13th Apostle (21 page)

Day Ten, evening
Hillingdon Towne Centre, London

They left Sarkami to do what he did best: to prepare the remaining section of the scroll for Sabbie's translation. It meant cutting the innermost section into strips. It was a tedious job that would take the rest of the night.

“We can't risk unrolling it after a millennium or two,” Sabbie said. Gil knew she was right but to both of them, cutting the scroll felt like a terrible sacrilege. One that could never be undone.

Remaining at Sarkami's was out of the question. Though he did all the restorations and faux facsimiles in England, he was still considered a member of the Museum's staff, the logical person Sabbie would seek out, and easily traceable. With a new set of players on the field, it was simply too dangerous. They made their way to a busy hotel and took up the all-night vigil. Sarkami would call as soon as he was finished.

Sabbie had requested two hotel rooms. It seemed unnecessary, but Gil didn't object. A bit of time alone sounded wonderful.

“One room is for us, the other is for them,” she explained. “We stay in one, keep the lights on, do whatever we want.”

The other room was for observing what was happening on the street. It would be a bit obvious, she said, if they turned off the lights every time they wanted to look out of the window, then turned them back on when they were finished.

“Now we just keep our eyes open and wait,” Sabbie. added.

Gil fought the impulse to go to the window immediately and get a good look at the street, lights or no lights. He sat down on the bed, across from her. It was going to be a long night.

She had perched herself on the side of the big double bed, kicked off her shoes, and had begun to massage her feet. “Ever play chess?” Sabbie asked.

She isn't suggesting we play chess to pass the time!

Gil nodded.

“Have you ever been castled?” she continued.

Castling was a powerful but greatly underused chess strategy. It involved removing the king from its normal position in the center of the board and placing it in a protected corner. With a single move, all of the plans that one's opponent had in the works were turned upside down. Gil knew it well. It was one of his favorite strategies.

“Well, now it's being pulled on us.” Sabbie explained. McCullum was no longer the only king on the board. Earlier in the evening Sarkami had pulled her aside and for good reason. She filled Gil in on the details.

Sarkami had wanted her to know that the two men she had seen circling Ludlow's apartment were Abdul Maluka, head of Muslims for World Truth Video, and his bodyguard slash assassin, Aijaz.

“They are Syrian,” Sarkami had informed her.

“Countrymen!” Sabbie exclaimed. She understood how powerful the tie might be for Sarkami.

“No, Maluka was born in Syria like myself, but he is no countryman of mine,” Sarkami had answered. “Maluka seeks to expose the message the scroll bears only if it suits his purposes. Otherwise, he will destroy it. He is no countryman,” Sarkami repeated.

“They are not so different, Maluka and McCullum,” Sabbie said.

She turned to Gil. “The one who surprised us at the Monastery, didn't he look familiar?” she asked.

Gil tried to remember. The wrinkled face, twisted body. Yes, they belonged to a cleaning man at the Museum but, like so many, Gil had paid him little attention. Sabbie had known at once, even in the dark of the Monastery courtyard, but she had no idea he was Maluka's spy turned assassin.

“There's something else, as well,” Sabbie explained. “Something we're missing.”

Sarkami had agreed, she said. The pieces were not fitting together as they should. McCullum's thugs and Maluka and his assassin had appeared at Ludlow's apartment at about the same time and, apparently, with the same intent. McCullum's man in the restaurant and Maluka and his men had arrived at the same time in Weymouth. The odds against such coincidences were overwhelming. And DeVris was conspicuously absent. It didn't add up, and the missing piece could mean a castle move was in the works, Sabbie explained.

Best to keep the scroll and the person best able to translate the document in two different locations. At least for the moment. Besides, Sabbie said, there was more that the scroll had revealed than could be understood in a mere translation.

“What did you notice about the Gethsemane scene? she asked. “You know, where Yeshua is talking to Micah, right before the Roman guards came to take Yeshua away? What do you remember from that scene?”

The only thing that stuck in his mind was the image of Micah giving Yeshua his caftan so that Micah was left with only a sindon, or whatever Sabbie called the loincloth. It seemed a strange detail to leave behind for others to read in the millennia to come.

“Perfect,” she exclaimed. “That's the whole point. Why would Micah include that detail in particular?”

“You mean, besides the fact that he had probably shivered his ass off after giving up his caftan?” Gil asked with a laugh.

She wasn't smiling. Every word that Micah engraved in the copper took time and precious space. That detail must have held an important meaning, otherwise he wouldn't have included it. Gil seemed unimpressed.

“You don't get it,” she said in frustration. “Look, that scene is the confirmation we've been looking for. It's what Ludlow would have given…Wait!,” she exclaimed, in excitement. “I know how to say it so you'll understand. That scene is Micah's
signpost
to us. Like the signpost that Elias left in the hidden page of the diary. This scene says, ‘There is something important I must tell you. Look here for the clues.'”

And extraordinary clues they were.

“In the section where they take Yeshua away, Micah tells us who he, himself, is,” Sabbie began. “And the Gospels of Mark and John confirm it. The Gospels describe a disciple who was there in Gethsemane, in the garden, on that night after the Last Supper. The disciple wore only a loincloth. This man was, and I quote, ‘the disciple that Jesus loved.' In the Gospels, John even talks about this same disciple lying close to Jesus at the Last Supper, just as Micah describes his position at the Seder meal. According to John, this beloved disciple asks Jesus, ‘Who is he that betrayeth thee?'

“Don't you get it?” she insisted. “The very scenes that Micah describes in the scroll, are the same that Mark and John recount in the Gospels. The beloved disciple they describe right there in the scriptures, that's Micah.”

“
Our
Micah?”

“Our Micah,” Sabbie said. “To the Apostles, Micah was a disciple that Jesus loved above all others but still, only a disciple. To Jesus, he was an apostle, His Thirteenth Apostle.”

The words Micah recorded in the scroll were those of Jesus himself, etched into copper for all eternity, by the hand of one who was most loved by Him. They had uncovered the most important document in the history of mankind. It was too incredible to imagine. And far too important to allow it to fall into the wrong hands.

“So far the scroll confirms what the Gospels say about His adult life,” Sabbie began. “It's exactly what McCullum and his WATSC organization would love to hold up for the world to see. At the same time, the scroll's message is just what Maluka and his Muslims for World Truth want to bury forever. Both have a stake, and it is huge.”

But no one knew what the rest of the scroll would reveal, and there was the hitch. It could confirm the rest of the Gospels or dispute them. It could lay bare a whole new truth that no one had ever considered, one that could shake the very foundations of Christianity itself.

“Then the positions would be reversed,” Gil said with a certainty that he wished he didn't own. “Maluka would want the scroll to be able to show it to the world as proof that Christianity is false to its core.”

“And McCullum would need to destroy any trace of its existence,” Sabbie added.

“Ever hear the term ‘tiger by the tail?'” Gil asked Sabbie. “It means we're holding on to something too big to imagine, and we just hope it doesn't suddenly turn around and come after us.”

“More than that, I think we got a tiger in each hand,” Gil concluded.

“Maybe more,” Sabbie added thoughtfully.

Day One following the Crucifixion, afternoon North of Jerusalem

The Apostles gathered in the old, abandoned farmhouse. Over a day had passed since Yeshua's arrest but his friends and followers were filled with fear for his life. The Twelve had returned from their flight and, as they debated, those most loyal to Yeshua brought reports of him being shuffled from place to place and subjected to mock hearings and self-serving determinations.

Still, the Apostles continued their hypothetical arguments. When Micah could stand no more, he took the Twelve aside and presented his plan. Yet, even as they listened, word came that Yeshua was being crucified. No more debate. This was the time for action.

Micah's proposal involved quite a bit of risk, though not to the Apostles themselves. Each agreed and set to work immediately, procuring the herbs that Micah would need to prepare Apollonius' Elixir of Death, a potion he had learned to make on his last journey to the east. The sweet, aromatic solution would be given to Yeshua even as he hung upon his cross.

If all went as planned, a few minutes after its administration, the potion would make it appear that Yeshua had died. The antidote, to be used no more than two full days after administration of the elixir, would reverse its effects.

It was a simple enough plan with one great drawback; the unpredictable nature of the elixir. Give too little and Yeshua would awaken too quickly, making it obvious that he was very much alive. Give too much and he might never wake again. The timing was critical. Likewise, the antidote did not always bring about the desired effect of restoring the near dead to life once again.

Give the antidote within two days and one man would rise; administer it at one day and another would not. Though the thought of Yeshua dying by administration of Micah's own elixir tore at his chest like the short sword of a Roman soldier, still, it seemed to be the only plan that offered any hope.

It was agreed that Micah would enlist the help of Joseph of Arimathea. The two would claim the body of Yeshua, and remove it ostensibly for burial. Once in the safety of a burial tomb, it would then be the job of the Apostles to administer the counteragent that would wake Yeshua from his death-like sleep. While the Apostles administered the antidote that Micah had prepared, Micah would rush ahead to the hills near Qumran and prepare his secret cave for their arrival. There in the seclusion and safety of the cave, they could all escape detection while Yeshua healed and grew strong once again.

For once there seemed no dissention among the Apostles. With careful and deliberate strokes, Micah drew a detailed map that would direct the Apostles to his cave. Micah then took his leave to join Joseph and to bring to Yeshua his Elixir of Death even as he hung on the cross.

Joseph of Arimathea, deeply grieving the imminent death of Yeshua, willingly agreed to offer his help. He pleaded with Pontius Pilate for the body of Yeshua. He pleaded hard and long and, with his promise of more than a few well-considered favors, in the end Pilate agreed. Pontius Pilate's consent was all that Joseph needed. He had already enlisted the help of Nicodemus, who allowed Micah to wrap himself in Nicodemus' clothes and ride his mule and, so, to pass as Joseph's assistant if any Roman guard should stop them.

Joseph led Micah to the place where Yeshua hung on the cross and, upon their arrival at Golgotha, Joseph presented Pilate's order for release of Yeshua's body.

“Not dead yet,” the fat Roman guard informed Joseph disinterestedly. He glanced at Micah, well concealed in rags, who appeared to be staring vacantly off into the distance. The guard turned back to his half-eaten lunch.

“Oh, no!” Joseph exclaimed, in frustration. “They said he was in poor condition, that he wouldn't last more than a few hours. I cannot come back later. I don't have all day, you know.”

“What would you like me to do about it? I could put a sword through him if you would like,” the guard said, as he withdrew his sword from its sheath, “but it'll cost you. Not supposed to give them a quick end, you know.”

The guard glanced over his shoulder to be certain that none of the other guards had yet returned. “I mean your time must be worth a lot to you. It would be a shame if you had to wait here for hours, maybe days.”

It was common knowledge that the Roman guards who had been relegated to crucifixion watching had been demoted to such a duty because they were too old, too stupid, or too incompetent for any other duty. For those same reasons, they could be counted on to be the most corrupt as well. For a few gold coins, they would slit anyone's throat, including—if one wasn't careful—the throat of the one who had just offered payment.

With a knowing smile Joseph reached into his robe and withdrew a small pouch, which he offered to the guard. “Well, I do have something here that might help to bring my waiting to a swift conclusion, if you know what I mean,”

The guard returned his sword to its sheath. Micah caught Joseph's eye, and they shared a moment of great relief. Interested only in the contents of Joseph's pouch, the guard snatched it from Joseph's hand, opened it, and poured the contents into the palm of his free hand.

“What's this?” he asked as his fingers bypassed the coins and picked up the vial that held the precious Elixir of Death.

“The contents of the vial will bring you the remainder of the coins in this hand,” Joseph said, holding up a larger and considerably fuller pouch. “Pour the contents of that vial into a cup of wine and give it to the prisoner, the one who calls himself Yeshua of Nazareth. It will make the wine sour, but he will not be surprised at being given bitter drink.”

“That one? He will refuse it,” the guard countered.

“Tell him that Joseph of Arimathea brought it to ease his pain. He will trust you and he will drink it. But, fear not. Its only virtue is that it will make my wait the shorter and you the richer. Then you and I will both be free to be on our way.”

“Why can't I just skewer him like the pig he is?”

“Because you were given clear instruction to let him hang and suffer 'til he died. Come now, don't get us both in trouble.”

The guard shrugged, then took the pouch and positioned himself so that no other guard might see his bribery in action. He quickly counted out the coins. He laughed and placed the money deep within his robes, then turned and walked off without a word.

Joseph retreated to where Micah had allowed the horse to amble. “What's happening?” Micah asked. “Is he just taking the money or is he going to do it?”

“I don't know,” Joseph answered. “I'm not sure…”

They waited. As far as Joseph could tell, the guard was just as likely to give Yeshua the drink as he was to keep the money but do nothing. At any moment, he might signal the other guards to come and take Joseph and Micah away. They awaited their fate as much as Yeshua awaited his.

The guard, originally headed in Yeshua's direction, stopped and conversed with two other men who were not in guards' uniforms. They laughed and, as the minutes passed, it became clear that Yeshua's last chance was to be lost at the whim of a stupid arrogant lout.

The guard pounded his thighs in exaggerated laughter at some comment, then moved off into the distance where their Yeshua might yet be clinging to his last measure of life. Joseph and Micah strained to see. It appeared to them that the guard had climbed up and administered the elixir to one who hung upon a cross but at such a distance, they could not be sure. Slowly, after the guard stopped to relieve himself on the bottom of one of the crosses, he returned.

“It is done,” he announced. “Now get him out of here quickly. If you ever speak of this to anyone, I will deny it, then I will make certain you never speak again.”

Joseph and Micah nodded their agreement, then hurried in the direction from which the guard had come.

“Wait,” the guard commanded. They held their breath. The guard raised his hand in the air and shook a nonexistent pouch of money, to communicate what was expected.

Joseph hesitated. If he paid the guard now, the pig might easily take the money and refuse them entry. On the other hand, if he didn't show good faith, all could be lost. As he silently begged for God's help, Joseph reached into his sleeve and tossed the heavy pouch into the greedy hand that awaited it. Miraculously, it seemed, the guard stepped aside and allowed them to pass.

The enormity of the number of crosses was beyond their imagination. The faces, frozen in pain, covered in blood, were but one face. There was no way to recognize their beloved Yeshua. Still, they walked in the direction the guard had first taken until they stopped, both at the same cross, for they felt in whose shadow they stood.

Oh, that they might take his wounds as their own. They removed him as gently as they could and carried Yeshua past the small group of guards who believed him dead and demanded a few extra coins to allow them to pass.

The plan worked!

Once they had him secure at the sepulcher that Joseph had prepared for him, the Apostles would administer the antidote and Yeshua would wake. Oh, how he would laugh at the recounting of their deception and the victory they had extracted from the Romans. And Micah would welcome them to his cave where they would celebrate as one.

But all was not to go as smoothly as planned. Perhaps the Roman guard had not been as compliant as they had hoped or the other guards had grown suspicious. Perhaps Pilate had been bothered by rumors or, and this thought greatly worried Micah, perhaps one or more of the Apostles had betrayed their plan. But, in any case, Micah and Joseph were greeted at the burial room by Roman guards who had been stationed at the vault to guard the tomb in which Yeshua was to lay.

“What shall we do?” Micah cried to Joseph in desperation. “He will not wake without the counteragent, and it cannot be administered until the effects of the elixir have had time to subside. If the antidote is given too soon or not soon enough, he will never awaken again.”

“Worry not,” Joseph assured him. “The guards will allow me to come and go so that Yeshua may be prepared for burial. At sunset tomorrow, I shall go to the sepulcher and remove his body and bring him to the Apostles. There they will administer the antidote and all will be as you planned.”

“But how will we get him out of the sepulcher when the guards watch all that you do?” Micah asked.

“The guard changes watch at midday. The two who watch him now will not return until midnight,” explained Joseph. “When they return, in thanks for their consideration for allowing me to prepare Yeshua for ritual burial, I will arrange for a gift of wine to be delivered to them. They will be expecting some bribery, so all will seem as it should be. I know well those two who guard him. They will surely drink themselves into a stupor. I will have something added to the wine to help them on their way. After all, you are not the only one with knowledge of elixirs,” Joseph added in good humor, then he continued. “As they sleep, I will bring Yeshua to the Apostles so he may take the antidote, and they will deliver him to you. I will join you all there, later, in the cave near Qumran where you wait.”

His voice grew ever more confident and Joseph continued. “After I deliver Yeshua to the Apostles, I will quickly return to the sepulcher and, as the guards continue in their stupor, I will cover the opening to the sepulcher with a large stone so that they may not see that Yeshua is gone. I will explain that the stone will assure that none may enter or leave to do mischief or desecrate the body. These guards will not dare to tell anyone that they fell asleep from too much drink and did not see me move the stone into place. Since I shall have no complaint, who is there to question their obvious devotion to duty if they themselves make no trouble?”

Micah did not share Joseph's confidence. There were too many uncertainties for his liking.

I should have anticipated the possibility of the guards. What else might I have overlooked?

Joseph, placing a fatherly arm around Micah's shoulder, nodded in wordless understanding. Good men blame themselves before they fault any other.

“Now, Micah, you must go!” Joseph announced. “You must finish the preparation of the counteragent. By now, Bartholomew should be back at the stable with the special pungent myrrh you requested.”

Micah hesitated.

“Go,” Joseph commanded. “The Apostles await you. In two days' time, you and Yeshua shall be together again.”