21.

Craig’s Manuscripts

Thursday, March 21 - 2:00p.m.

Mike walked into the MacDonald’s on the strip and saw the young man who called himself Craig sitting in a corner table. He sat down across from him and asked, “I’m not into all this cloak and dagger stuff. What’s this all about?”

Craig scrutinized the tables around them and when he deemed it safe, began to talk softly. “Okay. It’s like this. I’m a freshman at UNLV, okay? I’m in this linguistics class with Professor Bailey. The other day, I’m talking to the prof after class and we get into this heated discussion about religion. She tells me about how the Vatican has all these documents stored in their library under lock and key.”

To Mike, Craig’s story sounded reasonable, having met Professor Bailey himself.

The kid rattled off words faster than a teenage girl on the phone with her best friend. “So I think to myself, hey, I’m reasonably knowledgeable about computers, why not go out to the Internet and see if I can find a computer at the Vatican and hack my way in? It didn’t take me long to find their main system, but they had a firewall, so I called this buddy of mine. His name is . . . ” He paused and looked around again. “His name’s not important. Anyway, he recognized this firewall as a Slackware Linux system. It’s protected from most hackers, but not him. He was able to get an unsecured telnet shell into their system by specifying one of the UDF port numbers. Once we got in, we edited their passwords file and set their root password.” Craig could see complete puzzlement on Mike’s face. He said, “Do you follow?”

Mike had never heard such double-talk. He shook his head and said, “It’s all geek to me.”

Craig said, “Bottom line is this: We got in. We got through the Vatican firewall and found some of the old manuscripts Professor Bailey had talked about. We set up a CRON job to TAR and ZIP the manuscripts and send them to an anonymous FTP site in Belgrade where we can transfer them here without anyone knowing.”

“I’m still not sure I’m following you. What does that mean?”

He clasped his hands together and with a sly, immature smile, said, “That, Mr. Tomson, means we have the keys to the candy store. At least until we’re discovered. I just thought that if you are the reincarnation of Jesus, you might want to see these manuscripts firsthand.”

“Can you e-mail them to me?”

Craig realized Mike was one step away from being computer illiterate. He might not know how to view attachments. “Sure. If you have any problems, call me.” He wrote his phone number on a napkin and handed it to Mike.

Thursday, March 21 - 8:51p.m.

When Mike opened his e-mail, he found dozens of letters from Craig. Each one had attachments: a small treasure-trove of photographs of ancient manuscripts. They were all written in some kind of ancient script. He was sure Professor Bailey would be able to decipher the documents, but as much as he wanted to show them to her, he was reluctant. After all, they were obtained illegally by one of her students and he didn’t want to get Craig in trouble.

It also occurred to him that it could lead to trouble for him too. If the wrong person found out–and he was sure Bailey had the necessary connections–it could start an international incident. Then the FBI would get involved and trace the manuscripts back to him. He needed time to decide what to do. He decided to sleep on it and maybe get Jennifer’s opinion later.

Friday, March 22 - 9:04a.m.

Mike had gotten into the habit of meditating every morning to clear his mind and solidify his sense of purpose. On this occasion, however, he had a hard time focusing. He wasn’t worried about the manuscripts, he was worried because it was the big day, the day big shots from the Sightings television show were supposed to meet him for their initial interview. He knew they expected him to do a miracle, and the last thing he needed was to try to live up to their expectations. He was sorry he had agreed to do the stupid show in the first place.

He sat quietly in his meditation chair, doing more worrying than meditating, when something unusual happened. He was trying to reach that place of inner peace, when suddenly–whoosh–he was sucked out of his body. As he looked down, he was a bit unnerved to see his own body, sitting peacefully on the chair below him. He thought about his own mortality and how it must be similar when we die. His thoughts were interrupted when Joe appeared in front of him with a wide smile on his face.

“Why so glum?” Joe asked.

Mike was actually relieved to be able to talk about it. He hadn’t seen Joe for a while and he felt like he was seeing an old friend. “Because it’s a no-win situation. Odds are, nothing’s going to happen and I’ll look like a complete idiot. If I do manage to do something paranormal, they’re just going to treat me like some kind of freak.”

“Oh come on, Mike. This is just an initial interview. The real taping for the show isn’t until Tuesday. Besides, negativity doesn’t fit you.”

“Oh yeah? Why is that? You’re not the one who was crucified. You got off Scott-free. Which reminds me. I’ve been meaning to ask you something about my life as Jesus: What happened after I died? All I remember is the white light, the life-review, the park . . . ”

“Well, ah,” Joe hesitated. His smile disappeared and his eyes became sad. The memories were disturbing, even from his higher perspective. He cleared his throat. “Apparently killing you wasn’t enough for those bastards. They set me free, but instead of running, I stuck around and watched your execution.” He spoke in a slow, morose drone. His eyes were distant, as if he was reliving some unspeakable horror. “I saw how they mocked you, spat on you, humiliated you, made you wear a crown of thorns. All the time I was thinking, it could have been me, it could have been me. They tormented you, tortured you, then they killed you. It was horrible.”

His unblinking eyes darted back and forth as if he could see it all in front of him. He looked at the ground. His lower lip trembled and his voice started to crack. “After you died, the guards put your body in a tomb and sealed it with a big stone. When the guards left, I followed them. As I hid in the shadows, trying to control my anger, I overheard them talking about a plot to drag your body back out into the desert and ah . . . ” He swallowed and looked at Mike. It’s better he doesn’t hear the gory details. “. . . desecrate it. Anyway, I foiled their plot. I got a couple guys to help me steal the body.”

“You stole my dead corpse?” Mike said, shaking his head.

“Just long enough to move it to a safe distance and give it a proper burial. I had no idea what kind of impact that would have on history. Remember, I didn’t have the big picture when I was on Earth. I was ‘just an ordinary guy’ as you like to say. Anyway, after I foiled the soldiers’ plans, I fulfilled our pact. Remember the pact we made in prison? Whoever lived was supposed to contact the disciples of the other.”

“I remember.” The New Testament said that Jesus returned from the dead to visit his disciples, but that wasn’t something he remembered from his life as Jesus. He had no memory of being resurrected at all. It had to have been Barabbas/Joe impersonating him. That explained Luke 24:16, But their eyes were holden that they should not know him, and John 20:14, And when she had thus said, she turned herself back, and saw Jesus standing, and knew not that it was Jesus. Mike now understood a big part of the picture he had been missing. He had been bothered by his lack of memories regarding the resurrection. “Joe,” he smiled and said in a mildly scolding voice, “Impersonation wasn’t part of the agreement.”

“I wasn’t trying to impersonate you. Honest. I went to tell your disciples where you were buried, but something happened. They thought I was you, raised miraculously from the dead. By the time I realized what was happening, it was too late. Rather than tell them the truth, I left. I didn’t have the guts to tell them the truth.” He looked down at the ground, ashamed.

It occurred to Mike that Joe might be stretching the truth to serve his own purpose. “Do you have even one shred of evidence to back this up?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. I told a few of my trusted friends the truth. I also told them where you were buried. One of them was your brother James. I never fooled him. Together, we wrote down the location of your body along with some of your teachings on a scroll we called the Gospel of Barabbas. The scroll ended up in a collection of heretical texts at the Vatican library.”

“So where did you bury me?”

“It’s all on your computer, Buddy, thanks to me. I influenced the subconscious mind of your friend Craig so that he’d find it and contact you. Find the right scroll and you’ll have your answer.”

Friday, March 22 - 10:00p.m.

“What have you found out about Tomson?” Cardinal Vilotti asked hit man Tony Malone on the telephone.

Malone took a drag on his Italian cigarette. “He’s been dating a newspaper reporter named Jennifer Farrell. When he’s not with her, he’s been working on his computer and reading books. Tonight I heard them talking over dinner about some book he’s writing.”

“He’s writing a book? Let me guess.”

“It’s about the life of Christ. He calls it a firsthand account.”

Vilotti puzzled over that for a while. Then he asked, “Is that all you have?”

“No. There’s more. I overheard him tell the reporter that he has indisputable proof that Christ was an ordinary mortal man. He’s going to put that in the book too.”

“Blasphemy. What kind of proof?”

He took another puff on his cigarette. “He didn’t tell her what it was. He was being very secretive about it.”

“Can you find out?”

Malone had some ideas about how he could find out. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“This man is dangerous. We can’t let this get out of hand. Update me as soon as you have more.”

“Yes, Father.”

Saturday, March 23 - 11:00p.m.

The Original Artists did their usual show, and the crowd was even bigger than before. After the show, Tony Malone approached Mike. Trying to lose his Italian accent as much as possible, he said, “Mister Tomson? Can I ask a question?”

“Certainly.” Mike felt uncomfortable about the man who stood in front of him. Although he looked innocent enough, there was something sinister about him. He couldn’t place this feeling, so he ignored it for now. Maybe it was just the rancid smell of his Italian cigarette.

“I overheard you telling someone that Jesus Christ was a mortal man, right?”

“Yes.”

“What proof do you have?”

Mike eyed the man suspiciously, then said, “Sorry, but I promised my source that I would keep the information confidential.”

Later, when Malone relayed this to Vilotti, the Cardinal said, “Confidential information? This is serious, Malone. I have reason to believe someone may have breached our computer security here at the Vatican. Our system administrator told me that someone–possibly a hacker–changed some of our passwords. I need to know what information Tomson has and where he got it. Break into his apartment if necessary. Start with his computer.”

“Yes, Father.”

Sunday, March 24 - 3:30p.m.

Tony Malone waited outside Mike’s apartment until he left. Then, donning surgical gloves, he picked the lock and went inside. He went to Mike’s computer, which he had left on. It only took him a couple of minutes to discover a series of e-mails from a man named Craig that contained attachments. He opened one of the attachments and it revealed a photograph of a very old scroll. The writing on the scroll was completely unreadable, a jumble of very strange looking letters. But Malone did notice a very interesting thing about the attachment. It bore the seal of the Vatican. He wrote down the file name of the attachment and who it was from, then he slipped out, unseen.

Later, when Cardinal Vilotti learned about the scroll that bore the Vatican seal, it didn’t take him long to put two and two together. He knew for sure that Vatican security had been breached and Mike was somehow in the middle. When he got the file name from Malone, he was livid. Mike was a dangerous man who now had dangerous information. Something drastic had to be done.

“We have two problems, Malone. The first problem is this hacker. Find out who he is and deal with him. The second is this heretic Mike. He is not just a heretic, Malone. He is the Anti-Christ. Both of our problems must be eliminated. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Father.”

Vilotti chose his words carefully. “Tony, remember what I told you about your sins being forgiven? I need you to remember back to the days before your heart-attack and what your job was back then. God gave you a talent and we mustn’t reject the Lord’s gifts.” Malone knew he was referring to his job as a hit-man. “Back then, you were working for the mafia, and that was evil. But your sins have been forgiven and now you must do God’s work. You must use your talent for our side now. You must stop these men from destroying God’s Church. Do you understand?”

He understood. For too many years, he had let the mob control his life. He killed too many people without giving it a second thought. Now he was being asked to carry out two more hits. It was a job he gladly accepted, not only because he would feel the thrilling adrenaline rush of killing again, but because he owed it to Vilotti for saving his soul. This time he was going to help rid the world of evil. “Yes, Father.” There was no deception in Malone’s voice. It was the word of a true believer.

Sunday, March 24 - 5:45p.m.

Malone walked into the “Fifth Avenue Cash and Pawn” with its large assortment of jewelry, electric guitars, amps, and Sony Play Stations. He walked over to a particular glass case that held an assortment of handguns, leaned over the glass and peered inside. There were plenty of guns to choose from: Antique 45 caliber Colts, 40 caliber Smith and Wessons, 357's, and as much he was tempted to buy a nine-millimeter semiautomatic that could easily be converted to fully-automatic with the simple removal of a pin, he decided to keep it simple. He opted for a plain old 38 special with a serial number he could easily file off.

He slipped the shop owner two Ben Franklins to make the paperwork go away, and he walked out of the place, another satisfied customer.

As he walked down fifth avenue, he decided that his first job was to find the hacker and deal with him. As for Mike, he decided the best time to make the hit was Saturday night after the gig. After all these years, he was looking forward to feeling the power of the gun again. Especially if it was for God. He wouldn’t even have to talk about it in confession.

Excerpt from The Gospel According to Mike

He said, “Focus on your own life-lessons, not other people’s lessons. Follow your own script, not someone else’s. Introspect, don’t ‘extro-spect’. For the answers for each person lie within, not without. That is also where God can be found.”