoulder jerked forward, doubling him over, but he continued running.

People were screaming and scattering in all directions. The previously tranquil scene had erupted into madness at the sound of the gunshots.

Kate's mind struggled to process the situation.

Clearly, Jesus had been shot and was trying to evade his assailant. Everyone else was simply trying to escape, which meant getting as far away from the shooter’s target as possible.

Jesus had disappeared behind the columns when Kate saw someone she recognized running up the stone steps.

Gun in hand, Matthew Martinson charged toward the columns like an angry bull. The space around the memorial had cleared out.

Kate knew that Jesus was somewhere behind the columns, but in his wounded condition, he wouldn't be able to evade Matt for long.

Disregarding any thoughts of personal safety, maddened at Matt’s actions, Kate dashed up the steps.

She had little hope of disarming him, but if she could distract him for just a few moments, maybe Jesus could escape.

“Where are you, you heretic? You blasphemous son of a bitch!" Matt screamed. He stood next to one of the columns, turning right, left - trying to find his target.

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“Matt, stop it!” Kate yelled. She reached him and immediately saw a thickening trail of blood leading up to the base of the marble column where Matt stood.

She noticed that the blood stopped abruptly as if Jesus had vanished with yet another feat of miraculous magic.

“You in on it?” Matt turned to point the gun at her. “Tell me where he went right now! You know this guy?”

“OK, OK. I'll tell you everything. You're right I know exactly where he is, and I'll take you to him.”

She lied with a perfectly straight face; so numb from shock that she may as well have been a robot.

“Police!”

That shout came from behind her. Both she and Matt whirled to see two National Mall cops running toward them.

Matt snarled at Kate, “I'll see you again!”

He pulled his badge from a jacket pocket and flashed it at the cops. "Hold her, she's in on it."

Without another word, Matt ran around the corner of the memorial as if in hot pursuit of a criminal.

Kate stared at the blood. So much blood!

Seemingly, from far away, she heard a voice.

Still dazed she looked up to see two National Mall policemen pointing their guns at her.

“Drop the bag and raise your hands!”

Kate did as instructed while listening to another voice; his voice in her head. Kate, I am fine. I will come for you."

62

CHAPTER SIX "For there shall arise false Christ’s, and false prophets, and shall show great signs and wonders; insomuch that, if it were possible, they shall deceive the very elect."

Mathew 24:24 Beth slid into the padded seat of a booth near the front and rested her chin on her fist her head half-turned toward the window.

Jack took the seat across from her, where he could watch the TV that hung above the bar. He figured she was watching for Jesus to appear, but Jack didn’t think her messiah would show up to order a latte.

More likely, he would appear on the news, with a caption reading, “Crazy Man Shoots Pope” or “Would-Be Jesus Attacked by Sharks - So Much for Walking on Water!”

He was half right; Jesus had made his television debut, but the headline wasn’t news to Jack. “Beth?”

When she looked at him, he pointed to the TV. They watched in silence as Charlie Porter, the CNN International anchorman in New York began his program.

Guys like Charlie, with their plastic smiles, canned sympathy, and perfect haircuts were one of the reasons Jack hated watching the news.

Today, though, Charlie’s smile looked genuine.

In fact, he appeared to be stifling a laugh. “There’s breaking news this morning from Cologne, Germany where a man, claiming to be Jesus Christ, disrupted an early afternoon Mass at the famous 750 year old Kölner Dom, by announcing that he had ‘returned to this world, not to announce Armageddon, but to save the world from a religiously incited nuclear holocaust’.”

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The camera panned to the co-anchor, Margaret Ling, a pretty Asian woman in a smart-looking gray suit.

"Yes, Charlie, and there were some other surprises at the cathedral, as well."

When Charlie’s face came back on screen, he wasn’t smiling anymore.

“There certainly were Margaret; the man went on to demand that the Pope release a set of ancient documents and indicated the possibility of retribution if the Vatican does not comply.

“It is not clear at this time if this man is associated with any known terrorist groups.”

Again, the camera panned to Margaret. “Stop a nuclear war and get his hands on some ancient religious documents. Where's the connection?

“Coming up, we will hear from our correspondent in Cologne and show you some exclusive footage from the scene.”

A commercial touting the pleasures to be had with a vacation in Indonesia replaced Margaret’s frowning face.

Jack glanced at Beth. She was biting her lip and tapping her fingers on the table, looking as if she herself were a hunted terrorist.

He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t reassure her that Jesus would be all right, and he certainly couldn’t offer to help the guy. He decided a simple distraction might be best.

“Hey, Beth, you wanted coffee, right - anything else?”

“Just coffee, please. I’m too keyed up to eat, but you go ahead.”

He signaled the waitress, who came to stand by the booth, and said, “Zwei Kaffee, bitte.”

64

After the waitress walked away, Beth looked at Jack and raised an eyebrow.

He accurately interpreted her mimic and said, "Ich bin von der Meinung das Mann die sprache seine Gastlandes lernen sollte, wenn er für mehr als eine kürzen Besuch bleibt."

"Your German is quite good. No accent. The grammar could use some work, but not bad for an American.

“I agree, by the way, that people who spend extensive time in a foreign country should learn at the least the basics of the host nation's language."

He wondered how she knew that he spent a lot of time in Germany, but before he could make a comeback the commercials ended and Beth’s attention was once again fixed on Charlie Porter.

“More breaking news today as we continue to bring you up-to-date coverage of the Kölner Dom situation. We go now to our CNN correspondent, on the scene in Cologne, Germany.

"Angelika, has there been any progress in identifying the alleged terrorist?”

“No, Charlie,” Angelika answered, her picture appearing on the screen before the Dome. “But, most of the people I've talked to here would not call him a terrorist. In fact, most are convinced he is who he said he is - Jesus Christ!"

She shook her head in apparent disbelief. "I have here with me Mr. Cosmo Camillo, an Italian tourist who witnessed the entire incident.”

The camera zoomed out to show an overweight, olive-skinned man with thick, white hair. He had the same look of adoration that Jack had seen on Beth. His English was broken, but perfectly understandable.

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The man recounted the events as Jack had seen them, but finished with a declaration that this so-called Jesus was the real thing.

The screen split to show Charlie at his desk, as well as Angelika at the Dome. “What a fascinating eyewitness account, Angelika…”

“There’s more, Charlie,” she cut him off; apparently afraid he was about to transition into the next segment.

“Mr. Camillo swears this supposed Jesus was speaking in Italian. Frau Katarina Steiner, another eyewitness recounts the same story, but says he spoke perfect German.”

A young woman and a boy of about nine or ten appeared on screen. The woman began speaking in rapid German, noticed that Angelika was about to stop her and quickly switched to a remarkably good English.

She went on to tell about another miracle.

“GeroKreuz, it began to bleed, from the feet and the hands.”

She raised her own palm and tapped it for emphasis. “The wooden Christ, he bled as if he were alive. People pushed past me to see, and I pulled my son away, out of the crowd. I was afraid we would be trampled with everyone wanting to see the miracle, but I’m happy for my son, happy that he was able to see this.”

“As you know, bleeding from the feet and hands is known as stigmata and when proven by the Church, qualifies as a bona fide miracle,” Angelika continued.

“Thank you, Angelika.” Margaret was back on screen. “In related news, Vatican security is prepared to deal with the threat. Officials there assure us that the Pope is not in any danger.

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“Authorities all over Europe are being notified of the man’s description and will remain on alert.”

The camera panned back to Charlie. “Later, we will hear from Dr. Michael Eaton, an expert on religious terrorism at London’s New Scotland Yard and Monsignor Pedro Fernandez who will talk to us about the Church's take on the supposed miracles.

“But first, here’s that exclusive footage we promised you.”

Jack and Beth continued to watch the television in silence, although they'd seen it live just a few minutes ago.

The waitress sat two cups of steaming coffee on the table. Beth took hers in both hands and just held the cup, as if for warmth.

She looked Jack in the eye. “I’m not worried.”

“That’s good.” He took a sip of coffee to avoid having to say more.

“I was,” she continued, “but then I realized I was being silly.”

Jack nodded his agreement. This whole thing would be silly if I weren't so damned close to it.

“I mean, how could they catch him?

He disappeared into thin air right in front of us! He can do the same for the police, right?”

“I don’t know.” Jack frowned, disappointed. She was still suffering from the same delusions as Mr. Camillo and Frau Oswald.

“You didn’t see that bleeding crucifix, did you?

"As we were running past the altar I noticed that several people were staring and pointing at something. I didn’t have time to look, but I think they must have been pointing at the GeroKreuz. I didn’t see it before, did you?”

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What Jack remembered seeing was a man without a larynx - talking. Or was that just my imagination, too?

“No. If I had known we wouldn’t find him, I would have stayed. I’ve read about the stigmata, of course. In grad school, I wrote a paper about it, but I’ve never seen it myself.”

Her voice had the dreamy quality of a teen girl talking about the cute new boy at school. “You know, I had almost given up on miracles.”

“Miracle or elaborate hoax, I don’t guess it will matter now, will it? Either way, people will come parading in, drink the beer down the road; eat at the restaurant next door; buy a tee shirt or two. Hooray for the local economy.”

He threw a fake, celebratory fist into the air.

She chuckled. “Surely you don’t still think this is all some kind of hoax? I mean, what else needs to happen for you to believe?

“You heard his voice in your head, didn’t you?

You don’t, as a rule, hear voices, right?”

Jack hesitated. He wasn’t sure anymore what he’d actually seen or heard.

“Beth, think about it. Jesus. I mean, Jesus – I just don’t…”

“Jack, two days ago I had a dream. It was so real that when I awoke I was almost certain that it actually happened.

“Over the next several days I had pretty much convinced myself that it was a dream, but after today, I’m absolutely positive that it wasn’t. Jack… Jesus appeared to me in my bedroom.”

He cringed. It all became clear to him, now.

Jesus was some kind of cult leader, and this poor woman - Beth, if that was even her name, had fallen prey 68

to his mind games. Jack decided that if he saw this Jesus guy again, he’d tell him exactly what he thought of him.

He wondered if Beth had written over her bank account along with her immortal soul, or her eternal devotion, or whatever the hell it was the guy supposedly wanted.

It was bad enough that he had been in her bedroom and worse; he seemed to be using her to what recruit him?

“Oh, for the love of God, Jack! The look on your face!” Beth shook her head in disgust.

“Interesting word choice.” He didn’t bother trying to keep a straight face.

“Ugh! It’s not what you’re thinking. Look, I’m not some undergrad who goes gaga over men. I’m a professor of theology. I have a master’s in philosophy and a doctorate in religious studies. I know logic and history and psychology. I garden, I cook, and I do karate every Wednesday, and… brace yourself for this one, Jack… I even balance my own checkbook!”

He raised both hands, palms out, in a placating gesture. “Okay, okay. For what it’s worth, I don’t want to think you’re nuts. It’s just… well… seeing Jesus?

Make that - believing you saw Jesus.”

She leaned back in her seat and sighed. “I know how it sounds. I do! But you know… physicists, atoms, and so on, right?”

“What?”

“Oh, the standard argument. When people say, ‘I’ve never seen God, so you’re crazy for believing,’ the response is usually, ‘Physicists see atoms. You’ve never seen atoms. Do you think physicists are crazy’?”

“Huh.” He took a sip of coffee as he digested the logic.

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“The standard argument I got was, ‘you don’t know shit, Jack’. It was supposed to be a pun, I guess.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I suppose ‘standard’ is relative.”

“Yeah. Anyway, here’s the thing. Physicists have evidence that atoms exist. They see energy produced in their particle collision experiments.

“They have documented reproducible experiments that support the existing models.”

“So you’ve done those experiments yourself?”

She asked.

“Well, no, of course not, but they’ve been done.

There are peer-reviewed journals, books written by guys with…” He stopped in mid-sentence as a broad grin spread across her face.

“Guys with Ph.D.’s?”

He sighed. “Ok. You got me. So, Dr. Washburn, tell me about your observations on the Jesus experiment.”

“Ok.” The fire in her eyes went out, replaced by that dreamy look again. “My last class before the holidays, this past Thursday, a man appeared in my classroom. He looked out of place and so, naturally, I… I watched him. Suddenly, he got up and left.

“After the class, one of my students handed me a piece of paper. The man had asked her to give it to me and on it was written, 'When the student is ready, the master appears'.

“That's Buddha and I thought it strange but, an hour later, on my way home, I saw him again. This time he was doing magic tricks for children at the Market Square in Heidelberg.

“That’s where I work, the University of Heidelberg. I was going to approach him, but he disappeared again.”

70

Beth paused and gave Jack a stubborn look.

He ignored it and said, “No comment ‘till you’re done. Go on…”

She continued the story including the first dream and then, what she believed to be a second dream when Jesus appeared at her bedside.

She elected to omit, for the time being, what Jesus had said to her. “Jack, it was the exact same man, wearing the exact same clothes that we saw in the Dome this afternoon.”

“And you didn’t call the cops because…?”

“I don’t know. That’s why it’s so strange. I went back to sleep, and when I woke up, I rationalized that it must have been a dream.

“If it hadn’t been, I would have called the police, and quite frankly if the guy didn’t start running when I picked up the phone, I would have gotten ready to defend myself. I didn’t do any of that, so it had to be a dream.”

Jack didn’t know whether to laugh or throw up his hands in frustration. For someone of her intelligence and who knew how many degrees, she sure didn’t seem to mind contradicting herself.

“Right. So, it’s a dream. Do you always do what dream voices tell you, or just when the dream voice belongs to a dead guy from two thousand years ago?”

Beth decided she was getting nowhere with this line of argument. She decided to play her trump card.

She looked down at her hands and closed her eyes. When she spoke it was almost a whisper, her voice shook as if on the verge of tears.

“Explain this, Jack. When Jesus appeared at my bedside he...”

Jack interrupted, “You mean the dream?”

She looked up, determination now in her eyes, “It 71

wasn't a dream. He told me several things that I didn’t immediately remember… I was confused, half asleep.

Later, I remembered exactly, everything.

“Jesus, the man at my bedside said, ‘On Saturday, when you go to Cologne and visit the Dome you will meet a man. His name is Jack Schmidt. He is American.

“I tell you these things so that he will believe. He is someone that will interest you. I will see you both there.”

The seconds ticked by. Neither Beth nor Jack broke the silence. As she watched Jack's face she saw his expression morph from exasperated cynicism to shocked surprise.

His eyes lost their steady, self-assured glare.

Now, he looked like a lost little boy. “Jack, I....”

He held up his hand and leaned slowly back in his chair. He looked everywhere around the room except in Beth's direction.

Slowly, his facial expression changed. His lips tightened into a thin line. His eyes regained their selfassurance but, this time a steely glint was added. Jack placed his forearms on the table and moved toward Beth.

His voice was low, tense and conspiratorial, “This is much worse than I thought, Beth. At first, I thought I was dealing with some weirdo that had somehow done some research on me and... anyway, it's obvious that I'm not the only one he's been investigating.”

“What do you mean? What are you withholding, Jack?”

He sighed. He'd hoped to avoid talking about Heinz until he could better sort it out in his own mind, but now, there was no choice, he had to tell her.

“The old man that you saw me talking to in the Dome…”

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bum.”

Beth nodded.

“His name is Heinz. He's a homeless beggar, a

Jack paused and shook his head. “No, he's more than that. He's a guy so far down on his luck that he's hit absolute rock bottom. He's dying of cancer, can't speak because his larynx has been removed.

“He was waiting for me... I don't know how else to put it... waiting for me at a pub I go to regularly when I'm in Cologne. He gave me a note.”

Jack reached into his jeans pocket and pulled it out. Smoothing it flat on the table, he pushed it across so that Beth could read it. He waited for her finish.

She looked up. “Oh my God, Jack! This is why you were in the Dome?”

“That's not all. The ‘gentle man’, as Heinz called him, promised him a reward for delivering the note to me.

I took Heinz with me so that he could point the guy out and I wanted to make sure that Heinz got his reward. I figured money or something; well, I...”

“The gentle man was our Jesus, right?”

Jack nodded. “Apparently, and just before this guy starts his little show, he puts his hands on Heinz's throat. I thought for a second I should go to his aid, but his face... Heinz's face was filled with joy, hell... ecstasy!

Next thing I know, the guy is talking to the priest and Heinz is sitting against the wall, a big smile on his face and tears running down his cheeks.”

“Wow.” “Yeah, but there’s more,” Jack sighed. I wasn't going to mention this part, but as we were running past the altar after...after Jesus,” he grimaced as if speaking the name put a bad taste in his mouth, “I could have sworn I heard Heinz telling me that he'd gotten his 73

reward. He was talking, Beth.”

Beth grabbed Jack’s hands across the table and then, embarrassed, released them again. “Doesn't that prove that Jesus is who he says he is?”

He leaned closer and pulled her hands back into his. “No, it doesn't. It proves that this is a very well executed plot of some kind. It's extremely well thought out, researched, and the players are totally professional. I don't know the why of it, but I will find out!”

She pulled her hands back. She was angry at Jack's ridiculous stubbornness.

“Who the hell are you... or me... to attract such an elaborate scheme? What's the payoff for them, whoever they might be?

“Jack... Jack, there's only one explanation here and it's as obvious to me as you sitting across the table....”

Jack balled his hands into fists. In a restrained, angry whisper, Jack talked over her.

“This Jesus guy is an illusionist, a magician.

Heinz is a bit player, as least for now.

“He's very good. The scar, where his larynx was supposedly removed looked real. It must have something to do with the blog I write.”

He stabbed the note with his index finger. “I write a blog that's anti-religious. I'm an atheist, Beth. I detest organized religion of any kind, and unlike most other atheists who elect to lay low, I decided a couple of years ago to counteract the Christians who push their religion on everyone and anyone they can.

“My blog is pretty big; I get several thousand hits a day… plus some big advertisers.

“Someone... some religious fanatic has decided to play with me. I don't know the end game, but I....”

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“That argument might hold some weight if it was only you but, it isn’t only you, is it? It’s me, too. How does your conspiracy…or whatever the hell you call it, fit with me in the picture?”

Thinking that her involvement negated his conspiracy argument, she was dismayed to see that Jack’s facial expression remained angry and convinced of his own assertion.

“I don’t know, but I will find out how…” He suddenly stopped. He looked as if someone had slapped his mouth shut.

After a second or two of silence, Beth became concerned. “Jack, are you...?”

She, too, was suddenly struck silent. A voice was in her head. She locked eyes with Jack.

The voice stopped and, as one, they released their breaths; neither realizing they'd been holding them.

Beth was the first to speak. “Did you hear what I heard?”

Tense and already getting to his feet, he replied, “Meet me at the door you saw me last? Yeah, I got it.

Let's go.”

Beth grabbed Jacks hands, “Promise me you won't do anything that you'll regret.”

“I promise that I will get to the bottom of this Beth, and that's all I'll promise.”

Jack took two steps towards the door, stopped and turned. “Are you coming?”

She hesitated and then, extended her hand, which Jack took. “Yes, yes, of course,” she said.

75

CHAPTER SEVEN “Therefore we conclude that a man is justified by faith without the deeds of the law.” Romans 3:28 Randall Green studied the witness sitting across from him. An agent of the FBI for more than twenty years, he'd been stagnating in his current position as branch chief for the past five.

Certain that his promotion to division chief hinged exclusively on closing out a big case; ‘The Jesus Case’, as this one had already been dubbed, could be his opportunity, and he believed that this witness Kate Barrow, was an important piece of the puzzle.

“Listen, Agent... uh, Green. I've told the other agents everything I know. I told them who the shooter was. They acted like they didn't care about him.

Instead...”

Randall leaned forward and interrupted his witness, “Miss Barrow, they... we, do care. We've notified the DCPD, and everyone is looking for Detective Martinson. You can count on it. That's not the reason I wanted to...”

Kate was angry that she had been cut off.

“That's not what I was getting at. I was going to say... instead, I am being interrogated and treated like a criminal and the man who was shot, is being talked about like he's the bad guy! There's more effort being put into finding him than the real bad guy! And me?

“Other than filming his magic show and recognizing the man that tried to kill him, I have nothing... absolutely nothing to do with this... any of it.

I'm only a witness for Christ's sake!”

Well, that's bullshit, isn't it? Randall thought. I 76

know you're up to your neck with this Jesus guy. Aloud, he said, “Yes, you are a witness, but only - is a bit of an understatement...”

Kate jerked as if she'd just received a static electricity charge, stopping him in mid speech. Randall was confused at her reaction. FBI agents are well trained in human body language during interrogations. Kate's stiffened body and squinted eyes were sure indicators that he'd hit a nerve - completely out of sync with what he was saying.

“I've already told...” she began.

Yes, you already told us... but you didn't tell us everything, did you?

Kate, stiffened again... her nostrils flared, her eyes widened.

“I know, Miss Barrow. You met Jesus yesterday at the Jefferson Memorial. You're doing a documentary on...”

Kate leaned forward, her eyes boring into Randall's. “What makes you think I'm holding anything back? Why should I? He's not a criminal and neither am I. I have nothing to hide.”

Huh! How did she know I didn't think she was telling us everything? “Miss Barrow...”

“Also, what's this shit about me being up to my neck in this?”

“You're jumping to conclusions, Miss Barrow, I never said...”

“No, you never said... but, that's damn sure what you're thinking, isn't it?”

Now Randall was shocked, but he didn't show it as Kate had. A knock at the door interrupted their staring contest. Randall was relieved.

He wasn’t quite sure what had happened, and a 77

respite was exactly what he needed to clear his thoughts.

“Excuse me for a minute, please.” Randall got up and left the room.

Jill McIntyre was the head of the FBI’s DC forensics lab. She was in her mid- forties and married to her job. Randall had great respect for her scientific abilities as well as her intuition in difficult cases. She started talking as soon as he’d closed the interrogation room door behind him.

“Randy, I ran the samples from the Lincoln Memorial, and the guy isn’t in any database that I know of. He’s not going to be in any database on this planet!”

Randy ignored the last sentence and replied, “What about Interpol, the MOSSAD? The guy looks Middle Eastern, and that would fit with a terrorist spin.

“If this guy ever had a paternity test run, we might get some facts on him. It’s a long shot, sure, but…”

“No, I obviously didn’t make myself clear. The electrophoresis was a mess.

“Tim thought the reagents were off, so I ran one of the validation standards. No problem with the standard.

“Then I ran the Lincoln Memorial standard again, and it’s still totally wrong. It’s like his DNA hydrolyzes differently in some places…”

“We didn’t all go to M.I.T., Jill.”

“Right… it doesn’t matter. Point is I sent the sample down to Allen for mass-spec.

“Randy, this guy’s DNA has an extra nucleotide, sorry… base. Your DNA, my DNA; a chimpanzee’s DNA… it’s all made up of four basic building blocks, four ‘letters’… A,C,T and G, as one of my professors said, and they spell out all the words that say who and what we are.”

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“Jill! You’re a biochemist and a poet. Make your point. I’ve got a witness in there.”

He threw a thumb back over his shoulder. A damned strange witness at that, he thought.

“Trust me, this is bigger than anything that girl can tell you. This guy’s DNA has a fifth base. You and me, we’re written in four letter words. He has a few fiveletter words thrown in. It explains why the standard fragmentation techniques were giving us trouble.

“Plus if anyone else at any other lab had ever shown this anomaly, I’d know about it. Allen and Tim would know about it. Maybe even you would know about it! It would be the news of the century throughout the biosciences community. Hell, it’d probably make the ‘Yahoo Odd News’!”

“OK, the tests we ran are preliminary they wouldn't stand up in court… not without the back up and comparison data, but I'm confident in the prelims we've got.”

“So, basically we’ve got nothing on the guy. We don’t have a name - we don’t know his ethnic background - couldn’t say who he’s related to… wait, are you saying he might not even be human?”

“I… I don’t know. I have a guess to whom he might be related.”

“Yeah? I thought you said no one had ever seen this kind of thing.”

“No one has, but Randy, the guy gave us a clue about his dad and from what I’ve seen, I don’t have any grounds to argue with him.”

Randall thought for a second before what she’d said came home. “Damn it, he’s not Jesus Christ!”

“Okay – Angel? Demon? Demigod? Alien?

Take your pick, Randy.”

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“I think your biology professor would call him ‘Mutant’.”

“Nice try. Mutants have altered genes. I guess you could say they’re misspelled words. They still have the same four letters and no matter what the comic books tell you, mutations are usually inconsequential and often destructive.

She raised an eyebrow. “They never give anyone superpowers.”

“Jill! You’re not buying into this crap about teleportation and mind powers, are you?”

“I don’t know. Look Randy, this guy has some new words in his genetic vocabulary, and I don’t speak the language. I’m not going to say what he may be capable of. There’s no fundamental reason why he couldn’t be capable of emitting electromagnetic signals that affect the nervous system in some…”

“Is this about the budget cuts? Some sort of ploy to get your new equipment funds approved?”

“We’ve worked together for fourteen years, Randy. How likely is it that I would concoct that kind of scheme, or go along with it if someone else did?”

“No. Sorry.”

“You know what Sherlock Holmes said – eliminate the improbable, and whatever remains, no matter how impossible, must be the solution.”

“You’ve got that backwards. It’s ‘eliminate the impossible’.”

“You know what? I’ll take a single impossible miracle over a bunch of improbable coincidences any day.”

“Just go back to the lab, Jill, or go to a Star Trek convention or something. Maybe they’ll have some ideas for you.”

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“Not a bad idea. Can I put it on the taxpayers’ bill?”

Randall had already turned back through the interrogation room door as Jill spoke her last barb, and laughing he shut the door between them.

Kate looked as if she hadn’t moved.

As he walked around in front of her, though, she had a faraway look in her eyes. Had she stood next to the door and eavesdropped?

She had a look that could almost be construed as religious ecstasy. Maybe she’d overheard and believed Jill’s drivel, about the only explanation is him being who he says he is – the Son of God. As he sat down, Randall was thinking how best to proceed with his witness when she said, “I don't think we need to proceed any further. I've already made my statement and I've been interrogated like a street whore.

Unless you're going to arrest me, I'm leaving.”

Suiting action to words, Kate grabbed her bag and put her hands on the arms of her chair.

She can read my mind! He stood before Kate could get up and saw that she was smiling at him. Yes, she can read my mind!

Quickly, Randall moved around the desk, talking as he went. “I agree, Miss Barrow, you're free to go. Just give me a few minutes to make arrangements for someone to escort you out.”

Without waiting for a reply, he was out the door.

A young agent was walking by, and Randall grabbed him.

“Stay here. Don't let anyone in or out of this room. I'll be right back.”

Randall ignored the stunned agent's look and, after insuring that the man would do as told, he took off 81

down the hall at a run. In his own office, he picked up the phone and called Jill.

She picked up on the first ring. “Dr. McIntyre.”

“Jill, what you said about this Jesus guy...is it possible there's more like him?”

“Possible?” she chuckled, “I guess, sure... but not likely, as I said, if this kind of blood test had...”

“Okay, okay. Listen, I'm going to need your help....”

Less than five minutes later, Randall was back in the interrogation room. He walked in with a Led Zeppelin tune in his head.

“Dear Lady can you hear the wind blow, and did you know, your stairway lies on the whispering wind…”

He smiled at Kate and without a word gave her his hand.

She looked at him queerly and then, shook her head and laughed under her breath. Led Zeppelin? She let him take her hand and walk her to the door. '... and she's buying a stairway to heaven.'

Randall opened the door and waved Kate through.

As she stepped out of the room, she was hit by a man running down the hallway and thrown hard into the opposite wall. She fell to the floor stunned, but not unconscious.

“Is she out?” Randall whispered.

The man who had run her over was kneeling next to her, checking for signs of consciousness. He looked up and shook his head - no.

Kate groaned and with her eyes still closed, raised a shaking hand to her head. A female technician from Jill's office leaned over and waved a small bottle under her nose.

Kate slumped into unconsciousness.

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“She'll only be out for about five minutes. We need to hurry.”

“Okay, good job.

Get her back into the interrogation room... quickly!” Randall said.

Inside, with Kate lying on the floor, the technician made a tiny incision in the back of Kate's neck, at the base of her hairline.

She then inserted a tracking device that was smaller than the nib of a ballpoint pen, pressed the wound closed and sealed it with a small dab of super glue. She held Kate’s hair up and away for the few seconds it took for the glue to dry.

Another technician swabbed the inside of Kate's mouth getting a sample for a DNA test. Finished, the tech's left the room, and Jill knelt next to Kate.

They didn't have long to wait.

Kate opened her eyes, startled at being laid out on the carpet. “Where... what...?”

“Take it easy, Miss Barrow. I'm Dr. McIntyre.

You're going to be fine.”

Randall had warned Jill that Kate might be able to read her mind, so she was carefully keeping her thoughts on the immediate situation and nothing else. Quickly coming to her senses, Kate slowly shook her head and tried to sit up.

Jill helped her.

Randall lent his assistance and together they got Kate up and into a nearby chair.

“What the hell happened?” Kate asked in a shaking voice.

“One of our agents ran into you. Coincidentally, he'd just received a call from the hospital that his wife had been injured in an accident. He was running to get there and... well, you stepped out right in front of him.

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"Were it not for his emergency, I'd have had him stay to apologize,” Randall said.

“He's really sorry and so are we Miss Barrow,” Jill added, “you must be quite upset with us after all of this.

“I've checked you out, though, and you seem to be okay... no cuts and nothing broken. I could find no signs, but you might experience some symptoms of concussion later... dizziness, nausea, headache.

“If so, I want you to call me immediately, and we'll arrange for a doctor to see you. Okay?”

Randall poured a glass of water from a carafe on the table and offered it to Kate.

She refused, and said, “I just want out of here.”

“Certainly, Miss Barrow,” Randall said, “we'll get in touch if we need anything further. I do have to ask you not to leave the city for the next... say... seventy-two hours, though.”

Kate got to her feet. She suffered no dizziness and other than still being slightly disoriented, she felt okay. She glanced at Randall and tiredly nodded her head.

Jill put her arm around Kate's shoulder. “Come on, I'll walk you out.”

Shortly after Jill and Kate left, an agent came in.

He gave Randall the thumbs up sign and showed him the tracking device. Randall watched the small red dot as it moved left and then up on the screen.

“What's the range?” He asked.

“Without engaging a satellite, about a mile - with satellite tracking, there's nowhere on earth we can't find her. We won't lose her - don't worry.”

“Okay, get to it. Call me every couple hours or if she leaves her apartment... no matter the time.”

84

“Check.”

Randall let out a long breath after the agent left.

He was about to go back to his office, when his cell phone rang. “Special Agent Green.”

“Randy, this is Auger. I've got some hot stuff for you.”

“Go ahead.”

Auger was an FBI mole inside the CIA. He'd been there for several years - since 9/11, in fact. The attack on New York had turned all of the intelligence agencies on their heads.

There’d been a great deal of finger pointing, pages and pages of material claiming lack of knowledge from one agency or another and, in those same pages, accusations on the other agencies responsible for anything remotely associated with the attack.

Since then, everyone watched everyone else.

Randall was sure that there were several moles within the halls of FBI headquarters, too.

They came from everywhere the Central Intelligence Agency, the Defense Intelligence Agency, the National Security Agency, and that was just domestic.

“The boys at the Farm know who the guy in the German film is. Not the Jesus guy, but another that seems to be part of it. I'm sending over his dossier right now. They've issued a worldwide alert for him.

“They also have a strong hunch who the woman is, Doctor Elizabeth Washburn, a fairly well known theologian, it seems.

“And, somehow they got their hands on your film of the Lincoln Memorial.”

Randall wasn't surprised about the video. He'd have to be pretty naive to believe they wouldn't have gotten their hands on it, in fact.

85

That really wasn't such a big deal. What Auger said next, was.

“Using stills from the Lincoln Memorial and Germany, they were able to do a comparison. The computer matches the Jesus guy perfectly - in both films.

I'm sure you understand the significance.”

“Twins?”

“Nope… even twins don't match up perfectly.”

Randall knew that, but refused to acknowledge the "significance".

“Yeah. Do they have anything else?”

“No, that's it for now.”

“So, they have a computer analysis that says the guy is the same in both videos and nothing else? Right?

You're sure, absolutely positive about the picture comparison?”

Randall could practically hear Auger's eyes rolling. “Do you honestly believe that I would pass along something this... this unbelievable... if I wasn't absolutely sure?”

Randall didn't want to upset his best mole. “OK, relax. I didn't mean any disrespect. OK?" “Yeah.” Auger hung up the phone.

Randall wasted no more thoughts on Auger. He snatched up the phone and dialed Jill's cell number. As it rang, he thought, they don't know about the blood tests.

Add that to their picture analysis and it's a whole new ballgame.

“McIntyre”, she said into the phone.

“Is she gone?”

“Yeah, she's out of the building, and your guys are tailing.”

“Good. Can you meet me in my office, in five?

I've got some new information, and I think I'm going to 86

need a quick lesson about those DNA results of yours. “Oh, and don't tell anyone else about what we discussed outside the interrogation room, earlier.�

87

CHAPTER EIGHT “As the Church of Jerusalem, Alexandria, and Antioch, have erred, so also the Church of Rome hath erred, not only in their living and manner of Ceremonies, but also in matters of Faith." Church of England - Thirty Nine Articles of Religion of 1571 Sebastian Smythe, the newly elected Pope John Paul III, successor to Pope Benedict XVI for only four months and the youngest and first African Pope ever elected, glared at his Secretary of State.

Mark Cardinal Johnson and Monsignor Raphael Scudera, Prefect of the Archivio Segreto Vaticano stood stiffly on the opposite side of his desk. They looked like military subordinates, standing at attention before their superior.

The two officials of the Roman Curia, the administrative apparatus of the Holy See had just finished explaining to His Holiness why information about the man, whom the media claim to be Jesus, had not been forwarded to him immediately.

The Pope’s angry flush made his face darker than usual, and it was obvious to the two men that they were in serious trouble, especially as their boss did not address them as he usually did, by their first names.

“Cardinal Johnson, I find it inexcusable that I learn of these… these events, not from my own staff, but from the international news networks hours after the fact.

Tell me why?”

Cardinal Johnson weighed his words carefully.

Even as a Cardinal, Sebastian Smythe had always demanded instant answers and he expected them to be well thought out and knowledgeable.

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Responding to one of his questions with an off the cuff, unfounded answer usually led to a severe tongue lashing and Mark knew of one time where the offending priest had been transferred as far away from the Cardinal as was geographically possible.

His long-time friend had dispensed with informality, and so would he. “Holiness, CNN was extremely quick to pick up this story. Archbishop Möser of Cologne called me only after the news broadcast had been aired. It seems it took Father Appelmacher, who was presiding over the Eucharist, quite some time to report the incident to him. Jürgen, of course, called me immediately.

“As for the incident in Washington… well, it was much the same. News teams were reporting the events almost as they were happening. No one…”

“Excuses, Cardinal, only excuses. Excuses are self-accusations. You know how I feel about them. So, we have collectively failed to keep pace with the situation and therefore, we are now far behind events that could do great damage to the Church.

“We must catch up, Cardinal, and we must do it with extreme haste. Do we know anything other than what’s been reported? “ “Only that…” Cardinal Johnson paused before deciding to tell his boss what he really thought.

“Holiness, there’s no way possible that this could be anything but a huge hoax…”

The Pope sprang to his feet, “A hoax? The man claims to be Jesus. He threatens the Church, me, to be specific. He tells the world that he has come to prevent a religiously instigated nuclear war! He spoke in a language that everyone understood, regardless of their nationalities, supposedly in their own mother tongue. He 89

then leaves the cathedral, disappears I should say, and the GeroKreuz displays the signs of stigmata.”

The Pope paced around the room, stopping to stare out the window that overlooks the Papal Gardens.

Turning to the Cardinal he continued, “And, if that were not enough, two hours later… two hours, this same man appears in the capitol of the United States and before a spontaneous audience of several hundred people he changes a coin into an egg. A real egg, I might add, which becomes a hatchling and almost instantly an adult bird that takes off from the palm of a boy’s hand.

“He begins a speech of heresy before some lunatic shoots him, and both the heretic and the would-be assassin disappear.

“Tell me, Cardinal; tell me please, how could this hoax have been perpetrated? How could this illusion have been carried out?”

He held up his hand as Cardinal Johnson opened his mouth to answer the questions. His questions were rhetorical and he was not quite finished.

“Finally, I learn all of this from the news; not from my own staff, not from the Archbishop’s of Cologne or Washington, D.C.” He paused and the Cardinal took advantage to interject. “Holiness, there are well known illusionists that could have performed these kinds of tricks. This man’s appearance in Germany and the United States within two hours can be explained, as well.

“Perhaps he has a twin or plastic surgery has been done on a conspirator of this elaborate hoax.

“Even the gunmen could be a part of it, the bullets blanks, the blood could well have been the same substance used in movie making, the….”

“Stop!” The Pope held up his hand.

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He abruptly turned on his heel and strode to the large, rectangular windows overlooking St. Peter’s Square. Below he could see the hundreds of tourists, wandering in and around the square.

To his right, the line waiting to pay the entrance fee for the privilege of riding an elevator up three stories and then walking the 320 steep and narrow steps to the peak of the Dome was shorter than usual. In fact, the crowd seemed to be coalescing directly below his office building. They were gathering to hear him address the problem. He stood there silently for so long that the two staff officers still standing before his desk began to fidget.

Finally, the Pope said, “Hoax, illusion, or… he really is who he says he is, there has been great damage done. The entire world gentlemen, the entire world has by now seen these news reports. After the Washington incident, this story has been broadcast as often and certainly with as much detail, as the September Eleventh terrorist attack on the United States.

“Millions upon millions of people, in particular our people… Catholics… are waiting to hear from me.

Silence will condemn us. We must respond to this, and that response must come soon… very soon.”

Both men visibly relaxed at the Pope’s last comment. Although the Pope had, in fact, released much of his earlier fury, he now assumed his so- called “La Generale” role.

Sebastian Smythe was nothing if not decisive.

When placed in a situation where a decision had to be made, quickly and decisively, he had never shied away.

Most of the time he’d been proven right, his decisions were solid foundations that other men could build upon.

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“Mark,” he addressed Cardinal Johnson, “Get as much information as you can about these incidents, in particular anything that has not been covered in the news.

“Get Julian and his public affairs department completely involved. This is why we hired these, what are they called… ‘Spin Doctors’?

"Call a meeting of the entire secretariat staff and brainstorm. Gather information that would support all of this being a hoax, an illusion.

“Perhaps, we can turn it to be seen as a blackmail attempt on the Church… something? Go, Mark, and find us a solution to this mess.”

The Pope extended his hand and Cardinal Johnson knelt to kiss the Papal Ring.

“Holiness… Sebastian, we have been friends for many, many years. You know that I will do everything in my power to solve this problem, just as I know there is no one better suited to lead the Church at this critical time.”

“Thank you, Mark. I pray you are right. Now, hurry with your solution. I have business still to discuss with Raphael.”

Mark turned to leave and had taken several steps before the Pope called to him, “Wait. I’ll walk you to the door there’s one more thing I need you to do.”

The Pope put his arm over his friend's shoulder as they walked to the door leading out into the secretaries’ offices.

He spoke quietly as they walked. “Mark, I want you to activate the Sodalitium Pianum.”

He increased the pressure on Mark’s shoulder as his secretary of state tried to stop.

“Keep walking, my friend,” he whispered.

They took three more steps and the Pope apparently felt they were far enough away from Raphael.

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He leaned close to Mark and said, “I am very afraid of this man, Mark. Whether he is an extremely talented illusionist or, and I can hardly bear to say this, he is the bona fide reincarnation of Christ.

“Either way he is a terrible danger to the Church, to the very lives of hundreds of millions of people.

Suppose he truly is Jesus?

“His preaching thus far has been to say that the Bible is wrong; that it is a lie. Millions of people have heard him say that the Holy Trinity is not what we’ve said it is for hundreds of years.

“That’s heresy! I don’t believe for one minute Mark that he is Jesus reincarnate.

“No… but, regardless of his true identity he has already created a catastrophic situation for the Church; and he must be stopped.”

“But, Sebastian, the Sodalitium Pianum…we are talking about the same thing? The group put together to investigate heresy among the Church priests and nuns?

Benedict the XV publicly banned them over a hundred years ago. They don’t exist any longer, they…”

“Do still exist but, in a different form,” the Pope interrupted.

“Their responsibilities still include the confidential investigation of heresy, and since that objectionable, ridiculed author Dan Brown, exposed Opus Dei to worldwide scrutiny and condemnation; the duties and responsibilities of the Sodalitium Pianum have expanded and become even more important.”

Shaking his head, Mark asked, “What are you saying, Sebastian? Why was this information withheld from me?”

The Pope ignored the last question. “I’m saying that the man or men responsible for this colossal affront 93

to the Church must be stopped…publicly exposed, if possible and if not...something less public and permanent.

I’m saying that the Sodalitium Pianum can and will carry out that mission.”

He stopped and turned to his friend as the got to the large double doors that opened into the hallway. He placed both hands on Mark’s shoulders.

“Contact Monsignor Johann Steiner. He has an office on Tiber Island… the Maid’s Tower.

“Give him all the facts and tell him to take care of it. He is not to report to either of us. Tell him what I have said to you now… and then, Mark - forget all about it.” He gently pushed his Secretary of State through the door with a quick pat on the back.

Mark left dazed, his brain churning with this most recent order from his Pope. The Sodalitium Pianum was an abomination within the Church.

Pope Pius X officially called the group into being in 1907, to combat a heretical movement within the Church, known as ‘modernism’.

Although Benedict XV publicly disbanded the faction – they had merely gone underground and were known only to the reigning Pope.

Sebastian’s acknowledgement of this greatly disturbed Mark. In his mind, there was only one difference between the modern day Sodalitium Pianum and the judges that sent thousands of ‘heretics’ to torture and death during the French and Spanish Inquisitions; the Sodalitium Pianum hadn’t killed anyone.

He paused before admitting to himself – at least as far as I know.

He decided to contact Monsignor Johann Steiner and determine for himself whether to pass on the Pope's instructions.

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This thought surprised him. He had never considered undermining his Pope's wishes, but this...this was tantamount to murder. Murder!

Surely, Sebastian's thinking did not include that drastic measure. He would have to find a way to mitigate his discussion with Steiner, to insure there was no, absolutely no, illusion or misunderstanding regarding a ‘permanent’ solution.

Pope John Paul III returned to his desk where the Chief Archivist patiently waited and continued as if there had been no interruption. “Raphael, is there any truth to these documents that this man claims we possess?”

Raphael expected this question and his answer was instantaneous. “Holiness, I know of no documents such as these.

“These kinds of documents would pre-date the Gospels and, as you know, there are no originals of the Gospels. The earliest authenticated records we have, date to approximately mid sixty A.D.” He paused for a moment, thinking of alternatives.

“There are artifacts - jewels and works of art, pottery, a variety of things that have been dated to around the time of Christ, but nothing written.”

“What about Qumram?”

"Certainly, there are scrolls and manuscripts found there that date back to the third century B.C. But, did this man not say that the Church had possession of the records he seeks?

“We have none of the Qumram archives, Holiness. Besides, they have all been translated and secured.

“There are no secrets - nothing that would fit the criteria this man has identified. I doubt, too, Holiness that the Gospel of Mary is his intended target.”

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“No, probably not, although it is not truly a Gospel, rather it purports the Gnostic beliefs.”

Raphael nodded. The current pope was well known for his academic studies.

The Pope sighed and sat behind his desk.

“Alright. He says he is after three documents written by himself and Mary Magdalene.

“We know that we don't have them, at least not in a form that would make them obvious. We know that they are not a part of the Dead Sea Scrolls...”

“There is one place for which I have no access and therefore, no knowledge of what is stored there - the private chamber near Saint Peter's tomb. Only you have the key, Holiness.”

Surprised, Sebastian instantly recalled the key his predecessor’s chamberlain had passed on to him. He thought back to that day, not so very long ago and recalled the conversation...

“This key, Holiness fits the lock to a small chamber near Saint Peter's tomb. The vault holds… I don’t know… items, perhaps that are only accessible to the Pope,” the chamberlain had said.

Sebastian had taken the key and asked, “Did my predecessor visit this room; do you know?”

“To my knowledge he never did, no.”

“So the secrets in this room died with John Paul the First or perhaps, Paul the Sixth?”

“Or earlier, I have no idea, Holiness.”

Sebastian remembered making a mental note to visit the room, but the immediate duties, responsibilities and schedule of his office had consumed all of his energy and he'd quickly forgotten about the mysterious key and secret vault - until now.

His thoughts once again focused on the present, 96

and he spoke to his archives chief, "I should probably pay a visit to that room, Rafael."

“I think that would be very wise, Holiness.”

“Yes. Order the catacombs closed to visitor’s this morning, and we shall see what’s in that room.”

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CHAPTER NINE "I have come into the world as a light, so that no one who believes in me should stay in darkness." John 12:46 Jack and Beth looked up and down the alley but could see no one. The old wooden door, through which they'd last seen Jesus pass, remained as impenetrable as before.

“Here we go again,” Jack mumbled.

Beth glanced at him and grinned. “Don't be so negative.”

Jack, jammed his hands in his pockets, shrugged and said, “I'm not being negative, I'm... well, fool me once, fool me twice... you know?”

“I have to admit it's a little discouraging. I mean, here we are...”

Her back to the ancient door, Beth didn't immediately see what Jack did. She saw the widening of his eyes and the irrefutable sign of disbelief.

She whirled around.

Jesus leaned against the door. His face was lined with pain, but his smile was still evident and his eyes caught hers with the same intensity as when she'd seen him before.

Beth quickly scanned from his face downward and saw the dark, wet stain absorbed by Jesus' T-shirt from the left shoulder to the waist. His arm, too, was covered with blood - black against his dark skin.

“Oh, my God, you're hurt!”

Jesus held his hand up, stopping Beth's rush forward. “The bleeding has stopped. I will be fine, Beth.”

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Regardless his opinion of this man, Jack's training took over, and he was immediately at Jesus' side. “Let me get a look at this.”

Jesus could make no response before Jack, in one swift movement, tore his T-shirt open, from collar to end of sleeve.

Without visible exclamation, Jack was nonetheless shocked at the extent of Jesus' wound. He'd seen this kind of wound a hundred times during his military career.

All Special Forces soldiers were required to be experts in two military occupational specialties. Jack's had been small arms weapons and field medic.

The term ‘Medic’ doesn't quite fill the bill. The training for this specialty was almost two years long and a Special Forces medic is qualified to perform emergency trauma surgery under almost any kind of adverse condition.

Jesus made no protest as Jack examined the wound. Jack's trained eye missed nothing. The bullet had entered Jesus' back, just below and to the right of the scapula at an upward angle.

It had passed through and exited just below the clavicle bone. The entry hole was small - the exit wound almost three times as large.

Jack guessed the bullet to be a .357 caliber soft point, which meant the damage, as the bullet flattened and grew larger, would be severe.

He couldn't see enough, but the amount of blood soaking Jesus' T-shirt and stained on his arm indicated the tiny missile had nicked the left subclavian artery.

“This is a bad wound. The shock alone should have rendered you incapable of standing, and without treatment you should have bled to death in minutes. You 99

want to tell us how and where this happened? Better yet, how is it the bleeding has stopped and you're still walking around?”

Jack was sympathetic to Jesus' wound, but the fact that the man was still standing, the wound had stopped bleeding - apparently on its own - and was showing signs of healing, was not alleviating his suspicion of the whole affair.

Rather than provide some positive insight, this, to Jack's mind was simply more damning evidence that Jesus was a fake and that there was a serious, yet still unknown, conspiracy in the works.

Though how in hell, did Jesus suddenly appear between Beth and the door? Had Jack blinked? Was he hypnotized or drugged in some way, and then brought back to reality after Jesus was in place?

These were only some of the questions that Jack couldn't answer, but he was determined to get answers.

“You need to be in a hospital.” Looking to Beth, “Come on, help me....”

“Stop, please," Jesus said.

“A hospital is unnecessary and unwise at the moment. You have all the skill required. I am tired and weak, but all will be well soon.

“I require someplace quiet and not so public, to lie down and rest." He placed his healthy right hand on Jack's shoulder. “Your hotel room will do nicely.”

Jesus looked like he might pass out. He closed his eyes; his head dropped forward. Jack quickly wrapped his arm around his waist to support him.

“Beth, put his right arm over my shoulder.” She did so, and Jack said, “Getting him into my hotel room is going to be difficult. No way is the concierge going to miss us dragging in a bloody and half-conscious man.”

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“Help me sit down, please,” Jesus said. His eyes were open; his head was up, and he appeared completely alert again.

Jack and Beth thought sitting down was a good idea, with a nod to each other, they moved Jesus back a few steps, helping him sit, leaning back against the building's wall.

Jesus took the pair's hands. He held Beth's with his weaker left hand. His right hand grasped Jack's tightly.

“Jack, please visualize the inside of your hotel room.

“See it, imagine it completely…any notable smells, the color of the drapes… anything and everything you can about your room and only your room.”

He turned his attention to Beth. “I am too weak to take the three of us. I will need your help...”

“I - I don't understand...”

“You will, Beth, you will. Your capabilities are great, and I will show you. When the student is ready, the teacher appears.” He smiled weakly.

“The note…”

“So it is, Beth. You, the student are ready, and I am here… your teacher.”

“This is beyond belief,” Jack exclaimed. “Look, Beth, let’s pick him up and get him to a hospital. All this crap about visualizing my hotel room so that he… and you… can take us there! It's insane!”

The wet tracks of tears on her cheeks; tears generated from a combination of sympathy for Jesus and anger at Jack’s obstinacy could not match the look of heat in her eyes; Beth reached across Jesus and gripped Jack’s shoulder.

“Jack! You must do as he says. It’s the only way.

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Do it… concentrate on your room, and let’s see what happens.”

A bit cowed at Beth’s sudden turn of assertive disposition, his lips tight, and biting back a retort, he glared at Beth.

He lost the staring contest and conceded.

“Alright,” was all he said and he closed his eyes, concentrating on the inside of his hotel room.

Jesus watched him and then, sure that Jack was doing as requested, turned to Beth. “Concentrate on Jack, imagine his brain, the synapses firing, millions of tiny bursts of light... do you see?”

Beth sat with her eyes closed and after a couple of seconds, nodded her head.

“Now focus. Like a camera zooming in for a close-up, use your imagination to zoom into Jack's mind, closer and closer… concentrate. Let nothing else enter your thoughts. Do you see?”

Again, Beth nodded. Now, there was a small smile on her lips. She did see!

She saw the inside of Jack's hotel room. She saw the long red drapes, framing the windows. She saw the light brown bedspread and the beige carpet. She saw Jack's laptop on the desk.

Suddenly, the image warped, wobbled and faded.

She opened her eyes and looked at Jack.

“Look, this is ridiculous,” Jack said to a smiling Jesus.

The smile threw Jack off, but he stubbornly continued. “I suppose you're going to tell me that Beth was able to see inside my head, right? You're going to....”

“Exactly that, my friend,” Jesus nodded, never losing his smile.

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“Beth. Please describe Jack's hotel room.

“You've never been there, until now in Jack’s mind, correct?”

“No, I've never been there.”

She turned her eyes on Jack. “Your room has red drapes, a brown bedspread and a brown carpet.”

“Anyone who's ever been to an Ibis hotel would know that the decor is.”

“Your laptop is open and running on your desk.

It's a Mac.” Jack shrugged his shoulders.

“Still not especially...”

“Next to the computer is a note. It reads, 'Call Martin... post blog NLT 0900.' The stationary is not the hotel standard. It's...”

Beth paused and closed her eyes. Jack was about to speak when Beth opened her eyes and continued where she'd left off. “It's your personal stationery, and it reads at the top, 'Jack Schmidt - US Army Retired - Special Forces.”

Flabbergasted, but determined to stick to his guns, he said, “I never would have believed it, Beth. You're in on this thing, aren't you? You guys scoped out my room and still...”

Jesus interrupted. “Please," he sighed, “enough. I expected you to be a skeptic, Jack. I expected you to be stubborn and steadfast in your… shall we say… disbelief? I did not expect to be shot, and I am growing weary. We've been in this alley long enough.”

He took back the hand that Jack had withdrawn and turned to Beth. "We no longer need Jack, you have enough information and I need you to use it.

“Concentrate on his room… the picture you have in your mind. Concentrate on that, and I will do the rest."

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Beth was not in the least concerned or skeptical.

She believed with all her heart that she was sitting with Jesus, and he was going to take all of them into Jack's room.

She pushed aside her anger at Jack’s skepticism.

She concentrated on the room and waited.

“For the love of Pete...” Jack began.

He stopped. He felt a tingling throughout his body. It was almost unnoticeable at first, but it gradually grew in intensity.

There was a warming feeling spreading from the center of his stomach outward.

He felt light, as if he was dissolving into a gaseous substance that would float away and disperse with the slightest breeze.

He was scared. He gripped Beth's hand tighter and on the back of his tightly closed eyelids, he watched a kaleidoscope of colors swirl into a funnel.

“Jack!” Beth's voice, strong and clear, startled Jack from his trance. His eyes snapped open. Wildly, he assessed his surroundings. His entire body trembling, he was speechless as he surveyed the inside of his hotel room.

Beth alternately read confusion, fear, and boyish amazement on his face as he came to the absolute realization that they had teleported from the alley behind the Kölner Dom, to his own hotel room, almost a kilometer away.

Jesus slumped to the floor as soon as they arrived, but remained conscious.

He looked at Jack and said, “We have not 'teleported'.

“Teleportation is long outdated and requires machines. What we have done, Jack, is taken a quantum leap through time and space.”

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Jack ignored Jesus, slowly gained his feet and walked around the room, touching and smelling everything from the drapes to the carpet.

He went into the bathroom and turned on the water. Cupping his hand, he let it fill and then sipped from his palm.

He recognized the faint smell and taste of chlorine. It was real - everything was real.

Looking into the mirror, he recognized himself as completely normal. If this were a dream, would he be able to smell his environment?

Could he feel what he touched, taste things and otherwise control movement?

He tried to recall a dream in which he'd been in control and couldn't remember a single one. Quantum leap?

He recalled some reading he'd done about quantum theory and mechanics.

As well as he could recall, the "theories" had never been tested, never proven.

Could quantum mechanics really be...?

“Jack! I need you,” Beth called.

Shaking his head free of the rambling, impossible ideas, Jack returned to the bedroom. He knelt next to Beth and Jesus.

“Help me lift him onto the bed, Beth.” Once Jesus was situated, Jack went to the closet and removed his medical bag.

Jack had been carrying this bag, or one like it, everywhere he went for the last twenty years. This was the first time he'd had cause to use it since his retirement from the Army.

He rolled Jesus onto his side and examined the wound. He was still surprised and shocked to see that the 105

wound had healed, even more since a few minutes ago.

Had it really been only a few minutes? He looked up at Beth and pointed to the wound.

“It's truly miraculous, isn't it?” Beth asked.

Jack merely shook his head and pulled a bottle of disinfectant from his case. Determining that the bullet had passed through Jesus' shoulder and the nick in his artery had already closed - the bleeding long since stopped, he decided that all he could do was stitch the holes together and apply bandaging.

At the same time, he realized that it was probably not worth the effort. At the rate this wound was healing, it would be completely closed all on its own within an hour or two.

He elected not to sew, but covered the wound with a bandage, more to keep the fluids from seeping into the bed linen than to protect against infection.

Jack applied disinfectant over the wound, but wondered if he should even bother. The man would recover fully from what should have been a fatal gunshot wound in less than two hours.

It hardly seemed likely that someone who could do something so - well, miraculous - should succumb to an infection. Finished, he lay Jesus on his back and went to the bar. “Want something to drink, Beth?”

Beth returned from the bathroom where she’d gotten a washcloth and towel. Sitting on the edge of the bed, next to Jesus, she replied, “Just a bottle of water, please.”

She turned her attention back to Jesus, gently stroked his brow and began washing the blood off his upper body and arm.

Jack fixed himself a Jack Daniels with water and downed the first glass in two swallows. He made himself 106

another and carried it and Beth's water back to the bed.

She lifted Jesus’ head and gave him a few sips before taking some water for herself. She set the plastic bottle on the nearby night table and turned, smiling at Jack, while patting the bed next to her.

Her smile faded when Jack shook his head. He was clearly agitated, and his expression was one of deep inward thought. She decided to give him more time before talking.

Jack finished the second drink and returned to the bar. He started to pour another, changed his mind and slammed the bottle and the glass onto the wood veneer, startling Beth. “This can't be happening. It has to be a dream or... I don't know. Maybe I was in a serious accident, unconscious, and this is all part of a comatose state.�

He shook his head again and without waiting for a reply from Beth, went into the bathroom. He closed and locked the door.

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CHAPTER TEN “If thou art able to believe; all things are possible to the one that is believing” Mark 9:23 The eleventh-story of the Luxor Hotel in Las Vegas, Nevada was where Carl Eagle called home. He owned the penthouse, as well as thirty percent of the hotel and casino enterprise.

He also owned a man-made island off the coast of Dubai, a one hundred and forty-seven foot Sterling yacht, and a Legacy 600 jet.

When he wanted a chauffeur he took his RollsRoyce Phantom, bought before BMW took over the company; and when he wanted to drive alone and fast, he jumped into his Bugatti Grand Sport.

The Bugatti had a top end of over four hundred kilometers per hour and Carl had pushed it to the limit many times.

Carl Eagle was a very rich man.

Single, handsome and mid to late thirties (no one really knew his age) he had been listed among the world's top ten most eligible bachelors for many years.

The high definition plasma television covered most of one wall. Halfway across the room, on a white leather sofa, Carl sipped green tea from a four hundred year old porcelain cup.

Dorothy Maijor, wife of the Second Lord’s Protectorate, Richard Cromwell of England, gave the cup to him in 1658, after he had cured three of their children of a deadly virus.

Carl's thoughts, however, were not on the circumstances of four hundred years ago. The news 108

reports of a man claiming to be Jesus, appearing in Germany and Washington, D.C., the two events within two hours of each other, occupied every fiber of his attention.

Carl had no need of sophisticated computer programs to determine that both men were actually one and the same. Neither was it beyond his intellect and understanding to know that travelling more than five thousand miles in less than two hours was entirely possible.

In fact, travelling that distance, or any distance, in the blink of an eye was more to the point.

What startled him and held his attention was the publicity this man was attracting.

Never, in all the hundreds of years he had lived in this world, had anyone from another dimension, parallel world or universe come forward in such a way.

The ringing of his doorbell dragged his attention away from the television. He'd seen all he needed to see, anyway.

Glancing at his watch, he realized that he was five minutes late. He passed the front door, en-route to his bedroom, and called out, “I'm coming.�

Six minutes later he was on stage.

The main theater of the Luxor Hotel was packed as it always was for his performances.

Carl had followed Cris Angel’s second multi-year run as the Luxor's main entertainment attraction, and though generally against hotel policy to book similar acts consecutively; Carl's part ownership made such rules superfluous.

Thoughts of Jesus continued to occupy Carl's mind until he stepped onto the stage and then, for the next two hours, he was all business.

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His performance complete, another perfectly executed array of brilliant illusions and magic, he waited in the stage wings for the chorus' of "encore, encore" to reach its peak before stepping back onto the stage and addressing the audience.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I imagine that most of you have heard the news? A man, calling himself Jesus, appeared at the Kölner Dom… that's a Catholic Cathedral in Germany… and claimed that his return...the so called ‘second coming’... is not to bring about the end of days or Armageddon...”

He paused and added as an aside, “I'm sure glad to hear that!” The laughter swelled across the audience.

As it died down, Carl continued, “No, he says he has come back to fix a mistake he made two thousand years ago!”

Carl's mimic displayed humorous disbelief. “Say it isn't so!” Most of the gathering remained silent but scattered throughout the auditorium were chuckles and a few outright laughs.

“Jesus made a mistake?” There was more laughter this time. Carl paced the stage, apparently thinking.

He stopped, raised a finger in the air and said, “Well, we know for sure that he hasn't come to call his entire flock of sheep home...or, have any of you seen hundreds of thousands of souls ascending into the skies?” “ No? “How about soulless bodies crumpling to the ground, lifeless?

“No? No one has seen the cemeteries around the world emptying their worm eaten, Christian zombies to the heavens?”

Several people chuckled, but most followed Carl's shaking head in silence.

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He brightened, lifted both hands high above his head and said, “Thank God! Apparently, we sinners have nothing to worry about!”

The crowd came alive with raucous laughter.

After the gallery quieted again, Carl said, “What interests me is the magic! Yes! According to the news reports, this man… Jesus… performed some amazing ‘tricks’. Oh, hell, let's call them what they really are in this case… miracles! I won't belabor anyone with everything that the news syndicates are reporting… not about the documents he says he's come to claim, or the world being on the verge of a nuclear war… there's really nothing new in that, is there?”

Some laughs, a scattering of applause died quickly as Carl continued. “No, I want to mention three things… three pieces of magic that he is said to have done.

“First, he spoke in a dead language, Aramaic, an ancient language that was used in a small part of the Middle East during Jesus' first visit to Earth and yet, everyone who heard him thought he was speaking in their native tongue. The Italians heard Italian; the Germans heard German, the English speakers… English.”

Murmuring among the crowd did not distract Carl and he carried on.

“The second trick… and this is a mind boggler, folks… two hours... no, wait.”

Carl moved forward to the edge of the stage where he could look over the lights and see the audience.

“Hands up, everyone who has flown between Frankfurt, Germany and Washington, D.C.?”

Several hands went up, and Carl selected a man seated in the second row. “You, sir… how long does it take to fly that route?”

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The man replied, “Depending on head and tail winds…seven and a half to eight and a half hours.”

“Good. Excellent. Let's say an average of eight hours.”

Carl looked around the audience and said, “Eight hours! Well, what about the supersonic transport - SST? “You remember; the supersonic jets that Air France and British Airways flew until one of them crashed…a serious accident in France that resulted in the permanent grounding of all of the SST’s?

“Those planes crossed the Atlantic, from Paris to New York, or New York to London in three and one half hours.

“Pretty fast; but, not fast enough. The man claiming to be Jesus made the trip in about two hours!”

Carl heard a variety of dissenting cries from the audience including one man in the back who loudly proclaimed, ‘Bullshit!’ The crowd laughed at the man's outburst.

Carl smiled. “Indeed. So, the Jesus in Germany and the Jesus who appeared…two hours later…in Washington couldn't possibly be the same man, correct?”

Applause filled the auditorium and Carl observed many heads nodding north and south.

“Well, let's not rush to conclusions,” he said, and before anyone could protest he plunged on.

“Once he got to Washington… from Germany… maybe… in less than two hours; he did, in fact, turn a coin… laying in the hand of a child into... well, they say the coin became an egg, the egg became a chick, the chick became a young bird, and that young bird then flew away.”

Increasing the speed of his words as he spoke, the audience roared laughter and applause.

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Carl was unsure whether they were laughing at his speech pattern and wide-eyed mimicry or at the preposterous idea of the magic trick he described.

He changed the subject. “You know magicians, illusionists, escape artists and the like are a secretive breed. We don't share our secrets with anyone.

“We all know each other, at least those of us who regularly perform before large audiences and between these, oh… ten percent… there is a distinct measure of respect for each other's talents and abilities.

“All of us have spent years honing our skills; we watch each other and those who are just starting in the business. Then, as soon as a certain shall we say, level of ability is attained… well, the rest of our world knows who you are and, from then on, keeps an eye on your progress. It is a competition, isn't it? Of course, it is.”

He expected no response to his rhetorical question and continued. “So, when someone comes from nowhere, literally in this case, it piques my interest.

“Where did Jesus come from and how did he do what he did without someone knowing he was an up and coming illusionist?” Carl shrugged his shoulders, hands down with palms out.

“Who knows? I imagine we will all find out, sooner or later; but in the meantime, I am intrigued by his performance. That he, is actually Jesus Christ, is highly unlikely. That he, is a great illusionist, is without the slightest doubt.

“Only a very talented artist could have done the three miracles that he displayed. In fact, I don't know anyone who could have done these things.”

Carl scratched his head as he looked at the floor.

A smile formed on his face as he raised his head and said, “Well, I do know one person…”

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His fans erupted in a long ovation. Carl soaked it up and allowed it to continue for almost a minute before raising his hands in a gesture to quiet the crowd.

“Of the three illusions I told you Jesus performed, I can do them all and I'll show you two of them.

“I won't speak in a foreign language that you will all hear and understand in English or whatever your native tongue is because that will take too long to set up and the fact that you know what's coming diminishes the effect.

“So, let's start with the third miracle.”

Carl walked down the short, four step stairs from the stage to the main floor and stopped in front of a middle-aged man in the first row.

“Do you have a quarter I could borrow? Actually, could I have a quarter, as I don't think you'll get it back?”

The audience laughed, and the man stood to pull his wallet out of his back pocket.

“Ah, a European!” Carl exclaimed.

Silence in the room and he explained, “In Europe, most men carry their coins as women do... in a snap pouch inside their wallet, not like Americans in one of their front pants pockets.

“What country are you from, sir?”

The man pulled a quarter out of the snap pouch of his wallet and handed it over, saying, “I'm from Norway.”

Carl accepted the coin and said, “Welcome to America and thank you for the coin.”

He held the coin in the air and added, “What? Do you think it some kind of magic that I knew he was from a European country?”

The crowd laughed as Carl made his way back to center stage.

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“Normally, I would ask for a young lady to come on stage and assist me, but I plan to go Jesus one better and I would prefer a man for this 'miracle'.

“Anyone?” More laughter from the gallery as several men raised their hands.

Carl selected a man, and as he walked towards the stage, he said, “Although I asked for a coin from a member of the audience, and then, carried that coin to the stage, I assure you I made no sleight of hand in substituting the gentleman from Norway's coin for another. “It really wouldn't matter if I had; would it?”

The selected assistant stood next to Carl. “Would you please remove your coat and shirt? I don't want anyone to think I pulled this creature from your jacket!”

Applause and laughter from the gathering was cut off as Carl continued, “Another reason I didn't want a young lady to assist me, here!”

Carl put the coin in the man's extended palm and stepped back. There was no drum roll, no fanfare as complete silence descended on the room. It was clear to all that Carl was concentrating intensely on the coin in the man's hand.

Suddenly, an egg appeared in place of the coin. It was so sudden that the man jerked and almost dropped the egg.

Carl didn't notice; his attention completely focused on the egg. Within seconds, the egg began to vibrate and crack.

Several people in the first two or three rows stood up for a better look, but quickly sat down to cries from behind to sit down because no one could see past them.

A hole appeared in the egg, and the snout of something pushed through.

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“My God, it's a... a snake,” the man exclaimed.

No sooner had he spoke, than the baby snake shed his eggshell completely and wiggled in the palm of the man's hand.

Two seconds passed, before the snake was large enough to intimidate the man and he dropped the reptile as it grew to more than ten inches long and pinched one of his fingers.

A woman screamed and then a couple more added their alarmed cries. Nervous laughter and shaky applause followed as the snake continued to grow on the floor of the stage and began to slither towards the curtains in back.

Realizing that the snake, a completely harmless garden variety might cause quite a stir back stage, Carl caused it to disappear; much to the relief of his fans whose nervous laughter and applause turned to that of overwhelming approval and gaiety.

“Not to worry folks, he wasn't poisonous.”

He turned and thanked his assistant. The man made his way back to his seat, after redressing, getting a few pats on the back along the way.

“Well,” Carl addressed the audience, "that was fun! Is there anyone here that believes me to be Jesus?

God? No? Thank God for that!”

He laughed with his followers and when they had finally settled down he called off stage and requested a single chair be brought center stage.

As this was being done, he again addressed his public. “From the very creation of the genre, science fiction stories have been filled with stories of teleportation, the ability to invisibly move a physical object through time and space.

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“In all cases, however, machinery was required to accomplish this action. Sometimes, that machinery was huge and elaborate and sometimes not. In Star Trek, for example, all that was required was half a shower stall and someone standing behind a dais, ‘Beam me up, Scotty’!”

Carl smiled as his audience again erupted in laughter. “Recently... oh, in the last hundred years or so… scientists have discovered that the atom is not the smallest thing in the universe and that a new science quantum physics, it's called, theorizes that all matter is really energy and that energy can be manipulated by other energy.

“The human mind emits energy. We don't know what kind, what it can really do or how to call upon it and control it; but, scientists insist this energy is present.

So... if the mind emits energy... all matter is energy... and energy can be manipulated by other energy…”

He paused for effect, “why, we can create and cause anything to happen with only our minds!”

He allowed the groans to subside, and said, “Some of you don't believe that, I see.”

He chuckled. “Let me tell you something. If you believe that what I'm telling you is right or… if you believe that what I'm telling you is wrong... guess what?

You're both correct.”

Blank stares greeted him, but Carl was undeterred.

Has it not been so since the beginning of time? He thought.

“Here's the so called bottom line. The news reports that Jesus appeared in Germany and the USA and that he did both within two hours of each other; assuming, of course, that both Jesus' are one and the same,” he shrugged his shoulders.

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“I don’t know one way or the other, but if both appearances were by the same man…I'll show you how he did it. In fact, as before...I'll go one better than him.”

He pointed back to the chair. “I am going to cause someone in the audience to appear before you in that chair while I will take her seat.”

Murmurs filled the hall as Carl said, “I have a chair here because she is currently sitting in the audience and she will reappear in a sitting position.

“I don't want her to fall on her... well, you get the picture. I, on the other hand, am standing, and I will take her seat in the standing position.”

His announcement and description of what would take place was met with nervous murmuring and movement among the audience. Who was his assistant?

Was it someone selected in advance? It had to be…didn't it?

Carl closed his eyes, and, after almost half a minute had passed, clapped his hands once and disappeared. Simultaneously, a woman of about forty materialized on the chair.

While the surprised woman looked around in amazement, running her hands all over as if to confirm she was still herself; her husband and son seated in the middle of the auditorium were equally surprised to see her on the stage, and Carl Eagle, occupying the seat she'd been sitting in just a few seconds before.

He was standing, just as he'd said he would be.

Tentatively, the husband reached over and touched Carl's leg, assuring himself that the master illusionist was really there.

The gallery was completely silent for almost a full minute.

After accepting, at least on the surface, the fact 118

that a strange woman was sitting in the chair on stage; everyone was turning and craning their necks to see where Carl Eagle was.

Seeing him, standing in the woman's chair, arms raised in triumph was all that was necessary to break the spell.

The audience exploded in a huge standing ovation. Cheers and whistles accompanied the applause that rolled across the room like thunder.

Carl stood on the chair, saying “thank you, thank you� over and over until the clamor began to wane and then - he disappeared.

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CHAPTER ELEVEN "Whoever cannot seek the unforeseen sees nothing; for the known way is an impasse." Heraclitus Doctor William Barnes, Director, Central Intelligence Agency’s Noetic Studies, did not have an office among the buildings that constituted “The Farm” in Langley, Virginia. He worked out of a structure in California, near the Earth Rise facilities of the Institute of Noetic Science (IONS), about an hour’s drive north of San Francisco.

In 1973, Astronaut Edgar Mitchell, returning to earth from the Apollo 14 mission to the moon, experienced an epiphany.

As his spacecraft was descending to Earth, he watched our world floating in a sea of pitch black and experienced a “profound sense of universal connectedness”.

He founded the Institute of Noetic Science later that year and said, “I realized that the story of ourselves as told by science - our cosmology, our religion - was incomplete and likely flawed.”

The name noetic, comes from the Greek, meaning inner/intuitive mind.

Barnes had assumed directorship of the CIA’s Paranormal Studies division in the early 1990’s. His first move as director was to change the name of the division and move it to California.

He admired the advances IONS had made in the research and study of human consciousness; their accomplishments plus their discoveries in mind-body interactions, healing, precognition, ESP and remote viewing, along with the theories of reincarnation; he also believed this group of scientists and medical doctors were 120

far ahead of anything the CIA’s division had ever developed.

The Directors of IONS were not especially pleased at his request to “join forces”.

After all, the charter of the psychologists, psychiatrists and neurologists who worked within Barnes’ division, was to study the mind to determine if, and how, extra sensory perception, telepathy, telekinetic ability and an array of heretofore unknown psychic talents could be discovered, researched, developed and implemented as weapons against the enemies of the United States.

The IONS had no interest in developing weapons, but could use financial support and the CIA offered a lot.

The two entities, so much alike – but also at opposite ends of the spectrums, struggled to get along; but, by the time of the ‘Jesus’ event, they were several years into a congruous relationship.

They shared information, designed and quantified test data and, at least for IONS, gained followers, financial benefactors and new scientists from around the globe. The CIA’s Noetic division remained a silent partner.

Less than ten hours after Jesus had vanished in Washington, D.C. Barnes, convened a meeting of several of his own personnel and a group of fourteen special operatives that had flown in from Langley. The director of the CIA had given Barnes operational control (OPCON) of ‘Operation Jesus’.

Although everyone present had seen both the documentary made in Germany, as well as a copy of Kate’s film, Barnes ordered them shown again and asked that questions be held until afterwards.

They’d gotten the Germany film direct from CNN; the Lincoln Memorial film had been "lifted" from 121

the FBI, a copy made, and the original replaced, without the agency's knowledge.

The CIA had no partners or loyalties when it came to evidence in a case that could become as high profile as this one could easily become.

The last film ended, and Barnes said, “Continue to hold your questions, please. Mr. Bodine, here, is in charge of the plans and operations branch.

“One of the sections in his branch is photography and spectrum analysis.

He’ll present some initial analysis on the players.”

As he finished the introduction, two pictures appeared side by side on the screen.

On the bottom of each picture was a label. One read ‘Germany, 0730 EDT, 25 April’ and the other, ‘Lincoln Memorial, 0920 EDT, 25 April’.

Both carried a one-word title, on the top of the picture – ‘JESUS’.

The analysts had been able to get a number of excellent stills of Jesus, from both locations and shots of Jack in Germany, but they were having difficulty capturing any really good shots of the woman, that was apparently associated with Jack.

Deciding that the pictures of the men were sufficient, and in the interest of working those pictures immediately, the techs decided to postpone further work on identifying the woman.

James Bodine was accustomed to briefing large groups of agents. Without preamble or introduction, he began his briefing.

“Computer analysis indicates that these two pictures are of the same man.

Facial structure, computerized definition and measurements, facial discolorations and marks - all match 100%.

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“Although the pictures were taken within approximately two and half hours of each other and five thousand miles apart, there is no doubt that this is the same person.

“If you're thinking twins, forget it. To the naked eye identical twins look, well... identical, but they're not.

“There are always differences... in skin tone or acne scars, for example.

We couldn't find any discrepancies. Don’t ask. I don’t know and can’t even attempt to explain it, but these pictures are the same individual.”

There was no comment from any of the twenty men and women in the room. The analyst continued.

“Other than the name he gives, excluding the Germany video where he first introduces himself as ‘Eloah’, we have been unable to identify him. Computer comparisons with all of the world’s leading intelligence agencies have produced negative results.

“By the way, definition of the name Eloah remains in dispute, especially among Jews. Most Bible authorities will tell you that it is the Hebrew word for God. We don't know the significance of that, yet.

“Anyway, this man, Eloah, or Jesus, has no driver’s license, has never been arrested, has never served in any armed force and has never been on any agencies terrorist watch list.

“He is ladies and gentlemen, a complete enigma.”

Not wanting to suffer through questions about Jesus that he couldn’t answer, he quickly called, “Next.”

A picture of Jack flashed onto the screen.

“We know a great deal about this man, Jack Schmidt, age 40, retired Command Sergeant Major, US Army Special Forces. He is unmarried. His parents are both deceased.

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“His home of record is Waco, Texas. He has two sisters, Jillian Forester, age 38, married, two children, currently living in Los Alamos, New Mexico. Her husband, Joshua Forester, is a Civil Service employee with the Department of Defense.

“Jane McCallahan, age 37, married, one child, currently living in San Francisco, California. Her husband, Doctor Ian McCallahan, is a Professor at San Francisco State University.

“Jack has had very little contact with either of them over the past several years. He sends their kids birthday cards with money every year, but other than that, nothing.

“No phone calls, no letters. His last visit to Jillian was three years ago, and Jane, one year later.

“He took a European retirement from the military last month. Since then he’s been touring Europe with no specific agenda other than perhaps gathering data for a blog that he runs.

“It's called, 'Jack's Foxhole'; topics are antireligious and it's very successful. His blog earns him, through direct and indirect income, approximately ten thousand a month.

“He served in the Gulf War in '91, Operation Iraqi Freedom - '03 and '05, and Operation Enduring Freedom - '08 and '10. He's won two Silver Stars, a Bronze Star, two Purple Hearts and five Meritorious Service Medals.

“We’re still waiting on the psychoanalysis conducted during his retirement process. Last known location is Cologne, Germany - obviously.”

His last comment received some chuckles from the group.

Barnes walked to the front of the room and stood next to the screen that still projected Jack’s face.

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“We need to get our hands on the guy that claims to be Jesus. We can't prove - yet - that he's anyone special...that he possesses the ability to do supernatural things…but there's a lot of evidence that points in that direction."

Barnes raised a hand and counted on his fingers.

"One… it seems that the same guy appeared in Germany and Washington within about two hours. Two… we've got video that shows him performing some elaborate tricks that witnesses are swearing weren’t magic and three... three ladies and gentlemen, is the totally inexplicable disappearance act after being wounded at the Lincoln Memorial."

He paused to allow the folks to settle down and continued. “Finding Jesus would appear impossible at this point. He’s shown himself only twice, that we know of, in two continents, with little over two hours separating the occurrences. That alone provides cause enough to find him, as quickly as possible and certainly before anyone else does. I’m sure you all appreciate what I mean?”

He saw nods of agreement throughout the room.

He pointed at the picture of Jack. “Failing a way to track our main subject, this is the man we need to find, folks – Jack Schmidt. We don’t know how, or, even if he’s positively connected with our subject, but he’s the only lead we have.

“No, let me back up. He's one of two leads. The other is the Lincoln Memorial witness, Kate Barrow, whose film you all just watched.

“The FBI has interviewed her and from what I've seen in the reports - she's as mystified as we are. I doubt that she would be of any interest but… she’s not completely off our list.

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“Back to Jack Schmidt - we want to locate and track. We do not want to bring him in at the moment.

Obviously, that could change and change quickly.

“However, we want him to lead us to Jesus.

That’s our primary target, right? I’ve already alerted the Army’s Delta Force and the Navy Seals to be ready to move in if, and when, we locate Jack, and our suspect is with him. Okay - questions?"

A female agent at the back of the room raised her hand, and Bill nodded at her.

“Sir, what’s being done to determine the validity of this subject being the same person; I mean, we’ve got your people’s photo analysis but are these kinds of thing even possible?”

“There’s been a lot of research and progress done between my own staff and the Noetic Institute down the street.

“We’ve never actually been able to prove it, but the theory is certainly there in quantum physics.”

He paused as several hands shot up. "Put your hands down. I can’t tell you any more than that. If you want to know more about quantum physics theory and how that applies to what this guy has apparently done – Google it.”

The hands went down amid several chuckles.

“Keep in mind that our focus is locating Schmidt and taking him and Jesus into protective custody. After that, we'll start getting some answers and coordinating our inquiries with outside agencies.”

A male agent, near the front of the room stood and said, “Sir, I know how far-fetched this is but… well, what if he really is Jesus reincarnated? What if he’s come to do what he says? What if he truly can travel through time and space, and…”

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Bill interrupted, “You know… if he’s Jesus, I’m damned glad that he’s not following the prophecies of the Bible…”

Laughter interrupted him, along with several “amen’s” and “ain’t that the truth” comments.

“Seriously, folks, there’s no telling, I’ve been in this business over twenty years, and I’ve never seen the likes of what these films depict. I’m very much looking forward to talking to this guy.”

Another agent in the back of the room raised his hand and was acknowledged by Barnes.

"What about the Eloah name? He only mentioned it once, but could it be an indicator we should follow up on?”

“Glad you brought that up,” Barnes answered.

“We are trying to locate an expert on theology that we've worked with before.

Doctor Elizabeth Washburn.

Coincidentally, she's in Germany, working at the University of Heidelberg.

“Doctor Washburn was part of a panel we assembled shortly after 9/11. As I recall, she was very helpful in explaining the religious aspects of the terrorists and she's published a book that - pretty much - refutes Jesus as the Son of God. “In fact, I believe she wrote another paper that was at odds with monotheism and used the biblical references to 'Elohim'; which I understand to be the plural form of 'Eloah', as her basis.

Now, that Barnes thought about it, he recalled reading the ‘Elohim’ paper and had discovered some intriguing aspects of her theory.

Religion was a big part of the CIA's Noetic Studies Division. Most religions combined magic with a variety of other worldly beings and supernatural powers.

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It was not by accident that Barnes had risen to be the head of this department. He had dedicated a large part of his life to the paranormal. He was, by all definitions, an authority on the subject.

“OK. Get the word out. I want every operative, every informant that any of you have, anywhere in the world, alerted and provided with a picture of Jack Schmidt and Jesus.

“Make sure you stress how important locating either of these guys is and ensure that everyone knows that this is a ‘locate and identify’ operation only. They are to get word to us immediately, when either of them is sighted. Understand?"

Without waiting for confirmation from the group, Barnes continued, “Good. Then get to it.”

The assembly rose and began making their way out the door. An agent shouldered his way into the room.

As he pushed through the group, the agents he passed turned to watch and the purposeful murmur that had filled the room quickly died away.

His grim excitement and evident haste drew every observant eye in the room, and by the time he stepped smartly up to face the Director, he was fully the center of attention.

Breathless, the man said, “Director Barnes, I was told to get this message to you, right away.” He handed over a single sheet of paper.

Everyone watched as Barnes read the report. His expression revealed nothing. Looking up, he said, “This is a report on our attempt to locate Doctor Washburn in Germany. I'll read it...

“Unable to contact subject by phone or email, we dispatched local to her quarters - no response. Queried neighbors and was informed that subject had taken off for 128

the holidays. One neighbor was certain that she'd heard the subject mention visiting the Kölner Dom in Cologne on Saturday.”

Murmurs spread among the group.

Barnes looked up, and said, “Bodine! Get every snapshot you can from the videos that show the woman that was with Schmidt. I know most of them were unusable, but get everything you can out of them, and run an analysis against our file photos. Get it quick.”

He added to the group, “Put Dr. Washburn on your list. If it turns out that she's not the woman in the video's… fine… we'll drop her, but, I've got a bad feeling...”

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CHAPTER TWELVE "By mutual confidence and mutual aid - great deeds are done and great discoveries made." Homer Jack came out of the bathroom. He walked to the side of the bed and perfunctorily checked Jesus’ bandages.

Ignoring Beth, he picked up his laptop and took it into the sitting room of the suite. He settled into the large, overstuffed easy chair, opened the laptop and turned it on just as Beth entered the room.

“Jack, I...”

He held a hand up. “I really don't... I can't talk about it right now, Beth. I'd appreciate it if you would leave me alone for a little while.

He looked up at her, his face as emotionless as he could hold it. He felt bad about pushing her off, but he really wasn't ready to talk about Jesus anymore.

He needed to get something up on his blog and figured that would be a good way to settle his thoughts.

Writing the blog had often been therapeutic before.

Beth recognized his look and knew that she wouldn’t, and probably shouldn’t, try to force him to talk.

Resigned, she nodded and returned to the bedroom where Jesus lay sleeping on Jack's king size bed. Other than the bed, a straight upholstered, but uncomfortable chair and a dresser were the only furniture in the room.

To hell with decorum, she thought, I'm beat and I need to rest comfortably. She lay down next to Jesus, closed her eyes and was almost instantly asleep.

Jack pounded on the keys of his laptop for over an hour, then shut the computer down and closed the lid.

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Normally, he spent less than half an hour posting his blog. The words simply flowed when he was talking about a topic that he thoroughly understood and believed in.

Now, he wasn’t so sure of himself. He had tried to get his feelings about the last several hours on the blog without giving himself away as an eyewitness.

He also struggled with his own beliefs.

Heretofore, he’d been a stoic disbeliever in Jesus, in the whole religious experience, to the point that he had taken an active role in undermining the validity of religion, exposing the bad things that organized religions had done over the centuries, and now, – now, he wasn’t sure what to believe.

Recent events had definitely changed his perspective, but until he knew exactly how much, and in what direction, he would maintain his blog, just as he always had.

After hitting the send button, posting the blog, he felt better. The writing had again proved therapeutic. He was calmer; he was thinking clearly again, and he was emotionally ready to get to the bottom of all this strangeness that had entered his life.

Among the strangeness was his strong attraction to Beth. He couldn’t explain it, but not only was he shaken by an inexplicable feeling of having known her somewhere before; he was more disturbed by his attraction to her.

Thoughts that he could be falling in love with her entered his head, but the idea scared him, and he continually pushed them away as the events that surrounded them took precedence.

He’d never been in love. He’d had a couple of long term romances in his life, but he’d instinctively 131

known that they’d been based primarily on friendship and, he had to admit…lust.

He knew that love had to be something different stronger and somehow, deeper than any feelings he’d had for a woman in the past. Love had to be more than dates, parties and sex.

The low wattage lamp in the corner was on and provided enough light for Jack to see that Jesus lay on his back, in the same position he'd last seen him. He was asleep and breathing easily.

Though he was not surprised to see Beth lying next to him, he felt a sharp pang of jealousy at the sight.

The thought of jealousy shocked him.

Sure, he was attracted to Beth, maybe even in love with her, but he wasn’t ready to completely admit that to himself; and her lying, exhausted next to a wounded man – both fully clothed – should certainly not warrant feelings of jealousy.

He shook his head admonishing himself, Hell, we're practically strangers.

He stepped next to the bed and again checked Jesus' bandages, gently, so as not to wake him. After a longing glance at Beth, he returned to the living room, turning off the lamp and shutting the bedroom door behind him.

Wide-awake he made himself comfortable on the sofa and, using the remote, switched on the television.

He figured to find a boring movie re-run that would put him to sleep.

As luck would have it though, the television came on the CNN International program, and the first words he heard brought him to his feet “Jesus appeared at the Lincoln Memorial this morning....”

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What? Jack watched the news report standing three feet from the screen. The calmness he'd achieved over the past hour evaporated instantly.

Once again, his brains and emotions were jarred by the events surrounding Jesus.

He realized he was trembling only when the reporters began repeating themselves, and he knew he had gotten the entire story as it was currently known.

He slumped back onto the sofa. He couldn't decide whether the trembling was excitement, or just plain anger; but he knew that sleep was now out of the question.

He jumped to his feet and entered the bedroom.

Only after slamming the door open, and hitting the wall switch that turned on the overhead lights, did Jack realize his trembling was anger.

He was pissed at Jesus. He was confused about the situation, and confusion always upset him.

He waited next to the bed; fists balled, every muscle in his body tense, only long enough to see both Jesus and Beth's eyes snap open at the noise and light.

Pointing a finger, six inches from Jesus' face, Jack said, “You've got some explaining to do... right now!”

“Jack, what... what's going on... what are you doing?” Beth jumped from the bed and pushed both hands against his chest, trying to move him away from Jesus.

Her push didn't budge him. Jack brushed her off like a fly. Gently, but firmly he held her away with a hand on her shoulder. Still staring at Jesus, he addressed Beth.

“Now, I know for sure that there's some kind of conspiracy going on. I just saw a news report that showed Jesus, here,” he jabbed a finger in Jesus' 133

direction, “in Washington D.C. about two hours after we lost him behind the Dome.”

He turned his blazing eyes to Beth. “Now... you tell me... does this thing stink to high heaven or what?”

From across the room, Jesus said, “Have you convinced yourself that our travel from the alley to your hotel room was a bad dream, Jack?”

Startled, both Jack and Beth looked at the empty bed, before turning to face Jesus. Jack uttered something resembling a growl, and took a step toward Jesus, but Beth grabbed his arm. “Please, Jack, get a hold of yourself. There's no danger here.”

Jack stopped, but he was not calmed.

Adrenaline is the alarm system of the body, and when something occurs to release large amounts of it, the brain has two courses of action – fight, or flight.

There are many conditions that can cause adrenalin rush - danger is only one of these. Jack recognized that there was no specific or direct danger, but anger is another adrenalin inducer and he was acutely angry.

Jack's first response to adrenalin inducing situations was almost always - fight.

Apparently, Beth had more control of him than he gave her credit for. Her touch and soft, yet demanding tone eased his tension considerably. His muscles relaxed though his eyes still blazed.

“I haven't convinced myself of anything, including who or what you are,” Jack's voice was low.

Beth recognized the same calm, quietness that had overcome Jack in the cafe, earlier. She believed this demeanor to be a sign that Jack was intensely angry and potentially, very dangerous - she sensed it and gripped his arm tighter.

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Jesus knew for a fact that Jack was on the edge of physical violence, and instead of his usual smile, which would likely have enraged Jack more, he kept his face straight and replied calmly, hands up in a placating gesture.

He was not concerned that Jack might attack him.

He could freeze him in place instantly, if necessary, but he wanted to do things rationally and project a normal (for this world, anyway) human approach. “I have done nothing but tell you the truth, Jack. Your own stubbornness and preconceived convictions do you more harm than I ever could.”

He walked to the chair and sat down. “We can discuss this with deliberation, I hope? Please, both of you sit, and I will explain.” Now, he smiled, and it was as engaging as ever.

Beth turned and sat, gently urging Jack with another tug on his arm to join her.

“I realize that my methods are a bit...strange for you,” Jesus continued, “I know that I haven't been as forthcoming as perhaps I should have been. I will do my best to change that.”

Jack squirmed around on the edge of the bed. He wasn't getting what he was after, and he was tired of the run around. Meanwhile, he kept his peace. For her part, Beth leaned forward, eager to hear what Jesus had to say.

“I travel from one place to another by exercising a principal, universal law. That law is that whatever the mind can conceive, so shall it be; a message, by the way, that I tried to impart two thousand years ago.

“If I can imagine myself in Washington, D.C. - I will be there. If I can imagine a vase full of roses on that table, seven red roses devoid of all petals, they will be there.”

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He pointed at the nearest bedstead. Beth and Jack followed his finger and on the table, where none had been before, was a vase full of seven red roses, devoid of all petals.

“Tricks… illusions; I know of several magicians that could do that,” Jack scoffed.

Jesus smiled. “What do you say as to how we arrived in your hotel, Jack?”

Jack was on his feet, pacing, but carefully staying away from Jesus. He wasn't afraid of him, either - he was afraid of what he might do to Jesus if he lost control of his anger, once again beginning to rise to the surface.

“I don't have an explanation.

Maybe you hypnotized both of us. Maybe this is all a dream... a bad one. I mentioned to Beth earlier that perhaps I'd been in involved in an accident, and this was all some coma induced state of dreaming.”

Jesus shook his head. “You are not dreaming, Jack. Have you contemplated why I selected you to come to the Cathedral? How I contacted you? Do you believe that one of your illusionists could have done those things? You saw Heinz at the Cathedral; could they have healed him of his cancer?”

Frustrated with the circular argument, Jack could only mutter, “I told you what...”

He realized that Jesus wasn't listening. He sat with his eyes closed and his appearance indicated he was no longer in the room with them, at least not mentally.

Beth thought that he might be in pain because of his wound and went to him. She knelt next to him, and he opened his eyes.

“No, Beth, my wound is almost completely healed.” He patted her cheek and then helped her to her feet as he stood up.

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Addressing Jack again, Jesus said, “I'm afraid we must continue this discussion another time. There is a situation that I must deal with immediately. I would ask you both to join me.”

“Of course,” Beth immediately replied.

They both looked to Jack who was shaking his head. “No. No, I've had enough of this nonsense. I won't be a part of whatever bullshit it is you're trying to throw around.”

He looked at Beth. “I'm sorry, Beth. I don't believe he is Jesus Christ any more than I believe in the possibility of world peace… not as long as there are religions and governments around, anyway. No, count me out.”

Beth seemed to wilt on the spot. She wanted Jack with them. She knew that he belonged with them.

Looking to Jesus she said, “You could force him to go with us, couldn't you?”

“That would be counterproductive,” he said.

Addressing Jack, he continued, “Regrettably, I don't have time to tell you… to show you what you need to know. I will tell you that we, you and I, are in many ways of the same beliefs.”

Jack's jaw dropped.

What kind of reverse psychology is this?

“If you could find your way clear, however,” Jesus continued, “to go with us now, I promise a clear and concise explanation as soon as we've taken care of the current emergency. A young woman in Washington needs my help. I need your help.”

Still thrown off track by Jesus’ previous statement, Jack stalled a few more seconds. “So, we're just going to teleport ourselves on over to D.C. - is that it?” He asked.

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Jesus laughed. “No, Jack, we're going to quantum leap to Washington, D.C. To an apartment building ten blocks north of the Washington Memorial, in fact.”

He grew serious and added, “I cannot foresee the future, at least not far or accurately, but I believe that this woman Kate Barrow, could be in jeopardy from the man that tried to kill me.”

Beth gasped and turned to Jack. She was in all the way, and with only her eyes, she pleaded with Jack to join them.

For his part, Jack knew that he couldn't turn her down. He'd had a lifelong soft spot for people in danger, people that needed help, and, though he was far from satisfied with Jesus, far from comfortable with anything that had occurred in the last twenty-four hours he knew he couldn't stop now.

Taking a deep breath, Jack said, “OK. One last time, I'll go along and then - I want some answers; especially regarding what you have to say about our common beliefs!”

Releasing a sigh of relief, Beth gave Jack a hug.

Jesus joined them, and all held hands. Beth said, “Do I need to do anything?”

“No. I am well enough and rested. Both of you need simply relax.”

He closed his eyes and almost immediately, Jack and Beth began to feel themselves growing weightless and then... all three disappeared from the room.

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CHAPTER THIRTEEN “Religion is regarded by the common people as true, by the wise as false, and by the rulers as useful.” Seneca JACK’S FOXHOLE

by Jack Schmidt By now, you've all read or heard about the news reporting the return of Jesus Christ - the so-called Second Coming?

Here's my two cents: A man shows up at Germany's most famous cathedral, the Kölner Dom, claiming to be Jesus.

After a brief introduction, in which he first says his name is “Eloah” and then, “Jesus”, he makes a short speech that included a threat to the Catholic Pope about releasing some ancient documents and a warning of a "religiously incited nuclear war".

He then leaves the cathedral, and, according to some eyewitnesses – disappears in an alley behind the cathedral.

Reports of the incident include several “miracles”.

For one thing, he supposedly spoke in a dead language Aramaic, but everyone in the cathedral heard him in their own native tongue. How do I know he spoke Aramaic? I have a source that just happened to be there.

She's a Professor of Theology and speaks several of the ancient languages. Among them are Greek, Latin, Hebrew and Arabic.

According to her, she understood him in Aramaic because she speaks the language; everyone who doesn't (and I understand there are only a handful of people alive today who do) heard him in their own native language.

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Mass hypnosis is a possible solution to the mystery. So, how did he do it on the video that CNN has been running? I have to admit, I'm stumped on this one.

Another miracle occurred to the GeroKreuz, a nine hundred year old, wooden crucifix that displayed signs of stigmata – bleeding from the hands and feet where nails had supposedly held Jesus to the cross.

Oh, and let’s not forget that some folks have said that he “disappeared” through an impenetrable door in the alley! There are several highly talented magicians and illusionists around. Cris Angel and Carl Eagle come immediately to mind; they can perform some of the most amazing feats of deception, hypnotism and illusion. I've personally seen Carl Eagle walk on water, levitate, and yes, disappear into thin air. I guess we can now add a couple of Jesus' to the list.

I'm stumped as to how they do these things, too; but obviously there is a trick to it. That's what makes them interesting and exciting.

There's a trick to the Aramaic thing, too. I don't think we'll ever get to the bottom of it, though.

Illusionists avidly guard their secrets, usually taking them to the grave with them.

What does science say about this? Quantum Physics Theory says that all things are energy. That is everything we think of as physically solid - isn't; and as such, a mere electro-magnetic brain wave can alter physical shape and location.

In other words, if you can generate the right brain wave - strong enough - you could visualize yourself moving from point A to point B and it would happen.

This would be far advanced from science fiction, which always needs some kind of machinery to create teleportation.

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Humans don't have that kind of brainpower, so the theory has never been tested; therefore, if Jesus teleported from in front of that door in the alley‌ how did he do it, and where did he go?

I find this all deeply disturbing; but somehow gratifying, too. The mystery of how he did what he did is not nearly as troubling as the fact that this appears to be some sort of a conspiracy, for which, no one has a clue as to its intent.

Conspiracies are by nature, not a good thing.

Conspiracies are also not normally carried out under the eyes of a media-mad international audience.

In my opinion, especially if you include the reference to nuclear war, it all makes for a very alarming situation.

Oh, and religious nuclear war? What's up with that, anyway? Obviously, he's referring to the fact that several countries that harbor fanatics of all the major religions are on the verge of war.

So, what else is new; Israel, versus the Islamic countries of Syria or Iran, with Russian support and the U.S. plus other Christian nations all taking sides? Secular China, on the other hand, sits back and nukes the weakened "winner".

Nuclear weapons were much easier to control when the world operated under the MAD concept.

Mutually Assured Destruction guaranteed that those few countries with nuclear capable missiles would refrain from using them, knowing that their own country would be destroyed in retaliation.

At the time, only two were involved - the U.S. and the USSR. The United Kingdom, France and China joined the club later, and each of these countries fully understood the MAD concept.

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However, with so many 'new' nuclear countries (India, Pakistan, Israel, North Korea and, just recently Iran) convinced that "their God" will see them through the conflagration; that He, in fact, urges them to wage war against non-believers - well, the end of days, with or without Jesus' second coming is a distinct possibility.

I mentioned gratifying. Regardless of whether he is who he claims, (I for one, don't believe it for a minute), he did say that the creation of the Christian religions, in his name, was a mistake; now, that I can get my teeth into!

That's my opinion. What's yours?

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CHAPTER FOURTEEN “Like a partridge that hatches eggs it did not lay is the man who gains riches by unjust means. When his life is half done, they will desert him, and in the end he will prove to be a fool."

Jeremiah 17:11 John J. Morgenstein, J.J. to his friends putted the golf ball along the twenty foot green felt band into the cup. It was easy. Too easy, and he decided to put it away and go out to the course for a greater challenge.

No sooner had he made that decision, than the phone in his inner office rang.

Only one phone rang directly into his office. The red phone seldom rang and when it did, J.J. became tense and worried.

He hated talking to the man on the other end of the line. Although that man was greatly responsible for the tremendous wealth J.J. enjoyed, their conversations were seldom convivial.

Almost always, J.J. was the recipient of directives and commands; edicts that, if he valued his life, he had no choice but to follow.

Gathering himself, he looked out his window at the calming River Thames that flowed directly beneath his ten story high building in London. He let the phone ring five times, just enough time to calm his jittery nerves without overly upsetting his caller. “Beta.� he said.

The group consisted of the seven most powerfully rich men and woman in the world. Individually, six of them were famous in their own right, but not as the puppeteers that controlled the world.

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The seventh member was a mystery to them all, although he held unyielding control over everything they did.

The group, as a whole, had its fingers on the throats of the entire global economy and through that the politics of every developed country on the planet.

Their control of the international corporate world and its vast riches provided them with the power to control governments, as well as corporations and companies, all through multiple surrogates.

They were not the corporate executive officers of these corporations; they were not the chief financial officers.

In fact, they held no board positions on any of the corporate headquarters.

They had never been listed in the "Top Ten Richest of the World." The world knew some of them as entertainers. “Maddy� Lane, for example, was an actress of international acclaim.

Markus Neuheimer was the owner of the Aces Formula One racing team.

One member of the group was a well- known scientist. He'd won the Nobel Prize for Physics, twice, in fact.

They were all rich, of course. They were all famous to varying degrees. Though, the world had no idea of their association with each other; no concept of the real power they wielded individually, absolutely no clue as to their goals as a group. Individually, they all knew each other to be part of the Group, with one exception.

The exception was "Alpha". The originator, the mastermind behind all that they did was a complete enigma to them all.

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“This is Alpha,” the voice responded.

Who else, J.J. thought? The voice irked J.J. It was a real voice, distorted by technology. It was nearly impossible to determine gender.

Oh, you could convince yourself that it was male or female, for that matter, but you could never be sure which it actually was.

Aside from tampering with voice recognition, the group's red phone system was the most sophisticated cryptographically protected security system in the world.

The codes that comprised their security net were written, individually, by ten different experts around the globe.

Alpha had personally put the algorithms together, and only he (or she) knew the complexities and cryptography that made it impenetrable.

Their encryption systems were unbreakable.

Still, Alpha insisted that actual names were never mentioned on the red phones. Instead, they’d all been assigned pseudonyms associated with the Greek alphabet.

J.J. was “Beta”; Madison Lane was “Lamda”, Markus Neuheimer – “Nu”. In general, the pseudonym matched the beginning letters of the group members’ last names.

An exception had been made for J.J. as Alpha simply didn’t like “Mu”, and as his second in command, Beta was more appropriate for J.J. None of their business discussions could be discussed anywhere except on the red phones, and each of the seven knew that the person responsible for a security breach would be dead within hours of the error.

That fact had been demonstrated to all of them twice in the last couple of years; back when they had been the group of nine.

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Since all but Alpha talked to each other, the remaining six knew that Alpha had taken action against the two that had made mistakes.

J.J. took a breath and again said, “Yes?” J.J. had long ago decided that Alpha was male. He didn't care whether he was right or wrong. In his own mind, he dealt with a man.

Alpha was not someone to beat around the bush.

He was neither civil nor polite in his conversations with group members.

Their personal lives didn't interest him as long as they didn't impact on the goals of the group and as long as they followed his instructions.

“You've been watching the news?”

J.J. kept up with the various news agencies. His businesses demanded it. The question he was asking himself now was, which particular news item had prompted this call from Alpha?

That this call came from the boss, the leader, the head honcho; and, the root of the call must be something important, gave J.J. pause. He didn't want to appear ignorant of an event of that magnitude.

There was a major flood in Indonesia, with thousands believed dead. Iran and Korea were rattling their sabers, but they'd been doing that for many years.

The U.S. state department reported progress, in the Israeli - Palestinian issue. That's bullshit, he thought.

All of the world's stock markets were up. Good news, bad news and old news but nothing that would that he thought would prompt a call from Alpha.

The Project? Could there have been a leak? No, there's been absolutely nothing in the news. J.J.'s contacts in the intelligence agencies had not mentioned anything about the Project.

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Everything was running smoothly. In fact, J.J. had received a report less than twelve hours ago stating that the team had had no difficulty crossing the Syrian border from Iraq.

The only thing...

“Jesus.” Although his voice sounded confident to his own ears, he wasn't, but he was careful not to make the name sound like a question.

Alpha’s voice projected his pleasure that J.J. had answered correctly.

“Exactly. He's a potential problem. Make that a certain problem. It doesn't matter who he really is, where he came from or what he truly wants. In the long run, he is dangerous to us and must be stopped. Permanently stopped.”

“How should we proceed?”

J.J. knew better than to offer his own solution or argue against Alpha’s obviously final decision on the subject. Alpha always dictated their actions.

J.J. had long ago decided that the huge wealth that Alpha had generated for all of them, the power that they all enjoyed was well worth the subservient role they all played when doing his business.

He was, therefore, all the more concerned about the Project. If their goal was to take complete control of the world’s financial and political power structures, to create a single government that would rule the world; wouldn’t the Project destroy everything they were trying to gather under one hat?

Shocked, J.J. shook his head to clear his thoughts.

Alpha was talking and he’d missed the first part of the sentence. “… I will see to it that this man is at ground zero.”

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Hoping to catch what he’d missed, J.J. merely asked for direction. “What shall I do?”

The instructions were straightforward and simple.

When Alpha stopped talking, J.J replied, “I understand.”

He heard the click as Alpha terminated the call.

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CHAPTER FIFTEEN "He who is not with me is against me, and he who does not gather with me scatters." Matthew 12:30 “Her apartment is on the third floor, there...” Jesus said, pointing at a lighted window.

Beth followed his finger and nodded, then turned to Jack who was scanning the area around them. Jack was convinced that they were, indeed, in Washington, D.C. If nothing else, he recognized the top of the Washington Monument off on the horizon.

He couldn't recall the trip. All he remembered was a feeling of weightlessness, followed by a split second of darkness, a blink of an eye, and then...he was standing next to Beth and Jesus on a street in the U.S. capitol.

“Jack?” Beth tugged on his shirtsleeve.

Ignoring her, he turned to Jesus. “This Kate Barrow, what is she to you?”

Jesus sighed. “We have little time, Jack. Any answer I give you now will only generate more questions.”

“A few hundred more questions make no difference.”

Jesus looked towards the window and back to Jack.

“Two thousand years ago, the spirit that is currently Kate Barrow, was Maryam, my wife and the mother of my child. You will know Maryam, as Mary Magdalene.”

Beth gasped, covering her mouth. Her eyes darted from Jack to Jesus, and she whispered, “Oh, my God!” 149

Jack said nothing. Instead he glared at Jesus for several seconds; as if ascertaining, for the hundredth time, whether he should believe the outlandish claims of this stranger.

Yep. He’s right again. I’ve got a thousand more questions after that line of bullshit.

Then, deciding that this claim was no more extreme than any other, and in fact, fit the sequence of the bizarre chain of events the last couple of days, he took it in his stride.

“What's the danger?” He asked.

“The man that shot me is a detective and a very…though misguided… religious man.

He believes me to be an impostor...a heretic...a demon, perhaps.

He has connected Kate to me and probably believes she knows how to find me. She doesn't, but I fear the detective will not believe her.”

Jack had heard all that he needed to hear. He looked at the window Jesus had previously pointed out and started for the building’s entrance, with Jesus and Beth in tow. On the third floor, Jack stopped before apartment 3B. He wasn't sure if this was the right door. He glanced up and down the hallway and then back toward Jesus, who gave him a nod.

This was the place. Jack placed his ear against the faux wood. He shook his head; he couldn't hear anything at first.

Suddenly, a slight noise, barely audible through the door that sounded like flesh on flesh - a slap, a hard slap - was enough for Jack.

He stepped back and with a powerful kick, smashed the door open.

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Fortunately, the dead bolt had not been engaged, and the door slammed against the inside wall. Before it could rebound, Jack was running down the short hallway with Jesus while Beth relocked the door and followed behind.

Jack took in the entire scene in a second. He saw two women tied to straight back chairs; off to the side of a large sofa was an overweight man in shirt sleeves who loomed over one of the women, the crisscross of leather straps across his back indicating a shoulder holster and the holster itself, full of pistol, hanging below his left armpit.

The man turned to face Jack, reaching simultaneously for his gun. In the next instant, Jack hit the man full force. The force of the tackle carried Jack and the larger man several feet, smashing into, and turning over a sofa. In the fall, Jack lost his hold and landed on his back, the detective next to him.

Detective Martinson was overweight and appeared sluggish, but he had not been decorated several times during his police career for nothing. He was a quick thinker, and his agile reactions belied his bulk.

Before Jack could turn and reengage, Martinson had pulled his pistol and was bringing it to bear on Jack.

Jack was no stranger to fighting; he'd grown up fighting in schoolyards, later in clubs and bars and finally, America's enemies around the world.

Less than two years ago he was fighting the Taliban in Afghanistan and Pakistan. The Taliban and Al Qaeda insurgents were a formidable enemy, and the battles had been brutal.

In any war, a degree of luck comes into play but for those who were finely tuned during training and experienced in actual combat; luck was always nearby.

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Jack was trained and experienced in the extreme, but luck had always been by his side, too.

He'd never been a bully, never once had he started a fight; but he'd learned and fought by one rule - a rule emphasized many times in military combat.

Win! Win as quickly as possible; no matter the cost, no matter the method - win the fight quickly and decisively.

Jack's intention was never to disarm his opponent, even as he pushed the gun hand up, even as the weapon discharged; Jack's target was the man's throat and, if he did it right, it would be a lethal blow.

The sound of the shot was deafening in the enclosed space of the apartment.

Bright red blood spurted from the throat of the woman nearest the two fighting men and a thin red line opened across the forehead of the second, but neither of the combatants noticed.

The thirty eight caliber missile, had barely ended its flight in the far wall when Jack gained advantage over Martinson, and thrust his left hand, ramrod straight, knuckles bent, straight into the shooter's throat.

The impact crushed the man's windpipe and dislocated two vertebrae in his spine, simultaneously pinching several nerves, rendering him incapable of movement.

Paralyzed, Martinson felt no pain, but he was unable to draw breath. His eyes followed his killer as Jack jumped to his feet, ignoring the dying man's last moments.

Jack turned to see Beth standing in the middle of the room. She was shaking, covering her mouth as tears rolled down her cheeks. It was all too fast, too violent for her.

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Jesus was kneeling next to the woman whose throat, what was left of it, had been torn open by the bullet and to Jack's experienced eye, her situation was hopeless.

Her body convulsed in continuous jerks, her shocked eyes, wide open rolled from side to side as Jesus covered her throat with both hands. Thinking he could treat the second woman Jack instinctively moved towards her, but Jesus stopped him. “I will handle these two. See to Beth.�

If Jack noticed Jesus' commanding tone, he didn't react to it. He wasted no time contemplating the abrupt change in Jesus' demeanor. He was used to following orders, and he did so now. He caught Beth just as her knees gave way and she sank, boneless into his arms. He knelt and gently laid her on the carpeted floor.

She'd fainted, but for the moment, Jack made no attempt to bring her around. Stroking her hair, he watched Jesus.

He hoped that the woman who was dying wasn't Kate - whom they'd come to rescue. Jesus had never mentioned race. Was Kate the Korean with the cut forehead or the African-American girl - the one that was certainly dying?

Jack felt tired. He knew that this was attributable to the adrenalin slowly ebbing throughout his body. At the same time, he experienced a certain detachment as he watched Jesus working on the women.

He was gentle, and he appeared to be praying over the Black girl while simultaneously massaging her neck.

The Asian woman was still unconscious, and Jack decided, to hell with Jesus - he could treat this woman's wounds while Jesus was wasting his time on the dead girl.

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Gently, he laid Beth's head on the carpet. He started to rise, but noticed that she'd opened her eyes, tears leaking down the sides of her cheeks.

Jack knelt once more and whispered, “Everything is okay, Beth. You fainted for a few seconds, but you’ll be okay. I'm going over there to see if I can help one of the injured women.” He nodded back in the direction of Jesus.

Beth looked past Jack. Jesus was still holding the neck of the woman, and the other was unconscious.

Feebly, she raised her hand and patted Jack's cheek.

“Yes, go," she whispered. “I'm okay.”

Jesus moved to the Asian girl, and Jack got a good look at the Black girl. For a moment, he was frozen in place.

Normally, in these kinds of situations, his mind worked faster than his body or anything else in the area.

He had the ability to be two, even three steps ahead of the events.

Now, however, he was not only unable to move he was unable to think. It wasn't long - one, two heartbeats before his mind clicked into gear, again and he was able to process the information his eyes were sending his brain. Still, he was dumbfounded. He'd seen her neck torn open. There was no doubt that she was dying or already dead.

Jack had seen a lot of violent death. That the woman now appeared completely healed, seemingly asleep, and breathing normally had momentarily paralyzed him - physically and mentally.

He'd seen some astonishing things since last Friday afternoon, but this - this was beyond his comprehension. It was far away from any conspiracy, or hallucinatory scenario he could possibly imagine.

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He stood, rooted to the spot, staring at what he could never describe and probably never understand.

Jesus finished with the second woman and turned to face him. His eyes were filled with sadness. He looked exhausted.

His voice was softer than normal, "The women will not remember any of this."

He pointed toward the young African-American.

“This is Kate.”

Jack followed his finger and nodded. His mind had pushed the healing into a corner, and his situational awareness returned. “Someone will have heard the shot.

We need to get out of here...now!”

Suddenly, Beth was at his side. “What can I do?”

Jesus held Leigh's head between his hands.

Again, he appeared to pray. Releasing his hold on Leigh he turned to Beth.

“There is nothing more we can do here. Jack is right we need to leave.”

Jack looked towards the dead detective. “If we leave like this, these girls will have a very hard time explaining...”

Jesus nodded. "Yes, what do you suggest, Jack?"

He answered immediately.

“Can you take everyone out of here?”

Jesus smiled. "Yes." “But what... so many… how...?” Beth started.

Jack was dragging the dead man across the floor.

He dropped him at the feet of the two women, still unconscious in the chairs. “You'll need to fix the room,” he said to Jesus.

“I think more than that will be necessary.”

Jesus knelt over the detective and enveloped the dead man's head in his hands.

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Jack jumped, and Beth cried out when the man jerked and, though unconscious, started sucking in great gulps of air.

“Jesus Christ!” Jack whispered. “I thought we’d take his body and dump…”

Jesus stood and placed a hand on Jack's shoulder.

Ignoring the remark, his serious eyes held Jacks'. “All things are possible to him who truly believes," he said.

A loud bang - once - twice - three times against the door startled them all. “FBI - Open Up! The entire building is surrounded. Drop your weapons and open up.

You have five seconds!

“One....”

Turning to Jack, Jesus said, “Can you carry Kate?”

Jack nodded. He’d already started untying the ropes that bound her to the chair. In less than two seconds, she was free, and Jack pulled her up and into his arms, one arm around her shoulders, the other under her knees.

“Three!”

Jesus pulled Leigh up and held her as Beth wrapped her arms around him and Jack.

She looked down at the detective. “What about him?”

“He won't remember anything that happened here,” Jesus said.

“Four!”

“Let's get the hell out of here…now!” Jack replied. His brain was functioning on all cylinders again.

How the hell did the FBI get here and surround the building so quickly? For that matter, why was the FBI here in the first place?

“Five!” The door to the apartment burst inward.

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The next thing Jack knew, he was holding Kate, and locked in a circular embrace with Jesus, Beth, and Leigh in the middle of a desert.

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CHAPTER SIXTEEN "If you do not change direction, you may end up where you are heading." Lao Tzu Special Agent Randall Green got the routine report that Kate was in her apartment. Although he had no real reason to do so, he had a ‘gut feeling’ and alerted the FBI’s, D.C. Special Weapons and Tactics (SWAT) team to be ready to go at a moment’s notice.

That moment came less than half an hour later when he answered a call from his surveillance team, reporting that three people had ‘appeared’ in front of the apartment complex.

“What do you mean - appeared?” Randall had asked.

“Chief, we’ve been watching this apartment and the street for hours. These people didn’t drive up nor get out of a car; and, they didn’t walk. One second the street was empty, the next thing I knew - they were standing in front of the house.

Who are these guys?”

Randall was so excited he was practically bouncing in his seat. This was it. This was exactly what he’d hoped for.

“You have a picture of the guy that was shot this morning in front of the Lincoln Memorial?”

He heard some fumbling around in the car.

“Got it right here, Chief.”

Randall waited. After a half a minute he couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Well?” He bellowed into the phone. “Do I have to ask whether this guy is among the group?”

“No, Chief… I mean… he is, yeah… he’s here.”

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Randall’s heart was pounding.

“Yes!” He whispered. He was about to hang up when he heard his team again.

“Chief… they’ve gone into the building. What should we do?”

Pulling the phone back to his ear, he shouted, “Nothing! I’m sending in a SWAT team,” and slammed the phone down.

As a branch chief, he hadn’t been ‘on the street’ for several years, but he was a good leader and good leaders led by example. He grabbed his flak vest and “storm jacket”, with the big yellow FBI letters on the back, checked his weapon and charged out the door.

Randall didn’t actually knock the door down after warning the inhabitants that the FBI was coming in. He had to follow protocol and allow the SWAT team to do that. However, he was the first one through the door, shouldering his way past two SWAT members to do so.

The people in the apartment were only there a second; just long enough for him to recognize Jesus and Jack, both carrying a young woman. One of these, he knew was Kate, the other he surmised to be Kate’s roommate.

He didn’t know the third woman, but even in that briefest of moments, he knew that he would recognize her, if and when, he ever saw her again.

One second was all he had and then they vanished. No puffs of smoke, no waving of a magician’s cape, nothing spectacular other than the simple fact that one second they were there, huddled in a group hug, and the next, they were not there.

They disappeared into thin air leaving a lone man lying on his back in front of two straight back chairs.

One of his agents announced what he’d already 159

deduced; the man on the floor was Detective Martinson.

Randall knew that Martinson was the suspected shooter at the Lincoln Memorial and that he and Kate were neighbors, not pleasantly close neighbors, but neighbors all the same.

The SWAT team spread around the apartment and he could hear the ‘all clear’ signals as each room was checked and no one found.

He leaned over the prone and unconscious body of Detective Martinson and lightly slapped his face.

“Wake up, Detective, nap time is over.”

Martinson’s eyes snapped open, but he didn’t immediately move. He blinked several times before his eyes focused. “Wha…who are you?” He moved his head left to right, rolling his eyes, trying to see everything around him. “Where am I?” Randall knelt next to him and waved his credentials back and forth in front of Martinson’s face.

“Special Agent Randall Green, FBI. You don’t know where you are?”

Martinson pushed himself up on his elbows and looked around. He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs. “No, I don’t. I… can’t seem to remember…”

“Does the name Kate Barrow ring any bells?”

Martinson was unable to keep the surprise from his face. Yeah, he knew Kate all right. He’d been hunting her all day while also avoiding his own capture.

Their apartment house was under surveillance, but Martinson was an old dog and circumventing a stakeout was easy as pie when you knew what to look for.

After realizing that the FBI had questioned Kate and that they would probably put a tail on her; he’d slipped into the building long before she or her FBI tail had arrived.

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He couldn’t go to his own place, though; the DC police would certainly be looking for him there.

He’d broken into Kate’s apartment, and when Leigh came in from university classes, he’d knocked her out, tied her to the chair and waited for Kate.

Knowing that the FBI was aware of his relationship to Kate, he couldn’t try and lie his way out of it.

“Kate Barrow? Yeah, she’s a neighbor. Lives in the same building I do.”

“Tell me something I don’t know. Where’s the connection between you, Kate, and the man that calls himself Jesus?”

The name ‘Jesus’ brought Martinson fully awake and, though his gut was telling him to shut the hell up, his rage was controlling his tongue. He tried to get up, but the FBI asshole pressed a hand to his chest.

The best he could do was to push himself up on his elbows. “That son-of-a-bitch is NOT Jesus! At best he’s a false prophet… but that’s not it, either. The fucker’s a demon… the anti-Christ… he’s come to…”

“Well, I guess we don’t need to look for motive anymore.”

Randall stayed calm and spoke in a conversational tone – not easy to do with a madman screaming in your face.

“Let’s start over, Detective. Why are you here and what’s the connection between Kate and… you know, the guy you tried to kill?”

Pushing himself further forward, his spit spraying Randall in the face, Martinson screamed, “Fuck You! I didn’t shoot anybody, and I don’t even know where I am, much less what Kate has to do with the demon that’s trying to pass himself off as our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ!”

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Randall wiped the spray from his face and, still in quiet talking mode, said, “You’re a sharp guy, Detective.

“Everyone at DCPD says so, anyway. They also say you’re a class ‘A’ asshole. I’ll give you some advice before I read you your rights… don’t fuck around with me and never, ever scream in my face.”

He stood and motioned to another agent to help Martinson to his feet. The agent quickly yanked Martinson up and pulled his arms back, in preparation of cuffing him.

As if coming back from an extended mental vacation, Martinson changed his tune. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

He struggled to pull his arms away, but it was too late. “I’m a detective with…”

“Yeah, yeah, so, you know all of this! You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can, and will be, held against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. The attorney can be present during questioning. If you can’t afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.

“Do you understand your rights?”

“Listen, you… you… what am I being arrested for anyway?”

“We’ll start with attempted murder, leaving the scene of a crime, resisting arrest and breaking and entering. I’m sure there will be more before we’re done.”

“Attempted murder? What? Listen, you jerk, since when does…?” he stopped.

He’d almost admitted to shooting someone.

Not someone, a demon, but this idiot Fed wouldn’t understand that.

“No more. I want a lawyer. I’m not saying another word.”

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Randall got in his face. “I’m glad to hear that. I don’t think I could stand the crap that seems to spring out every time you open your mouth.”

He looked over Martinson’s shoulder. “Get him out of here.”

A young agent, sitting on the chair, previously occupied by Kate and leaning over the screen of a laptop said, “Chief? You gotta see this.”

Leaning over the agent’s shoulder, Randall watched a blinking red dot set among a series of grid squares. “That’s Kate Barrow?”

“Yes, sir and…”

“Well, where is she?”

“I’ve triple checked the data, sir. She’s… uh… she’s in California… Joshua Tree, California, a small town near Landers, sir.”

“Joshua Tree? Landers? Where in God’s name is that?”

“Actually, it’s worse than that, sir. She’s exactly twenty-one point five miles northwest of Joshua Tree.

That would put her in the middle of nowhere, sir.”

Randall sat in the love seat directly behind him and closed his eyes. What the hell is going on? We track Kate Barrow here and observe that she doesn’t leave the apartment house.

Three strangers arrive, one of them, Jesus.

The surveillance team reports them entering the building. Less than five minutes later, the SWAT team, along with some of my agents, and me arrive.

We burst through the door and there are five people standing in a tight circle, arms entwined and before I could take another step – they’d disappeared – leaving a single man unconscious on the floor.

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Randall could identify Jesus and Kate, but who were the others? Why and how did Martinson come to be here, unconscious on the floor?

Another thought occurred to him, and he jumped to his feet.

“Is Martinson still in the building?”

Without waiting for a reply, he said, “Get him back in here.”

Martinson and his agent escort arrived in the doorway just as Randall got there.

He stared at the detective for a moment and said, “That’s a very nasty bruise on your neck. In fact, it looks like an extremely powerful blow of some kind caused it… the kind that could have crushed your windpipe, maybe even broken your neck. Perhaps you should be dead, detective. Can you explain that?”

Glaring at the FBI agent and unable to see the bruise he alluded to, Martinson snarled, “No, and I don’t know what you’re talking about… as we’ve already established since you got here.”

“In fact, detective, I’m absolutely amazed that you can talk… at all!”

Martinson didn’t know anything about a bruise.

Hell, he didn’t know anything about anything since earlier in the day, but he was damned if he was going to provide any explanations to this asshole. He’d let his lawyer do the talking from here on out.

He leaned forward and whispered, “Fuck you.”

Randall laughed and waved his agents to take the detective away. He guessed that Martinson wouldn’t reveal how he'd gotten that bruise, but all he really wanted was a better look at it.

Knowing the background on Jack Schmidt, he was certain that he had inflicted the wound, but how was Martinson still walking around?

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Something he would have to look into, later; the immediate issue was getting a hold of Kate and whoever was with her. He turned back to his computer tech.

“So… Joshua Tree, is it?”

“Yes sir… twenty-one point five miles northwest.”

“She’s still there?”

“Yes sir, she hasn’t moved.”

Randall nodded and called to his agents still scattered around the room. “Okay, looks like we’ll be making a plane trip tonight. Jessica, get…”

“Excuse me, sir?” the young agent interrupted, “I know this tracking device is accurate. I know I’m reading it right, but it’s not possible. It’s simply not possible.”

Randall looked at him and said, “Son, there have been a lot of impossible things happening lately. If your tracking device is in California, that’s where Kate Barrow is, and that’s where Jesus is. We find them; we’ll get answers as to how it’s possible.”

I hope, he thought.

He looked back at the agents gathered around.

“OK, one more time. Jessica, get the ball rolling. We’ll use a military plane and fly out of Andrews to the nearest major airport… I don’t know… L.A.? You tell me.

We’ll get a helicopter from there. Call me when everything is locked and cocked. I’ll be in my office.”

He looked around the room for emphasis. “This doesn’t appear to be a crime scene. Saddle up… we’re going to California!” * * * * * “Jill, your best guess. What is a guy that has a different DNA…you know, what we talked about…what is he able to do?”

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Jill sat slouched in an easy chair on the opposite side of Randall’s desk. She was beat.

After pushing through the initial DNA tests she and her crew had been rushing to confirm and analyze the data they had.

They’d called in everyone they could get their hands on to study the information including some of the nation’s top neurologists and geneticists.

One or all of them had been on the phone or email, talking to scientists around the globe every minute for the last twelve hours.

“It’s really impossible to say, Randy. I mean; this guy is so fucking strange that even after all we’ve discovered… I can’t believe it. It’s like a dream that keeps running through my head.”

She paused and leaned forward. “I’ll tell you this though. Anything this guy does wouldn’t surprise me anymore. We’ve contacted every…”

Jill shut her mouth and looked away.

“You’ve contacted people? Jill, I asked you keep this DNA business to yourself. It’s the one thing we have… had… that no one else did.”

He slammed his hand on the desk. “Jesus, Jill!”

“I’m sorry, Randy, but there’s just no way we could have kept this kind of news a secret. Hell, we don’t know what we don’t know, and there are lots of people out there that could fill in the blanks for us. You’ll be happy to know that we didn’t contact the Noetic Institute out in California.”

Randall threw his hands in the air. “Well, why the hell not? Everyone else knows by now… what’s the difference?”

“There are two reasons. One – the CIA works closely with those guys and I didn’t think you’d want 166

them involved. Two - well, we wanted to get more input from the scientists and medical experts before we start tapping around any paranormal crap.”

He shook his head, laughing under his breath.

“Jill, I’d think you would know better. Isn’t it obvious that Jesus, or whoever he really is, has some kind of supernatural abilities?

“Isn’t it obvious that if you were going to involve anyone outside the Bureau – it would be the Noetics Institute?

“I know a little bit about them… read about the institute in Dan Brown’s book, The Lost Symbol and spent some time on their website.”

Randall paused. He was being too hard on Jill.

He backed off a bit. “I appreciate your concern about involving the CIA… they are constantly sticking their noses in places where they don’t belong.

“Unfortunately, they already know all about Jesus, so keeping the Noetic Institute in the dark for that reason is null and void.”

He leaned across the desk. “In fact, Jill, I think they could really be a big help here. I know that our witness could read my mind. Which reminds me… what were the preliminary results of Kate Barrow’s DNA test?”

Jill shrugged her shoulders and said, “Completely normal… nothing like Jesus.”

“Too bad…” He stopped, realizing how that sounded. “Well, you know what I mean; but, how was she able to read my mind? I’m certain she was doing that.”

“Hell, Randy, there are a lot of people who claim to be able to do that, and I know for sure that the Noetic Institute has verified several.”

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“Yeah.” Randall nodded his head. “Okay.

Anyway, I was going to say… I saw, with my own two eyes, a group of people disappear right in front of me.”

He counted off on his fingers, “Kate, Jesus and the soldier, Jack Schmidt. There were two other women, an Asian girl and another woman, about the same age.

“I saw it, Jill, a split second after we broke through the door to Kate’s apartment.

“It was no illusion. Those people out in California have been studying that kind of stuff for years.”

“You asked me what I thought a guy like this could do. I wasn’t completely truthful before, because… well, hell… it scares me what he could do.

“Medical and scientific experts have told us that his DNA indicates huge potential, and things like mind reading and telekinesis could be child’s play for him.

“Indications are his brain power could be at least a thousand times more powerful than ours.”

Randall was nodding his head as she spoke as if he considered what she’d just said to be completely normal.

“I think you should give the Institute a call, Jill… lay everything out for them and see what they have to say.

“As for the CIA they still don’t know that we have a tracking device on Barrow. Without that I don’t think anyone will ever be able to track or find Jesus, and even with the tracer there are no guarantees. It’s only as good as Kate’s proximity to him.

“So, we’re way ahead of them, but the problem will be getting our hands on them once we’ve located them. How the hell do we stop them from simply disappearing?”

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“Well, for one thing, you might try to approach them non-violently. Threatening them and busting down the door would be cause enough for me to get the hell out of Dodge… if I had the means.”

Randall thought it over. “Good point. Maybe we’ll try a gentler approach out in California.”

His phone line lit up. “Speaking of which… I think that’s my call to get moving.”

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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN “I shall never believe that God plays dice with the world.” Albert Einstein “Besides the middle of nowhere, do you have any idea where we are?”

“Actually, I do,” Jack replied.

He reached for Beth’s shoulder and turned her to the northwest. He pointed toward a rock formation about fifty yards away, looming out of the dusk. “See that formation of rocks?”

Beth saw a group of four very large boulders, the largest of which towered far above their heads.

Jack could have told her that the rock was over seven stories high and covered more than five thousand square feet of land.

He could have told her about the Indian legend and prophecy, about the rock splitting at the beginning of the new century, and that a man had actually dug a large hole under the far side of the rock and had lived in the cave like structure for several years.

He thought that that would probably be a little too much information and decided instead to save it, depending upon her interest in knowing more.

“Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a boulder that large standing by itself like that.”

“You probably haven’t. Some say that it’s the largest freestanding rock in the world. It’s called Giant Rock… apt, don’t you think?”

Beth smiled and nodded. “Very.”

Sensing that her wonder at the size of the rock to be the limit of her interest; Jack tightened his grip on her shoulders and turned her further to the left.

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He liked being close to her and as she didn’t pull away, he kept his hands lightly on her shoulders.

“Over there, you can still see a dome like structure. It’s getting pretty dark, but… do you see it?”

She nodded and turned her head to look over her shoulder. “Do you know what it is?”

“Yes. It’s called the Integratron.”

Beth chuckled. “And what, pray tell, is an Integratron?”

“When I was a kid, I was fascinated by the stories about UFO’s and I stumbled upon the story of a guy named George van Tassel. He was a scientist or engineer, I can’t remember which.

“Anyway, he was supposedly contacted by aliens, Venetians, I think, and instructed how to build that structure to provide them a… path or guide… that they could use to land their spacecraft. Something like that anyway.”

“Actually, he was trying to build a fountain of youth.”

Jack and Beth turned to see Jesus walking towards them. When he was beside them, he placed a hand on Jack’s shoulder and said, “I hope that I will be able to better influence your memory soon.”

Jack gave him a puzzled look, but Jesus continued before he could comment on the cryptic statement.

“The alien story was designed to draw attention and money. He claims to have received instructions on building the Integratron through dreams; dreams that were input by a similar race as ours, from a different universe.

“The Integratron was to be a device for rejuvenating human body cells, a so-called “fountain of youth”. The details are immaterial.

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“At any rate, he died before he could finish it, and the aliens never returned… at least not to our knowledge.

“More importantly, but relative to this place, the people who lived here hundreds, even thousands, of years ago recognized this area as something special, although they had no real idea of how unique it was.

“Giant Rock and the immediate surrounding area construct a focal point for electro-magnetic waves. These waves pass though all levels of the multi-universe. There are hundreds of vortexes such as these around the globe.

They are special because the vortexes are passages to other worlds.”

“Passages to other worlds; are you saying that one could use these vortexes to travel between what… parallel universes?” Jack asked.

“Yes, that’s exactly, right, Jack. One can move from universe to universe along the vortexes; and, once you’ve reached your destination, the vortexes are not needed to quantum leap, as I’ve demonstrated to the both of you several times, now.”

“Is there no end to the surprises?” Jack asked.

Beth punched him on the arm and Jesus laughed.

“We have but scratched the surface, my friend,” he said. “Come. I am expecting company, and we should construct some shelter before they arrive.”

Beth raised her eyebrows, “Construct shelter?”

She turned around looking at nothing but sand, rocks, cactus and scrub brush. “Uh…” “I’m sure our friend here has no problem providing shelter complete with a five course meal, electric lights or… dancing elephants for that matter,” Jack remarked.

“I love your sarcasm, Jack… and you’re right. I have no problems.” Jesus turned to walk away. Jack and 172

Beth fell in behind him.

As they walked toward Giant Rock, a large tent appeared between it and another smaller boulder. Beth squeezed Jack’s arm, and he chuckled. “Nope, the wonders will never cease.”

Inside the tent, Kate stood alone, turning in circles and marveling at the structure that had suddenly appeared around her. A string of party lights, strung completely around the top circumference of the tent, provided a pleasant glow throughout the pavilion.

“Electric lights…?”

Jack left the question hanging. Jesus smiled and shrugged.

“Where’s Leigh?” Beth asked.

“Where are the dancing elephants?”

Jack wondered.

“Dancing elephants?” Kate asked. She shook her head as Jack shrugged his shoulders.

Sensing a joke of some kind, she dismissed it and turned to answer Beth’s question.

“She wanted to go home so… Jesus took her. I wished she had stayed with us. I’m worried about her, but she was afraid and nothing we said could calm her.”

“I took her to her sister’s house.” Jesus added.

“She now believes, as does her sister, that she’s been visiting since yesterday morning.

“She has no memory of this night, and when she returns to her apartment, she will be worried about Kate’s whereabouts. Unfortunate, but equally good, in that her concern will be real and increase her credibility with the police.”

Jack nodded. “Yes, I think that was the right thing to do. She will certainly be interrogated.”

He recalled his thoughts when the FBI had banged on the door and identified themselves. “Why was the 173

FBI there, is what I’m wondering? Normally, the DCPD would have responded to a call, but that brings up another question… who called? What brought them to Kate’s apartment? They got there much too soon after the shot was fired.”

Kate said, “The FBI interrogated me after the shooting incident at the Mall. They think I was part of whatever it is they believe occurred on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. Maybe they put a tail on me?”

Jack agreed. “Yeah, that’s probably it, but then… why didn’t they go ahead and break things up before we arrived?”

“I don’t think they knew that Matt… Detective Martinson was already in the apartment; when I arrived, he’d already tied Leigh to the chair.

“They didn’t know anything was going on until they saw you entering the apartment. I don’t know, but that makes sense, doesn’t it?” ”I guess…still…” Jack mused.

Beth looked to Jesus, raising her eyebrows, questioning him, but he remained silent.

He seemed to not be following the conversation, his mind elsewhere. After a few seconds of silence, she spoke up. “Do you know anything about it?”

Returning from wherever his mind had wandered, Jesus dismissed the issue. “No, but I think it of no relevance. My guests have arrived.”

As if on cue, the entrance flap of the tent opened and eight people walked in. They nodded toward Jesus, who returned their silent greeting.

Like Jesus, the guests appeared to be one hundred percent human, and they looked as if each had come from a different part of the globe. Of the eight, three were Caucasian, two black, one Hispanic and two Asian.

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Picking up the thoughts of his disciples, Jesus said, “I see you’ve noticed the disparate races. We are able to alter our skin color and, to some extent, our hair and facial characteristics to match the environment we work in.”

“So, you look Middle Eastern because that’s where you ‘worked’ on your first visit and we would more readily accept you now?” Beth asked.

“Indeed, my appearance was a consideration when selected as the teacher that would enter into the Middle East, but my skin tone and features have always been this way.”

Indicating the eight, he said, “Each of my friends here have altered their appearance, conditional to what part of this world they will be going.”

He turned his attention back to the newcomers and was silent for several seconds.

Beth assumed they were communicating telepathically, an assumption verified when Jesus turned his attention back to them.

“We should converse openly; my friends here are not yet adept.” A wave of his hand indicated Jack, Beth and Kate.

“I heard something, but I couldn’t understand the language… if that’s what it was?” Kate said Jesus turned to her and smiled. “Yes, as I told you before, you are discovering your talents.”

“Who are your friends?” Beth asked.

Their names were unusual, and Beth’s attention was fixed on the group at the introduction of the first man - Azaziah, followed by Jotham, Hananiah and Aquila.

Of these, Beth recognized the first three as old Hebraic names. The fourth, Aquila, was female and an ancient Roman name.

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In her mind, Beth quickly translated - Azaziah, “Yahweh has helped” - Jotham, “Yahweh is upright”, Hananiah - “Yahweh is gracious”. There were two more men - Gemariah - “Yahweh has accomplished” and Ismerai - “Yahweh guards”; and two women, Jochebed “Yahweh is glory” and Moriah - “seen by Yahweh” in the group.

Knowing her thoughts, Jesus said, “You’ve associated all of their names, Beth?”

“Yes, of course, I am a student of the Bible, after all.” She glanced at Jack and back to the group.

“With the exception of Aquila - an old Roman name, all of the others are Hebrew and translate to a connection with Yahweh.”

She nodded at Azaziah, “Yahweh has helped”, then to Jotham and on to the other’s, translating their Hebrew names.

“Amazing!” Jack muttered. Beth’s intelligence continually impressed him.

Looking back at Jesus and the newcomers, Beth said, “It seems very unusual that all of these people would have a name that includes an adjective to Yahweh.

Why is that?”

Jesus replied, “I’ll tell you as we sit and eat.”

Although he should be used to it by now, Jack was nonetheless startled to see a large table, complete with food appear in the center of the tent.

The food included a variety of fruits and vegetables, as well as roasted lamb and wine. The table was set with gleaming silverware, porcelain plates, and two candelabra’s, each with eight candles.

“Wow!” Beth and Kate exclaimed simultaneously. They looked at each other and laughed at their united response.

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Jesus took a seat at the head of the table, and the remainder found chairs around the table. Jack and Beth together, next to Jesus, and Kate sat directly across from them.

As food was taken onto plates and the people began eating, Jesus remembered his promise to Jack.

“What is the first question you’d like me to answer, Jack?”

Taken a bit off guard, Jack looked to Beth. She raised eyebrows as if to say, “Well, you’ve been beating him up for answers all day…go ahead.”

Jack asked the first thing that popped into his head. “Are you really the Son of God… no, wait… before that, I’d like to know… who or what is God?” The Elohim all looked up, and Jesus answered, “Good question, Jack.

“Yahweh, as you know, is one of several Hebraic names you have for God,” Jesus began. “But, in fact, Yahweh is the name of a great scientist on my world. He has served as leader of the Elohim for more than five thousand years.

“It was Yahweh that first traveled to Mesopotamia in this world. It was Yahweh who met Abraham in Egypt and tried to bring about order among the people of that time.

“When he spoke to Abraham, and others, he would often refer to his world and the Elohim. The people heard him and assumed that all of the Elohim were gods, or angels and that their world was heaven, and so...it began.”

“Obviously, Yahweh’s abilities were seen as miraculous, god-like and thus, his name became synonymous with God.” Realizing that Jesus had not answered his 177

question, Jack was now more interested in something else Jesus had said and asked, “Five thousand years? You claim to be ‘human’… like us, and you’re talking about living thousands of years?”

“Surely you can admit that our race, our world, is far advanced to yours...”

“Certainly, but a life span that long… how is it possible? Just the wear and tear on the body would preclude that kind of life span. What about accidents… diseases?”

“Accidents do happen, but diseases? No, there is no disease of any kind on our world,” Jesus said. “Not so many years ago, your scientists and biologists discovered DNA and the art of cloning.

"We knew of these things thousands of years before Yahweh first visited this world. At the age of thirty, those of us who are scientists and teachers are cloned.

“In the event of an accident, or after several thousand years, the spirit of the affected person is transferred to the clone, and his or her spirit continues to live with the same physical appearance.

Jack laughed and looked at Beth. “I’ve finally got it... we’re in the middle of a science fiction movie. The only question remaining is… how did we get here?”

“No, Jack... not science fiction… science fact,” Jesus said.

Beth ignored Jack’s attempt at humor and asked Jesus, “You said ‘those of us who are scientists and teachers’... what of the other people on your world and how do you transfer all of your knowledge and memories to a cloned body? What about them, or are all of your people scientists and teachers?”

The group of Elohim was smiling and several 178

were nodding their heads as if approving of Beth’s questions.

Jesus said, “No, Beth, we are not all scientists and teachers; in fact, only a very small number of our population practices these professions. We have people in all walks of life, from farmers and industrialists to sports figures and actors.

“Any of these may also be cloned, if they choose, for scientists and teachers it is mandatory until they decide to move on to other fields or lives.

“Physical death on our world is not something to fear. At any time, anyone of the Elohim can choose death and free their spirit to seek another life on our world, or any universe, for that matter.”

Azaziah spoke up. “If I may, perhaps I can help with some of your questions from a scientific viewpoint?”

The group, including Jesus turned their attention to the Elohim scientist.

“The theory of a spirit that resides in every living thing has been scientifically proven. Humans sometimes call it a ‘gut feeling’ or they feel their subconscious mind is telling them something. The expression, ‘I feel it in my heart’ actually refers to the spirit.

“Although not scientifically proven, in your world, I can assure you that the spirit exists. The spirit, or soul if you prefer, is by your own definition… ‘the force or principle of life that animates the body of living things’. The word comes from the Latin, spìritus which means breathing. Breath is life. Life is God. The spirit is God within you.”

“That’s not hard to accept. Many of our people believe that the spirit is part of God, but, not quite in the way you mean,” Beth said.

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Jesus interjected, “Imagine that God is not an individual entity. God is neither a he nor a she nor an alien entity… not even a single thing. God is everything that your eye can see, your fingers can touch, your ears can hear, your nose can smell, your tongue can taste and… all that your conscious minds can imagine.

“God is not an omniscient being that knows all and sees all. God does not control everything you do.

God does not cause earthquakes or storms, nor does God have a plan for everyone’s life.”

Beth, Jack, and Kate were simultaneously alerted to this unexpected turn in the discussion.

No one spoke, eyes riveted on Jesus; however, the almost identical thoughts were swirling in their minds.

Jesus was asserting that he was not the Son of God. He was saying that what everyone knew as Mother Nature and often considered God - wasn’t the case.

“Allow me to use the human body as an analogy,” Jesus continued.

“Imagine your physical body as the universe… the entire universe; everything that you can see from the starfish and sand on the floor of the ocean to the furthest sun in outer space.

“Your body is composed of organs, arteries, muscles and bone.

Within your body, there are innumerable cells, and within each of these cells, countless atoms and smaller still… a trillion, trillion and more quarks.”

He paused. He had the full attention of everyone, including his own people as he made this grand metaphor.

“Now, imagine that each organ and bone in your body is a galaxy… the Milky Way, for example; and each artery and vein is a connection between the galaxies.

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“Each cell in your body, be it a muscle cell or a blood cell or a fat cell… each of these represents a world within the galaxy.

“The atoms within each cell are analogous to the different races of people and animals, plants and rocks, streams and oceans… all manner of things. Within each atom are quarks, the smallest portion of the whole… yet, this is the piece of God that resides in all living things.”

“I couldn’t imagine an analogy like that, Eloah… well done,” remarked Azaziah.

“That will take a few minutes to absorb, but somehow it makes sense. Certainly more sense, to my mind, than the ages old religious interpretations.” Jack added.

Beth was merely nodding her head, deep in thought, and Kate’s admiring gaze upon Jesus was that of a child listening intently to a loving parent, telling her the story of Santa Claus and his elves and reindeer.

Beth whispered, almost to herself, “If God is not an omniscient being, then you are not his Son, there was no resurrection, no Trinity… essentially, nothing that supports Christian doctrine. So, as I’ve suspected… feared, for some time now…”

Sympathetic to Beth’s conundrum regarding her faith, Jesus said, “The Church and all religions from Paganism to Judaism to Islam were founded on manmade ideas and principles.

“God has not dictated rituals or dogma. God has not established what is sin… or even - what is good and what is not.

“All of the religions of this world, and all worlds where religions of some form exist, have been designed and used as tools to control people through fear… the fear of the unknown and the fear of death.

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“There are certainly aspects of religion that benefit mankind, prayer for example, is an ideal method for conveying your thoughts, your desires, hopes, and dreams to your spirit which…”

“But, you said there is no God.” “No God as described in the Bible, Beth - or the Torah, or the Koran…no, but God does exist. I’ve only just described God to you. God is everything, and everything is a part of God. God is not an omniscient being that knows all and sees all… but God is a collective entity that knows all and sees all.”

Jesus paused to let that thought sink in for a moment and then continued, “What happens when you pray, Beth?”

“Metaphorically, you talk to God, but if there’s no God to hear…”

“There is a God to hear your prayers, Beth. When you pray, you are thinking. Your conscious mind is generating energy. That energy does not simply remain inside the skull or dissipate three feet from the body.

Like radio waves, the energy of your thought is broadcast, by your spirit… that piece of God that we’ve discussed, throughout the universe.”

Azaziah cleared his throat, interrupting the discussion. “We’d love to stay and hear the rest, but we must be on our way,” he said.

“Yes, of course,” Jesus responded.

“Where are they going, if I may ask?” Jack inquired.

“You will recall that I spoke of a potential nuclear war between the religions? They have come to ensure that doesn’t happen.”

“Well, good luck! The three major religions have driven people to kill each other for hundreds of years and 182

no one has been able to stop it.”

“Exactly, Jack.

Certainly a topic for later discourse, but for now, let me say that we, the Elohim have, as much as possible allowed humans on each world to evolve and develop each for themselves. Though, we cannot sit back and watch an entire world destroy itself.”

“So why haven’t you stopped the killing before now? Millions have died in your name, millions more on behalf of Allah, and the Jews? Their entire history is full of death and destruction,” Beth added.

Jesus turned his sad eyes to her. “Yes, you are right, of course; however, a nuclear war could destroy much more than just the lives of every creature on this plane of existence.”

Jesus knew that Jack had picked up on the implications of his statement, but Beth and Kate were slowly shaking their heads. “When the bombs fell on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, the framework of every world trembled. Holes were torn in the energy fields that separate the multi-universes.

“We, and others like us, were able to repair these… rips in the fabric that encompasses the whole; but, the power of the first two weapons and the tests that had been conducted before and since were small in comparison to what your world currently possesses.

“The previous explosions caused tremors, similar to a very minor earth quake in California where there is little to no damage while our scientists agree that an allout nuclear war would utterly destroy this world, and perhaps…many others.”

Beth covered her mouth, eyes wide, and was speechless. Envisioning such a thing, brought tears that brimmed in Kate’s eyes, threatening to overflow and run down her cheeks.

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Jack’s demeanor was grim, his voice terse. “Why in hell haven’t you done something about it before now?”

Jesus looked to the Elohim scientists. His eyes met those of Azaziah until he was forced to look away.

The other Elohim shuffled their feet and stared in every direction except toward Jesus.

“Yes, Jack… why? Azaziah, perhaps you can give Jack a brief explanation?”

Jack tracked from Jesus’ anger filled eyes to the downcast look of Azaziah. After a second or two, Azaziah had his thoughts in order and looked at Jack, Beth and Kate.

“We are scientists. As such, we are always looking for, and developing new… things. Your race was alone in the development of nuclear power. No other advanced race on any multi-verse that we know of, has created this form of energy… or weapon, as it became.”

He paused and looked around at his colleagues, perhaps for support, but there was none to be found. The other Elohim continued staring at the floor.

He sighed. “Yes, well… I argued that we should allow this development to continue. It was new and… exciting to see. My colleagues had done some extensive work in extrapolating the outcome of allowing the nuclear power to develop. Unfortunately, their predictions are almost identical to the path your people have taken and what is occurring today.”

His tone became defensive.

“Regardless, extrapolation is not science. It is not a solution based upon facts, and in the beginning… the science drove our mandates.”

Azaziah’s expressions and voice was a roller coaster of emotions; first haughty, then defensive and at the end – defeated and barely audible.

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“Well, as you’ve probably deduced; we argued among ourselves for many years and did nothing to stop the proliferation of nuclear power and the weapons that were spawned… until now.”

Except for eyes that blazed with anger, Jack’s expression was neutral and he kept his voice civil.

“Thank you for the explanation.”

He turned to Jesus. “What now?”

“They are going to disarm every nuclear weapon in this world.” Jesus answered.

Azaziah nodded and with a farewell wave, he and his fellow scientists disappeared.

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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN "I believe that I am acting in accordance with the will of the Almighty Creator: by defending myself against the Jew, I am fighting for the work of the Lord…"

Adolf Hitler The walk from Saint Peter’s Square to Isolde Tiberina normally took less than ten minutes. The small ship-shaped island in the middle of the Tiber River was only a little over one kilometer northeast of St Peter’s.

Normal was not the case today.

Cardinal Mark Johnson looked out from his third floor Vatican office, at the thousands of people who had flowed into Saint Peter’s Square since Jesus made his worldwide television debut yesterday and thought that the dynamics had changed… maybe forever.

The crowd was to be expected, of course. CNN was the first, but all of the national news agencies had quickly picked up the story.

Now, it was impossible to find any television station that wasn’t covering, commentating on the story, or debating the pros and cons of the man being whom he claimed to be. He sighed. This was bad.

It was bad for the Church regardless the validity of the man’s claim.

If he really was Jesus and if the documents he claimed existed really denied everything the Church had held as The Truth all these centuries long…the Church was finished.

If he turned out to be a fake the Church would still take a beating through multiple rehashes of historical lineage, and that would bring to light everything that the Church had ever done wrong.

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Mark knew from experience that almost no one ever remembers the good things, when the bad is so much more exciting.

Mark knew all about the bad things. He knew the history of the Inquisition, the Crusades, the Witch Trials and the pedophilia.

Those were only the big, historically public and shameful indiscretions. There were many more, less known errors in judgment.

The fact that the Church had survived throughout these times was indicative of the overwhelming power of God. Of this, Mark was convinced. He believed that the good the Church had done far outweighed the bad.

He believed in God. He believed in Jesus and all that went with being a good Catholic. He believed, too, in his Pope.

Sebastian Smythe and he had been friends since childhood in South Africa. Mark was the son of an American ex-patriot rancher while Sebastian’s parents were well-to-do real estate agents.

They’d attended school together in Durban and Johannesburg before being accepted to the Pontificia Università della Santa Croce in Rome. Here, Mark had mastered in Spiritual Theology; Sebastian took Dogmatic Theology. After graduation, they’d been separated for several years.

Mark had been assigned to the Archdiocese of Cape Town under Archbishop Theodore Adamson; Sebastian had gone to Pretoria. Sebastian’s rise through the ranks of the catholic hierarchy was near meteoric and he pulled Mark along with him – all the way to the Vatican, so that, in the last twenty years, they’d been nearly inseparable.

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Mark loved Sebastian like the sibling he’d never had, and he believed that Sebastian felt the same about him. Sebastian’s directive to meet with Monsignor Steiner was contrary to all that Mark believed.

That the Sodalitium Pianum still existed was beyond comprehension, that his Pope would direct him to put these fanatics to use, was unthinkable and so unlike Sebastian that Mark was thoroughly confounded. He would do his Pope’s bidding, only with great reluctance, and maybe he’d follow his own conscience, even it meant disobeying his boss.

Dressed in casual civilian attire, he worked his way through the mob. He’d left his official Vatican robes in his office. The red of a Vatican cardinal was sure to attract so much attention that he would never get through the crowd.

As it was, the going was slow. He paused frequently to listen to the talk going on around him.

There were people eagerly awaiting the Pope’s address, still six hours away; some were crying – some were praying.

Most of them believed that the Rapture was only moments away; others claimed it was all an American plot to discredit the Church; while still others believed the man was Jesus and wanted the mysterious documents revealed.

Every language, every possible and impossible scenario, invaded Mark’s ears as he sometimes had to force his way through the tightly woven knot of humanity.

It took him almost an hour to make his way to the banks of the Tiber along Via d’Conziliazione. Here, the throngs of people had thinned and, turning south, he reached the Cestius Bridge in less than five minutes.

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Across the sixty-five meter wide-island, just before the Fabricius Bridge leads to the opposite bank of the Tiber, was the ruin of a tower, once part of a fortress house built by the Caetani family in the Middle-Ages.

Often referred to as the Maid Tower, it was all that remained of the once formidable house, and it was here that Mark found the office of Monsignor Johann Steiner.

It is said that a first impression is a lasting one and Mark’s first impression of Steiner was not a good one.

Seated behind his large oak desk, Steiner neither rose nor offered a welcome as church protocol would dictate.

“Cardinal Johnson. I was wondering when you’d make an appearance.”

The breach of decorum set Mark’s teeth on edge.

His lips tightened at Steiner’s haughty attitude.

On the tip of his tongue was a strong rebuke of the man’s behavior, but he restrained himself, thinking rather that two could play this game.

Without acknowledging Steiner’s rank, a break from courtesy itself, Mark glared at the man and said, “You are aware of the situation I presume?”

Steiner’s insolent smile grew igniting more than the distaste within his superior, now he was fueling Mark’s anger.

“I know my job quite well. Of course, I am aware of the…situation…as you call it.”

The two men glared at each other. Mark knew that he should take charge and put the man in his place.

He also knew that an attempt to do so would fail and thereby, further Steiner’s arrogant attitude, putting Mark in a position of weakness.

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After all, what could Mark do to enforce protocol – rap the man’s knuckles with a ruler? Grab him up and out of his chair by the collar? That could prove difficult; Steiner was short but stocky and likely outweighed Mark by thirty or forty pounds.

Mark walked to the side of the desk forcing Steiner to look up and turn his head severely left.

Now, looming over the man, Mark felt in control.

Remaining silent, he scanned his opponent from the top of his crew cut, down his square jaw and pouting lips to the barrel chest and short beefy thighs.

‘Nazi’ is the image that flashed across Mark’s mind – make that ‘Neo Nazi’. His distaste of the man grew tenfold. Mark made a decision.

“You are directed to observe the events and provide His Holiness a report of your findings. You will take no action of any kind. You will not make an active investigation nor will you make any attempts, whatsoever, to contact the man calling himself Jesus.”

He paused and leaned forward until he was mere inches from Steiner’s face. Mark’s stare was direct; leaving no doubt that he would enforce his words, if necessary.

“Is that understood, Monsignor?”

Now, he used the man’s rank, but the tone was clear that it was spoken with great distaste.

Steiner met his glare without flinching. A slight smile tugged at the corner of his fat lips.

“I hear you…Eminence,” spitting the title as if actually calling him a bug, “but I know well my charter.

I am neither bound to, nor desirous of your…directives.

“I take my orders only from the Pope, himself; not through his lackey, and I find it very hard to believe that what you’ve delivered is the real message.”

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He rose to his feet forcing Mark to back away a couple of steps. “In fact, Eminence, why would you come at all to deliver a message that I should not pursue the subject?”

Mark was several inches taller than Steiner, and he glared down at him. “My words are those of His Holiness. Do you honestly think I would stoop to basement level and come here on my own accord?”

Steiner observed him, his eyes never leaving those of Mark’s. Seconds passed in silence before he seemed to have made up his mind about something.

Completely uncharacteristic and surprising to Mark, the stout man said, “As you say, Eminence.”

He bowed his head breaking eye contact for the first time and inexplicably, contrary to the past several minutes, appeared humble.

Mark could see no sense in continuing the discussion or addressing Steiner’s sudden change of attitude. He’d accomplished his mission – well, to the extent that he’d come and passed along a message from the pope.

The message wasn’t what the Pope wanted, but Mark simply could not in good conscience, tell this evil man to discredit or perhaps kill an innocent man. He was innocent, wasn’t he? Claiming to be Jesus, even if it were a lie, was not a sin or a crime, was it?

As far as Mark knew, the man had done no harm to anyone. Sure, he’d threatened the Church…but really, what could he do if the documents he requested weren’t released?

Mark was relatively certain they didn’t exist in the first place. As for damage to the Church, he was sure that the Church would survive as it had survived much worse over the years.

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The possibility remained that the man might be whom he claimed. Mark had given it a lot of thought over the past twenty-four hours. He didn’t really believe it, but neither did he completely discount the possibility.

Abruptly, he turned and walked to the door. “See to it that you follow those orders to the letter.”

He stopped and faced Steiner, still standing behind the desk with downcast eyes. “Your previous insolence will not go unreported.”

Outside the office door, Mark took a deep breath and let it out with a soft sigh. His legs were trembling as the adrenaline, built up during the meeting, dispersed from his bloodstream.

What an awful creature, he thought. He was glad that he had decided against relaying Sebastian’s complete message.

He resolved to confess his lie as soon as possible and live with his decision in good conscience.

As he descended the narrow, centuries-old stairs to the bottom of the tower, he realized that Steiner’s demeanor had changed only to get Mark out of his office.

Steiner would likely have seen through Mark’s words.

That he was an evil, hateful man was unquestionable.

Neither did Mark doubt that the man would do whatever he wanted, regardless of papal directive.

Steiner. German. Jews.

Mark stood at the bottom of the tower and looked north across the river. His mind drifted back to a time of official Christian bigotry that began in the Middle-Ages and lasted for more than three hundred years.

It began towards the end of the Renaissance period. The Church, infuriated by the Protestant schism, began a crusade against anything that was anti-Catholic.

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Pope Paul IV had only recently been elected when he directed that the entire Jewish community, be enclosed within a very small area that came to be called the Ghetto.

Following the Papal bull entitled “when enough is enough”, issued in 1555, three huge doors were built to completely enclose the Jewish community and control their coming and going.

Jews were not allowed to be outside the Ghetto between dusk and dawn. Severe punishment awaited any Jew caught outside the gates during the evening hours.

Conditions within the Ghetto were atrocious; three thousand people lived in an area less than eight acres in size, within crumbling buildings that were constantly in danger of flooding from the nearby Tiber River.

The only fresh water source was the public fountain in piazza Giudea, which was outside the gates; so, the hygienic conditions within the Ghetto were terrible.

There were many more atrocities committed on the Jews by the Papal State and only when it was finally replaced by an Italian secular government in 1870, were Jews, once again, allowed to live and roam the streets of Rome as free men and women.

Steiner. German. Jews. Mark turned and walked away from the tower back towards the Vatican. Then, there was the Holocaust, he thought, where once again the Church had contributed by agreeing not to interfere with Hitler’s plans. In fact, without the help of the Church – Hitler would never have come to power!

Halfway across the bridge, Mark pulled his cell phone from his pants pocket and dialed the number of the Captain of the Swiss Guards. He would order extra 193

security around the Pope and a watch on Monsignor Steiner. ***** Steiner dismissed Mark the instant he was out the door. What a fool the man was. As chief of the Sodalitium Pianum, only he Johann Steiner, was charged with the duty of eradicating heresy wherever he found it.

He didn’t need papal approval; only God’s approval was required, and he had received that the previous night.

He’d seen the news reports about Jesus, and although he expected the Pope to call him, he’d taken it upon himself to go directly to God for guidance.

While praying at his bedside, the Archangel Michael appeared in a clap of thunder and a brilliance that blinded him to everything, save an indistinct outline of a large figure of a man, carrying a sword.

The figure’s head almost touched the ceiling and his wings spanned the width of the entire room. The angel’s voice came from everywhere.

It reverberated off the walls, ceiling and floor; it consumed all space and time.

Later, Steiner found himself curled in the fetal position under his hard framed cot.

He was soaked with perspiration and shivering in the evenings’ coolness. He had lost all perception of time and had no idea how long he’d been under his bed.

Weak and soaked in sweaty clothes, he’d crawled from under the bed, only to collapse in a heap on top of it.

His mind whirled with visions and incoherent voices. Only after several minutes was he able to accurately separate the exact words of the Archangel from the cacophony of sounds within his head.

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He recalled the vision and Michael’s message.

Jesus was a false prophet. God demanded that he be destroyed to fulfill Bible prophecy and pave the way for the coming of the true Son of God. Steiner need not seek him out because the pretender would come to Rome.

He need only be vigilant and patient and, when the time came; he must act with speed and decisiveness to destroy him.

He need not think of his own, earthly survival in this task as his reward in Heaven would be greater than any martyr before him.

The thought of involving the other priests under his control within the Sodalitium Pianum never entered his mind; the Archangel had made it clear that this was his mission, direct from God – and his mission alone.

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CHAPTER NINETEEN “I shall not wholly die and a great part of me will escape the grave.” Horace (BC 65-8) Following the exit of the Elohim scientists, the inside of the tent had changed to resemble one in the style of the wealthy Bedouin in the middle of an Arabian desert.

Candles on tall stands surrounded the circumference of the tent; Persian carpets covered every inch of the floor. Jesus and his disciples sat upon thick pillows, twenty or more of every size and description surrounded a knee high table, upon which fruit, bread and wine awaited their pleasure.

“I could get used to this, really quickly,” Beth said.

“And you could,” Jesus replied. “You will soon be able to create anything you wish.”

Beth laughed softly, then stopped and turned to Jack; her fingers pressed against both temples, her narrowed eyes bored into Jack, pantomiming intense concentration.

After a few seconds, she shrugged her shoulders and said, “Didn’t work, I guess.”

Jack looked at her quizzically.

Jesus sent Beth a mental message, “You cannot alter another person’s emotions; and, in this case, it is unnecessary. Jack is already in love with you.”

Beth blushed and hoped that no one else had heard the message.

She glanced around at Jack and Kate quickly, then finally to Jesus’ smiling face. No. He’d spoken only to her.

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“What’s going on?” Jack asked.

Thinking quickly, Beth replied, “I was trying to turn you into a toad.”

“What?”

“Yeah, you know the story about the princess who kissed the toad, and he turned into a prince?” Beth thought that Jack had received the underlying meaning because now he blushed and smiled.

“You don’t have to turn me into a toad for a kiss.

Just ask!”

Her face inches from Jack’s, she whispered, “Kiss me.”

His lips brushed hers almost before she completed the request. It was a soft kiss that lasted all too briefly.

Their eyes remained fixed on each other; looks that promised much more to come, until Jesus spoke again.

“I think it’s finally the right time and place to explain why I have ‘called you here’as your saying goes.”

Seeing that he had their undivided attention, he continued, “As I’ve already alluded to Beth’s abilities to create whatever she wants, I shall start with her.”

Beth’s heart skipped a beat, and she inched closer to Jack, who automatically put his arm around her.

She didn’t know if she was prepared to hear what Jesus had to say.

She intuitively understood a great deal from Jesus’ previous remarks, but she was afraid to hear them spoken.

Jack’s close presence was a calming factor that she sought and welcomed.

“I’ve spoken of the spirit… God, that resides in each of you… in every human and living thing. The spirit is immortal. It is pure energy that cannot be destroyed or altered in any way.

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“It is invisible, except with the aid of very sophisticated equipment; equipment that your scientists are many years away from developing – if at all.

“At the time of physical death, the spirit leaves the body and ‘floats’, for lack of a better term, until it is attracted toward the vortex of new life.”

Beth already had a thousand questions but decided to keep them to herself, for the time being.

Jack had no such inhibitions. “Is this when the so-called near death experience occurs? We’ve all heard of people who were clinically dead and brought back to life through medical technologies.

“A great many talk about a brilliant light, floating above their dead body and seeing everything that goes on, but are unable to affect anything.”

“Yes, Jack,” Jesus answered, “to a degree.

“The spirit is the piece of God that I mentioned earlier, and it retains perfect memory of all of its incarnations. It carries an immense volume of history when it enters a new body, but is unable to directly influence the conscious, thinking mind of the human brain.”

He noticed that Beth was about to speak, and he held up his hand.

“I will explain more fully, but allow me to continue – uninterrupted.”

He smiled, but Beth, Jack and Kate all felt the gentle control he had exerted over all of them since the beginning.

Beth nodded, and Jesus continued.

“The physical body is also immortal in a sense, by passing along genetic codes through sons and daughters.

Genes are affected by many things ranging from inherited weakness, to environment, to food intake to…well, a 198

myriad of influences can combine to create genetic changes. Nature, or God, if you prefer, has, from the beginning, allowed for randomness. There is no control over how genes evolve. Scientists on every world have tried to control genetic development.

“Cloning is the closest any scientist has come to replicating a complete physical body; but, it is never one hundred percent, perfectly identical. At the very smallest level…the quark…there remain differences that, over time, expand themselves in ways uncontrollable and often times, unimaginable to their creator.”

Seeing the looks on the faces of his disciples, Jesus says, “I see I’ve confused you. I must, again, acknowledge that I am not a scientist, and my descriptions are rudimentary…at best.”

Beth glanced at her companions and said, “No, I think we understand. The spirit is a piece of God… immortal, and the quark is a physical piece of God that is not immortal, but as we’ve seen everything around us… unrestrained in random… development and growth?”

Jesus smiled, extending his arms above his head.

“Yes! That’s it exactly. I think if I give you an example, you will fully understand.”

He paused for only a second. “Beth, your physical body carries the spirit of someone who lived during my first life on this world. Actually… and I will use the personal pronoun for clarity sake… you… were a close friend of Maryam, Mary Magdalena as she is called today. Your name was Tisporrah.”

Jesus laughed when he saw Beth’s face show recognition and surprise at the name.

“No, you were not the wife of Moses. You are, however, a descendent of Moses and carried his wife’s name.

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“Two thousand years ago, as a close friend and confidante to Maryam, you were witness to almost all of the events that transpired just before and after my crucifixion. You met and fell in love with a Roman Centurion, Longinus, about a year before those final days in Jerusalem, and he had often accompanied you to hear my lessons. Longinus was the Roman in charge of my crucifixion.”

Beth gasped. Jack’s arm tightened around her shoulders. She was a descendant of Moses? The thought of it took her breath away but, before she could rationalize it all to herself, Jesus had taken a different tack and recaptured her attention.

“Let me talk now of a slightly different subject. I promise you will see the connection.” His radiant smile, appearing so often, was indicative of his emotional state; a state of being that broadcast wisdom and love beyond anything Beth had ever experienced. This emotion was so strong that, even without supernatural abilities, it could be felt and experienced by all who came into contact with him.

“Throughout the history of human kind on all parallel universes, Elohim have guided, and where necessary, forced a particular path of development or evolution. Are you all aware of the extremely short time it took for modern man to develop from the Neanderthal?”

He paused long enough to get a head nod from his audience. “Nature takes its course. Man did not evolve from apes; rather, it was an evolution separate, but related to the apes.

“Once the human form evolved, we visited this world and helped Mother Nature along through cross breeding.

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“Our advanced genetics created a huge springboard for your evolution. We continued this practice for hundreds of years, but we were never able to totally incorporate our complete genetic code into one single individual.

“We stopped the practice long ago and allowed nature to, once again, take her course; but, we continued to monitor your development. Our senses are highly tuned to recognize analogous beings and shortly after the inception of a special person here; one of our people picked up the signal.”

He paused and looked at Beth. “It was your signal, Beth.”

“Oh my God!” Beth covered her open mouth with both hands and closed her eyes. Jack pulled her close and stroked her hair while staring at Jesus in disbelief.

Kate reacted with a huge smile and leaned over to embrace Beth, as well.

Still hugging Beth, Jack leaned forward. “Okay.

First telepathy, then a couple of miracles, I use that term lightly; followed by what you call quantum leaping and then…major healing…no, make that resurrection.”

He glanced at Kate with an expression that apologized for the use of that particular word and then, realized that she didn’t know what had happened in her room earlier.

“And, if that wasn’t enough, now, we’ve got the spirit of a woman who lived during your time, inhabiting a body that over many generations developed a genetic structure that is exactly the same as yours. I suppose that means she can also do all the things you do?”

Without waiting for a reply, Jack plunged on.

“Tell me, please, that there are no more preposterous surprises in store for us?”

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To everyone’s surprise Jesus laughed. “The answer to your question is yes… Beth can, with very little training, do everything I can. She can heal the sick; raise the dead, quantum leap and much more.

“Recall the alleyway behind the cathedral in Cologne. It was she who took us to your hotel room. I was far too weak to carry myself, much less all three of us. Oh, yes, Jack… there is more.”

Beth stared at her fingers, clasped together in her lap and spoke above Jack’s groan though her voice was only slightly louder than a whisper.

“My mother was a university professor. My father was a biochemist. They both had IQ’s above 145.

They had my IQ tested when I was ten. I don’t know the score they wouldn’t tell me, and I never had any interest in testing it again, later.

“Plus…” she reflected, “… I’ve never been sick.

Not one day in my entire life. I was at a party when I was sixteen there was some bad food served. Everyone but me became ill. Some of them very ill, and one… a close friend of mine… died.”

She looked up, tears welling in her eyes. “If what you are saying is true…! The Truth… then death is only a passage to another life. My friend still lives.” She hadn’t asked a question, but Jesus was nodding his head in the affirmative.

“All of what you say is true, Beth. I would add that, due to your unique genetic make-up you age slower than your peers; your calendar age is forty-one, but your biological clock is much younger… less than half of that.”

“It’s like a light bulb has come on in my head.

Suddenly, there’s like a… a widening sense of awareness within my… my soul? Is that what’s happening?”

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“Yes, Beth. The spirit that resides in us all is confined by the conscious self. In a way, one of the beautiful things about human kind is the ability for selfdeliberation and that is manipulated by the conscious mind.

“The drawback to that is the conscious mind subjugates the spirit. The spirit becomes the servant… albeit a powerful servant of the physical, conscious mind.

Only when the conscious mind opens itself to the spirit, are you free to enjoy the full realm of possibilities that it can deliver. Until then, the spirit waits, continually trying to influence the conscious mind. Sometimes it succeeds and sometimes it doesn’t.

Jesus paused and changed direction. “Azaziah referred briefly to your ‘gut feeling’ or ‘my heart tells me’ as that inner voice within you; when your consciousness is struggling for an answer, a path to follow – the spirit, your subconscious, tells you what to do.

"All too often I’m afraid that little voice within you is ignored, and the wrong choice is made. Though, right and wrong are relative, is that not so?”

Kate, Beth and Jack listening intently to Jesus’ words all nodded their agreement.

“So, to answer your question, Beth, yes… you have given over your conscious mind to your subconscious… your spirit. Your awareness of all things will continue to expand, and you will be guided by thousands of years of wisdom and experience; for your spirit carries the memories of all previous lives and connects to an encyclopedia of millions of kindred spirits.

“All you need to do is tap that source. All that is required is that you believe, and allow your conscious mind to open itself to your spirit.”

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Beth gasped and clutched Jack. Her eyes were as wide as Jack could imagine, but he could also see that she was looking inward.

Kate would likely say that Beth was ‘spacing out’.

Jack had more questions.

“Why go about “breeding” humans on other worlds; why not populate every world with your own race?”

“To put it simply, Jack; it is not our way. For many hundreds of years, our charter…our mission has been to help human kind, wherever it is found, to develop at their own pace. We can, and do, push things along.

Many of your most notable scientists, philosophers, and teachers are offspring of our efforts.

“There have been several events in your history that we have contributed to, beginning with the discovery of fire, through the bronze and iron ages, the industrial revolution and much more.

"To populate your world with Elohim would be wrong. For one thing, it would reduce a large number of souls the opportunity to live in a physical body and thereby grow in brilliance."

Jack shook his head. “I don’t understand – ‘grow in brilliance’?”

Jesus nodded at Jack’s consternation and replied, “Remember that the spirit is a servant to the human conscious mind. A conscious mind that is helpful of others, that grows in belief, brotherhood and unity with God and all things that are God, increases in brilliance. It can become a light so bright that, if visible to the human eye, would instantly cause blindness.

“Conversely, a conscious mind that leads the soul to harm others, to be unmindful of society, and refute unity with God, darkens the soul. The spirit has no defense, and, if too much… for lack of a better term…

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“sin” is absorbed by the spirit it loses its strength. That spirit cannot migrate to another human physical body, only to lesser creatures such as reptiles, insects and fish…”

“To dogs, cats, or…bears?” Jack asked.

Jesus laughed. “All mammals are equal to human kind, Jack.”

“What? Humans and other mammals are equal? I can’t believe that.”

The conversation stopped, as Beth, who had been silently rocking back and forth with eyes closed awoke from her self-induced meditative trance.

As if she had been a part of the conversation all along she said, “And there is a hierarchy among mammals, isn’t there?”

“Indeed there is Beth. Dogs and their lineage are among the most precious of bodies that a spirit can inhabit; followed by dolphins, cats, bears and so on.

“Conversely, mammals that humans consume for food, such as cows, pigs and wild animals are special in other ways.

“A spirit that enters such a physical creature has specific reasons known only to them for that decision. I assure you, though, it is a voluntary decision.”

That last comment brought raised, almost disbelieving eyebrows from Jack and Kate. Neither chose to pursue that line of thought, however.

Instead, Jack asked. “Why, dogs? If I remember correctly, pigs, a consumable animal, are the most intelligent among mammals, followed by dolphins, I think…”

“Have you ever owned a dog, Jack?” Beth asked.

“Have you ever seen a creature that was closer to pure love than a dog?”

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Not waiting for an answer, Beth said, “You can do almost anything to a dog and it will still be your friend. A dog constantly seeks your approval and love.”

“Love is the key word,” Jesus added. “The spirit is an emotional entity. It reacts to emotions more so than thoughts and ideas.

“If you are happy; if your conscious mind is upbeat and positive, good things come to you. If, on the other hand, you are unhappy, angry, fearful or negative in your thoughts, these emotions create negativity within the spirit and bad things will come to you.”

Silence fell upon the group for several seconds, each with their own thoughts. They all knew, at a base level, what Jesus was talking about; but getting one’s head around such a concept was difficult.

While Jack and Kate pondered, Jesus and Beth were carrying on a telepathic conversation.

Finally, Beth nodded and grabbed both of Jack’s hands.

“You once asked, “why us?”

“Yes, I remember. But that’s not the question any longer. We know, now…why you.”

He paused, looking intensely into her eyes.

“With your newly found awareness can you enlighten Kate and me, why we are here or shall we wait for Jesus?”

Beth’s smile matched that of Jesus in its radiance.

“Oh, yes, Jack…I can,” she sighed.

Looking to Kate, Beth extended a hand to her while gripping Jack’s with the other and said, “I know both of you, very well.”

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CHAPTER TWENTY “All truths are easy to understand once they are discovered; the point is to discover them.”

Galileo Galilei In his penthouse suite, atop the Luxor Hotel in Las Vegas, Carl Eagle sat in the middle of his living room, facing the expanse of picture windows that provided a stunning view of the city.

The view meant nothing to him at the moment. In the traditional lotus position, Carl’s eyes were closed and his mind was running at top speed, searching for Jesus’ spiritual signal.

Every mammal, every creature with enough brain to create thought and emotion emits an energy signature that permeates throughout the world, from the smallest mouse to the largest elephants and whales; from ape to man – the essence of their spirit pervades space and time.

Carl was well versed in the physical and chemical applications that actualize the phenomenon, and knowing that the genetic structure of the brain, coupled with the strength of the spirit determines the reach of the emanation; he thought he’d have very little problem locating Jesus.

When, however, he found more than a hundred such signatures spread all over the globe, he was stunned.

This plane on the planet was getting much too crowded.

He would have to do this more often, he decided; and, if the growth continued he would have to do something about it.

Leaving this world, however, was not one of the potential alternatives. Carl had too large a stake here, and he was not about to share or give it up to others of ‘his 207

kind’ who had come here on some mission of mercy, scientific expedition or immigration plan.

Carl considered any human with advanced DNA any being with, for this world, supernatural abilities – to be “his kind.”

He knew of several worlds where humans like him thrived and he knew intuitively, that there were many he was unaware of on this multi-universe planet and far beyond, in other galaxies.

Demons were a good example. After five thousand years in a universe that was three hundred billion light years from planet Earth, he discovered these parasitic creatures only after he arrived in this world.

Carl, born Mazin, to rich merchant parents in the city of Antioch, Syria, grew up as a normal boy. He learned the family’s trade and was adept at the business, often suggesting ideas to his father that produced great increases in the business’ net worth.

At the age of fifteen, Mazin had a dream. It was during this dream that his ages old spirit awakened, and from then on, nothing could stop him.

By the time of Jesus’ birth, Mazin had expanded his business dealings to the Far East and Europe, becoming one of the richest merchants in the known world.

It was a year or so after Jesus’ crucifixion, and the Apostle Peter’s arrival in Antioch, that Mazin had first gotten a glimpse of what he later came to know as a demon spirit. It had been brief, and he’d not had the time to challenge or query the spirit, but he’d seen proof positive that such existed.

In a cave, just outside the city, Peter had set up a small tent and went about preaching Jesus’ message to the people that daily gathered by the hundreds. Following 208

his sermons, Peter would heal the sick that were brought to him.

Mazin had gone to see this famous man who was said to have walked with Jesus. He was not only curious, but also concerned, because ever since the future Saints arrival, the market emptied every afternoon as the people went to listen to Peter’s lessons, and be healed of their ailments.

An old woman brought forth her twenty-year-old son for healing. She explained to Peter that her son began complaining of headaches.

She had noticed that during these painful ‘spells’, his eyes would turn black, “like the darkest, starless night.” She explained that he would often speak a strange language that no one could understand.

The woman had looked around at the people watching and listening. She leaned close to Peter and whispered in his ear.

Mazin heard the brief and, for her, embarrassing confession; her son constantly took himself in hand, seeking sexual relief.

The spilling of a man’s seed anywhere outside the womb had, for hundreds of years, been considered a most abominable sin.

The Apostle had grimly nodded and spoken to the crowd.

“Hear me! This young man is afflicted with an evil spirit; an entity that has been cast out from God’s redeeming grace. In the name of Yeshua, our Lord and Savior, I will cast the demon from God’s creature and nevermore will he be afflicted.”

Peter performed a ceremony of sorts. It would be a dozen more years before the rite of exorcism was fully established and integrated in the Church’s catechism.

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At the conclusion of the ritual, the young man had screamed, and flopped along the ground like a landed fish before suddenly stopping and crying like a newborn baby.

Just after the young man’s convulsions ceased, Mazin had been the only witness to the ‘evil’ spirits banishment from the man’s body.

He saw the demons body in a dimension invisible to the human eye. The dark spirit was horrific in nature, like nothing Mazin had seen before.

It separated from the boy’s body, screaming and kicking as it rose until Mazin lost sight of it through the energy field that separated this world from another.

Over the years, by following the growth of the Church of Rome, later to be known as the Roman Catholic Church; Mazin had run across more and more of these living beings, called demons.

He’d determined from whence they came, as well as their purpose on this world and decided they were of no consequence to him, personally.

He knew that every spirit originates from the Source and each of these entities have free will.

They can go where they wish, live physical lives or not; they can move from one galaxy to the next in the blink of an eye and they are eternal.

As long as the demon spirits left him alone, he would leave them alone.

The Church of Rome, however, was not as lenient on these poor souls.

When a spirit animates a physical body, it experiences a large gamut of experiences and emotions.

It guides the body through life, and during this venture, the conscious thoughts of the mind overrides the spirit’s will and does things that darken the spirit.

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The darkness that seeps in and covers the spirit can only be expiated after physical death, when the spirit reunites with the Light and undergoes a period of cleansing and rejuvenation.

Demons are spirits that have been severely blackened during a specific or multiple lifetimes and, as spirits possess complete free will, they’ve chosen not to rejoin the Light.

Instead, they drift among the worlds and seek opportunity to gain a new physical body. The demon spirits invade the body and push the resident spirit either out of the body completely, or into a corner, where it is held helpless to intervene.

So, it was on this world where Carl, as Mazin, had first come up against immoral spirits inhabiting the physical bodies of a rather large number of humans. He thought them to be gruesome creatures that had no physical body of their own, but took up residence within the jejunum of humans, and proceeded to use the body for their own devices.

From sexual assault, to murder, to cannibalism, these spirits displayed the characteristics of past lives on other worlds – traits that were considered taboo on this world.

Church leadership, of course, recognized the people afflicted with this spiritual invasion and the opportunity to cite their abnormalities as the devil’s doing. They were marked as minions working for Satan, and Church officials went to great lengths to either destroy the physical body or rid the human victims of the devil’s spawn through elaborate rituals.

The Spanish and French Inquisitions were perfect examples of how the Church dispensed with ritual and simply destroyed the physical body.

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Often, they were wrong. There were no demons inhabiting most of the bodies they claimed to be possessed.

The Church specifically trained priests to perform exorcism rituals on the afflicted Christians, and it became one of their best recruitment tools as their Lord God was always given the credit for freeing the victim of the demons.

Demons turned out to be one of the many reasons Carl avoided the Church unless he could use them in whatever goal he had set for himself.

In fact, he had used several popes over the past eight hundred years to assist him in achieving his objectives; these of which changed from time to time but invariably centered on his hunger for power.

Carl was not after wealth or fame or love. With the exception of the latter, he could simply create any amount of money he wanted or needed.

Here, money incurred a degree of fame and it allowed one to be eccentric and as reclusive as one desired.

Carl’s spirit was that of a player and an actor. He enjoyed the challenges that came with manipulating people and things; playing different roles and pushing others to react to factors that he put into play.

Everything on this world was a game for him.

Unlike some players, who participated in sports and games for the fun of it, Carl always played to win.

It mattered not what the game was – his aim was to win at any cost, and his goal here was complete domination of every living thing.

After almost an hour of meditation he received a very strong signal. He knew intuitively that this must be Jesus.

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It was stronger than any other, and the pure brilliance of the emission indicated a being with the strongest degree of love that he had ever encountered.

A part of him was awed by the tremendous emotional dimensions this signal carried - it was pure love.

Carl knew love. He was well aware of the emotion. In his case, however, the sole beneficiary of his love was his own ego.

A human psychiatrist on this world, if given the opportunity to examine him would only have one diagnosis – Carl Eagle was acutely sociopathic and very likely psychopathic, as well.

Carl’s mind turned southwest from where he sat, and Jesus’ signal strengthened. With little effort, he was able to follow the beacon back to its source and identify its origin to be in the proximity of Landers, California.

A review of the encyclopedia that was his conscious mind told him that the genesis of the beam came from the vortex at Giant Rock, and within seconds he was physically standing outside the tent in which Jesus and his three new disciples were meeting.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE “There is one thing one has to have: either a soul that is cheerful by nature; or a soul made cheerful by work, love, art, and knowledge.”

Friedrich Nietzsche “Kate…Jack, if this had not just happened to me, I would hardly believe it myself; but, I think I should try to explain something to you before I go on and tell you what I know about each of you… well, all of us, I should say.

“Within the last several minutes, I did what Jesus suggested and opened my mind to all possibilities.

Really, the only thing I knew to do was meditate. I started deep breathing; eliminating conscious thought and almost instantly my psyche was inundated with images… memories that spanned hundreds of years.

“It was like watching film footage in high speed and consciously, I only caught a scene here and there.

When it was over…I don’t know…two or three minutes, I guess…everything went black and then…

“Imagine opening huge double doors of a giant structure. As the doors separated a fraction of an inch, an intense brilliance flowed through the crack. It was a light, but not a light. I’m sorry I simply can’t explain it, but, it flowed through the doors and grew in size and intensity the further I pulled and widened the gap between the two doors.

“When my arms reached their maximum, I released the doors, but they continued to open until they no longer existed and I was completely immersed in this brilliance.

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“It lasted, I don’t know, five, ten seconds? It vanished, and I was left with… well… knowledge.

“Like, someone opened my head and force fed my brain every history book, every encyclopedia, every thought and emotion that I…my spirit, has had for years and years.”

“Like an epiphany?” Kate asked.

“It was much more than that, Kate.”

Beth could see that while both Kate and Jack wanted to understand, they couldn’t really cope with the magnitude of what she was trying to tell them.

“I am going to test my wings,” she said. “I’m going to show you a time, long ago, when our three spirits were present together. It was the night before Jesus’ crucifixion.”

Her eyes sparkled, and Jesus gave her an approving smile.

Jack sat up straighter, alert. Kate glanced at Jesus, and then shivered as an image burst upon her consciousness. ***** Nisan 14, the fifth hour of night Tisporrah sat at an old wooden table in the center of a spacious home in Jerusalem.

The house belonged to Yosef of Arimathea who was pacing back and forth in front of her.

“Yeshua refused to participate in his own defense.

Why would he do that? The entire Seventy-One, except Moses, of course, was present, and everyone tried to think of ways to save him, but…Kaiaphas has no other recourse but to turn him over to Pilatus and he…

Yosef lowered his voice to almost a whisper, “… he will surely order Yeshua crucified.”

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“No!” Tisporrah gasped.

“If they were truly intent on saving Yeshua, they would have found a way; but, their real fear is an uprising when the people learn of his death. You know yourself the strong following he has.

“Why, the Zealots alone number in the tens of thousands, and Yeshua’s death is the spark they’ve long sought to strike against the Romans… a very foolish action as we all know; the Romans will descend upon Jerusalem with a vengeance that will cause the death of every Jew and the total destruction of this city and…

“I almost had them swayed until Kaiaphas told the council of Dysmas’ confession in which he had implicated Yeshua. Lies, of course, but that ignorant fool is already in the Roman’s hands and can’t be…”

A loud knock interrupted him, and Tisporrah stood to open the door. A tall Roman Centurion stood before her, and she sprang into his arms.

“Thank God, you have come, Longinus, something terrible has happened, and I pray God you can help us.”

He kissed her and said, “I know, Tisporrah, I was there when Yeshua was delivered to Pilatus.”

He turned, revealing a woman standing behind him.

“Maryam!”

Releasing Longinus, Tisporrah hugged the woman. “We’ve been so worried about you. Where have you been…you know about Yeshua? Of course, you do.

Oh, Maryam, whatever are we to do?”

Maryam, an inch taller than her friend, Tisporrah, hugged her tight and whispered, “Yes, my love, I know. I have been…well, let us all get inside before we are seen. We can ill afford to be arrested for 216

being on the street on the eve of the Pesach… I’ve much to tell you.”

There were only three chairs around the table.

Yosef, Tisporrah, and Maryam sat while Longinus remained standing, his arms crossed over his leather and armor plated chest.

Maryam set a small wooden box on the table and to distract their attention from it, for the time being, she began talking.

“We cannot save Yeshua from the cross, but we can still save him.”

She paused, and a tear trickled down her cheek.

“Oh, how I wish the stranger had spoken to me before the Sanhedrin took Yeshua. I am afraid for him, the pain he must suffer…”

No one spoke, each with their thoughts about the suffering that their teacher, their Lord, would have to endure.

Crucifixion was the most brutal death any of them could imagine. Nailed through the wrists and feet, hanging from the cross, it was a slow death from asphyxiation.

That was bad, but the worst was the breaking of the leg bones to speed the process if the victim hadn’t died soon enough to suit the Romans.

Maryam pulled herself together, picked her head up and said, “The stranger is a man… like Yeshua… from another world…”

“Another world? Of course, Yeshua is from another world, he is the Messiah, whether he admits it or not… he…” Yosef began but was cut off by Maryam.

“No. He has never said that he was the Messiah because he isn’t. The prophecies are lies designed hundreds of years ago to give hope to our people.

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“If you had listened more closely to Yeshua’s teachings, you would have understood.”

Thinking perhaps, that her admonishment had shocked her friends and telling them that they had not listened closely was counterproductive.

She had had her own difficulties even when Yeshua had told her explicitly what his origins were and why he was here.

“I am sorry, my friends, I did not mean to cast aspersion on your belief in our Lord. Let me start again from the beginning.

“Over a year ago, Yeshua spoke to me of many things that he trusted no one else to know.

“He was dismayed at all the talk of his being the Messiah or that he was a bastard of the Roman, Pantera.

“He feared that these rumors would create misunderstandings that could negate his true mission.

That’s what he called it… a mission.”

She looked at Longinus and saw him nod, he understood the word mission. Tisporrah and Yosef could only stare, speechless as Maryam told her story.

“He told me that he comes from a…a parallel universe… another world that is far advanced from ours.

“He came here to guide people to the truth about God. He hoped to put an end to the rituals and laws put upon us by years of tradition, and the lies about God and sin… about good and evil.

“He came to help us understand so that we could cast aside the oppression imposed upon us by the Romans and, yes, our own leaders… the Sanhedrin, even as we lived under their rule.”

She saw the disbelief on their faces and hurried on, “I know it is hard to understand.”

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She chuckled softly, “It was difficult for me, too… at first; but as he talked, an awareness came over me.

Perhaps it was because I love him so much. Perhaps it was the ways his voice often entered my head and spoke directly to my soul… I don’t know.

“I do know that I experienced an awakening, and all the cobwebs in my mind disappeared. From then on, I heard his words more clearly; I understood not only what he said, but the amazing truth of God and life.”

Again she paused, her eyes questioning her listeners. Did they understand? Had she confused them more?

Surprisingly, Longinus was the first to speak. “I know nothing of other worlds. I do know that Yeshua’s words touched me deeply, and I recognized how much of what he taught could be attributed to my own life… answers to the questions I have pondered for many years.

I, for one, believe you, Maryam… but, he will die on the cross tomorrow. You mentioned that we could still save him…how?”

Maryam smiled. “Thank you, Longinus.”

Yosef’s gaze was everywhere but on his fellow conspirators. He thought back on all that Yeshua had talked about, and though he could find no connection to another world, he realized that his teachings could easily come from another world. His teachings were unorthodox, at the very least.

Tisporrah had eyes only for Longinus. The love in her eyes was evident. After a few moments, she turned to Maryam. “I am with Longinus. I believe what you have told us.”

She leaned toward Maryam, her voice full of certainty and eagerness to learn of the plan to save Yeshua. “You mentioned a stranger?”

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“Yes, the stranger.” Maryam clasped her hands together and leaned across the table, catching everyone’s attention with her eyes.

“The stranger is also from another world, the same as that from which Yeshua comes. If we can deliver Yeshua to him alive… he will take him…,” she closed her eyes tightly shut and took a deep breath, “he will take him back home, back to his world,” she whispered.

Opening her eyes, Maryam saw the trust in her friends faces; she also saw concern.

For the first time, Yosef spoke. “Obviously, you met with this stranger; does he appear to be… trustworthy?”

“Yes. He is much like our own Yeshua; he speaks softly, but with authority and confidence.”

“I should not even ask how he will accomplish this travel between worlds. More importantly for us… how do we get Yeshua to him alive?”

They could all see that Maryam was holding back tears. Whether it was because they were all siding with her, believing her or, whether it was because she was destined to lose Yeshua in either eventuality; he would die or he would be gone – out of this world.

Maryam pulled a glass vial from inside her tunic where she had hung it on a leather thong.

She placed it on the table and, choking a sob into a semblance of a laugh said, “This should be proof of Yeshua and the stranger’s other worldliness.

“Have any of you ever seen such a jar? You see that it is clear with a cap of some kind that screws onto the top, holding the liquid inside? Such a jar and sealing method is certainly unknown to me.”

Longinus moved closer for a better look, but like Tisporrah and Yosef, made no move to touch it.

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The wonder of the thing was obvious as they stared at the bottle.

Maryam grabbed Longinus, her small hand hardly able to wrap around his leather covered wrist.

“You are with Pilatus’ personal guard. Can you assign yourself to be in charge of the crucifixion?”

“It will not be easy, Maryam. I am not normally assigned such duty.

“Although, the Prefect knows that I have attended some of Yeshua’s teachings; he believes I was doing so in order to catch Yeshua in a treasonous act or speech."

He glanced at the others, insuring through their eyes that they knew he hadn't done that. Assured that no one even considered such a thing he continued, "I think I can convince him that I had heard some things and that I personally want to preside over his death.”

Seeming satisfied with his own plan, he nodded.

“Yes, I think I can do that.”

“Good. This is for you. You must ensure that Yeshua gets this. He must drink it.

“The stranger tells me that it will cause him to fall into a deep sleep that can easily be mistaken for death. It is like belladonna… you know of belladonna?”

Longinus and Yosef both nodded.

“Yes. It is like belladonna, but… more powerful.

Yeshua will not be able to move a muscle and his breathing will slow to such an extent that it will be impossible for anyone to see.”

She tugged hard on Longinus’ arm.

“He must get this before any of the soldiers can break his legs,” she stressed.

Again, Longinus nodded his understanding. If his legs are broken he will die quickly, and nothing any of them could do would be fast enough to save him.

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Maryam spread her arms, and Yosef and Tisporrah immediately grasped her hands. “Yosef, you are a friend of Pilatus. Can you convince him to give over Yeshua’s body for burial in your family’s tomb?

“You could say that it would only be temporary, until after the Passover, and his body can be taken to Nazareth and placed in his family’s ossuary.”

Yosef grimaced. “I am not a friend of Pilatus.

He considers me so, but I assure you… I think him an animal!”

He gripped her hand tighter. “But, yes, I think I can do that. It is common practice to release the body to family so that he can be buried before sundown, according to our traditions. Pilatus knows that I am acquainted with Yeshua.”

He paused and raised his eyebrows. “I only hope I don’t come under suspicion and get myself arrested.”

“I think that if you were under suspicion, you would already have been arrested.”

Without waiting for a comment, she continued. “If we can accomplish these things and get him to the tomb… alive; the stranger will tend to him from there to Masada.

I can’t explain why, but according to the stranger it is only from Masada that he can bring Yeshua to real safety.”

“How will we get Yeshua to Masada? It is a full day’s ride on horseback, and it’s dangerous.”

“I have arranged for two horses and a wagon.

Traveling at night, we should have no trouble, and be in Masada by dawn. I will go with the stranger and Yesua.”

“Yes, it is a good plan. I will go, as well.”

Longinus said.

“Yes, me, too,” added Tisporrah. Before Yosef could himself volunteer, Maryam cut him off.

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“No, Yosef. You must stay here. If the Romans come looking for you and find you gone, they will realize that your efforts to have Yeshua’s body placed in your family tomb were a ruse, and we might not have a big enough head start.”

She looked at Tisporrah and Longinus. “I will be there for Yeshua during his ordeal; Tisporrah, I hope that you will be by my side?”

“Of course, I will, Maryam.”

“Longinus, I am not sure…won’t you be missed, like Yosef?”

“As commander of the execution, I will post guards at the tomb, two friends that have served with me for many years, and stay with them until we take Yeshua out. My soldiers are loyal to me they will not give us away and afterwards; I have no plans of returning to the Legion, Jerusalem or Rome.”

He reached for Tisporrah’s hand. “I hope that you will accompany me, wherever it is we go?”

“Yes, my love, wherever you go, so, too, shall I.” Maryam stood, and Yosef, Longinus and Tisporrah moved toward her to form a tight group.

Joining hands between them, Yosef said, “Let us pray that God will grant us success, that Yeshua will be saved and that we all will live to spread his word.”

The prayer was short and Maryam suddenly remembered the box she’d placed on the table.

“Longinus, there is one more thing I must ask of you.”

She took the box and held it up. “Inside this box are three documents. Yeshua wrote two of them, and I wrote the third. There is also something that I cannot explain. It is a small thing that Yeshua produced and placed with the papyrus. He tried to explain what it was, but I simply don’t understand.

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“He told me that if he was ever arrested, I should put this in the hands of someone I trusted; someone who is not Jewish and not connected with me or him.”

She pushed the box into his hands. “You are the only one I know who meets these requirements. I trust you, Longinus.”

He took it from her hands and bounced it up and down, judging the weight. He noticed that its heft came only from the iron wood; whatever was inside was almost negligible.

He saw, too that the lid was sealed to the bottom portion with melted lead. He looked at Maryam with raised eyebrows.

“It must not come into the hands of anyone alive today… especially not the Romans or the Sanhedrin. The best thing would be to bury it, somewhere far away and forget about it. I’m sorry. I cannot tell you why this should be so. I am only passing along Yeshua’s wishes.”

Yosef came back to the group after checking outside. “We should disperse. It is nearing the seventh hour of night. Pilatus has surely received Yeshua by now, and I should get over there.”

“Yes,” added Longinus. “I, too, should be going.

Rest assured, Maryam, I will follow the plan.”

“As shall I,” Yosef added.

Longinus pulled Tisporrah to him and kissed her.

It was a long kiss, a loving kiss, and still, it ended too soon for both.

Yosef was already out the door. The two women watched the men leave.

“We must pray for strength, Tisporrah - strength for Yeshua and all of us. The next days will be the hardest of our lives.” She pulled the younger woman into her arms.

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Tisporrah buried her face in the luxurious hair of her friend and said, “You’re going with him, aren’t you?”

She felt Maryam’s heartbeat against her cheek as Maryam’s arms tightened their embrace.

For several seconds she didn’t answer, and then she whispered. “I carry his child.”

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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO “It sounds like hocus pocus, but scientists are coming to realize that just thinking about something can make it happen. Turns out maybe faith can move mountains.”

Christine Anderson on Quantum Physics Dr. William Barnes looked up as one of his agents entered his office and tossed a couple of typed pages on his desk.

“What’s this?” He asked, picking up the paper and reaching for his reading glasses at the same time.

“It’s Jack’s Foxhole, a blog posted at 6 a.m. this morning, local time. Jack Schmidt. He’s writing about Jesus, and there’s a couple of interesting parts. I’ve highlighted them for you.”

Barnes quickly scanned both pages, but slowed down when he got to the highlighted portions; these he read aloud. “…disappears in an alley behind the cathedral…nothing about that in any of the news or our own intelligence reports.”

Further down he read about his friend at the scene who understood Jesus as he spoke in Aramaic. He looked up at the agent, “I suppose you’re going to tell me that our Dr. Washburn speaks Aramaic, as well as, Greek, Latin, Hebrew and Arabic?”

“Yes sir, she does.”

Barnes lay the papers down and leaned back in his chair. “It’s circumstantial but enough for me. It’s a good thing we put her on our wanted list.”

“I’d be willing to bet that Jack Schmidt was at the scene, too. If he keeps posting his blog, we might get some clues as to their whereabouts.”

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“Agreed, but I would think him smarter than that.

Regardless, keep on it and let me know if anything breaks…especially concerning the FBI.” “Done,” said the agent and left the office as Barnes picked up his phone.

“Julie, get the gang in here. Five minutes, please.”

“Yes sir,” his secretary responded.

Barnes leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. His hunch regarding Dr. Washburn now seemed better than ever.

Every CIA agent around the world had their pictures, as well as the agencies of friendly nations.

He was optimistic that they would get a call on a lead soon and when it came, they would have to act quickly.

His intercom buzzed, startling him out of his cogitation.

“Yes, Julie?”

“Sir, Agent O’Reilly would like to speak to you.”

“Send him in. Thanks.”

Agent O’Reilly had been a field agent for less than a year.

While still in college he’d been selected through a series of tests given by the Noetic Institute as part of their search for people with latent or active paranormal abilities.

His scores on the beta test were enough to get him an invite to the Institute and there, he’d demonstrated some amazing potential. After graduation, he’d applied for the CIA and was subsequently assigned to Barnes.

Barnes looked up as the diminutive red head entered his office. He seemed excited, and Barnes had to suppress a smile… the eagerness of youth, he thought.

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“What can I do for you, Jackie?”

Standing almost at attention in front of his chief’s desk, O’Reilly started his report.

“Sir, I justgotthisfromthemole…”

“Whoa, son…slow down!” Barnes chuckled. “I don’t understand a thing you’re saying.”

The young man looked down at his shoes, took a deep breath and looked over Barnes’ shoulder.

“Sir, I just got a report from our mole inside the FBI. He says that the Feds had Jesus and his group cornered in…” he glanced down a piece of paper in his hand, “… Kate Barrow’s apartment.

“They were unable to detain either Jesus… or the others, but they did capture the detective thought to be the shooter at Lincoln Memorial this morning.”

“So, the Feds blew another one,” Barnes laughed.

“Well, it’s not the first and won’t be the last time.

I’m glad to hear that they goofed though. We’ll play hell getting our hands on Jesus if they get to him first.

Thanks, Jackie, I appreciate…”

Jackie was bouncing on his toes, waiting for an opportunity to give his boss the really interesting news.

“Sir… sir, that’s… that’s not all!”

At Barnes’ raised eyebrows, Jackie continued, “Sir, they were alerted to Miss Barrow’s house when Jesus and two others, believed to be Jack Schmidt, and an unknown woman, appeared and entered the apartment building.”

Barnes held his hand up; Jackie stopped talking.

He knew that the FBI was watching Kate Barrow for the same reasons he was looking for Schmidt and Dr. Washburn.

“You said, ‘appeared’… what do you mean by that?”

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Jackie smiled, “Yes sir, that’s the thing, sir… according to the report, one minute the street was empty and then…bang, there they were… standing in front of the apartment house.”

Barnes’ pulse picked up speed. This was another example of this guy’s talents. He had to get his hands on him, he…

“Sir, there’s more…”

Barnes slapped his hands on the armrests of his chair and leaned forward.

“Well, come on then… out with it; what more could there be?”

Jackie had been gaining confidence throughout his report, but now he was a little intimidated by his boss’ impatience.

“Sir, the FBI planted a tracer on Miss Barrow.”

Barnes leaned forward, his eyes telling the young agent that this was news and to get on with it.

“During their interrogation of Miss Barrow, they staged an… accident or something and planted a tracer.”

He paused, took another deep breath and continued before his boss jumped across the desk.

“Sir, after they were unable to capture the group… they checked their computers… they can track her via satellite, and they’ve located her in… sir, she’s in California, a place called Giant Rock. The FBI is on their way out there… uh, right now, I think.”

Christ! Barnes ran his fingers through his hair.

“OK, Jackie… great report. You’ve done well. Thanks.”

He dismissed the young agent with the wave of one hand while pressing his intercom call button with the other.

By the time his secretary answered, Agent O’Reilly was gone.

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“Julie? Get Luke Kensington on the phone for me, will you? If the team is out there, send them in.

Thanks.”

The door opened as he released the intercom button and his “A-Team” entered the office.

The A-Team consisted of four people, three men and one woman. All of them doubled up their duties.

They were all highly trained and experienced field agents and, they were also well- educated parapsychologists.

Without preamble and without asking anyone to take a seat, Randall stood and said, “There’s been some breaking news that requires our immediate action. I’ve just learned that the FBI…” A blinking white light on his phone interrupted him, and, holding a wait-a-minute finger up to the team he picked up the phone.

“Luke? Randy. The FBI is on their way to a place called Giant Rock… it’s in California. You know of it? Yeah… the UFO place.”

He listened for several seconds. “Yeah, I think that’s what we need.... Who’s closest, Delta Force or Seals? ... Okay... Good... Yes, we’ll link up with them on site... You’re sure they understand how we want to do this? ... NLW, right? ... OK. Great... Thanks.”

He put the phone down and looked at the team.

Several of the team members were nodding their heads.

Even though they’d only heard a one-sided conversation with Kensington they were smart folks that could intuit the other side of the conversation and read between the lines.

Besides that, they’d all heard of Giant Rock, it was part of the training base for agents destined to work in the Noetic Department.

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“Sorry for the interruption, but you heard the news. That was Luke Kensington, Defense Department Ops. Apparently, the FBI managed to get a tracer onto or into Kate Barrows. After blowing a chance at arresting Jesus, Jack Schmidt and Doctor Washburn… yes, she’s confirmed now to be part of it… the whole group of them disappeared in front of the FBI’s noses.

“It’s a good thing the FBI had that tracer on Barrows. It indicates that she, and undoubtedly the others, as well, is now in California, a place called Giant Rock.

“The FBI assumes that Jesus took them all out of there and is sending a team to make another attempt at containing them. Our source on this is reliable, and we need to get there first. Kensington has a Delta Force team training at Yuma. He can get them to Giant Rock in less than an hour. We should not be far behind them. I’ll meet you all at the helipad in five minutes.”

“One question, Chief,” a senior field agent asked.

“How did you get the Department of Defense to agree to deploy a Delta Force team with Non-Lethal Weapon technology?”

The agent hadn’t expected an answer and was already turning to leave as Barnes chuckled, waving him off.

The group moved out of the office laughing and talking amongst themselves. They expected this to be an exciting field trip. Without going through his secretary, Barnes called the agent in charge of flight operations.

“Simon? I need to fly in five minutes. Including me, there will be five of us going out, hopefully nine coming back. The Blackhawk can handle that, right?

Destination is Giant Rock, near Landers, California. Can do?”

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Simon responded in the affirmative and without another word, Randall hung up, grabbed a jacket – the desert gets cold at night – and headed for the helipad.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE “Belief consists in accepting the affirmations of the soul; unbelief, in denying them.”

Ralph Waldo Emerson The tent’s light was dimmer when the movie that had been playing in Jack and Kate’s mind ended.

Jesus appeared to be in a deep trance, and Jack turned his attention to Beth.

Smiling radiantly, she squeezed his hand. When Jack failed to return the smile, Beth’s vanished, and she looked at him with concern.

“Jack? Are you okay?”

Her hand in his was shaking. He released it and wordlessly rested his palm against her cheek. She leaned her face into it, but, her glowing eyes never left his.

Jack caught Beth’s eyes, and the smile slowly formed. He leaned forward and her lips met his halfway.

“You were Tisporrah, Kate was Maryam and I…was… Longinus.”

It wasn’t a question, but Beth answered, “Yes, my love, and that wasn’t the only time we’ve been together; it was, in fact, the fourth of twenty-one lifetimes we’ve shared.”

She leaned closer and whispered in his ear.

“Although a very dim memory, our first time together was five hundred thousand years ago.”

Jack chuckled and shook his head in wonder. “No way.”

“Yes, way. We were what are now classified as Homo heidelbergensis and about three hundred thousand years later that genetics branch became Homo sapiens idaltu, the first ‘modern man’. We lived in Africa.”

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Ever the skeptic, Jack held her face with both hands, staring into her eyes. He couldn’t explain what he was looking for – truth, perhaps.

“Beth, I’m having trouble dealing with all of this.

It’s all so…fast. In the space of less than two days, my entire belief system has been shattered.

“I want to believe, but it’s all so… fantastic that…

I mean just minutes ago you were Doctor Elizabeth Washburn and now… now you’re a super being… a goddess or something.”

She pulled him close. She kissed his lips without breaking eye contact. “No, not a goddess; I am no different than you or Kate or Jesus. Well, except for the genetics thing.”

She sighed. “I realize that it is easier for me because I always believed in something greater than myself; greater than humanity as we know it. It’s easier for me too, I suppose because of the different gene structure that Jesus claims I have and in the past half an hour I’ve come to know that he’s not… yanking my chain as you might say.”

She laughed and said, “You know, about a hundred and fifty thousand years ago there was a woman called, Mitochondrial Eve. She is the most recent female ancestor to all humans alive today.”

She glanced at Jesus who had come out of his trance and was hugging Kate. Imagine, it took Jesus two thousand years to find his soul mate again, and they look as if it had only been a day.

Turning back to Jack, she shrugged her shoulders and resumed their conversation.

“It appears that I am the most modern version of this woman; the Elohimdrial Eve is what they’ll be calling me someday.”

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She laughed. “I’m kidding… maybe. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you and I are true soul mates.

“We’ve lived many lives together, and I’m so happy to have found you again. I know this to be true, Jack. I believe it with all my heart and soul. Surely, you feel something…?”

Jack pulled her head to his chest and stroked her hair. “I do, Beth. I know it in my heart and soul, too; it’s just so damned hard to throw off all that I’ve known to now.”

Beth nodded and hugged him tighter. They held each in silence for several minutes. Jack’s mind was still churning over the vision from the past that Beth had provided. “So, in the vision, Kate was Maryam or Mary Magdalena as we know her?”

Jesus entered the conversation. “Yes, Jack, and unlike you and Beth,” He glanced at Kate, “we have only shared one lifetime. We lost each other the night after I was whisked away, back to my world and Kate was left behind.”

“But, why didn’t she go with you as she planned.

She was pregnant with your child and…”

“Our technology then was not what it is now. The scientist that rescued me would not take her. I was in bad shape, healing to be sure; but, I was falling in and out of consciousness unable to fully concentrate on what was happening around me.”

“Why wouldn’t the scientist take her?” Beth asked.

Jesus shrugged and gave Kate a look of apology.

“He was afraid that her genetic structure would not survive teleportation. Although we knew, at the time, the power of the mind and spirit, in practical use we were 235

still in the infancy stages. We used machines to travel between worlds.”

“Like Star Trek?” Jack asked.

“Yes,” Jesus laughed, “well… nearly like that.”

Kate took both of Jesus’ hands in hers and asked, “What happened to me… to Maryam?”

Jesus sighed. “You… Maryam, returned to Jerusalem where she gave birth to our son, Judah.

“She continued to teach my philosophy to those who would listen until the Jewish uprising in A.D. sixtysix, when the Romans attacked and destroyed Jerusalem; she and Judah were killed.”

Noticing Kate’s tears and wanting to dispel the emotional low, he hurried on. “At the time, we were unable to track spirits, we lost contact with Maryam’s, and it was only recently that we were able to identify her spirit in the body of Kate Barrow.

“Fortunately, that discovery coincided with those of Jack and Beth and, as you all know, tensions in this world are on the breaking point. It was time for us to intervene.”

“Why didn’t you come back for me before I was killed?” Kate whispered.

Jesus held her close and stroked her hair. “It wasn’t possible. Several of our teachers and scientists were killed during teleportation. In fact, Azaziah and I were the last to survive such a trip.

“The Council ordered a complete shutdown until the systems could be one-hundred percent reliable. By that time, you and Judah had perished in the Roman attack.

“What about Judah’s spirit?” Beth asked.

Jesus slowly shook his head. “We’ve never been able to find his spirit again.”

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“And Tisporrah and Longinus, what became of them?” Jack grinned at Beth and added, “Us.” Jesus nodded, but suddenly seemed distracted.

After a moment’s pause, he said, “Longinus and Tisporrah fled with Yosef of Arimathea. With his connections there were able to get ship’s passage as far away from Roman rule as possible. They landed in Britannia in AD 36.”

Jesus’ attention was again elsewhere, but after a smile at Beth, Jack dismissed his inattention and asked, “What about the mysterious box and its contents? Is that why I’m part of this?”

After a short time, Jesus’ attention returned to the group. “Yes,” he said, “the box that was given to you… to Longinus, contains the documents I seek. Only your spirit knows where it is. Tisporrah was killed before you hid it, and Yosef was badly injured in the same attack.”

Beth gasped and then, perhaps realizing that she had no reason to be upset about dying two thousand years ago, lightly laughed and said, “We all gotta go sometime, right?”

Jesus lifted a hand, directing silence. “Someone is here,” he whispered. “He is not of this world.”

Several minutes passed in silence.

“He’s gone,” Jesus said, “Now, someone else is coming.”

Before anyone could react, the tent and all of its trappings – lights, tables, rugs - everything disappeared.

The night crashed in on them, leaving only the stars and a half moon in the clear sky to provide illumination.

Jack patted Jesus on the shoulder. “Smart move.”

Jesus simply nodded.

Beth pulled Kate close, and all four looked in the 237

direction of the approaching helicopter. It was still several miles away, and the thump of the rotor blades was dim.

Jack, ever the soldier, was instantly in combat mode. He knew that the chopper would arrive in a minute or less, and he looked around for a place for them to hide, but didn’t immediately see anything.

He wasn’t looking forward to leap-frogging from boulder to boulder; although that seemed to be the only choice.

It dawned on him then; they didn’t have to worry about hiding. Jesus – and now, Beth – could take them out of here in an instant. He relaxed a little but retained a large degree of caution and concern.

“We should leap out of here, don’t you think?”

He asked to no one in particular.

Beth looked to Jesus who said, “I think we shall wait and see who comes.”

“What if they come in shooting?”

Jesus turned to Jack and said, “I very much doubt they will do that. Whoever it is, I’m certain they want me… us… alive.”

Jack wasn’t as confident but, he said, “Okay, you’re the boss.”

Although he understood the rationality in what Jesus said, he still felt uncomfortable. He acknowledged Jesus’ superiority, but he thought him a bit naïve when it came to the human nature of his “primitive” cousins on this world.

He moved closer to Beth and took her free hand, the one not already wrapped around Kate’s trembling shoulders.

Beth, leaned towards Kate and whispered, “Relax, there’s nothing to worry about.”

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Kate did not respond, and Beth cast a worried look at Jack. He shook his head slightly and squeezed her hand.

The sound of the chopper grew, and Jack recognized the unique sound of the double bladed CH-47 Chinook helicopter. The Army used these large aircraft to transport troops and equipment. He doubted they were bringing in equipment on this trip.

“Listen, that’s not police or anyone remotely friendly. Unless I’m missing something, that chopper is bringing in troops… probably Delta Force.”

Beth said, “You were Delta Force, weren’t you?

Maybe you know some of them?”

Jack couldn’t believe she could be so casual about this. “You don’t understand, Beth…”

“I think Jack is correct in his evaluation, but still, I want to see firsthand what their intentions are.”

Jesus closed the gap between himself and the others, putting his arm around Kate’s shoulders from the opposite side to Beth.

“If necessary, we will leap to Beth’s apartment in Heidelberg.” He leaned forward to see Beth. She caught his eyes and nodded.

The helicopter’s sixteen hundred watt searchlight suddenly blazed into their eyes, temporarily blinding them.

When Jack could see again, the bird had landed, and troops were flowing out both sides of the aircraft, moving in an arc that would quickly surround their targets.

Jesus remained still, and Beth shared his equanimity. Jack was tense and ready to run.

Kate was worse off. She shook so hard that Jack could feel her through Beth. He was worried about her, 239

but at the same time, confident that Jesus and Beth had control of her.

Suddenly, Jesus said, “The other is here again; he that’s not of this world. Can you feel him, Beth?”

“No, I…” “He has intermingled with the auras of the soldiers, but he is here. I wonder who he is?”

The elite Delta Force soldiers had nearly surrounded them when Kate bolted.

Other than her severe case of trembling, she gave no sign that she was about to run. She hadn’t screamed, or indicated in any way, that her conscious mind had taken full control, and the ages old fight or flight rule, was all that she was thinking.

With only a slight whimper, she broke free of Beth and Jesus and before anyone could react, was running across the moonlit desert.

Jack whirled around and took off after her, but she already had a hefty head start, and she was fast, as adrenaline furiously pumped into her body, giving her temporary, but extraordinary strength.

When Kate took off, Carl Eagle saw his chance to stir things up. He knew that the Delta Force team was outfitted with non-lethal ammunition, but that was easily changed.

He quickly found a soldier that was mentally less strong than his comrades and began working his thoughts into the soldier’s consciousness. Simultaneously, he caused the rubberized bullets inside the weapons magazine to change.

In a second, these had evolved to the standard 5.56 millimeter ball round used in the Army’s M4 carbine.

Kate was almost around the side of the largest 240

boulder for which this place was named, with Jack only two steps behind her when Carl telepathically gave the order.

The solder raised his weapon and fired.

Jack felt the bullet pass within a quarter inch of his left ear and heard the impact as it buried itself in the back of Kate’s head.

Kate’s body flew forward several feet, carried by the momentum of the bullet, and lay sprawled, face down in the sand.

Impervious to the bullets whizzing around him and only remotely aware of the screams to cease fire echoing across the desert; Jack scooped Kate up and threw her over his shoulder without breaking stride.

He ran around the rock and dove into a large opening in the sand, underneath Giant Rock. Somewhere in the far reaches of his mind, he knew that he had landed in what used to be the home of the legendary Van Tessel.

A prospector named Frank Critzer had actually carved the dwelling out. It contained several rooms and Van Tessel had used it as home for him and his wife when they moved here in 1947 and began building the Integratron.

Most of the habitat was gone now, with only a few vertical eight by eight’s marking where past walls had been, but Jack’s attention was solely on Kate, not the history of Giant rock.

He had only just begun his examination, sure that she was already dead when Jesus and Beth appeared.

Jack backed away as Jesus laid hands on Kate. In the dark, it was hard to see the emotion on Jesus’ face, but his voice was clearly upset.

“She’s still alive, but barely. I cannot… I cannot help her. Her brain has been too severely damaged.”

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Beth knelt beside him. “Can I help? Is there anything I can do?”

“No, Beth. I must get her to my world, as quickly as possible. It is the only way to save her.”

He pulled Kate into his arms and stood. “You and Jack should leave here. I will be back… soon, and I will find you. Perhaps, you can work with Jack to discover the whereabouts of the box?”

Beth nodded. Jesus smiled, kissed her cheek and was gone.

Beth turned to see Jack at the entrance to the cave.

She joined him.

“Jesus has taken Kate to his world.”

Jack nodded.

The soldiers were closing in, and they heard the whop-whop of another helicopter. Jack could tell that this one was distinctively smaller than the Chinook, but he didn’t want to wait around.

Four soldiers appeared at the outer edge of the cave weapons raised. Jack hugged Beth and said, “Let’s get out of here… please.”

Beth grinned.

With a final wave to the soldiers, Jack and Beth disappeared.

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EPILOGUE “There comes a time when the mind takes a higher plane of knowledge but can never prove how it got there. All great discoveries have involved such a leap.”

Albert Einstein CNN International’s Charlie Porter opened the morning news program saying, “New developments in the Jesus story today…”

The camera panned to co-anchor, Margaret Ling, “That’s right, Charlie, although nothing new on the possible Jesus himself since the shooting incident at the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, D.C. Police have been unable to locate the man who claims to be Jesus, who apparently disappeared into thin air after being shot by Detective Mathew Martinson of the D.C.P.D.” “So, still no sign of this Jesus, but there are large gatherings of people at every Catholic cathedral around the globe. In particular, reports of more than one hundred thousand have assembled in and around Saint Peter’s Basilica, in Rome anticipating the Pope’s announcement later today.”

“Any idea what the Pope will talk about?”

“All we know, so far, Margaret, is that the Catholic Pontiff plans to comment on the claims and threats made by the supposed Jesus.”

“And it’s not just Catholics is it, Charlie?”

“No, it’s not. We have reports of similar assemblies in protestant churches all over America and the United Kingdom but, in most cases, the gatherings have been peaceful with many people coming together to pray; not so elsewhere.”

“That’s right. In Egypt, Libya, Jordan and 243

Indonesia violence has broken out between Christians and Muslims. An especially bloody confrontation, with more than one hundred people injured, broke out in Cairo…” ***** J.J Mortensen had been expecting the red phone to ring all morning. He had caught himself up on the Jesus story and was as prepared as he could be when the call finally came through.

“There will be a change of plans,” Alpha’s voice crackled over the phone.

“Yes, I thought there might be. Jesus was shot. I suspect he will not be making an appearance in Jerusalem.”

“You know nothing.”

Alpha seemed upset and apparently J.J.’s thoughts were neither warranted nor accepted. He caught his breath and waited. It wasn’t a long wait.

“Put the mission on hold. There has been a slight deviation, but he will be back.”

J.J. wanted to ask about the deviation. He wanted to know what Alpha knew about Jesus, but he was certainly not going to risk asking.

“Okay. I’ll insure that the team is ready to move on your orders.”

“Yes, insure you do.”

The phone went dead in J.J.’s ear. ***** The Delta Force team had left the area, leaving only Dr. Barnes and his agents at Giant Rock.

An investigation would be conducted regarding the live ammunition in one of the soldier’s weapons and why the hell he fired it in the first place.

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Right now, Barnes stood in the sand watching the FBI helicopter land. Barnes stood his ground waiting for the FBI team leader to approach.

He stuck out his hand. “Bill Barnes.”

“Randy Green.”

They shook hands and each of them checked out the other’s agents.

“Randy, I think it time we started working together, don’t you?”

Randy thought about it. As loath as he was to work with the CIA, he had asked Jill to contact the Noetic Institute and share information and he was beginning to think he was never going to be able to tie Jesus down without help. “Yes, Bill, I think that would be a good idea. What happened here?”

Bill filled him in and finished with, “We think one of the women, likely Kate Barrow was shot.

“It was an accident. The soldiers were supposed to be using non-lethal ammunition. There will be an investigation, but…”

“Kate Barrow… are you sure?”

“We’re pretty sure. Why don’t you have your tech check his computer and tell us where she is?”

Randy was taken aback, “You know about that?”

Bill smiled.

Randy chuckled and shrugged.

He looked over Bill’s shoulder and called, “Pierce, what have we got on the tracker?”

Pierce was way ahead of him; he’d already located her. “Sir…I think this thing is broken.”

“What do you mean, broken?”

The man stepped beside him and showed his boss the laptop screen. “According to this, sir…she’s eight miles above a point in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.”

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***** Jack looked around Beth’s apartment. He liked what he saw. It was old, but very well maintained.

Sparingly furnished, what was there was tasteful and a collective of modern and antique pieces. “Very nice,” he said.

“Thank you. I’ve really enjoyed living here but, I think I won’t be here much longer.”

Jack hugged her. “I hope Kate is alright. Do you think Jesus got her to his world in time?”

“Oh, Jack…I hope so. It’s so sad. Why would those soldiers shoot at us?”

“I don’t know but, I think it was a mistake of some kind.” He stroked her hair and continued, “I mean, if those guys were Delta…and, I’m pretty sure they were; they would have been more disciplined than to fire a shot, even if they were using non-lethal ammunition. No, something went wrong.”

“It doesn’t matter now, does it? Kate’s badly wounded, maybe dead,” Beth wasn’t satisfied with Jack’s answer or his “understanding” of what happened. She was mad.

Jack felt it and tried to cool her off. “The good thing is that Jesus surely got Kate, wherever he took her, in time.

“Another good thing is that we now know to take nothing for granted when encountering the FBI or whoever it was that sent Delta out there.”

He let go of Beth and walked to the window. The view of the Neckar River and Heidelberg’s old town were beautiful. He sighed and turned around. “Why the hell did we wait in the first place?”

Beth sat on an antique sofa. “Jesus was trying to identify the stranger. I didn’t feel his presence, at first; 246

but, then I did and…I’m not sure but I think that whoever he was, he had something to do with the “mistake” as you call it.”

Jack joined her on the sofa. He took her in his arms. “I love you, Doctor Washburn.”

“Oh, Jack, I love you, too,” she said and kissed him.

For several moments they held each other, each in their own thoughts until Jack suddenly realized that Beth could be reading his thoughts.

He jerked back and held her at arm's length.

Beth was startled and then laughed at the face he was making.

“Okay. I promise,” she said.

Surprised, Jack said, “You read my mind just then, didn’t you?”

Beth nodded.

“I was just about to ask you not to do that.”

“I know. I won’t again.”

“Promise?”

“Yes.” He smiled and pulled her back into his arms.

“What’s next?” ”We’re going on a treasure hunt.” #####

This concludes EPISODE I OF THE IMAGINE TRILOGY

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NO HELL EPISODE II OF THE IMAGINE TRILOGY Following Fact or Fiction

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS Obviously, my first words of thanks go to my wife of thirty years. She’s supported me in everything I’ve done or tried to do… thick and thin, soul-mates forever.

Carol Powney, copy editor extraordinaire, thanks for the hard work, meeting short deadlines and being a friend.

Special thanks to Tiffani Hollis at Ampersand H. Book Design and Marketing. She rescued me from the stormy seas of indie marketing, did a complete makeover of my book covers, and established my presence across the various social media. Thanks to Anne Marie Stoddard, Tiffani’s partner for introducing, managing and holding my hand through the first blog tour!

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FACT OR FICTION? The Imagine Trilogy is most assuredly fiction. As with many good stories however, the premises of these books are based upon historical facts, scientific studies or widely known conspiracy theories. I’ve taken artistic license with several of these themes to include the historicity of Jesus, conspiracy theories regarding his crucifixion, paranormal / supernatural studies, as well as, scientific theories.

The Historicity of Jesus: All of the major religions of the world assert that Jesus was, indeed, a living person of the first century C.E. Who he was and what he was about remains points of contention.

Christians believe him to be the Son of God and the Savior of mankind who sacrificed his own life in atonement for the sins of all.

Muslims believe him to have been one of four Major Prophets (Moses, David, Jesus and Mohammad) who were given a book by Allah and directed to accomplish tasks that would ultimately lead to Mohammad and the Koran.

Moses was given the Torah, David the Psalms and Jesus the Gospels.

Typically, a Muslim believes that Jesus (or Isa as he is known in the Koran) was only a man and prophet sent by Allah to proclaim the coming of Mohammad.

According to the beliefs of Judaism, he was an ordinary Jewish man and preacher, executed by the Romans for speaking out against Roman authority and abuses.

The requirements of Messiah, as promised in the Torah, could not be attributed to Jesus. These are: 1) an 250

observant Jewish man descended from the house of King David, 2) an ordinary human being, 3) (he would) bring peace to the world, 4) gather all Jews back into Israel, 5) rebuild the ancient Temple in Jerusalem and 6) unite humanity in the worship of the Jewish God and Torah observance.

Jesus failed to meet these criteria. It has been argued that he met the first requirement and spoke often of the third; however, the remaining four were beyond his abilities.

There are, of course, those who believe that Jesus never lived at all. They will argue: “How could the Son of God, or a Major Prophet or a revolutionary Jew escape mention by the noted documenters of Roman and Jewish history - Tacitus, Eusebius and Josephus - among others?” The short answer is, “Hmmm…”

The Jewish historian, Josephus (37 to 100 CE) wrote in his famous work, Testimonium Flavianum, "the testimony of Josephus," a subtitle within the Jewish Antiquities (written around 80 CE): “At that time there appeared Jesus, a wise man, if indeed someone should call him a man; for he was a doer of startling deeds, a teacher a teacher of people who receive the truth with pleasure. And he gained a following both among many Jews and among many of Greek origin. He was the Messiah. And when Pilate, because of an accusation made by the leading men among us, condemned him to the cross, those who had loved him previously did not cease to do so.

“For he appeared to them on the third day, living again, just as the divine prophets had spoken of these and countless other wondrous things about him. And up until this very day the tribe of Christians, named after him, has not died out.”

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The italicized words in the verse were so obviously interjected into the paragraph by a Christian scribe that even Christian apologists, after 1600 years of flaunting its authenticity and proof of Jesus as the Messiah, have acknowledged that it is likely a forgery and abandoned the verse.

Though forsaken by the Church, the verse does indicate the historicity of a Rabbi named Jesus, who was scorned by the Sanhedrin (Jewish ‘Supreme Court’) and turned over to the Romans as a rebel.

During the time of Jesus’ life, magic was considered a major sin among the Jews and was punishable by stoning. The miracles attributed to Jesus turning water into wine, healing the sick, feeding thousands with a few loaves of bread and fish, and raising the dead would certainly have resulted in his death, had Jesus not had a large following among his people, in particular the Jewish rebels of Roman occupation.

The Sanhedrin were wary of Jesus’ influence among their people and feared condemning him to death would set him up as a martyr. A better way to get rid of him was to turn him over to the Romans.

Among pagans, however, magic was greatly esteemed and the best magicians were often considered gods.

Simon Magus, a Sumerian, is the best known among this small group and there will be more about Simon in book two, ‘Treasure’.

Mary Magdalena has been described as a whore or a magician, depending upon whose account you read.

Even the Bible provides conflicting accounts of who she was and how she came to be a ‘disciple’, or not, of Jesus.

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Conspiracies abound that she was, indeed, a magician of sorts who came under the protection of Jesus.

It is also widely believed (among non-Christians) that she was Jesus' wife and that they produced a child.

The Swoon Theory: There are several variations on the sequence and details of the events, but essentially all versions postulate that Jesus did not die on the cross; rather, he was merely unconscious when removed from the cross and secreted away to a private tomb belonging to Joseph of Arimethea (a disciple of Jesus, while also a member of the 'Seventy-One', the Sanhedrin).

He then recovered and was seen among his disciples or, left the country with a pregnant Mary Magdalena. His destination, in this instance, remains unknown, although India or France are the most commonly discussed possibilities. There is a wealth of information about these theories on the internet.

Artistic license is a wonderful thing for fiction writers, and this theory got full treatment in Disciples by adding a completely new adaptation to the argument.

Paranormal / Supernatural Abilities: The history of mankind is full of stories about people who practiced or, were said to have demonstrated, fantastic feats that were considered to be in the realm of gods.

Jesus was but one of these, except that in his case these acts are called miracles.

Today, examples of telepathy, telekinesis, astral projection, psychic healing and the actual existence of a spiritual entity in living creatures have been demonstrated and documented.

Okay, not necessarily scientifically proven, so let's simply state that accounts have been published.

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Though rare, and limited to very few, the scientifically documented events, in particular in the areas of telepathy and psychic healing, are proof that such things are at least possible.

Could not these abilities have been evident two or ten thousand years ago? Of course, they could have.

Could these abilities also be attributed to aliens or visitors from a parallel universe? With what we know today and the long strides being made in studies of quantum physics and human consciousness; the answer has to be that yes, it is entirely possible.

The Institute of Noetic Studies, IONS, in California, USA, are world leaders in experimenting, examining, testing and documenting paranormal, psychically induced phenomena.

The institute was widely publicized in Dan Brown’s, “The Lost Symbol” as having conducted experiments that prove the existence and departure of a soul shortly after physical death.

According to the fictional account, the spirit is energy with mass and weight. Anything with mass and weight can be measured.

The fictional experiment noted an instantaneous weight loss after physical death.

An actual experiment was conducted by Dr. Duncan MacDougall of Haverhill, Massachusetts in 1907. His experiments were crude and largely disdained, but he did discover a measurable loss of weight - 3/4's of an ounce - at time of death that could not be explained by any other physical activity.

His conclusion: He'd proven the existence of the human soul.

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Quantum Physics: The Second Advent trilogy takes full advantage in expanding upon three quantum physics theories - entanglement, string and the manyworlds hypotheses.

Rather than a detailed explanation of each of these theories, below are excerpts from innovative, unorthodox physicists - past and present - who are discovering no conflict at all between physics and belief in the paranormal and the afterlife.

Indeed they are showing that the phenomena we now call “paranormal” are normal and consistent with the laws of science.

Professor Fred Alan Wolf sums up [his] view when he writes: I believe that the findings of quantum physics increasingly support Plato [who taught that there is a more perfect, non-material realm of existence].

There is evidence that suggests the existence of a non-material, non-physical universe that has a reality even though it might not as yet be clearly perceptible to our senses and scientific instrumentation. When we consider out-of-body experiences, shamanic journeys and lucid dream states, though they cannot be replicated in the true scientific sense, they also point to the existence of non-material dimensions of reality.

Professor Dr Ernst Senkowski is a professor of physics and electronics who conducted intensive paranormal and afterlife research for over twenty years.

Dr Senkowski repeatedly obtained positive paranormal and ‘afterlife’ results.

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He and several others have published books arguing that materialist science is incomplete and therefore unable to adequately account for positive paranormal evidence.

They urge the acceptance of a new paradigm or worldview which includes psychic phenomena and the existence of multiple universes including the so-called afterlife.

Professor John Bokris in his book The New Paradigm--A Confrontation Between Physics and the Paranormal Phenomena (2005) discusses the evidence for the paranormal, including telepathy, near-death experiences, out-of-body travel, reincarnation, apparitions, possession, distant healing, and other phenomena.

He concludes that other concepts such as the paranormal, theories about consciousness, and interconnectedness must be integrated into science to enable a superior understanding of reality.

His central proposal is that we are living in a “synchronized universe,” one layer of which we see and interact with and are synchronized with. This is what we identify as the “real” universe. There are other universes alongside this, he argues, which are just as real as this one.

This, he states, “begins to offer a way to understand how the soul, the center of human consciousness, can exist in a permanent form, surviving human death.

It offers a useful beginning to a deeper understanding of the universe and of ourselves.”

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Dr. Claude Swanson, has collated the “best evidence” illustrating the inadequacy of our present scientific paradigm.

In his book, The Synchronized Universe, he describes scientifically controlled remote viewing and ESP experiments, demonstrations of long-range healing, psychokinetic's (mind over matter), scientifically controlled experiments in levitation, teleportation (quantum leaping) and out of body phenomena (OBE) (astral projection).

Dr. Larry Dossey, MD, Healing Beyond the Body and Reinventing Medicine.

“A historic development is occurring: compelling evidence is being produced by admirable scientific experiments revealing a dimension of consciousness which has been (largely) ignored within conventional science. This aspect of the mind functions infinitely – non-locally - beyond the body and outside the present moment.

These findings are of incalculable importance because of their implications for the nature, origin, and destiny of consciousness.”

And finally: A great deal of research was devoted to paranormal abilities, quantum physics theories and historical characters, locations and events.

This research, coupled with life-long experiences, were given a whirl in a large blender, enriched with fantasy, science fiction and conspiracies to produce this fictional account of Jesus' second coming.

The blender is still whirring away, with new ingredients added as I continue to learn about and discover hidden secrets.

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PREVIEW

NO HELL EPISODE II OF THE IMAGINE TRILOGY CHAPTER ONE "I will teach you the Truth and the Path leading to the Truth" Buddha Agent Markus Stark had been on duty for almost eight hours when he noticed a curtain move in Dr. Washburn's apartment. Immediately, he picked up his BlackBerry and called in the event to his coordinator who answered on the second ring.

"Jacobs."

"Stark. I spotted a curtain moving in subject's apartment. The windows are closed, it wasn't the wind."

"Okay. I'll get back-up out there. Fifteen minutes - out."

After the call disconnected, Stark switched to his text messages and read his instructions for the hundredth time.

"If spotted, Jesus, Dr. Washburn, Jack Schmidt and Kate Barrow are to be covertly subdued and taken to the nearest American Consulate or Embassy. Sufficient force necessary to subdue subject(s) is authorized.

Deadly Force is NOT authorized."

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Laying the phone on the passenger seat, Stark pulled the Taser from its holster under his arm and checked to insure it was fully charged and ready to fire.

Stark was a ten year veteran of the Central Intelligence Agency, although his official employment status was that of Attaché to the American Consulate in Frankfurt, Germany.

He was currently assigned to 'Operation Jesus' and part of a three man surveillance team, working eight hour shifts, outside the apartment of Doctor Elizabeth Washburn.

Stark was mission oriented.

Accomplishing whatever mission assigned to him was paramount; but, he was the curious type and the news that had been the top story, all over the world, the last couple of days, was of great interest to him.

Although the international newscasts hadn’t mentioned Doctor Washburn, Jack Schmidt or Kate Barrow until this morning; all of the world’s intelligence and police agencies knew of them.

As soon as the FBI made the connections following the shooting incident in Washington, all of the authoritative agencies in the world were notified.

He wondered how the other three were involved.

He wouldn't have been sent out here if Doctor Washburn wasn't positively linked to Jesus, he knew that.

Stark could see a thin link between Jesus and Doctor Washburn, but it was very thin and largely circumstantial. She was a well-known professor of theology and she'd advised the CIA after the attacks of September, 11. He hoped to have an opportunity to talk to her before he turned her over.

The other two confused him. Jack Schmidt retired Army - Special Forces, and currently a popular 259

blog writer that was anti-organized religion; and, Kate Barrow, a university film student.

How could they possibly be a part of all of this?

The Jesus story itself was interesting. Stark wasn't a religious man so the accounts of his return did not bring about any kind of fear concerning the end of days; nor was he particularly concerned that the man was really Jesus reincarnated.

He was glad to be a part of this story, small though his part was. Like his father before him who had fought in the Vietnam War and lived through the turmoil of racial integration, Stark would have his piece of a world changing event.

While he sat outside Doctor Washburn's apartment, the thought that he might get inside information, enough to write a book about it, ran through his mind. He smiled at the idea, "The Jesus Event - The Inside Story" by Markus Stark, ex-CIA. He looked back at the apartment, but could detect no further signs of life; however, he never questioned his initial sighting. He had seen the curtain move. There was no doubt in his mind.

He glanced at his watch. What's keeping them?

His rear view mirror suddenly filled with a black, Ford Expedition. It stopped beside him and Markus identified the agent in the passenger seat with a nod.

As the Expedition pulled into a parking spot ahead of him, Mark jumped from his car and with hardly a glance at the others, moved towards the apartment building.

They'd follow and he was eager to get into the apartment before the suspects fled. ***** 260

“Jack's Foxhole”

by Jack Schmidt “Religion is regarded by the common people as true, by the wise as false, and by the rulers as useful.” - Seneca So much has happened since my last post, that I feel the need to break my normal routine of weekly updates.

If you'll recall a few days ago, I wrote about the strange appearance of a man who called himself Jesus.

In that article I referred to a "friend" who was present at the Kölner Dom and knowledgeable of the facts of this event…well, I misled you all a little bit. I was also there.

I'd been "invited" by a mysterious note, delivered by an unknown homeless man. The note was addressed to me, by name, and suggested I would gather some interesting information for my blog were I to be at the Cathedral at a particular time. That was interesting, to say the least, and enough of a lure that I couldn't resist the call.

I won't rehash what has been all over the international news the past day and a half. I would like to talk about my personal experiences with Jesus that the media corps knows nothing about - yet.

I wrote the last posting from my hotel room in Cologne, Germany. Since then, I've been to Washington, D.C., California and I am presently writing from an apartment in Heidelberg, Germany.

Yes, you read that correctly. Approximately seventeen thousand traveled miles in a little over ten hours. Impossible, you're thinking?

I would certainly have agreed twelve hours ago.

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Now, I know it for a fact. You might be thinking about science fiction, that teleportation is the only way something like that could've been done.

You're almost correct - but, only almost.

According to Jesus, it's called 'quantum leaping'. There are no machines required.

All that's needed is the energy one can generate with the subconscious mind. I hear your moans and groans. Jack Schmidt, anti-everything religious has found religion. Wrong.

Jack Schmidt has been duped by some hypnotist or other type of scalawag. Wrong.

Jack Schmidt has had his eyes opened. Right!

Jesus is not what he appears. He is not the Jesus of the New Testament. He is not the God or the son of God. He is human. He comes from an advanced parallel universe and his people are called "Elohim".

He has amazing supernatural powers. I've seen these demonstrated. In the past twelve hours or so, I've seen him heal his own bullet wound; an injury that for most people would have been fatal without immediate and professional medical attention.

You've heard the news reports that he'd been shot in Washington, D.C? Less than ten minutes after he had been shot in Washington, he appeared before my friend and me in Germany.

In those few minutes, he had not only travelled thousands of miles, he had healed to the extent that the bleeding had stopped and the entry and exit wounds were closing - without stitches or clamps.

I know gunshot wounds. He should have died.

The bullet had ripped through the subclavian artery and he should have bled to death in a matter of minutes.

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In Washington, I saw him save the life of a young woman who had been accidently shot in the neck, and reanimate a man who was - dead.

In California, I witnessed the appearance of a tent, complete with interior furnishings and food. It all appeared, from nothing, in the wink of an eye.

I traveled to those places via quantum leaping and all that was required was holding Jesus' hand.

All of this with the power of the human mind, an advanced consciousness, to be sure. He is, however, human. He is neither alien nor god.

No, I'm not on drugs. There is no LSD in my medicine cabinet.

So, here are some final thoughts to leave you with: - Jesus says there is no omniscient, human-like being called God, but there is most certainly a God. - He says that God is everything that a person can see, feel, taste, hear and smell, plus the all elusive sixth sense - mental or extrasensory perception.

- He says that God, in the form of the spirit, lives within all sentient creatures.

- He also says that organized religion has been, and remains, a hindrance to human development.

Have I become a convert, a follower of Jesus?

Absolutely! ***** "What do you think?" Jack asked.

Beth read the last of his blog post from over his shoulder.

"Yes, that looks good. I think you've covered it all and I've certainly nothing to add, but thanks for asking my opinion before you published."

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She patted him on the shoulder and leaned over to kiss his cheek. "I especially like that last sentence.

You've finally given up on your conspiracy theories?"

"Yes, there is no longer the slightest doubt that he is who he says he is.”

He hit the send button and turned to pull Beth onto his lap. “Unlike the Bible and the haranguing of priests and preachers around the world, Jesus is something…someone I can believe in because I've seen, first hand, his sincerity.

He arched his eyebrows, “And that’s nothing compared to the ‘miracles’ he’s performed.”

He laughed and shook his head. “If you’d have told me that I would use the word ‘miracle’ to describe a man…well…anyway… "the best part of all…," he paused and kissed Beth, "he led us together."

Beth pressed her head into his chest and whispered, "Yes, that's the best part."

The doorbell startled them. Beth jumped to her feet and moved towards the door.

Keeping his voice low, Jack caught Beth's arm.

"Wait. Do you know who that might be?"

She shook her head and moved closer to Jack.

"After all that's happened, I think we have to assume that we are on several government agency wanted lists. Don't you?"

"Possibly. Probably…but whose?"

"I don't know for sure. The FBI maybe, but they wouldn't be here…at least, not this fast. If we were identified from the video in the Dome and your apartment was staked out, I don't think we can be too careful."

He shook his head. "Damn it, I should have thought of that earlier. Stay here; I'll see who's at the door."

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He stopped at the side of the front door. He didn't want to look through the peep hole. He knew that whoever was on the other side of the door would be able to see a darkening of the eye port.

Still, if he wanted to know who was out there, without voicing the question; he really had no other choice but to look and hope he wasn't seen. He stood as far back from the door as possible and still be able to see through the glass circle.

Standing outside were two men in nearly identical black suits. Fortunately, they were a couple of feet away and probably couldn't tell that Jack was watching them.

FBI, Jack thought? No, too soon, they must be CIA‌maybe Interpol. He walked carefully back to Beth who had waited in the middle of the living room.

"Two suits - definitely government of some kind."

The doorbell rang again.

Beth looked anxious. "What should we do?"

Jack held up a cautionary finger. "Let me get another look." He paused as he tip-toed back to the door.

"Your laptop, is it 4G wireless?"

"Yes." "Good. Grab it and we'll get out of here."

Beth moved to pack her computer while Jack snuck closer to the door again. He was almost there when a loud crash sent the door flying into his face. Jack reacted quickly, stumbling backward to regain his balance and then ran for Beth.

The computer tucked under her arm, Beth saw the door fly open and Jack coming her way.

She was already formulating a vision of where she would take them and was only a foot away from Jack, and the contact necessary to take them both out of harm's way, when two taser guns fired simultaneously.

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The first caught Jack in the left shoulder; the second hit Beth in the stomach. Instantly, they both crashed to the floor in excruciating pain.

Several minutes passed before Jack regained a measure of control over his nervous system. Except for random muscle jerks in his extremities, a bit of nausea and a headache, he was close to full recovery after being blasted by 50,000 volts of electricity. His first cohesive thought was of Beth.

He saw her lying on the sofa across the room.

She appeared to be unconscious. He was sitting in an overstuffed chair and started to get up and go to her.

That's when he noticed that his hands and ankles were cuffed with plastic ties.

He looked around the room and saw one of the suits talking on a cell phone. The other was standing to the side of the window, surreptitiously peeking through the curtains to the street below.

They were obviously waiting for something or someone. Jack hadn’t a clue, but whatever was holding them up, it likely wasn’t good for him and Beth.

He wanted answers about who these jerks were.

"Wh…," Jack's tongue didn't seem to be working properly. He swallowed, shook his head and tried again.

"Who…who are you people?"

The suit with the phone clicked it shut and walked over to stand next to Jack. "Name is Stark. That's all you need to know. Where are Jesus and Kate Barrow?"

Jack ignored that question and asked one of his own. "Is Beth okay?"

Stark glanced towards Beth and back to Jack.

"Doctor Washburn is fine. It takes awhile for the effects to wear off and the smaller a person is, the longer it takes.

Now, answer my question."

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Jack shook his head. "I don't know who you're talking about."

He knew that answer would never fly, but he also knew that he couldn't actually answer the question, either; even if he was inclined to, which he wasn't.

"That's about what I thought you'd say. It doesn't matter, anyway. In a few minutes some of my colleagues will arrive. You and Doctor Washburn will be taken to the Consulate in Frankfurt. After that‌" He shrugged his shoulders.

Regardless of his situation, Jack knew that Stark need not have gone into that much detail; and though he was still furious at being tasered, he was appreciative of the fact that both he and Beth weren't about to be tortured or something worse. He slumped back into the chair.

There seemed to be nothing he could do at this point.

"Jack?"

He sat up straighter and looked at Beth. She appeared to be unconscious, but that was definitely her voice in his head. He started to speak, thought better of it and used his mind, instead of his mouth.

"Beth, are you okay?"

"Yes. I've been pretending to be asleep while I listened to you talking to that guy. Who are they?"

Jack's heart raced. Not only was Beth okay, but she seemed to have recovered much faster than he or anyone else believed possible.

Not the time to talk about it, but he thought this telepathy thing was pretty cool. He knew that Beth was controlling the conversation; he certainly wasn't able to read her mind. She was reading his and alternatively forcing her thoughts into his consciousness.

"He mentioned the Consulate in Frankfurt. I suspect he and his buddy, by the window, are CIA." 267

"I heard that about the Consulate, but whatever could the CIA want with us?"

"I don't think it's us they really want. They probably think we can lead them to Jesus and he's their primary target. The CIA has had a department that studies paranormal activity…things like ESP and mind control, for years. Jesus would be a prime candidate for whatever experiments they're currently running."

"Oh! I hadn't thought of that, but it makes sense, I guess."

"Beth, you need to get out of here. I can handle…"

"No! I'll not leave without you. As soon as we get a chance to grab hands, I'll take us both out."

Commotion at the apartment's entry broke up their discourse and Jack turned to see ambulance attendants pushing in two trolleys. Beth continued to feign unconsciousness.

"Shit."

"What, Jack?"

"Two trolleys…two ambulances. We'll be split up."

"No. I can get loose. I don't think they can stop me before I can get to you. Are you ready?"

"Hell, yes!"

Beth used her mind to snap the bindings. They made a definitive snapping sound and Stark heard it. He was much faster than Beth expected. She'd made only two steps in Jack's direction before Stark tackled her, taking her to the floor.

Beth kicked him in the shoulder and Stark loosened his grip just enough to give her space to lurch forward and grab Jack by the ankle.

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She kicked back again, hitting Stark in the face, but he refused to relinquish his grip.

Startled, Beth saw movement from the corner of her eye and realized that the second man was almost upon her. If she didn't go now, she likely wouldn't have another opportunity.

The urgency of the situation scrambled her thoughts, but she had to force herself to relax and concentrate. Where should we go?

There was no time. She admonished herself for not thinking of this sooner; but she had to act now, and concentrated on the first place that came to mind. She closed her eyes and took them there - Jack, herself and Stark - to Giant Rock, California. “No Hell� http://amzn.to/17BDFvS

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