Chapter 24
Thompson was ushered into Bishop Russo’s chambers. “Have you heard anything?”
“No, but I have a strong feeling they are already in the United States. Most likely in New York but where they went from there I don’t know. The guy tossed his cell phone so I can't even get a GPS trace on it. If he releases any of his information then our plans are ruined. We need to hurry into phase two now.”
“I’m already on it. I’ve got Laura, Reverend Jack Ripton and a friend of mine that’s in the CIA ready to leave for Israel,” Thompson reported.
“Send them, now!” Russo seethed as the command left his lips.
Laura, Ripton and Agent Joshua Longtree exited the doors of the airplane in Tel Aviv. They were on a mission. Very few knew the real purpose. Very few would ever know what they were really doing there.
Longtree was a former congregation member of the Prophet Thomas Thompson. Over the years, the Prophet had gained more and more of a hold over the agent’s mind. Not by some kind of brainwashing but with a little old-fashioned blackmail. Joshua had a few secrets that would end his career and one of them would even put him in prison. Joshua Longtree had been entrapped by a foreign agent into giving highly sensitive secrets to an unfriendly government.
Joshua was stuck and Thompson was able to eliminate the foreign agent. For that action Longtree was forever grateful. All Thompson wanted was a favor every once in awhile and now it was time once again to pay the piper.
Walking next to Longtree was Jack Ripton, the second most popular televangelist on the airwaves. What Ripton lacked in supernatural power he made up in pure deceit. His charismatic smile and electric permed hair won the hearts of millions and millions in cash was to him every day of the week.
The interesting thing about Ripton is that he got into TV preaching because he thought there could be a lot of money in it. He could never be construed as a religious or even spiritual man. He often joked with one of his old college mates that he could be the best televangelist on the screen. Then he’d go into his fake voice, made up unknown tongue and irritating squinting. Years later it became the tools of his trade. He and Thompson were made for each other.
Once in Tel Aviv, Ripton departed for his meetings with government officials. His goal was to set up a globally televised Good Friday sermon by Jesus from Golgotha, the spot where the real Christ had been crucified. The Israeli government was excited to be apart of it. They needed some good press after the Mid-east problems of late.
The Jewish people had not totally signed on to the fact that this may be their messiah but more and more were seeing the great similarities. As a symbol of their belief in his striving for world peace they planned to place a statue of him somewhere on the grounds of where the original Temple had stood. The clone was excited about it and couldn’t wait for the details to be worked out. He wanted to have the worship of his own people, the Children of Israel. It was very important to him.
Laura went with Longtree. Their mission was a little more quiet. In fact, only one man would know what they wanted. Joshua had worked with David Abraham before. He was one of those people who would do anything for the price. The kind of person that Russo and Thompson liked.
Laura stood in the shade of a tree as the two men sat talking only a few feet away.
“Do you understand what I want you to do?” Longtree quizzed.
“I gotta pop the Christ guy. It won’t be that hard,” David answered.
“That is only part of it. It must be done with a single bullet between the eyes and while he is speaking to millions of people on television,” Joshua summed it up again.
“Listen, the price is right. A million dollars is hard to turn down but it won’t do me any good when I’m caught. The police will kill me or the courts will try me and kill me. Either way dead men don’t get to spend much money,” Abraham said.
“That’s where I come in. I’ll be near you. Once your shot has done it’s work then I’ll pull out my gun and shoot you…”
“Wait a second, no matter what I still end up dead,” David butted in.
“Give me a chance to explain. My shot will be a blank. You fall down, break the bag of fake blood and swallow this capsule. It will make it appear even to the best of doctors like you are dead. That night, your family guided by me will pick up your body. Hours later you come back to life and I sneak you out of the country to the United States. There you can spend your million dollars in a very lively way.”
“Are you sure this plan will work?” Abraham asked.
“Positive.”
“Count me in but I want half up front.”
I rose the next morning and started my drive to Professor Grant’s at 4712 2nd Street, Philadelphia. Grant was the one man who had always been my advisor and the one man who knew more about cloning than me. I was hoping that Grant could help me discover what was causing the clone of Jesus to deteriorate.
I parked the rental car outside of the downtown area and grabbed a bus into town towards Grant’s. I was sure that there would be people looking for the vehicle by now. I couldn’t risk being discovered.
Grant’s old brownstone apartment building looked the same as it did so many years ago when I would come and talk about my doctoral thesis. It showed the years of painted-over, peeling paint that was painted over again just to peel again and to be painted over again. The stone stairs were more worn from the years of tenants and students climbing them.
I pushed the button to ring Grant’s apartment.
“Yes, who is it?” the tinny sounding speaker blasted out with Grant’s voice.
“Doc, you’re not going to believe this but it’s Matthew MacDonald and…”
“Oh my goodness, come in, come in!”
The buzzer rang and the front door’s lock was released. I bounded up the stairs to Grant’s apartment. My old mentor was already standing at the open door with his arms open wide and a cane leaning against his leg.
“Matthew, what are you doing here?”
“It’s a real long story. Could I buy you dinner and talk about it?”
“Sure, sure. My favorite little cafe is still open around the block. We’ll just scoot on over there for some excellent Philadelphia food.” The old man scooped up his cane and turned to walk inside. “Let me get my coat and we’ll be on our way.”
It was then that I asked about the cane. “What’s with the cane, Doc?”
“I fell on the ice a few months back and it hasn’t been right since. I guess my tap dancing career is over,” the professor chuckled at his own joke.
We walked slowly along the old street that I remembered so well. He caught me up on some of my old classmates. We got to the front of the cafe and I held the door open for him. Once inside we sat down at a table. Both could see the front door. I liked it like that. I was still uncertain that my trail would not be discovered.
“Tell me your story, boy, tell me,” he asked.
“My life is in danger,” I stammered out.
He laughed at first then took a serious look at my eyes. “You believe that don’t you?”
“I know it.”
“Explain it to me.”
We ordered our dinners and ate as I talked all about the cloning and the recent genetic deterioration. It wasn’t until I hit the part about the CIA and the two men who were out to kill me that he started to show some signs of doubt.
“Matthew, maybe you’ve been overworking yourself lately. You're starting to sound a little delusional. It used to happen to me when I was under a lot of stress. A good rest ought to clear this up,” Grant said.
“You don’t believe me?”
“Some parts are believable but this paranoid stuff about being attacked by something you couldn’t see in a dark hallway in an airport. Then two men dressed as priests who look like old TV characters that are out to kill you is a little hard to believe,” he said with a fatherly nearly patronizing smile.
“Yeah, I know.” I decided not to press the point. What I really wanted from him was his thoughts on the genetic deterioration. “Anyway, I need you to tell me why the clone is starting to die.”
“There is no sign of disease?”
“No.”
“Then we can surmise that it is something that has been locked inside of his genetic coding. He is suppose to die at…how old did you say he was?” Doc asked.
“Thirty-three.”
“Hmm, that’s interesting,” he said as he rubbed his rough, wrinkled hand over his stubbly chin.
“What is?” I asked with excitement.
“If this is truly a clone of the Messiah then wasn’t Christ crucified around the age of thirty-three?” Grant asked.
“Yeah, but what does that have to do with this?”
“Well…” Grant’s answer was interrupted by the opening of the front door to the cafe. Both of our eyes snapped to the two figures walking in from the cold night. It was two priests. One was dark haired and the other blonde. If I had to describe them then I would say they looked like Starsky and Hutch.
Grant’s mouth dropped open until his chin nearly rested on his chest. He turned his eyes to me and his face away from the two and spoke very softly. “Holy Mary, Mother of God, you weren’t delusional. Please, forgive me.”
“You’re forgiven but what do I do now? Is there a back door out of here?” I asked with trembling lips.
“Just sit tight, Matthew. I have an idea.” As the waiter walked by Grant called him over and talked softly to the young man. “What’s that flaming thing you make with the sherry and rum?”
“That is an appetizer, sir. Not a dessert,” the waiter said as if he was talking to a confused old man.
“I know that, boy. But my friend and I are devout Catholics and we want to show our respect for the two priest who just came in. Could you bring that to them on us?” Grant said.
“Why, of course, sir,” the waiter said with a big smile and went into the kitchen.
“Kids nowadays, no respect for us old geezers,” he said it a little louder than we were previously talking then went to a whisper again. “When he brings that thing out here I will hook his leg with my cane. The appetizer will go flying towards our two men of the cloth. Hopefully, it will catch their killing butts on fire but nevertheless it will give you time to race out the back door. Once you’re out there turn right and then left. Any other way will lead to a dead end. That way you’ll end up right in front of my apartment building. You can grab your bags and go down the back staircase and out that door. With a little luck you’ll be far enough away that they won’t be able to catch you.”
“Thanks, Doc, but be careful,” I said with a slight smile.
A moment later the waiter exited the kitchen door with a plate of flames. Soon after he passed us Doc Grant raised his cane and snaked it out, hooking the leg of the young man. The last thing I saw was the air filled with tongues of fire. I could hear screams of pain as I darted through the kitchen. Then a gun shot. Then another one echoed behind the first and struck the wall above my head. A third shot popped but I was already too far away for it to be a bullet designed for me.
Only a newspaper account could fill in what happened next. The two fake priests leaped to their feet and fell back as the flames caught their coats on fire. Soteri was patting himself frantically since most of the flaming liquor hit him. It was the Chuckie Hat that pulled his gun.
The first shot hit the poor waiter on the floor as he struggled to his feet. Fortunately, it didn’t kill him and left a witness to the scene. The third shot was aimed at Professor Grant as he hobbled towards them swinging his cane. The shot went through his brain. If they only knew what a wonderful mind that they had stopped before I could get the answers that might have saved the clone's life. The answers died with Grant.
Grant was right. I was able to quickly get far enough away that I wasn’t followed. The back staircase led to an alley that dumped onto a busy street. I stuck out my thumb and amazingly the first truck rolling past me stopped.
As I climbed into his cab he asked, “Where ya headin’, Red?”
“Wherever you’re going.”
“I going to head west on the Turnpike,” he added.
“Will that put me anywhere near New Castle, Pennsylvania?” I asked.
“Sure will. I’ll have ya there in about eight hours. Relax, Red. Ya like gospel music?” he asked.
“Some of it,” I said.
“Never liked it much myself but ever since that Jesus clone came on the scene I’ve been feelin’ a whole lot more religious. Say, whatya think of him, Red?”
“He scares me. He scares me real bad,” I mumbled.
I sank down in the seat and listened to the music. It was some kind of country gospel by a group called Daniel Amos. Good stuff and it kept my friend, the truck driver, from talking too much. I was glad to listen to it on the way to New Castle.